Tertiary Effects Series | Book 2 | Storm Warning Page 16

  As we stopped at the back door to scrape off our boots, I thought about what Wade said.

  “He worried about getting hijacked?”

  “Not at first. You know, he mostly hauls equipment around for the oilfield folks.”

  “How is he still working? I thought they were located south of Houston?” I asked, curious to find out how they were still going when the city was a dead zone.

  “Most of his company relocated to a backup site in Dayton, north of Houston. That’s where their yard was located anyway. They took a thumping from the hurricane, Ethan said, but the roof stayed on most of their buildings and about half their staff showed up for work.”

  “Long way to commute,” Pat added and I saw Wade’s expression harden.

  “Yeah, and he needs to decide if he’s going to keep at it with them, or start pitching in around here. Sure the money’s good, but then he’ll just be the richest driver in the graveyard.”

  “They that worried?”

  “Like I said, they weren’t having much trouble at first. Hijackers want enclosed trailers. Better chance of getting food or other sellable goods. Now though, they seem to be zeroing in on anything rolling. I guess hitting the fuel tank makes it worthwhile. His company’s seen two of their trucks hit, drivers killed, and the trucks abandoned. Only thing missing was the diesel they had on board.”

  “Wow, that’s terrible!” I exclaimed, but it tracked with what I feared was going on in the area.

  “He’s doubled up with a shotgun rider in the passenger seat, but the risk is still there.”

  “I’d recommend he quit and come home,” Pat softly commented. “When you hear what Mike and Bryan have to say, you’ll understand why.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound ominous at all, does it?” Wade said, waving us ahead to lead the way to the door. Unlike at our house, Wade had the utility room attached to the back of the house, so instead of a mudroom, we found ourselves slipping off our boots at a little rack situated a few feet away from the idle washer and dryer.

  Familiar with the layout of the Husband house, I led the way to the kitchen and found Wade’s mother, Esther, sitting with Doyle and his wife, Bridgette. Doyle pushed back from the table and stuck out a hand to shake and we went down the line as greetings were exchanged.

  “Where are Margie and the kids?” I queried, and Wade smiled.

  “Margie has them out in the equipment shed. They’re greasing up the tractors, the corn picker, and the other equipment in there. Well, they’re doing the work and Margie’s supervising. That woman might not know much about mechanical work or how to run a grease gun, but she can read an instruction book like nobody’s business.”

  Grease tubes, I thought. We had a supply laid in, but I thought about how many we went through in a normal baling season and whipped out my shirt pocket planner and added a note about hitting Wilson’s the next time we were in town.

  After quickly finding a seat at the table Esther distributed coffee to us and without much preamble, Mike and I launched into a recap of our trip to visit with Andy. I didn’t hold anything back from this audience, and I explained why we wanted to exchange information with the still-influential retired Ranger. That led to a description of our fight south of Fred, and Mike detailed his conversation with the deputies when he was waiting in Woodville.

  “Well, that tracks with some of what we’ve been hearing,” Doyle said after Mike finished. Wade and the ladies sat quietly, still digesting the download of information.

  “We’ve already had some folks come by the farm,” Bridgette explained, her voice soft with sorrow. “The county road isn’t that far from our front gate. All of them hungry and broke, and most already afoot. Some are looking for work in exchange for food, and we make sure there’s a chore or two for them to handle. We’ve set up what amounts to a soup kitchen, using one of the machine sheds separated from the main house.”

  “Others are just looking for a handout. Or a chance to case the place, for a return visit in the night,” Doyle added bitterly.

  “We can’t let those children starve,” Bridgette bit back, then subsided as she continued. “But on the other hand, there’s just too many, and when we try to get them to move on, there’s a few who have refused.”

  “They refused until I convinced them we meant business. Then I ran off the biggest troublemakers at shotgun point,” Doyle said, then he turned his attention to Mike and changed the subject. “Is the weather going to get better before winter? My niece Barbara wants to try to get something in the garden before the temperature drops, since we’ve lost most everything we had there to the flooding.”

  Mike looked torn by the thought of giving bad advice.

  “Doyle, I’m afraid to make any recommendations about anything, because I just don’t know. This disaster didn’t come with an instruction manual, I’m afraid. Maybe rice?”

  That suggestion got a laugh, but Mike persisted.

  “Look, rice takes three to six months from planting to harvest, but I’ve got some of the quicker growing variety. You need to start them in dry ground, then flood the fields. Heck, if we knew this was going to happen, we’d already be sitting pretty. I’ve got the whole thing on a file I downloaded from the Internet. Might still be up there with Netfeed.”

  “Yeah, but what kind of yield? I’ve never tried it before.”

  “Book says eight thousand pounds per acre, but like I said, I’ve never tried it. I know some of the commercial rice growers over around Katie get that or better,” Mike responded, sounding a little lost as he admitted his lack of knowledge on the matter.

  “Maybe start them off in a greenhouse?” Bridgette mused.

  “There are some other fast-growing field crops we can recommend,” I added, trying to bail Mike out of his funk. “We’ll burn you a disc with the information and when Dorothy comes by to drop off Marta, I’ll make sure she gets it.”

  “Most of what you’ll be able to grow will need to be in your greenhouse, and you’ll need that guarded.”

  “And the chickens,” Doyle added. “For as long as we can keep feeding them. Feed order has already been delayed twice. Hijacked.”

  “You may lose the commercial operation,” I conceded, “but see about retraining some of those birds to free range. Plenty of bugs and other good things for them to eat with all this rain.”

  Doyle seemed to think about that for a moment before he replied.

  “We were prepared to lose all of them if the worst occurred, and we already had a separate flock for our own use. Thing is, if the wholesaler can continue making pickups. They’ve been hit once too, but at least they didn’t kill the driver. We’ve thought about taking them to town and selling directly to the grocery stores, but there’s rules to make that more difficult.”

  “You know your business better than any of us can advise you, but I think those rules are going to become obsolete. But you’d better take precautions. Eggs might become your new currency,” I added the last part as a joke, but judging from the intense look of concentration on his face, Doyle seemed to be considering the option.

  “Barter, anyway,” he replied after a moment. “I can work with that. Also gives me more jobs for the hungry mouths at the gate.”

  “You can try to recruit help, but first you need to take control of who’s on your property. I take it, the sheriff was no help?”

  Doyle laughed bitterly again. “I tried calling the non-emergency line and nobody answered. When I called 911, I got yelled at and threatened. I told her if they didn’t send somebody, there might be a killing at my place. The dispatcher just said to call back when we had bodies on the ground.”

  “Not a good idea,” I said quickly, and Doyle nodded his head, the years suddenly apparent on the older man’s weathered features.

  “I can see Landshire showing up with his posse of bullshit deputies to arrest me instead, then seizing the farm as a crime scene.”

  “When you have to bury them, go twelve feet deep, then d
rive cattle over the burial site,” Pat interjected, then looked around at the surprised expressions. “What? You have a backhoe, right?”

  Doyle nodded, still a bit shocked at Pat’s quiet comment.

  “Well, if you go deeper than six feet, less likely they’ll think to go deeper to look,” my brother-in-law explained, “and if you mess up the area, they won’t even know where to dig.”

  “Duly noted,” Mike intoned officiously, and a nervous chuckle followed.

  After we covered the main points I wanted to pass on, the seven of us spent a few minutes going over more mundane topics. Wade promised to have a talk with his brother, stressing the danger that was growing day by day. That brought us to the thought of Dorothy and Marta making the drive to Jasper every day for work, and on the spot Wade and Mike decided they would need someone along as an escort. Knowing how stubborn both women could be, we put off belling the cat for a later date.

  Thinking about the dangers on the road reminded me of something else Andy had mentioned, but the point had escaped my memory until then.

  “Andy said other jurisdictions were beefing up their hiring, taking on deputies and city cops from the evacuation zones. Sheriff Landshire or Chief Cromwell taking on any new faces?”

  “Yeah, I heard Teddy say something about that the other day,” Doyle supplied.

  “Teddy Wallace? The county commissioner?”

  “That’s right. He’s a neighbor. He lives in Fayette and he’s pretty mad that Landshire has been packing the department with new deputies without bothering to explain how the county is supposed to pay for them.”

  “Recruiting more forces,” Mike agreed. “Remains to be seen if they’re going to actually do the job.”

  “Three guesses why Sheriff Landshire is loading up on new deputies,” Wade finally said, speaking up after nearly a minute of thoughtful silence. “Anybody know anything about them?”

  “Yeah, I think I saw one at my office,” I replied, describing the stressful meeting with Captain Steward and his silent sidekick.

  “Sheriff claims they’re temporary hires, picked up from other departments that were in the evacuation zone. Guys who were recommended to him by their bosses in other cities and towns,” Doyle explained, “but I’m not buying it. They might be criminals instead of cops. Watch them, and watch their eyes. Saw one in town yesterday. I swear, I saw his mugshot on ‘America’s Most Wanted’. Anyway, I didn’t trust Landshire before and I’m going to be watching him even closer now.”

  Thinking back to the unknown deputy in my office, he hadn’t seemed all that concerned with covering Captain Steward’s back. He was watching something else. My blood ran cold as I realized he’d been looking past me, over my shoulder the entire time. Looking at Nancy.

  “How many are we talking about?” I managed to ask.

  “Not sure.”

  “Thinking back to what Doyle said, I’ve got to lean more to the criminal side. Something wrong with the one I met too.”

  “Is there anybody we can trust?” Esther all but moaned in frustration.

  “I think Chief Cromwell is clean. Did he get any more help? He was down to one officer after that shooting at Woodshire Brothers.”

  “Bill’s out of the hospital,” Wade informed me. Bill Torgensen was the officer who’d been wounded by the bank robbers in town. “He’s still on light duty, so Buddy has him on the desk. But no, the city council haven’t freed up any funds for more police. Just Buddy and Sam patrolling town.”

  “Of the deputies, the only one I think we can trust is Lieutenant Bastrop, but his family is a weak point,” I volunteered, and all faces turned to me expectantly.

  “What? I just know the good sheriff left Bastrop and his family out in the hurricane. Not enough room at the Emergency Services bunker, so I sent him over to the gym where the Co-Op personnel were bunking. Got them in a safe place.”

  “That was…” Pat started, but was interrupted by our neighbor.

  “Freaking brilliant,” Wade finished. “How did you get him a slot inside?”

  “I just pointed him in the right direction,” I answered with a shrug. “Which reminds me… Doyle, do you know if Teddy rode out the storm with the sheriff?”

  “I should say not,” Doyle replied with a sniff. “After that botched kidnapping of his niece, Teddy won’t sit in the same room as our esteemed sheriff. Whether he had anything to do with it or not, Teddy sure thinks he did.”

  I looked around the table, meeting the eyes of the others as I spoke.

  “We must, indeed, all hang together or most assuredly, we shall all hang separately,” I quoted, and I caught the smirks from Mike and Pat.

  “Benjamin Franklin said that, and I believe it bears repeating. Doyle, Wade, I know the two of you are tied into the community much better than anybody in my family. Please put an ear to the ground and find out who Sheriff Landshire invited to share in his shelter,” I asked. “That should tell us who owes him, and more importantly, who doesn’t. I know we’re assuming he has the other two commissioners under his thumb, but who else does he own?”

  “I know he’s a crook and a criminal, Bryan, but do you think he’s willing to go so far as to threaten our families?” Esther asked, and I knew she only speaking for herself. If anything, her brother-in-law and her son had an even lower opinion of the man than I did.

  “Esther, I just don’t know. You heard about that judge down in Kountze who tried to take over the county. Andy didn’t tell me all the details, but I think it ended in a killing. I know my friend, who is a retired Texas Ranger,” I reminded them, “warned me specifically to keep an eye on our sheriff. I know he said the Texas Rangers had an active investigation going when the meteor knocked out such petty concerns.”

  “We’ll try to find out what you asked,” Doyle agreed. “I think this is something we should only discuss face-to-face. When do you want to meet again?”

  “It will have to be sometime late next week. Mike and I might be on a road trip for the first part.”

  “Where you going? Didn’t you have enough fun joyriding to Kountze?” Doyle asked.

  “Had so much fun, we’re looking for bigger targets. Think we can find some action on our way to Ft. Worth?”

  Knowing I was trying to get a rise out of Doyle, Mike grinned as he replied.

  “If not, we can always hit Dallas. Besides, it’s on the way.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Earl Lovett was a horse breeder, but that was his passion, not his livelihood. Like so many in the area, he’d retired from a job with Shell Oil after he’d made a bundle and returned to his family farm with his wife, Lynette. He wasn’t quite an outsider, since his family had four generations in Albany county, but he’d been gone a long time, and his wife was not only an outsider, she was a Yankee. That she had grown up on a horse farm in Pennsylvania was lost on most who first met her, but I found her delightful.

  We were seated in the tastefully decorated living room, having coffee with Earl and Lynette, and their daughter Heather, who was watching Mike and I with ill-disguised distrust as the rest of us talked about horses and bloodlines. In addition to the Percherons, Earl and Lynette raised quarter horses with an emphasis on cutting horses.

  “Everybody has been breeding for speed, but we went a different route, looking for endurance and intelligence,” Lynette explained. “Starting out, we thought about going with the Tennessee Walking breed, but Earl preferred the lines in the quarter horses. They have the speed for barrel racing, and in fact, that has been where most of our most recent successes have been seen.”

  “I love watching working horses when they’re doing their jobs. Bryan and I both had cutting horses when we were growing up. They were mixed breeds, but like you mentioned, they were smart and could work all day,” Mike responded.

  “Whereabouts did you boys grow up?” Earl asked.

  “Jasper County,” I answered. “We grew up with cattle and horses, but got out of the life when we got out of school. Not
much call for cowboys anymore.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Earl commiserated. “If I hadn’t met my Lyn, I don’t think I would have ever thought about getting into this business when I retired. These days, if it weren’t for the rodeo crowd, I doubt we would make enough to keep the place going.”

  “Earl, when we were over helping you move those downed trees, I got to see some of your horses in action,” Mike replied tactfully, “but mostly it was the Percherons. I really like their features and the coloring is an added bonus. Do you have any of them for sale at the moment?”

  Earl was a canny negotiator, since he was a horsetrader after all, and instead of giving us a number or any kind of quote, he invited us out to view his horses as they pranced about in the big round fenced lot behind his stable. I counted nearly thirty horses, and he indicated another half dozen were in stalls. They were all mares close to foaling, and he wanted them separated from the rest.

  Leaning against the wooden fence, I spotted a pair of buckskin mares, close enough in coloring and size to be sisters, and I fell in love with their look. I’d need to examine them more closely, of course, before making my interest known, but I liked their size and the way they seemed to watch their surroundings. Not skittish, at least, no more than the other horses, but I got the idea they had some kind of danger sense about them. Maybe I was just indulging in my own fanciful musings, but I would make note of them for closer inspection.

  Mike, again, was focused on the bigger draft horses, and he let himself become involved in a discussion with the Lovetts about the relative sizes and ages of two juvenile Percheron fillies. They fit the bill for what we were seeking. Young enough to train as we needed, but old enough to bear offspring in a year or two. This would be for the long haul, and we wanted breeding stock.

  “I see plenty of mares and geldings,” Mike said, “but we were also looking for a stallion or two. Anything you’re willing to part with you could show us?”

  Earl gave Mike a questioning look, then stepped back from the fence as he stared at the horses playing in the still-damp sand on the arena.