Looking Through Darkness (19 page)

“Since you're in a hurry, John, would you like me to give Melvin a ride somewhere?” Leigh Ann asked, guessing what had prompted the visit and eager to enjoy some more time with Melvin.

“John's got a date tonight,” Melvin said, “and we took too long running errands.”

“We were about to go with Ambrose to the shooting range and take in some target practice,” Leigh Ann said, “but I can hold off on that and take you home or wherever you need to go.”

“No, don't bother. Getting some target practice in is a real good idea, all things considered,” Melvin said. “If you let me come along, and someone can give me a ride home afterwards, I'll be happy to buy everyone dinner.”

Knowing Melvin needed to get his swamp cooler fixed, Leigh Ann decided to decline. “I have some things I need to do later tonight, so let me take you home once we're finished, okay?”

“I've got plans, too,” Jo said. “I've got to catch up on some paperwork.”

“Well, I can give you a ride to the range and then back to your place, bro,” Ambrose said. “That should entitle me to a Navajo taco, chips, and salsa.”

Melvin laughed. “You got it, Ambrose,” he said, then added, “John, we're good here. Go ahead and take off to meet your lady friend.”

After John left, Leigh Ann started to take Melvin's arm so she could lead him outside, but Ambrose stepped in and put his hand on Melvin's shoulder. “Hey, buddy, do you still have a thing for classic cars?”

“Sure. I just enjoy them in a different way. Engine sounds, acceleration, four on the floor, the room of a bench instead of sunken-down seats. They're all good.”

“Then you're in for a treat. I just restored the interior and there's acres of legroom,” he said, taking Melvin to his truck.

Leigh Ann watched them, lost in thought. She had a feeling Ambrose wanted to talk to Melvin about something specific. Wondering what it could be, she walked to her Jeep.

*   *   *

Melvin climbed into the passenger's side of Ambrose's truck with ease, thanks to the running board.

“I like your truck already. The bench seats and back are comfortable, and the leather has that new smell.”

“I oil the hell out of it,” Ambrose said.

“So what's on your mind. My gut tells me it's something important.”

“Yeah, it is. I promised Ben I'd keep an eye on the trading post family, but I've got my hands full with Jo. I was hoping you'd stick closer to Leigh Ann until we can get a better handle on whatever's going down.”

“Something else has happened, hasn't it?” Melvin asked.

“Yeah. Somebody tried to set fire to Jo's house late last night. Thankfully the noise woke her and she was able to run the guy off. Tribal cops are investigating.”

“I'll stay close to Leigh Ann, but I need you to do something for me. Keep a sharp eye on how she handles and fires that revolver. She talks a good game, but if she's a bigger danger to herself than an attacker could be, I'm going to try to convince her to lock it up somewhere.”

“All right. Let's see how it goes,” Ambrose said.

“I wish she'd stay with me and let the detectives do their jobs, but that's not going to happen.”

“You've asked her to move in?”

“No, we're not there in our relationship yet,” Melvin answered, “but even if we were, she wouldn't do it. She's hell-bent on finding her own answers. My going to her place won't help either. I'm not familiar with the layout. I'd be … a liability,” he said, spitting out the word.

“Somehow I doubt it. Your other senses help make up for what you can't see, and in a dark room, you're an equal.”

“To a degree, yes,” Melvin said, “but what I lost to that drunk driver still puts me at a disadvantage. I know my limitations—that's how I overcome them.”

“Our biggest problem is that we're fighting an unseen enemy.”

“And that's where the playing field levels,” Melvin said with a grin.

*   *   *

Once they'd all reached the shooting range—a collection of firing locations and small buildings surrounded by a massive fifteen-foot-high earthen berm—Leigh Ann bought a box of ammunition for her .38 at the clubhouse.

From there Ambrose led them to the rifle range, a row of wooden tables along a firing line about fifty yards away. Jo carried her rifle, and in her jacket pocket was the nearly full box of shells she'd had in her car.

As they walked toward the site, Ambrose described what they'd be facing. “The target stands downrange are spaced at one hundred, three hundred, and five hundred yards. You think you can handle the hundred? I've got some fifty-foot bull's-eye pistol targets in my truck. They'll do for practice.”

“It should be a nice challenge with my rifle. Sure,” Jo replied.

They went to their assigned table—actually one of ten shooter's bench rests along the firing line. The club wasn't crowded and soon a cease-fire was announced over the loudspeaker, which allowed Ambrose to set up their targets.

“I think I know what's on your mind, Ambrose,” Jo said when he returned to the firing line. “You want to be able to tell Ben that I can handle the rifle and safely defend myself. He was a sniper for his first deployment, so he'd worry about that.”

Leigh Ann squinted. “That sucker's way out there, Jo. It's nothing more than a little black dot. And you've got open sights. We didn't bring a spotting scope, so how can we tell if you're even close?”

“Ten-power binoculars,” Ambrose said, bringing them out of his pocket. “I can see the bullet holes from here—if you manage to punch the paper, that is.”

“Just stand back and watch the target,” Jo said, sitting down and taking her position at the bench rest as the range officer announced the range was ‘hot.'

They stepped back to the observer's position and Ambrose watched as she levered a round into the chamber of the Winchester Model 1894, took careful aim and squeezed off a round. Carefully feeding in another round, she took a second shot, then set the rifle down on the wooden bench and looked at Ambrose. “Well?”

Ambrose lowered the binoculars. “One's dead center, in the ten. Can't find where the other round hit.”

“Look again,” Jo said calmly.

“There's one hole, darling.”

“Keep looking.”

Ambrose lifted the binoculars to his eyes again, then whistled low. “Twins. They're next to each other, almost touching. I thought it was just one big hole.”

“Even when shooting offhand, I generally hit what I aim for,” Jo said quietly, “and I sight in this rifle once a year. Before my dad took ill, we went deer hunting every season. Never came home empty-handed, either.”

“I didn't know you liked to go hunting,” Ambrose said. “Maybe you and I—”

She held up a hand. “That's history now. All things considered, I prefer to bring home my meat nicely wrapped in butcher paper.”

Ambrose laughed. “I understand. For the past few years, except for paper targets, all I've been shooting are sheet-metal critters, where you have to tip them over to score points.” He glanced at Leigh Ann. “Now that we've established Jo doesn't need the practice, what do you say we move over to the handgun range?”

“That's what I'm here for,” Leigh Ann said, suddenly more conscious of the weight of the revolver and the box of bullets in her purse.

They walked away from the rifle range and a few minutes later arrived at their new stations in the section reserved for pistols.

Ambrose was carrying a hard plastic case that contained his shooting paraphernalia and he sat it down on his bench, which was adjacent to Leigh Ann's. “There are target stands set up at twenty-five, fifty, seventy-five, and a hundred yards. I've got all kinds of range-approved targets here to choose from, everything from bull's-eyes to paper practice silhouettes of chickens, pigs, turkeys, and rams. What do you want to shoot at, Leigh Ann?”

She hesitated, placing her purse on her shooting bench and bringing out the new ammo.

“How about if we work our way up to the harder targets? We begin at twenty-five yards with the chicken silhouettes, then switch to fifty with the pigs?” He smiled. “And we can compete, if you want.”

She nodded. “I'm game. What do you have in mind?”

“We get five shots at each distance, starting with the chickens, and score one point each time we're in the black. We'll also use the same weapon—your revolver—since it wouldn't be fair for me to use my Colt 1911 competition .45,” he said. “The one who accumulates the most points win.”

“Wait a sec. It's not a fair match. You've won championships—” Jo began.

“No, it's okay,” Leigh Ann said. “Let's see how it goes. At least we'll be using the same pistol and ammunition. If I win, you help me clean out my attic, Ambrose. Deal?”

“Yeah, you've got it. And if I win?”

“I'll wash and wax your truck two Sundays in a row.”

“Done,” Ambrose said, bringing out the targets. They were the only shooters now, so a cease-fire was already in effect.

Melvin moved closer to her as Ambrose went downrange to set up the targets. “You walked right into that,” he said. “Last year Ambrose won the state championship in metallic silhouette competition, beating an ATF agent in a shoot-off.”

“I used to be pretty good, too.…”

A few minutes later, once the range was hot, Leigh Ann began to load the .38. A familiar voice greeted her. She turned her head and saw Wayne Hurley standing on the access path, Pierre Boone beside him.

“I didn't know you were into handgun shooting, Leigh Ann,” Wayne said, greeting her with a smile.

“I'm just here to see if I still remember…”

Pierre Boone spoke up next. “Fancy meeting you here!”

She shrugged, uneasy now. The good news, at least, was that she was the one who was armed. All they were carrying were shopping bags with the range logo on them. The bad news was that it seemed a little coincidental. Had Wayne and Pierre followed them here?

“Mind if we watch for a few minutes?” Wayne asked.

“Go right ahead,” she replied. It would let them know she was ready and able to defend herself if necessary. Hopefully everything she'd learned way back as a member of the junior NRA would come flooding back to her.

Melvin and Jo were standing farther down the path, remaining behind the firing line at the designated distance for observers. Ambrose, meanwhile, ignored the newcomers and opened up the box with his supplies.

They were tied after the first round and Ambrose gave Leigh Ann a more respectful look. “You're a natural. Nine out of ten for both of us. So what do you say we complicate things a little more and up the difficulty factor?”

She nodded and glanced back at the box. “How about pistol competition, fifty-yard slow fire? High score wins.”

“Uh-oh, I think I've been hustled,” Ambrose said.

“Maybe,” she said, smiling. There was already a cease-fire, so he picked up two targets and used a staple gun to fasten them in place.

Since she'd chosen the range and targets, Ambrose went first, firing double action, which was more difficult because without cocking the hammer first, the trigger pull was heavier.

Equipped with his binoculars, she announced that he'd grouped all six shots in the center of the black circle in an area roughly the size of a fist.

“Think you can top that?” he baited her with a grin.

“Don't know,” Leigh Ann said honestly, setting down the binoculars.

She fired carefully, cocking back the hammer then firing single action, which gave her more of a light, hair-trigger pull. It was slow, noncombat mode, but she maintained accuracy.

After the cease-fire, Ambrose retrieved the targets, brought them over into the shade, and Jo tallied up the points. “So far you two are still tied.”

“Really?” Leigh Ann said, surprised. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the guarded look Pierre and Wayne exchanged.

“Okay, let's go again, but we'll finish up with a different kind of target,” Ambrose said, bringing out police silhouettes.

“Ugh,” Leigh Ann said.

“Problem?” Ambrose said.

“Don't you have any more of the competition targets? Black dots are fine, but I hate the people-shaped ones. To me, those have a dark side that makes it less of a game. You get points for shooting in the head or heart area. The more deadly, the better. Ick.”

Wayne laughed loudly and said, “It's okay, hon. You just don't have the killer instinct.”

Pierre came up to the shooter's bench and patted her on the back. “You done good, girl. This kind of competition just isn't your thing. I remember Kurt saying that you wouldn't even play first-person shooter video games with him.”

“That's true, but I
can
shoot. If it came down to it, I would defend myself.”

Pierre shook his head. “I think you'd hesitate, Leigh Ann. You'd lose—just like you're about to do today,” he added quietly.

She suppressed a shudder. His voice had reminded her of the sound made by a rattler poised to strike. If he'd meant to creep her out, he'd succeeded. She was relieved when he stepped back to the path.

“If you want, we'll aim for the torso instead of the head,” Ambrose said.

“Good idea.” It was time to prove her skills. Taking a position at the firing line, she shot six times. When they tallied the results, her rounds were mostly clustered around the
X
at the center of the target. Two, however, had gone in the circle outside that, still in the torso, but earning her nine points each instead of ten.

“Nice, Leigh Ann,” Wayne said. “You've got a score of fifty-eight—almost perfect.”

Ambrose took his position on the firing line. When his target was checked, all six shots were in a tight cluster in the ten circle, making his score a sixty.