Dang Near Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 2) by Nancy G. West Page B

hurricane lamps. I guessed Texans were used to the futility of predicting the weather, ignored it and carried on with their plans.
    Sunny had started the fire. He plopped his boot on a table bench and cradled his guitar. The girls had claimed the table in front of him. We took a table off to one side of Sunny. I was becoming an expert at sitting on my tailbone to keep my thighs off the bench. Vicki sat a couple of tables away and watched Sunny as he began to croon.
    As dusk grew deeper, George and Selma straggled to the patio and sat alone. George straddled the bench sideways and stretched out his legs. I didn’t see River Rat anywhere.
    Wayne Rickoff and Monty Malone ambled in late and stood at the end of the patio farthest from the camp fire. I was surprised to see that Rickoff had shaved off his beard. I caught Vicki staring at him. Then she rose slowly and slipped into the darkness.
    Not long after she left, Rickoff disappeared. He was so unpredictable—firing into the air when he saw a snake, aiming at people for no reason. I hoped he wasn’t following Vicki.
    Everybody else lined up at the barbecue grill for spare ribs, potato salad and beans. Unease made me aware of everybody’s whereabouts. Once Bertha finished eating, she left. I hoped she was checking on Vicki. George Tensel lumbered off in the same general direction, and Selma followed.
    Sunny played two more songs. Sam grabbed my hand under the table and made my arm tingle.
    “I’m glad I came,” he said.
    The candle lights looked brighter. I was foolish to be tense just because people left after dinner.
    When Sunny stopped singing to make s’mores, Sam dropped my hand and made a beeline for dessert. I saw lightning crackle in the distance and felt a slight breeze. We should leave before it started pouring.
    Monty announced he might as well go home and sauntered off. Ranger Travis and Jangles left together. I was glad Bertha wasn’t there to witness their departure. Jangles might soon acquire a wire sculpture.
    Jangles’ friends rose and headed for their cabin. When lightning cracked the sky, Millie started loping. Stoney yelled at her not to be a wimp while she galloped to catch up. Sam, still chewing a s’more, caught up with Meredith and me and grabbed our elbows. “Let’s head for the cabins.”
    “May and June are Texas’s rainiest months,” Meredith said. “Lots of thunderstorms.”
    We were halfway to our cabin when we heard screams coming from the direction of the river.

Eighteen

      
    We froze and listened—then sprinted toward the cries.
    We reached the horse trail. Vicki lay on the ground unconscious. Her horse stood near her, spread-legged, with its ears pinned back, snorting as though daring anybody to approach. Its reins lay on the ground.
    Selma wailed and shot furious looks at George.
    He gaped at Vicki, seemingly paralyzed.
    Selma’s screams drew the others. Sunny rushed in and ran toward Vicki. He waved his arms at the gelding until the horse reared, whirled and galloped away. He knelt beside Vicki, touched her forehead and yelled for somebody to call 911.
    Moving closer, I saw blood on Vicki’s hair and on a nearby rock. Stoney and Millie ran up. Jangles and Ranger trotted up together. The bulk of her curls had escaped the rubber band and flopped like springs down the sides of her head. Her tent dress was turned quarter way around. Ranger wore most of her lipstick.
    Monty loped up close behind Jangles and Ranger. When River Rat bounded up, he sank to his knees beside his sister. His hair hung forward, so I couldn’t see his face. Wayne Rickoff stomped in, completing the circle, and stared down at Vicki.
    Bertha pushed her way through the crowd. “Oh, my God.” She fell to her knees beside Rat and Sunny, whipped a cell phone from her pocket, dialed 911 and pressed speaker phone. She laid the phone on the ground and leaned over her young assistant.
    “Bandera Emergency,” a voice answered.
    “This is Bertha Sampson,”