Terror at 900 Feet

Let the record show that the elevation of Thevictorians' section of Outer Backroads is 900 feet above sea level. Give or take a few. That is not relevant to anything except the title, and was unknown to Val until 4:41 this evening when Hick, enamored of his Genius-discounted Garmin which is now working again, informed her that he would be home in 8 minutes, and was currently at 882 feet above sea level.

It was not the first time I talked to Hick today. He normally has a penchant for taking off on days The Pony and I are out of school. However, he is taking off next Monday, so felt like he had to work today. Too bad, so sad.

I was lolling around in the La-Z-Boy, waiting to see the 11:00 news for the snow forecast for Tuesday, when out the front window I saw a bright red Ford Ranger come speeding up our driveway. Genius used to have a bright red Ford Ranger. That's why it caught my eye. That, and the fact that it was speeding up our driveway. Let the record show that this is not a public street. It is for landowners only. There's a sign proclaiming it down by Mailbox Row, with a warning of prosecution of trespassers. Nobody has casual business up in here.

"Pony! There's a truck coming up our driveway! Come look out and see what it's doing. I am not presentable. I have stains on my shirt. And my hair is a mess."

The Pony, you see, was perfectly presentable with his bedhead, and wearing his flannel boxers and junior college science fair t-shirt.

[I quickly sent a text to Hick: Do you know anyone with a bright red truck?]

"Oh, wait. Now it's speeding back down the driveway. Come open the door and look out, in case he looks back!"

The Pony dutifully came upstairs. He opened the door a crack.

"That's not going to scare anybody. Let him see you!"

"He's gone."

"Well...I guess I could have put on my sweatshirt. But it's downstairs. And my hair..."

"Your hair isn't so bad. Just the back." Which is not exactly saying my hair was okay, because he was standing in front of me, looking me in the face, and could still see the back of my hair.

[Hick replied: No don't know who that would be]

"I hear something! Look over to the BARn field! Is he in there?"

"Um. He came through the BARn field and is now driving across the gravel by Dad's sheds, and is parking in the front yard. Do you want me to close the shades?"

"WHAT? Open up that door! Let him see that somebody is home, darn it! Do it NOW!"

"He's not even looking. He's loading up that roof stuff."

[Text to Hick: Now he's in the front yard, picking up metal. He has a beard. Didn't we pay for that metal?]

Let the record show that some leftover roofing metal was in the side yard. Now this Truck Dude was loading it up! I went to the front door and opened it enough that he could see me as he clanged some green tin over the side of his red truck.

"I'm just picking up the metal."

"Oh. I didn't know. I've never seen you before." I closed the door. I couldn't see the license plate number the way he was parked. In our yard. Picking up metal roofing we had paid for. Hick was not replying. So I called him. "This guy is picking up the roof metal. Is he supposed to? Or is it just some guy taking it to sell for scrap?"

"I don't know. I put in a text to the roofer, but I haven't heard anything back. He said they would come clean up the scrap, but he was supposed to tell me when they were coming."

"This is a young guy, in his 20s. Thin. A pointy little beard. Wearing brown coverall overalls and a cap."

"I don't know who that is."

"Well, I guess he's taking the metal."

It took him 30 minutes to load whatever he took. Then he left. Without me knowing if it was legit. Upon arrival home from work, when interrogated, Hick affirmed that the guy WAS supposed to take the metal.

Here's the thing. I didn't know. Normally I would be at work at that time. I didn't know if it was a robber casing the joint (last Thursday a co-worker's house was robbed while she was at school), a dognapper come back for my sweet, sweet Juno (who had been all across the front yard last night, barking, something she hasn't done since Ann disappeared), a murderer here to...well...murder me (I hear there's a septic tank up the road that's good for hiding headless bodies), a distant neighbor needing help (like that time I locked myself out of the house without a phone), or one of the Best family there about Hick's trench (as the speed of the vehicle might have indicated).

Not that the knowledge of my presence inside the house would have deterred any ne'er-do-wells. Val is, after all, the woman whose car windows were soaped by teenagers while she was sitting in it.