Dang Near Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 2) Read online

When Meredith’s husband disappeared and her life was threatened, she called SAPD, met Sam, and the three of us were thrown together. Before that, I hadn’t seen Sam for over two years.

  I prayed this vacation would lift his spirits. His hike to cabin three hauling luggage was not apt to be pleasant, stuffed as he was with Range Boss Rib Eye. I hoped Meredith was right. Once Sam settled in, he’d relax.

  Meredith and I evaluated our abode.

  “Pretty primitive.” I poked at a mattress. “Squishy.”

  She pointed at shaky wooden nightstands at the foot of each bunk. “Those might be big enough for a paperback, book light and Kleenex. We can stack shoes on the bottom shelf.” She looked around for closets. “Where are we supposed to put our clothes?”

  “Must be in the bathroom.”

  She followed me through the doorframe into the breezeway that ran across the building. Beyond the breezeway was the community bathroom. Inside, long counters running left and right held four wash basins with spigots. I hoped some of them produced hot water.

  On the far wall of the bathroom, two shower stalls flanked two toilet cubicles. I whooshed open a white rubber shower curtain. A plastic showerhead loomed high over a drain in the concrete floor. A shelf on the shower wall held a bar of lye soap. A cheap plastic chair rested against the shower wall.

  “Plush.”

  I peeked behind the rubber curtain of a toilet cubicle. It had its own floor drain and prison-quality toilet paper. Forget privacy. Noise would carry across the concrete like shots over water… another reason to appreciate the outdoors.

  “I bet this hut’s creepy at night,” she said.

  “Uh-huh. And if we leave the light on in the bathroom, we’ll never sleep.”

  She pointed at two metal hanging racks on rollers standing in the breezeway. “I found the closets.” The racks looked like thrift-store contraptions. Our suitemates had already hung clothes on them. One batch consisted of gauzy flowing garments in neon colors. A second clump of clothes included jeans and T-shirts. The third bunch of garments was composed of western garb, complete with silver buckles and turquoise necklaces. “The ‘girls,’” I said.

  At the end of the breezeway, wooden boxes jutting from side walls formed square cubicles with plywood bottoms. Our suitemates had stuffed several squares with toiletries and had left empty cubicles for us.

  “Our chests of drawers?” I said.

  “Right.”

  We heard a raucous laugh, a shrill giggle, and metal jingling from the direction of cabin six.

  “Time to introduce ourselves?” I said.

  Four

  Meredith shrugged, but I knew she was as curious as I was about whoever went with the clothes.

  Chubby arms jingling with charm bracelets protruding from a floating tent of gauzy iridescent orange swept into the breezeway. The Camping Angel? Bleached hair tied high in a pom-pom bounced above crinkly, kohl-rimmed eyes and fire engine red lips.

  “Well, hellooo,” the apparition said. “We thought our suitemates would never come. I’m Jan Meisner, ‘Jangles’ for short.” She fluttered her hands, tinkling enough gold to set off metal detectors across the county. She slid over, graceful on espadrilles, her huge bosom bouncing under flimsy fabric, and grabbed our hands. “Isn’t this just the most beautiful place? Ever since I sold my Ft. Worth beauty shop, I’ve wanted to come to the Hill Country.”

  The country might not be ready for Jangles, but her enthusiasm was contagious. We barely had time to introduce ourselves before a glow of southwestern turquoise flashed into the bathroom hanging on one of Jangles’ roommates.

  This woman gleamed like a drugstore cowboy. Her ranch-style shirt had pearlized buttons down the front and on pockets and cuffs. She had managed to stuff herself into new jeans. A tooled leather belt with a shiny turquoise and coral buckle cut her ensemble in the middle.

  “I told Jangles not to wear those floatin’ hostess pajamas,” she barked. “This is a ranch. If she gets near brush, she’ll get snagged and leave half herself in the bushes. I’m Rhonda Stone. They call me Stoney. If we’re going to fit in at this ranch, we need to dress like it. We don’t want these ranchers to think we’re dudes.”

  Stoney shook our hands like she was pumping a well. Meredith smiled, her mouth slightly open. For once, I was speechless.

  “Stoney was one of my customers at the shop,” Jangles said, as if that explained everything. “She likes to dress for the occasion. She’s determined to get this cowgirl thing right. I just like to be myself.” Jangles giggled, flouncing her top and tinkling her trinkets.

  We heard a shriek from their cabin and rushed in to find their third roommate cringing on top of the wood table, clasping her knees. “There are bugs on my mattress! I looked on the back side and there they were. I’m sure they bite. How can I possibly sleep on that foul pallet?”

  “Get over it, Mildred,” Stoney said. “We’ll knock ’em off your bed.” Stoney turned to us and spiked her thumb toward the agitated woman. “This is Millie Dietert. She’s never been outside Dallas.”

  “With good reason,” Millie whined. “No wonder rural Texans are strange. They bed down with creatures.”

  “Millie came to my beauty shop, too,” Jangles said.

  Meredith told them our names and approached Millie’s mattress.

  She studied the surface and gingerly turned the mattress over. “No black widows or brown recluses. Just a few Scorpion remnants. Dead. A cockroach wing or two. Few doodle bugs. You’re good.”

  Millie paled.

  “When they air out the cabins,” Meredith explained, “a few bugs probably get in and try to hide under mattresses. But they die from the heat. Vicki missed a few when she cleaned everything. Nothing there’s going to hurt you. Your friends can help you air out the mattress. Vicki’s bringing extra sheets. I’ll give you one of mine.”

  Meredith could deal with bugs. She’d studied them. It was the unknown that scared her.

  Millie sighed. She helped Stoney and Jangles haul her mattress though their front door, whereupon Stoney delighted in flipping off critter remnants. Jangles and Stoney hoisted the mattress back to Millie’s bunk while Millie swallowed a Valium and watched.

  Meredith assured Millie it was safe to sleep on her mattress.

  I said I needed to check my email before we toured the ranch.

  “Be sure and wear ranch clothes,” Stoney called. “We’re going to the waterfront, the firing range and the stables.”

  My baggy jeans, blue denim blouse and tennis shoes would have to do. Gad. We were actually going to swim in a river, ride cow ponies and shoot guns. Was it too late to back out?

  I tried not to dwell on what lay ahead. I turned on my laptop and waited for buzzing phone clicks to connect with the internet. A Texas dude ranch in June seemed the perfect place from which to advise readers how to stay fresh, beautiful, and young in summer while frolicking outdoors in a hot, hostile environment with Texas wranglers and unknown critters. A challenge. Since I’d slid pretty far past thirty, staying young topped my personal list. Helping readers avoid the ravages of age reduced my deep-seated fear of crashing into middle-aged decrepitude.

  The Flash-News would forward me letters addressed to Dear Aggie, and I’d email answers back to the paper for readers with critical problems. The newspaper would save less urgent questions and answers to print in my weekly column.

  I waited for the search engine to find the Flash-News site, hoping I wasn’t making final contact with the civilized world. Clicking on “Stay Young with Aggie,” I entered my password and found a letter addressed to Dear Aggie. The letter didn’t appear to be an emergency. This reader had a few days to plan:

  Dear Aggie,

  My new husband wants me to go camping with him in a state park. In a tent. As a child, I camped in the ba
ck yard until a bird pooped on me, and I ran inside. Now that I’m mature (not old), I don’t think I’m cut out for outdoor life. What should I watch out for?

  Fearful in Ft. Worth

  Dear Fearful,

  Hopefully, you selected a husband who will sleep in a tent only on top of an inflated mattress. After he struggles to set up the tent and creates a frenzy inflating your rubbery bed, you’ll both be ready for a slug of wine. You’ll probably watch the sunset. Until he wants to try out the mattress. Here’s where you have to take a stand. In your absence, critters might have tested your comfy abode. Insist that Hubby lift the mattress, shake it and turn it over. While he does that, ogle the inside corners of the tent. Sleeping in the midst of unknown creatures causes premature wrinkles, aging, and stress-induced hardening of the arteries. If you see a black spider with a red spot on its abdomen (black widow) or a brown spider with a darker brown mark that looks like a violin (brown recluse), urge Sweetheart to call the nearest motel. If you see only crickets and doodle bugs, ask Hubby to throw them outside, put sheets on the disgustingly primitive pallet and attempt to sleep. Forget romance. Sweetheart may not understand your reluctance, but if you’re lucky, he’ll never ask you to sleep in another tent.

  Always Alert,

  Aggie

  Having helped my first reader navigate the challenges of summer and pleased that I’d helped her avoid an age-inducing camping fiasco, I shoved toiletries into a bathroom cubicle and bath linens into another pigeonhole. When I washed my face, a fine layer of dust transferred to the washrag. It hadn’t rained in Texas for a long, long time.

  I freshened up, listening to Millie berate her roommates. “I can’t believe I let you two talk me into coming to this wilderness.” Hopefully, our experience at the ranch would prove better than Millie expected.

  Brushing my hair, I fluffed it with my hands and looked forward to introducing the girls to Sam. Before dabbing on makeup, I put on sunscreen, determined not to let the Texas sun age me. I applied lipstick, wondering how Sam had fared with his suitemates. Even though he’d implied I was abnormal simply because he didn’t understand my sleuthing methods, thought he knew everything and was grumpy, I found it hard to stay mad at him.

  When Meredith was ready to go, we crammed empty suitcases under our bunks, walked outside to sit at the picnic table and waited for Sam to walk with us to the waterfront. Our suitemates trudged out of the cabin and joined us.

  Stoney jerked her chin toward Jangles. “We made her take off those espadrilles.”

  Jangles held her foot up. She wore flip-flops with a V adjacent to her redpainted big toe. Over the V lay The State of Texas, outlined in rhinestones. She tittered. “Aren’t these perfect?”

  “River Rat will love ’em,” Stoney said.

  At the mention of River Rat, the women perked up. Squealing and jingling, they headed for the river.

  Sam trudged from the direction of his cabin toward Meredith and me, shuffling once-shiny boots though the dust. Selma and George Tensel, Sam’s suitemates, walked several yards behind him, conversing loudly.

  When he reached us, Sam flipped his thumb in their direction and muttered under his breath, “Those people jabber all the time. It’s like living next to chimp chatter at the zoo. Selma nags George to immerse himself in activities while George complains about the ranch. He says it’s too damned hot in Texas in June to frolic outdoors.”

  George had a point.

  Sam heaved a sigh. “It’s going to be a long vacation.”

  My mouth turned up at the thought of Sam’s suffering through his suitemates’ chatter. I’d wait a while before telling him and Meredith about the dead ranch owners. I’d never admit it to Sam, but with unexplained deaths lurking in the ranch’s past, I was glad he’d come. If problems arose, I didn’t think our suitemates would be much help.

  I turned a bright smile on him. “Let’s go to the river. Water is always calming.”

  Five

  We checked the map Vicki’d given us and pinpointed the walking trail that went from our cabin to the lodge. Heading toward the lodge, we saw a wooden arrow sign nailed to an oak tree, pointing west, with “Swimming Hole” burned into it. We turned left and merged on to a wider dirt trail covered with horseshoe tracks, probably a trail-ride route. Rocks bordered both sides. The horse trail extended east and west in both directions as far as I could see. A line of mesquites interspersed with oaks on the far side of the trail indicated we must be near the Medina River.

  We crossed the trail, stepped over the rock border, walked toward the waterfront and discovered an oasis. Bald cypress trees flanked the Medina River, their limbs overhanging the banks. Pecan trees towered near the edge. Oaks stood farther back, as if standing watch. Soft grasses, poking around outcroppings of limestone, swayed toward the water.

  “The short grasses are grama and buffalo. The tall grass is bluestem,” Meredith said reverently.

  A tall, tanned male had planted himself at the end of a dock that extended out into the water and stood with his back to the river. His black eyes matched long jet-black hair tied at the end with a piece of rope. His mane shone like it was perpetually wet. His bronzed chest rippled with muscles. Lycra swim trunks, hanging two inches below his navel, hugged him to his knees.

  Our suitemates had already arrived. They sat a few feet in front of him on the dock, staring up at water god as if mesmerized in worship. Jangles’ gauzy fabric flounced around her on the dock like a parachute.

  Stoney sat to one side, dangling a bootless foot defiantly in the water. She looked as if the water god didn’t hurry and make his speech, she would jump into the river. Millie sat as far back from the river as she could, sneaking glances at the green water as though it concealed the murky depths of hell.

  Water god smiled at each woman in turn, his black eyes penetrating each one’s gaze like missiles hitting their mark. When we approached, he cut black-bead eyes to us and checked us out: Sam, the Tensels and me. Then his eyes rested on Meredith.

  Sam stepped around fabric and appendages, extended his hand to water god and introduced us.

  Water god smiled. “Trey Harding,” he said. “Around here they call me River Rat.”

  When Vicki sauntered up behind us, River Rat gave her a perfunctory nod.

  Rat bared perfect teeth. “Welcome to the BVSBar Ranch. In this beautiful Medina River, you’ll paddle through sun-twinkled water and secluded shady groves. You’ll swim like minnows.” I hadn’t expected River Rat to be a poet. Vicki didn’t seem impressed.

  Millie looked terrified. “Are there big fish in there?”

  River Rat ignored her. “Tomorrow morning, come in swimsuits.” He beamed at Meredith, probably imagining her in a string bikini. “You’ll get in, a few at a time, with everybody wearing lifejackets. I’ll divide you into groups: tadpoles, frogs, and fish.”

  “If we need life jackets,” Stoney said. “I was a lifeguard.”

  Rat didn’t respond. “Tadpoles will get used to the water in shallow areas,” he said. “You’ll slip in, jackets on, and swim to various points. I’ll swim with you.” He smiled.

  I hoped he had a life jacket big enough for Jangles. Maybe her boobs would float.

  “Frogs swim with and without jackets. Fish try out the canoes and kayaks.” He pointed to boats lying on the grass by the river.

  Meredith, Sam and I were good swimmers, so we “fish” would probably learn to steer watercraft. I had swum with Sam and his wife Katy at the exercise club in Chicago. Meredith and I had used the health club pool in San Antonio, but swimming in a river would be different.

  Sam whispered, “I’m glad I can swim. He probably saves only women.”

  Eyeing the grin on water god’s face, I decided that steering a canoe would definitely be preferable to frolicking in the water with River Rat.

  Sel
ma Tensel piped up, “Are there any endangered species in there, like the Texas salamander?”

  “What’s a salamander?” Millie squeaked. “Is it big?”

  “For Pete’s sake, Selma,” George muttered to his wife. He turned to Millie. “It’s a brown thing five inches long that lives in caves and eats whatever flows in because it’s blind.” Selma glared at him.

  “Those little guys prefer the pools in the San Marcos River,” Rat said. “We have ordinary critters here.”

  Millie paled. “What kinds of critters?”

  “Nothing to hurt you, Sweetheart,” said River Rat. Millie appeared too panicked to appreciate his attempt to flirt.

  Sam leaned toward me and whispered, “Good thing he didn’t mention water snakes, western cottonmouths, rose-bellied lizards...”

  “Shush, Sam. She’ll hear you.” With all the noise and splashing we’d make, I didn’t think a snake or lizard would get anywhere near this crowd.

  Jangles flashed a Cheshire Cat smile at River Rat. “We’ll be just fine with you helping us and all, won’t we, Sweetie?”

  He grinned. “Sure thing. Any more questions? No? Then I’ll see y’all in the morning.”

  While Jangles heaved herself and her parachute up from the dock, Stoney dried her foot and stuffed it back into her boot. Vicki pointed the way to the stables.

  “Walk to the right,” she said, “behind the lodge. You’ll see glimpses of the firing range in the distance on your left and the corrals straight ahead.” She looked irritated but was apparently trying to hide it.

  I let everybody walk on ahead and waited for her. “River Rat sure knows how to charm the ladies.”

  “Yeah.” Vicki lowered her voice. “I can’t believe the women in cabin six go nuts over him. They can hardly wait to get him in the water. ‘River Rat’ fits him, the big creep. His last name isn’t Harding. He’s my sorry brother, Trey Landsdale,” she whispered. “Nobody here knows that, so don’t say anything.”