Ripped To Shreds Read online

  "No thanks, Beata. Maybe later if our supply runs out." I was outwardly friendly, but boiling inside.

  "Yeah. Whatever."

  Despite my unsuccessful efforts to make this woman's offensive manner more upbeat, I had remained as affable as possible. But under my breath, I wasn't so gracious.

  I will squat in the woods amongst an army of cougars and bears to go to the bathroom before I'll buy toilet chemicals from you, is what I had wanted to say. But I bit my tongue and remained civil. Little did I know at the time, that very scenario of squatting in the woods to relieve myself would actually come to pass in the near future. However, it wouldn't be because I wanted to save a few bucks on toilet chemicals.

  "In fact, Beata, I'll probably pick some up in town later on this week." I had intentionally used her full name, despite the fact I'd had to make the time and effort to articulate two unnecessary syllables.

  "All right. Makes no nevermind to me. It's first come, first serve. When the three-packs are gone, they're gone." Bea acted astonished I hadn't jumped all over her featured bargain item that was on sale for twice what it cost anywhere else.

  "I'll keep that in mind." Don't hold your breath, Miss Congeniality. I couldn't resist adding, "I doubt they'll be gone any time soon."

  I could swear I tasted blood in my mouth from biting my tongue so hard, and for so long, to prevent myself from becoming as rude and insufferable as Bea Whetstone. Now all I wanted to do was get away from her as quickly as possible.

  "That will be $43.80 with tax."

  "That's absurd, I'll have you know!" I grasped my credit card and the receipt I'd signed out of Bea's hand before stuffing the duplicate copy into a small plastic bag along with the two items I'd purchased.

  It was apparent the woman could care less about her customers. Her next snide remark left me itching to throw my new "used" brass regulator at her head. She said, "Good luck with the pepper spray. As far as I'm concerned, it ain't worth a tinker's dam, but if it makes you sleep better at night, so be it."

  I felt my fear level ratchet up a notch after Bea voiced the same pessimistic opinion of the product as her husband had the previous day. The campground was situated in a mountainous terrain and almost completely encapsulated by dense woods. There had to be scores of potentially lethal animals, stalking and preying on weaker targets, within yards of the tree line surrounding the campground. Suddenly, I felt like the campground was hosting a luncheon for predators and I was a juicy slab of meat on display in the middle of an all-you-can-eat buffet table that was offering a delectable selection of human body parts for its dinner guests. I shivered from head to toe as I turned to walk away.

  "But hey!" Bea said, as I cautiously opened the door to exit the store. "Ain't none of us getting out of this world alive anyway."

  I almost choked on the breath mint I'd placed under my tongue to get rid of the bad taste the campground owner had left in my mouth. When can I expect you to start bringing the joy, Beata? I badly wanted to ask. I'd really like to be present to witness that anomaly.

  On my walk back to the trailer with my can of pepper spray cocked, loaded, and ready to fire, I couldn't get Bea's last remark out of my head. It was true none of us will get out of this world alive, but it's also true that some of us will get out of it a lot quicker than others. I'd soon discover Bea's comment had been eerily prophetic.

  Chapter 3

  "Hey, Rip, look what the cat drug in." I swung open the door to welcome Cora and our nephew, William. As I spoke, our chubby grey tabby, Dolly, looked up to make sure I wasn't spooning an extra helping of tuna-flavored morsels in her bowl. I knew she'd never go to the trouble to drag anything into the trailer unless it was edible. Willie joined his uncle on the couch, and Cora sat down in a chair across from me at the kitchen table. "There was something in this morning's paper I wanted to show you, Aunt Rappie. The article I circled might inspire you to get your new camera set up in the wilderness around here. Perhaps in the vicinity of where you heard those eerie screeches the other day."

  "It's going to take a little more than a newspaper article to inspire me to willingly walk into the cesspool of man-eaters populating what you call the 'wilderness' surrounding this campground. The fact that 'wild' is a fitting first syllable for both 'wilderness' and 'wildlife' is not merely a coincidence, you know."

  "How about the opportunity to win as much as twenty-five thousand dollars in a local contest? Would that make the idea sound more appealing?" Cora smiled impishly.

  "Okay, now you have my attention." My curiosity was instantly piqued at the prospect of winning a bundle of cash.

  Rip, who'd been listening in while taking apart two of his handguns to clean, looked up from where he sat on the couch and spoke directly to Cora. "You do realize that your aunt would likely saunter through the Serengeti Desert naked, with a bleeding baby gazelle draped around her neck, for that kind of prize, don't you? Please don't encourage her to do something she and I might both later regret."

  Rip was teasing, of course, but the expression he wore suggested differently. He knew me well enough to know my weaknesses. He also realized that for a person like me, who was tighter than the bark on trees in the wilderness Cora had referred to, the prospect of winning a pile of money was akin to dangling an apple in front of a hungry jackass's nose.

  "Hush," I said to Rip. "Why don't you show Willie the safe and proper way to clean a gun while Cora and I chat?"

  Rip, Cora, and Willie all laughed at my expense. After Willie walked over and parked his too-thin frame on the opposite end of the couch from his uncle, I turned back to Cora. "So, sweetheart, tell me more about this contest you read about."

  Cora spread a page from the latest edition of the Buffalo Bulletin on the kitchen table, and we sat down on the bench seats across from each other. "Johnson County Nature Photography Contest" was the headline. I skimmed through the article that gave details about the competition, which included the grand prize of twenty-five thousand dollars Cora had coaxed me with. The prize for second place was ten thousand dollars, and the third place recipient would receive a respectable five grand. Honorable mention honors would award five-hundred dollar pre-paid Visas to five additional participants.

  "See why I was so excited?" Cora asked. She was obviously enthused about the opportunity and wound up like a jack-in-the-box about ready to pop out of its lid. I, however, could feel a sense of dread beginning to simmer inside me.

  "Well, honey, yes and no. The prizes sound quite overwhelming, naturally. However, the danger involved in trying to capture an award-winning photograph leaves me a little underwhelmed, I'm afraid."

  "I can understand your hesitation, but like I said before, you'd be perfectly safe if you took Uncle Clyde with you. He can take along one of those guns he's cleaning." Cora pointed toward the couch where Rip and Willie were intent on their task. Cora was the only person I knew who could get away with calling Rip by his given name, which she only did on rare occasion. He'd been the namesake of a great uncle on his mother's side. But he'd never been very fond of the great uncle or the name Clyde. So when a young friend of his nicknamed him "Rip" in grade school, the moniker stuck, and he was perfectly content with that.

  "Honey, I don't want any wild animals killed on my behalf. Just as we are, they are all creations of God."

  Rip chimed in again to assure me there'd be no need to kill, or even wound, anything. "A shot in the air or over its head would deter the animal and make him flee with no physical harm to us or the animal. Don't let that aspect keep you from entering the contest if you're interested in competing, Rapella. Sounds kind of fun to me."

  "Aren't you the one who just advised Cora not to encourage me?" I asked.

  "Yes, but in this case, I don't see any real risk in getting involved. I've noticed you've been restless the last couple of days, and this would give you something to do. Not to mention, I think we'd both enjoy the challenge of competing in the photo contest."

  With Rip's approval an
d support, I began to feel a little spark of excitement. I had to admit it would be fun to see if I could capture any interesting images on my new critter cam, whether it was an award-winning wildlife photo, or not. "Okay, Cora. If I do decide to enter the contest, what would I need to do next?"

  Cora had come prepared. It was apparent she'd been fairly certain she'd be able to appeal to my adventuresome spirit. She reached into the pocket of her windbreaker and pulled out an entry form. She instructed me to fill in the blanks and mail it to the address given at the bottom of the paper.

  I soon realized she'd been even more confident than I'd anticipated when she reached into her pocket again and withdrew a postage-paid envelope she'd earlier prepared for me. I was even more surprised when Cora reached in a third time to retrieve a check for thirty-dollars made out to the Wyoming Travel and Tourism Department.

  "What's the check for?" I asked.

  "It's the entry fee."

  "You didn't tell me there was a cost to enter. I'm not sure it's worth it, given my chances of winning a contest of this nature."

  "Doesn't matter. It's my gift to you. Happy Easter, Aunt Rappie!" Her response was accompanied by a sly grin. "Besides, it's a small price to pay for an opportunity to see you win a monetary reward of such an impressive amount. I know how much enjoyment you'll both get out of the challenge of capturing an award-winning wildlife photograph."

  I wasn't fooled by my oh-so-clever niece. She knew I'd never have agreed to enter the photography contest if I'd known there was a fee involved, no matter how badly I wanted to compete. She also knew I'd been on edge, with little to do to keep myself occupied. I was not as fortunate as my husband, who could entertain himself all day with a six-pack of beer, a bag of those ghastly pork rinds, and the TV remote within arm's reach.

  I hesitated. I was still unsure I wanted to waste thirty dollars of my beloved niece's money. I wasn't wearing rose-colored glasses, after all. Realistically, I had about as much chance of beating out dozens of experienced photographers in a wildlife photo contest as I had of beating out dozens of Kenyans in the marathon taking place in Boston the following Monday.

  I was on the brink of handing her back the form, check, and envelope, and turning down her proposal, but the expectant expression on Cora's face made me decide to accept the challenge instead. I had sensed she'd be disappointed and possibly offended if I didn't agree to give it a whirl. Not to mention that the ever-increasing boredom of one nondescript day after another was beginning to get to me. When having a load of dirty clothes to wash becomes the highlight of your day, it's time to look for something more stimulating to do.

  "Okay, sweetheart. You win. I'm in." I vowed to myself that if, miraculously, I was awarded a monetary prize, Cora would get a healthy portion of it to repay her for her ill-advised investment and undue confidence in me. I pulled the critter cam out of the storage compartment under the bench seat where I'd stashed it and set it in the middle of the table. "Now, I just need to figure out how to work this silly contraption."

  "That shouldn't be a problem," Cora said. "Get the instruction manual out and we'll look through it."

  "I got this at a garage sale, honey. Remember? It didn't even come in a box, much less have a manual with it."

  "Oh, yeah. I forgot. Well, I guess you can look it up online." With a dubious tone to her voice, Cora said this in the same manner she'd ask me to assemble a nuclear reactor. Clearly she didn't have much confidence in my ability to accomplish anything related to the Internet or any of the new-fangled electronic devices.

  I was anxious to prove to her I was at least somewhat computer-savvy. Granted, there were a few things I hadn't learned yet; like where that damn "cloud" was that everybody talked about and what "face-timing" someone was all about. But, still, for someone born before the color TV was invented I thought I did remarkably well.

  "Oh, yes, of course. I'll Google it. Great idea!" Our fifty-year-old daughter, Regina, had gifted us with an iPad, and I'd learned how to make use of it the previous fall while visiting our friends at the Alexandria Inn in Rockdale, Missouri. I wasn't proficient with it by any means, but I could Google any subject, play a couple of my favorite online games, and utilize the camera, calculator, and weather app. Better yet, I had learned how to ask "Siri" questions I was too lazy to research on my own. Knowing how to accomplish those few tasks was sufficient for our needs. After all, for nearly a year we'd been perfectly content just utilizing the tablet as an over-sized coaster on the end table.

  "You sure you can handle it by yourself, Aunt Rappie?"

  I set the camera down on the table. "No problem, sweetie. I'll find the manual online later. Right now I'd like to visit with you and Willie while you're here. How about we catch up while I throw together a little something for lunch?"

  "Did someone say lunch?" Rip asked. "Willie and I are both starving. The only difference is that Willie can put away enough food to feed a small village in Africa without gaining an ounce. I, on the other hand, can eat a handful of peanuts and have to unzip my jeans to catch my breath. What's up with that?"

  "What's up with that, dear, is that Willie's body is in perpetual motion while yours is vegetating on the couch for a minimum of eight hours every day." I chuckled to show I was just messing with him.

  "Quit wasting time sassing me, woman, and get to cooking!" Rip replied good-naturedly.

  * * *

  "Why can't you use your cell phone?" I heard Rip ask Willie a short time later. Cora had joined the fellows in the living room and I was in the kitchen making toasted cheese sandwiches to serve with a bowl of leftover potato salad I had in the fridge. I felt obligated to do whatever I could to put a little meat on Willie's bones, even though I knew he'd burn off the calories before the food had even settled in his stomach.

  Rip and Willie were involved in a conversation about why Willie was grounded from using his smart phone for a week, a penalty the typical teenage boy considered to be equivalent to capital punishment.

  "I was grounded from my phone for engaging in a little entrepreneurship. I needed a new pair of shoes and mom refused to buy them for me. So I took the initiative, and–"

  "Hold on there, Buster Brown." Cora interrupted her blond curly-haired son with just a hint of amusement in her voice. "For starters, you didn't 'need' yet another pair of Nikes. And, furthermore, I wouldn't refer to what you did to obtain money for them as 'entrepreneurship'."

  "But mom–"

  "Don't 'but mom' me, William Michael. What you did was wrong and you know it!" She turned her attention to Rip. "Willie wanted a pair of these gaudy-colored tennis shoes that cost a hundred and twenty-five dollars. I've never spent that much for a pair of shoes in my life. Not to mention, he already has a closet full of similar shoes."

  "A lot of them don't fit," Willie cut in.

  "The way you're growing, in two months this pair you want won't fit either. Why don't you donate the ones you've outgrown to the Salvation Army store so some underprivileged boy who'd appreciate them can make use of them. And don't interrupt me again. It's uncouth and inconsiderate," Cora chided her son. She'd always been stern but fair with her only child. She then continued. "I made the mistake of telling him the only way he was getting a pair of the ridiculously expensive sneakers was if he earned the–"

  "Aha! So, you're admitting it was your fault, and not mine?" Willie cut in.

  I had to restrain myself from giggling. You've got to give the kid credit. He did have plenty of spunk, which was a trait I've always maintained he inherited from me.

  Willie was not finished talking back to his mother. "And they are not called sneakers, Mom. I'm not a kid, you know. Besides, I–"

  After Willie butted in a second time, Cora gave him a look that shut him up mid-sentence without her having to utter a single word. I wouldn't swear to it, but I'm pretty sure that God-given talent was passed down to her DNA make-up from me as well. Regina had always complained that I had a look that could melt iron. I listened as Cora w
ent on with her story.

  "So he decided to take advantage of Mr. Wilson, a widower who lives down the street from us. My insensitive son thought he'd try and weasel the money to buy the shoes out of our wonderful neighbor, a kind old gentleman who treats Willie like he's his own grandson."

  "Mr. Wilson calls me Dennis the menace," Willie said with a chuckle. "And I did weasel... er, I mean win the money, but Mom wouldn't let me accept it."

  "Win?" Cora asked in a scornful tone.

  "Well 'win' is more fitting than 'weasel'. What I mean is that it's not the way you're telling it, Mom," Willie said in his own defense. "I certainly intended no harm to Mr. Wilson."

  "Okay. Then you tell the story." Cora folded her arms and sat back in the recliner. Her eyes sparkled and her lips curled in her unsuccessful attempt to appear disapproving.

  "Well, you see," Willie began. "Mr. Wilson had just bought a brand new truck, and every time I stopped by his house he complained about its fuel efficiency. Then a few weeks ago he heard about some amazing new additive that claimed to boost the vehicle's fuel efficiency by cleaning the injectors and combustion chamber deposits, which theoretically would reduce friction and wear in your pressure fuel system. I, of course, was skeptical."

  "As I would be," Rip said. "But I've always been pleased with the mileage my Chevy truck gets. I have several friends who drive other types of trucks and none of their fuel efficiencies can match mine."

  Willie's ambition had always been to be an auto mechanic and restore older model vehicles after he graduated from a nearby trade school. If he didn't get drafted by a major league ball team, he'd always add. I felt like auto mechanics was a vocation that would suit him well due to his natural intrigue about anything that's motor-driven. He was a gifted student, enrolled in a program for early graduation. He always sounded incredibly mature when he discussed the subject of vehicles and the engines that powered them. Even Rip occasionally conferred with his young nephew when he had an issue with the Chevy.