Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel (17 page)

Returning to the
top of the
stairs, Melissa took a wide stance
,
her back
solidly
against the door
,
and pushed with her legs, for what seemed like the millionth time, but with the same results.
The door would not move beyond the two to three inches it had
on
the
very
first time she shoved it.

“Well, shit,” she said, her frustration growing
with every attempt
. Again and again, over and over, bang, bang, bang the door slamming against the rod or the bolt or the lock or whatever the hell was holding it
on the other side
.
Another thought. “Maybe someone will hear the noise and take a look.”

Wham! Wham!
Wham!
Pushing, pushing, pushing
,
until
her
aching ribs could take no more, her heaving chest aggravating the injury.
“Okay, Lissa, take a blow. You got all day.
Lulu?” she said, calling to the back of the cellar. “You wouldn’t happen to have a glass of water back there would you? Huh, didn’t think so. Water, that’s what I need. All right, from here on, water is going to the top of my priority list.
So now that water has precedence, what should you do about that Lissa?” She had no idea of course
,
but stared out the crack beneath the door, hoping for inspiration.
The sun itself was not yet visible
, the angle was wrong, but as she was about to go back to her cot and rest awhile for another go at what she had now dubbed as
The Great Escape
, a tiny gleam of light appeared.
There, right in front of her, not an inch away, was a
single
drop of dew clinging to a blade of grass, catching the light, a pinpoint of brilliance that to Melissa
,
looked for all the world like the eye of God.

Easing her index finger out and oh-so-carefully touching it to the dew, she brought the moisture to her tongue.
The gesture was mostly symbolic, doing nothing to actually quench her thirst, but that minuscule bit of
liquid
, the coolness o
f it, the
touch of it,
made it
more than just a drop of water, it was a drop of hope. And there were others, four, five, six
,
hanging there, just beyond her fingers.

“I need something, a stick maybe.” She found one, about six inches long, and with smooth bark. It lay next to the wall where she had seen the mouse. She inspected it, then using the hem of her shirt, wiped it down,
hoping
the
mouse
hadn’t peed on it.
She went back to the stairs for another try.
The stick didn’t work very well, dropping more water than it held. After a few futile attempts, she gave up as most of the dew had evaporated anyway.

“Well, that was something at least, wasn’t it Lulu? By the way, what are
you
drinking? How are you staying alive down here?”
She tried to remember if her biology class had anything about field mice and what they eat.
“I think you eat seeds, grain for sure, but what about bugs?
There’s no seed down here, none that I know of anyway, so are you wining and dining on insects and worms. You like worms
,
Lulu? How about centipedes? Bound to be a few centipedes around. Question is, could
I
eat one if I was starving, or a worm?”
She shuddered at the thought of something alive and wiggling on her tongue.
Then, from some dark recess of her brain, another
thought
.
What about the mouse?
There’s an appetizer for you
.
She put her hand to her mouth, the mere idea of eating a rodent making her stomach roll.
Yuck!
Definitely a last resort, definitely.

Her thoughts returned to the door, the madd
en
ing door that refused to move.
She could see
a
hasp, or part of
one
, midway down the length
of the metal
.
It was about two inches wide, also metal, a very study metal, with no hint of giving way. What was holding it?
That was the big question. And how in the world could she knock whatever it was loose when she couldn’t even see it?

“Let’s think about this Lulu. I need a tool of some kind
,
something to bend, something to reach out and over the top of the door so I can take a few whacks at whatever is keeping the latch closed.
Any ideas?
No, no, a stick won’t do
,
you silly thing.
We don’t have a stick bent like that.
So, what do we have to work with? We got a jar, we got an army cot, we got a chair, a few skinny sticks, and a lot of leaves.
That about cover it girl?
What’s that? You say that if it’s a padlock up there, were screwed anyway?
Kind of wish you hadn’t brought
that
up.
How bout
’
we take a look at this ratty old lawn chair?”

The chair
looked to be
a
M
ade-in-China Walmart special with frayed green and gold webbing that had seen better days. The aluminum frame was twisted and bent and one of the plastic arm rests had a crack through the middle
,
but all in all, it looked sturdy enough to hold someone of reasonable mass.
Melissa inspected the design.
There
were three main sections
of tubing forming the “legs”—two U-shaped for the front and rear and one more for the back rest. A
couple of shorter pieces
bracing
the contraption together, should have been fired long ago for dereliction of duty.
A series of rivets held the framework more or less intact and it was the rivets that got the girls attention.

“These joints look
weak
to me
,
Lulu,” she
declared
.

She put the chair on its side and placed one bare foot on the front section
, then
got a good grip on the upper leg of the front U and pulled. The chair held.

“Oh, c’mon you piece of crap, let go.”

Another yank, this time putting her back into it. With a sudden snap, the arm piece broke away.

“That’s more like it.
Now the other side”

Another yank, harder still
, ignoring the pain in her side
. Snap! Two more jerks while standing on the seat and “
YES
”
.

Proudly, she held the aluminum tubing over her head as if she had just won an Olympic medal
. She
then did a little circle dance, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
Another sharp
pain reminded
her to stop such foolishness and she wondering if a rib were cracked.
Sitting on the cot, the celebration over, she held her prize, turning it over and over in her hands, thinking.

After a few minutes, “I got an idea
,
Lulu.”

She placed one side of the U on the floor,
steadied it with her right foot,
and using her weight, pushed on the other
side
.
There was a satisfying give to the metal so that instead of a ninety degree angle, she had something closer to a forty-five.

“Let’s give it a try,” she said,
climbing
the stairs.
She slipped the tubing through the crack and then rotated it to an upright position.
She swept the tube back and forth over the hasp, but encountered nothing, and brought it back inside.

“Angle’s wrong.”

This time she used the wooden stair steps for leverage, wedging the tube between two of them, and made an adjustment, increasing the bend.

“Little more, little more, oops, too much, back a little... ”

The thin aluminum
, unable to cope with the strain,
cracked and broke, the piece tumbling down the steps, one hop, two,
hitting the floor and
settling
in the leaves, almost buried
. Exactly
like Melissa Parker.

Chapter 14

Harley was hungry.
The sun was up, his dog bowl was empty, and Lester was still in bed, snoring.
Something wasn’t right, the feeding routine interrupted.
The dog took action
, strolled to the bed,
and gave Lester the cold nose, right on the lips. The sheriff gave a half-hearted swipe at whatever was disturbing his
slumber
, his sleep-fogged brain guessing it was a housefly.
With no further response, Harley gave him some tongue, wet and slobbery, leaving a wide swath of dog drool across Lester’s cheek.

“Oh, damn, what?” Lester cried out, wiping his hand through the slime.
“Harley, you sum bitch.” Lester grabbed a corner of the sheet and wiped at the saliva.
“You’re flirting with the dog pound, you know that don’t you?” Harley did not reply.

Awake now and in the bathroom, Lester called out, “Did you not see me come in late last night?
Hell, I get what, three, four hours sleep, and here you come along, licking dog germs all over me.
I hate to think where that tongue’s been.
Are you listening to me out there?”

The dog was hanging on every word, but only for the ones he recognized like
hungry
or
go.
Until then, he would wait and watch.

Lester went to the closet for a clean uniform, his last one having been thrown in the washer in hope of getting the blood stains out.
He thought he remembered his wife saying to use cold water for blood and that’s what he’d done, hoping he hadn’t ruined it.
The money for a new uniform would come out of his own pocket.
That was just plain wrong
,
but there wasn’t a lot he could do about it except complain to the
county
commissioners. He made a mental note to do just that at the next opportunity.

In the kitchen, he put in grounds for a full pot of coffee thinking he would need the caffeine for a jump-start and to make it through the day. He gave the dog a look.

“You hungry?”

Harley
heard his favorite
sound
,
sprang to his feet and did a few quick head rubs on Lester’s leg, hoping the man would stay focused and get him a can of meat from the cabinet and not the dry stuff.
The kibble was tolerable, but barely.
The show of affection was working (as it did every time).
Lester had a can opener in his hand and with a few quick turns of the handle, Harley had his first meal of the day
,
beef chunks in gravy
was how the label described it. The bowl was licked clean before the empty can made it to the trash.

“All right dog, you quit botherin’ me now.
I got work to do.”

Lester poured a cup of coffee and took a chair at the kitchen table next to the wall phone, and entered the number for the Parker place from the
Boise City Area
directory.
Imogene, her voice weak and quivering as to be almost inaudible, confirmed that Melissa was still unaccounted for with no word of any kind.
Lester assured her that the Office of the Sheriff was doing all it could and that he was calling in the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation today.
Lester thought he heard a
thank you
before the line went dead but he wasn’t sure.

The Admitting and Discharge desk at the hospital answered on the second ring.

“That boy the ambulance brought in last night?” a female voice asked. “The one that had that collision with the deer?
That would be Carlos Sanchez, hold on a minute.”
Lester could hear the tapping of computer keys.
“He’s no longer here Sheriff. They had to fly him to Oklahoma City.”

“Did he regain consciousness, do you know?”

“I don’t, and all the staff that was here last night is off duty.
You can check with them this evening if you want.
His doctor is Dr….Holman.
He would be the one to ask.”

“Thank you Ma’am.
Oh, did Carlos have any family come in?”

“Sorry, but I really don’t know.”