A Catered Fourth of July by Isis Crawford

Author:Isis Crawford [Crawford, Isis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2014-05-11T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

Libby looked at Bernie as they drove down County Road 92. They were going to be late for their meeting since they’d missed the turnoff and had to double back.

“You don’t look like someone who wants to join a gun club,” Libby commented.

Her sister was wearing a pale pink T-shirt, an A-line skirt in a flowered print that featured cabbage roses, and strappy vintage coral-colored wedges.

“And you do, I suppose.” Bernie was referring to Libby’s Bermuda shorts, pale blue, button-down, short sleeved blouse, and Docksiders. “Actually, I take that back. You do.”

Libby grinned. “Yes. For once I am sartorially correct.”

Bernie didn’t reply. She was too busy looking for the turnoff.

There was a moment of silence.

Libby thought about Brandon’s comment last night when he’d left. She turned to Bernie. “I don’t want to shoot. I really don’t. I don’t like guns. They give me the creeps.”

“Since when?” Bernie asked.

“Since the reenactment. I’ve never been a big fan, but ever since the musket exploded”—Libby shivered—“I can’t get Devlin’s face out of my mind. I’m still having nightmares about it.”

Bernie gave her a sideways look. “Chill. We’re just asking for a tour of their facilities.”

Libby nibbled on the inside of her cheek. “I know, but what if the guy showing us around asks us if we want to shoot?”

“To quote Nancy Reagan, ‘Just say no.’ ”

“It’ll look strange if I don’t,” Libby protested.

“Not really. We’ll tell him we’re just thinking of taking target shooting up as a hobby.”

“How are we going to get the membership list?” Libby asked as she kept her eyes peeled for the turnoff. It had to be around there somewhere.

Bernie shrugged. “We’ll think of something. We always do. But first we have to get there.”

Libby spotted the sign. “There,” she yelled. “Turn there.”

“Where?”

“You just went past it.”

Bernie slammed on the brakes and backed up. When she had gone a little over a foot, she saw the sign Libby had been yelling about. Tacked to a tree was a small piece of cardboard with the words GUN CLUB written on it with Magic Marker. An arrow pointed down a narrow dirt road.

“Wow.” Bernie stopped the van.

“Wow what?”

“The sign looks like something third graders made and the road doesn’t look too great either,” Bernie said, thinking of the shocks on their van.

“No, it doesn’t,” Libby agreed.

The women sat there for a moment watching a hawk riding the thermals.

“If we get stuck, we’ll be in trouble,” Bernie observed.

“On the other hand,” Libby rejoined, “we need the information.”

Bernie nodded. “There is that.”

She started the van and carefully maneuvered it onto the rutted track, dropping her speed down to five miles an hour as the van negotiated the bumps and dips in the road. The fields on either side were full of clover, tall grass, and dried corn stalks. A crumbling barn, vines growing out of its walls, stood off to the left.

Bernie concentrated on keeping the van on the path. A mile later, the road angled right. “Where is this place?” she complained as they entered a copse of trees.

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