Desperate Measures Read Free Page B

job, but a necessary one.
    Gus was forty-seven, a hardworking man who hired help only at harvest time. He and his family handled the chores the rest of the year. Summer and winter, rain or scorching heat, nothing kept him from his tasks, which were many. He had forty acres of filbert trees to tend, and he tended them well; his orchard was a model of cleanliness and order. White Dutch clover covered the ground, and his trees were as perfect as filbert trees could get. He was a stocky man, muscular and strong with rather short legs, sparse graying hair and pale blue eyes that had started to bother him. He would not wear eyeglasses, and he was certain the Lord had not intended people to put things in their eyes. He squinted a lot and held the newspaper farther away than he used to, but he could live with that.
    â€œYou’re okay,” the inspector said when they finished strolling through the trees. A light rain had become harder as they walked; he seemed to be in a hurry to finish up here and get dry. “Poor Joel Demarest should be so lucky. Half his orchard gone.”
    Joel was a pig who deserved it, Gus thought, but he didn’t voice his judgment. He had seen a red Camaro pass by on Old Opal Creek Road again, for the third time in the past week or so.
    Opal Creek Road had been rerouted twenty years earlier; the old road was hazardous with sharp curves and several very steep places. The new road without a curve was now on the other side of the creek, and the old road, which fronted Gus Marchand’s property, had only two houses from the junction to the spur to the school. The folks who lived up beyond the school always made their turn there to get on the new road. Practically no one came this way except Gus and his family, Doc Minick and his freak, and the mail carrier, who drove in as far as Minick’s driveway, then turned and headed back out. No red Camaro had any business on his road.
    As soon as the inspector left, Gus hurried to his house, where Leona had already started making supper. Rachel was at the kitchen table doing her homework.
    Gus pulled off his poncho and rain hat and went to his daughter, sniffing. “Girl, you’ve been smoking,” he said.
    Leona stopped peeling potatoes but didn’t turn to look.
    â€œNo, Daddy. Never! I promise you I haven’t.” Rachel looked up at him, then quickly back to the paper before her. She was very pretty, with long black hair, good bones, brown eyes like her mother’s, and beautiful lashes and peaked eyebrows.
    â€œI smell cigarette smoke on you,” Gus said, his nose an inch from her hair.
    â€œI didn’t! Gary Dunning smokes some. He gave me a ride home.” Rachel looked at her mother desperately, but Leona had started to peel another potato.
    â€œYou been riding home with Gary Dunning? Rachel, child, you know that’s cause for a whipping!”
    â€œDaddy,” she cried, “I had to. I’m afraid to walk by the freak. He watches me all the time. I’m scared of him. Gary said it wasn’t out of his way or anything.”
    She kept looking over at her mother, but Leona continued to peel the potatoes, apparently oblivious that she had peeled the one in her hand down to a sliver.
    â€œHe watches you? He spies on you?” Gus said harshly.
    She nodded, then ducked her head and mumbled, “Just recently. Not every day. But he scares me.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.
    â€œI was afraid of what you’d do to him,” she said in a whisper.
    He stared at his daughter, then past her, his eyes narrowed, hard and cold. After a moment he said, “Child, come pray with me. May God forgive me for thinking the worst.” He reached out and drew her from the chair. “Come, we’ll pray together.” They went into the living room, where they knelt and prayed.
    Daniel Marchand came home late because of track practice, and they ate at six as usual. No one