Full Scoop

  “What do you want me to do to break the hex?” Jamie asked loudly.

  “Hmm, let’s see,” Maggie said thoughtfully. “First, I’ll need a frog.”

  Jamie looked surprised. “Frog? Did you say frog?”

  “Not just any frog. I need a young male frog.”

  Jamie opened her mouth to speak, saw the smug look on her friend’s face, and smiled pleasantly. “Okayee, one young male frog coming up,” she said, grabbing her purse.

  “I’ll go with you,” Destiny said, following Jamie to the door.

  “Hold it!” Maggie said. They turned. “I absolutely positively must have grave dust in order to undo this particular hex.”

  “Grave dust!” Vera said.

  Maggie shrugged. “Dirt from a grave.”

  “Can’t you make a substitution or something?” Jamie asked.

  “Oh, my goodness, nooo!” Maggie gasped and covered her chest with both hands as though fearing her heart would stop beating at the mere thought. “The results could prove disastrous.”

  Jamie crossed her arms and gave Maggie a peeved look. “Anything else while we’re at it?” she asked sweetly. “Eye of an owl? Hair of a dog?”

  Maggie spoke softly. “The grave must have been dug within the past forty-eight hours and sit within twenty-five feet of an oak tree.”

  Jamie’s eyes crossed.

  “It must be empty. It looses its purity once a body has been placed in it.”

  Mike raised his head slightly. “Hank Judd is being buried at one o’clock this afternoon at Oaklawn Cemetery,” he said, as though it might be the last words that slipped from his lips. “There are oak trees all over the place. That’s why they call it Oaklawn.” His eyes rolled about, and his head fell back on the sofa with a flump.

  Destiny checked her watch. “We have thirty-five minutes. You drive, and I’ll jump out and grab the grave dirt. I tossed an empty Midol bottle in my trash. I’ll get it on the way out and put the dirt in it.”

  Vera looked at her. “Somewhere out there is a straitjacket with your name on it.”

  Destiny looked amused as she turned to Jamie. “After we get the dirt we can go by my place for the male frog. I have dozens. I keep them in Mason jars under my bed just in case one decides to turn into a prince.”

  “How do you tell the difference between a male and female frog?” Jamie asked.

  “By the color bow around its neck,” Destiny said.

  Vera pressed her lips into a thin line and looked at Jamie. “I’ll be at my desk writing my letter of resignation.”

  Jamie and Destiny hurried from the building. They climbed into Jamie’s Mustang, and she put her key into the ignition and started it. “You know this whole thing is a hoax.”

  “Of course,” Destiny said.

  “So where are we really going to get the frog?”

  “There’s a pond near my place. I’ve seen bunches hopping around. We can grab some dirt from there as well.”

  Max stepped inside the kitchen and found Maggie and Zack carrying cups of coffee to the small table. “Vera said I could find the two of you in here,” he said. He offered his hand to Zack and introduced himself. “It’s nice to finally meet the voice on the other end of my cell phone,” he said.

  Zack nodded. “Same here. You’ve been a great help.”

  “You two know each other?” Maggie asked.

  “Max is my info man,” Zack said. “The coffee is fresh,” he told Max.

  “Great.” Max poured a cup, and the three of them sat down. He looked at Maggie. “So, if I understood Vera correctly, my wife is out gathering frogs and grave dust so you can remove a hex.”

  “Why else would I have spent all those years in medical school?” Maggie asked.

  “Now I understand.” He turned to Zack. “Have you heard anything?”

  Zack leaned back in his chair. “Not since they found Luis Perez, the guy they call Loopy. The police are scouring the highways and byways, but they can’t put a chopper in the air because of the fog.”

  Maggie took a sip of her coffee. “Do they have any idea how long it will take for the fog to lift?” she asked.

  “A couple of hours at least,” Zack said. “They’re ready to move the minute it does.”

  “What’s it been, twenty-seven or twenty-eight hours since Stanton took off?” Max asked.

  Zack nodded. “They’re smarter than I thought. I’m trying to think which way Stanton and Boyd are traveling. Remember, Boyd drove a beer truck for a southeastern distributor while taking correspondence courses to become a shyster accountant. He knows his way around. If they’ve listened to the radio they know we have a description of the car. In that case, they’d be smart to avoid heading east to Atlanta and go straight south, maybe as far as Albany, Georgia, then grab 82 East to Brunswick. From there, I-95 North is a straight shot to Beaumont.”

  “It would still be risky,” Max said.

  Zack nodded. “I think they ditched the car. They’ve either stolen another one or caught a ride with somebody.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone would be willing to pick up a couple of strangers,” Maggie said.

  “Unless they had a gun to their head,” Max offered.

  Maggie could tell the men were deep in thought and could probably use some time alone for brainstorming. “I’d better check on Mike.” She left the room.

  “These guys are going to give the police a run for their money,” Max said. “They could be zigzagging all over the place in a dune buggy for all we know.”

  “Yep.” Zack clasped his hands behind his head. “So the smart thing is to wait,” he said, “and let them come to us.”

  Chapter Seven

  “I don’t know which is worse,” Jonesy said, trying to make himself heard over a gospel song blaring from the radio and the slapping windshield wipers. “This dang rain or the fog,” he added. “Cook, hit that defroster; the windows are steaming up on me again.”

  Cook flipped a switch and hot air fanned the windshield. Outside, the wind whipped about and from time to time the semi shuddered.

  Carl Lee sat quietly, arms folded across his chest, a frown marring his face as passing motorists openly gawked at the Prayer Mobile and the three priests in the front cab. He checked his wristwatch, sighed, and leaned his head back against the cracked leather seat. He tugged the collar at his neck.

  “Your friend doesn’t say much,” Jonesy told Cook.

  Cook nodded. “He’s got a lot on his mind.”

  Jonesy chuckled. “Hope he’s not trying to remember where he hid the money.”

  Carl Lee ignored him. Instead, he reached into his back pocket and carefully pulled a sandwich bag containing a folded newspaper clipping. He unfolded the clipping; it was worn despite his attempts to protect it, the ink smudged in places from over-handling. Dr. Maggie Davenport and her daughter smiled back at him from a black-and-white photo as they leaned against an antique trunk that Maggie claimed she had lovingly restored, just as she had a number of other antiques belonging to her grandparents. It was her hobby, she said.

  “She’s a beauty,” Cook said, shooting a quick look at the clipping. “Too bad she messed you over, huh?”

  Carl Lee regarded Cook with a look of contempt. “Keep your fat mouth shut or I’ll shut it for you.”

  Cook shrank away. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Okay, boys,” Jonesy said. “I’m not going to have none of that. I’ve got enough to tend to with this crazy traffic. Couldn’t pay me enough to live in Atlanta, no siree.”

  The traffic began to thin as they passed over the city toward Covington, Georgia. Jonesy was able to pick up speed, despite the still whirling wind and rain and sometimes heavy patches of fog. The speedometer rose steadily.

  “There’s something up ahead,” Carl Lee said. “Lights flashing,” he added. “A wreck maybe. You need to slow this thing down, man.”

  Jonesy pumped the brakes several times but was not prepared when suddenly t
he cars in front of him braked and stopped dead on the interstate. “Oh, Lord!” he said, unable to slow the big rig quickly enough. He slammed his foot on the brake, and the trailer began to fishtail, even as the smell of burning rubber filled the cab.

  “Oh, hell,” Cook said, crossing himself.

  Carl Lee shouted a foul litany.

  Jonesy lost control of the vehicle, and the Prayer Mobile skidded. Ahead, passengers threw open car doors and raced from the road, only seconds before impact. The eighteen-wheeler slammed into an SUV, creating a domino effect. From behind, a large pickup truck hit the driver’s side. Jonesy cried out a split second before his head hit the steering wheel in a bone-crunching blow, only to be tossed back against the seat. He fell across Cook’s lap.

  “Sheee-ittt!” Cook cried as he stared in horror at the gash in Jonesy’s forehead. “Do you think he’s dead?” He struggled to get out from under the man.

  “I’m not going to hang around long enough to find out,” Carl Lee said, yanking hard on the door handle. He shoved the door of the cab open with his shoulder and started to climb out. He reached for the canvas bag that held their belongings, including their guns that Jonesy had refused to let them carry inside their pants while dressed as priests.

  “Don’t leave me,” Cook cried, and grabbed the straps to keep Carl Lee from taking the bag.

  “Let go!” Carl Lee shouted.

  “You need me,” Cook yelled back as he tried once more to free himself from Jonesy. “Her neighborhood will be crawling with cops. I know how to get you in.”

  Carl Lee gritted his teeth. “Grab his wallet and cell phone,” he said.

  “You mean rob Jonesy?”

  Carl Lee grabbed Cook by the shirt. “Can’t you smell, you dumb shit? There is fuel all over the road. You want to burn to death?”

  Cook gaped in horror but wasted no time. He worked Jonesy’s wallet from his pocket and grabbed his cell, then shoved him hard and pulled his legs from beneath the man. Carl Lee dragged him from the cab. They hurried toward the exit sign, passing dazed motorists and crying babies. Several men and women had already begun helping people from their vehicles; one man was trying to open a smashed car door with a crowbar.

  “Father!” A middle-aged woman came out of nowhere and grasped Carl Lee’s arm. “My husband is badly hurt,” she said, pointing to a nearby car.

  Carl Lee gave her an odd look as though he’d forgotten he was dressed as a priest. He shook his head as if to clear it. “I’m going for help, ma’am,” he finally said and pulled free. He turned and walked quickly as Cook followed.

  Sirens whined in the distance.

  “I’ve got blood on my hands,” Cook said, “and you’ve got black shoe dye leaking from your sideburns.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a wad of tissue.

  “This sucks about as much as prison,” Carl Lee muttered as he mopped each side of his face. They made their way down the exit ramp and crossed the street to a convenience store where a number of people stood outside and stared at the commotion on the interstate. Carl Lee opened the door leading into the store. “Go wash your hands,” he told Cook and shoved him inside. “You got two seconds.” He barely got the words out of his mouth before a sudden explosion shook the ground and rattled the windows in the store. People outside screamed. The clerk raced outside.

  Cook threw open the door of the bathroom. “What was that?” He looked out a window. “Man, would you take a look at that fireball!” The cash register rang out, and he turned and frowned at Carl Lee who stood behind it. “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t ask stupid questions.” Carl Lee grabbed the bills and stuffed them into his pocket. “This way,” he said.

  They left through the opposite door and started across the parking lot as fire trucks raced down the road toward the interstate.

  Maggie was only too happy to escape the newspaper office by the time Zack led Mel and her to the van. “I hope I never have to go through something like that again,” she said, climbing inside and closing her door.

  “At least you didn’t have to chase a stupid frog all over Jamie’s office,” Mel grumbled from the backseat. “Do you think Jamie is going to be mad at you for long?” she asked.

  Maggie gave a small shrug. “I probably shouldn’t have laughed over her falling into a frog pond. I’ll make it up to her by taking her someplace nice for lunch next week.”

  “If we live to see next week,” Mel reminded.

  Zack frowned.

  “Please don’t say things like that,” Maggie said, even as her own worries came rushing back.

  “Who’s hungry?” Zack asked as though trying to change the subject.

  “I’m starving,” Mel said.

  “Where do you want to go?” he asked. “You choose the place, any place, and remember, money is no object because I’m loaded.”

  Maggie wondered how Zack could be so upbeat with the possibility of what lurked ahead. Of course he was used to dealing with mean and dangerous people. The only mean person she knew was Henry Filbert. Maybe Zack was merely pretending to be cheerful and buoyant so she and Mel wouldn’t be so anxious. Even so, she noted how alert he was, how aware he was of everything going on around them. She knew he watched the rearview mirror, that he kept an eye on the side mirrors and back door when they stopped at a red light or pulled up to a stop sign. Those dark eyes didn’t miss much.

  “If you’re loaded, how come you’re driving this dumb-looking van?” Mel asked. “How come you’re not driving a cool car?”

  That was her daughter, Maggie thought. No tact.

  “There weren’t any cool rental cars left when I arrived in Beaumont,” Zack said. “They were all rented to Elvis impersonators.”

  “Gross,” Mel said, then suddenly brightened. “Let’s stop at Harry’s Burgers. They have awesome foot-long hot dogs.”

  “You up for that?” Zack asked Maggie, slowing.

  “Sure,” she said. “Who cares about high cholesterol?”

  “Would you park in the back?” Mel asked, ducking low in the seat.

  “No problem.” Zack turned in and drove to the farthermost parking space. “How’s this?”

  Mel wasn’t listening. She was peeking out the window, obviously checking the vicinity for someone she might know. Finally, she threw open the door, jumped out, and took off.

  Zack looked amazed. “Wow, did you know she could run like that? Faster than a locomotive, faster than a speeding bullet, faster than the speed of light?” he added.

  Maggie laughed. “She learned to run like that when she turned thirteen. To avoid embarrassing situations.” Once again, she saw him staring out the side window, his eyes fixed on Mel, obviously wanting to make certain she was safely inside the building.

  “Are you embarrassed easily?” he asked as they walked toward the restaurant, his gaze scanning the parking lot.

  “Are you kidding? You’re talking to a woman who led a goat right through town in broad daylight. Nothing embarrasses me.”

  “How about when toilet paper sticks to your shoe and you drag it from the bathroom?”

  “Nope.” Maggie liked the sound of his voice, liked having him nearby and knowing he genuinely cared about their safety. It allowed her to take a breather from time to time. She could enjoy the feel of the afternoon sun on her face and the smells coming from Harry’s. She could almost pretend there wasn’t a deranged killer headed her way holding a score card with her name scrawled in big bold letters. Almost.

  “How about when spinach gets stuck between your teeth?” Zack asked. “Or diving into a pool and losing the bottom of your swimsuit? Or being kissed by me right here in this parking lot?”

  “I wouldn’t flinch. Uh?” She looked up just as Zack slid his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. She barely had time to get out a small “eek” of surprise before he planted his lips squarely on hers.

  Maggie was stunned. She hadn’t seen it coming. Had she missed some cue? Was she so out
of touch with the opposite sex that she was just plain clueless? She didn’t have time to answer her own questions because his mouth was hot and wonderful, and his tongue slipping past her lips was just so good. Good like chocolate.

  Okay, better than chocolate. Chocolate didn’t make her tingly and shivery. Chocolate didn’t make her X chromosomes dance and leap and twirl like ballerinas on a caffeine buzz.

  Maggie slipped her arms around Zack’s neck and kissed him right back. Right in Harry’s parking lot! Amid horns, whistles, and catcalls.

  What was she doing?

  She broke the kiss and stepped back so fast she almost lost her balance. “Why did you do that?” she asked, her brain still spinning crazily like some wild carnival ride.

  “Damned if I know,” Zack said, looking dazed. “I just had this wild impulse to kiss you. I wasn’t thinking. I lost my head.” He frowned. “Hey, wait, you lost your head too, because you did a pretty good job of kissing me back.”

  Maggie could not believe it. She had lost her head. They had both lost their heads! She almost gasped as the thought hit her. Queenie! The woman had put some kind of spell on them. That was the only possible reason she could think of for necking with a man in Harry’s parking lot.

  “We need to get inside,” Zack said. “Mel is probably wondering what happened to us.”

  Mel was already in line and waving frantically. “I need money,” she mouthed. Maggie gave Zack her order and searched for a table in a sea of teenagers. Harry’s was a happening place, she decided.

  Zack and Mel joined her a few minutes later. “Now which of you ladies wants to share her seat with me?” Zack asked.

  Mel scooted to the center of her seat.

  Zack smiled at Maggie and slid in beside her, and the booth seemed to shrink to the size of the kiddy table used at Thanksgiving. This sorta, kinda, explained why his thigh kept brushing against hers, Maggie thought, even though the other side of her was practically smushed against the wall.

  “Where were you guys?” Mel asked her.

  Maggie tried to think of a good answer.

  “We were kissing in the parking lot,” Zack told the girl, earning a surprised look from Maggie and an eye roll from Mel.