by Terry Shames
He scratches at the edges of the big bandage on his shoulder. “I told ’em they had to. I can’t be off work long.”
Tomorrow is Sunday, so I doubt he’d be going in anyway. “What kind of work do you do?”
“Robert and I run our daddy’s garage. We’ve always got a string of vehicles waiting to be taken care of. Can’t keep folks waiting or they’ll go somewhere else.”
“You can’t do a lot of car repair with that shoulder.”
“I don’t know a thing about fixing cars. That’s Robert’s part of it. I do the office part. I can do it with one hand.” He grimaces. “I hope you haven’t told my brother I’m still alive. He might come over here and try to finish me off.”
“He knows you’re going to be okay. But I put him in jail, and he’s not going anywhere until I sort this out.”
“In jail? What for?” He glares at me.
“For assault with a deadly weapon.”
“I’m not going to press charges against my little brother.” He’s growing more outraged by the second. Like a lot of kinfolks, they can squabble like crazy among themselves, but let someone from outside threaten them, and they’re suddenly united.
“You don’t have to. He broke the law by shooting you, and that’s my business.”
“Well, goddammit.” They really could be twins.
T.J. claims he doesn’t remember any more than Robert does why they were arguing. I suspect he does remember, but he isn’t talking. The argument didn’t create the crime anyway; alcohol and handy guns did.
“Listen, I’m mad at the son of a bitch, and his wife can go butt a stump as far as I’m concerned, but there’s no need to hold him in jail. We’ll get over it.”
On the drive back to Jarrett Creek, I argue with myself about whether to charge Robert. We can’t have people shooting each other, but I can’t see him as a threat to anybody but his own brother.
When I walk into headquarters, Maria is playing tug of war with Dusty. He breaks it off to dance around me and welcome me back. He’s getting to be a rangy dog, not big, but all legs. I called him Dusty because he was dust-colored when he was a pup, but he’s starting to get spots and look like a border collie, which is what the vet said he mostly is.
“Did you give the prisoner anything to eat?” I ask.
“I did not. He was rude, and I told him he could go hungry.”
“Won’t hurt him,” I say.
I tell Maria what I decided to do with Robert, and I’m relieved when she concurs. Maria has only been a police officer for a little more than a year, and her rookie spirit of strict adherence to the law hasn’t worn off yet. She often has opinions contrary to decisions I make, and she’s happy to share those opinions with me.
The prisoner is lying on his back, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He sits up when he hears my boots on the floor.
“Robert, I’m letting you go with a fine, but I’m keeping your weapon, I say.
“You know, she wouldn’t get me any breakfast,” he says, nodding toward the front in case I don’t know who “she” is. “I’ve got low blood sugar, and I could faint and hit my head and you’d have a lawsuit.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Well, let me out then.”
“I don’t think you fully comprehend what I mean when I say you owe a fine. It means you have to pay it before I’ll let you out.”
“Call my wife. She’ll get the money.”
“You want to know how much it is?”
He comes close to the bars and clutches them, eyes narrowed. “How much?”
“Five hundred.”
“Five hundred!” He slams his hand on the bars. “That’s robbery.”
“Would you prefer that I charge you with attempted murder?”
He blusters around for a while, but finally tells me to call his wife. Darla comes down with the cash so fast that I figure they must keep money on hand. She slaps the money down and says, “I’m taking this money out of his hide. Both of them ought to have to pay for disturbing the peace.”
“That would be a start. One of them is going to end up dead if they can’t figure out a way to settle their differences besides gunning for each other.”
“Whatever. You going to let him out?”
After they leave, Maria asks what the fight was about. I tell her that neither of them would say.
She rolls her eyes. “We haven’t seen the end of this.”
“You’re probably right.” I loll back in my chair sipping coffee and consider an early lunch.
CHAPTER 3
“I told you that you were going to get into trouble if you broke up with Ellen and started dating Wendy.” Jenny Sandstone, my next-door neighbor and friend, is using her stern voice. Jenny is a prosecuting attorney with the District Attorney’s office in Bobtail, and I can imagine the dread that her voice strikes into the heart of anyone she thinks worthy of prosecution. In this case, it’s me.
“You think that’s what’s going on? Seems crazy to me that anyone would care who I date.” Until last fall, I was going out with Ellen Forester, who moved to town a few years ago and opened an art gallery and workshop. She has made a lot of friends in town, and apparently some women saw it as a betrayal when Ellen and I broke off and I took up with Wendy Gleason, who lives in College Station. They seem to be of the opinion that I am a cheater and a womanizer.
“People like Ellen,” Jenny says. “They had the two of you all set up. What has Loretta said about it?”
“Not much. She and Ellen are good friends, and I expect Ellen told her it wasn’t a big blowup or anything. Ellen and I get along fine.”
“Humph.” She raises an eyebrow.
Jenny and I don’t have our Wednesday wine evenings as often as we used to, since she’s been dating Will Devereaux, but we try to get together once a month. We haven’t known each other that long, but we’ve been through experiences that bonded us. In particular, she saved my art collection from being destroyed when someone set fire to my house. For my part, I pulled her out of a destructive situation of a different kind after her mother died. We are comfortable friends who can read each other whatever riot act needs to be read.
This warm spring evening, we are sitting out on her back deck sharing a bottle of pinot noir and munching on snacks that Will made last night, knowing we were planning to get together. I bite into a spicy cheese puff. I appreciate his efforts because Jenny’s idea of cooking is slicing cheddar cheese and slapping it onto crackers.
“I’m surprised you disapprove of me dating Wendy, seeing that I met her at your house,” I say. Last Thanksgiving, Ellen went out of town unexpectedly, and I was feeling sorry for myself when Jenny invited me over. I met Wendy that day. Nobody was more surprised than I was when we fell for each other.
The conversation tonight started innocently enough. I haven’t seen Loretta Singletary in a few days. She usually brings baked goods around most days, and this morning was the fourth day she hadn’t shown up. I wondered if I had offended her, which is why I asked Jenny if she had seen her. That’s when I got the earful about dating Wendy.
Jenny laughs. “I’m giving you trouble, that’s all,” she says, smirking at my discomfort. “I don’t think that’s why Loretta hasn’t brought you any goodies. Why don’t you call and ask her?”
“I would have phoned her this morning, but I had to go help Melvin Pritchart haul his car out of a ditch. He and his son went out celebrating his son’s twenty-first birthday last night.”
“Men,” Jenny sighs. “Everybody survive?”
“They’re fine. Embarrassed.”
“Back to Loretta, you could ask your neighbors if she has stopped baking for them.”
“It’s not that big a deal.” That’s not true. I actually wondered whether she’s mad that I declined to get involved with the goat rodeo situation. She didn’t seem mad when she left my house, but maybe the Baptist ladies persuaded her that I had not done the right thing. “Has she bro
ught anything to you?”
“No, Samuel, she hasn’t. She never does because I asked her not to. I leave for work early, and once she left a plate on the porch and Bess’s dog next door got into it and ate all four cinnamon rolls. Bess described to me the results of that dog’s greedy feast in detail.” She shudders.
I laugh, although it isn’t funny. I’ve had to deal with a greedy dog a time or two now that Dusty is old enough to get into things.
“I guess if she doesn’t show up in the morning, I’d better go over and ask her what’s going on.”
“That seems like a reasonable idea. She’s probably been busy with something else. And speaking of busy.” Jenny sighs and sits forward, running her hands through her flame-red hair. “I’ve got an early court hearing in the morning, so I can’t sit here all night.”
As soon as I get up, Dusty leaps to his feet and cocks his head. He’s always ready to go somewhere. “Let’s get on home, boy.”
Before we go into the house, we take a nice walk. Spring is in the air, and at 9:30, it’s still warm. We stroll by Loretta’s house, and I see that it’s dark. Seems early for her to have gone to bed. Maybe she went away and didn’t tell me, although that’s odd. She usually keeps me informed of her plans.
CHAPTER 4
It’s eleven o’clock Thursday morning, and things are quiet. “I want to ask you something,” I say to Maria. “Have you talked to Loretta? Do you know if she’s out of town?”
Maria chuckles. “She could be, but I don’t know for sure.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not that you’d notice, but Loretta has been a little cocky in the last few weeks. I think she’s got a boyfriend.”
I lunge forward in my chair. “She what?”
“Don’t get excited. Why are you surprised? I’ve known that Loretta is on the lookout for a man ever since I met her. I’m glad for her if she has found somebody.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
“You’ve been around Robert Caisson too much. You sound just like him.” Maria doesn’t approve of salty language.
I tell Maria I’m going over to Town Café. “Loretta hasn’t brought any baked goods around the last few days, and I didn’t get any breakfast.” She’s laughing when I leave.
The few people in Town Café are there for late breakfast, and I don’t know any of them. Later, at lunchtime, it will be full of regulars. It’s a typical small-town café with chrome and Formica tables and vinyl-padded chairs. The walls are decorated with pictures of past football teams and members of the high school booster club. The place has changed hands a number of times, but it hasn’t changed the way it looks. It also hasn’t updated the menu, although the food quality has improved under the current owner.
I order a plate of enchiladas and use the solitude to ponder Maria’s observation that Loretta has been acting a little cocky. We get to know people so well that we don’t always look at them, and I remember now how shocked I was several months ago when Loretta showed up with a new hairstyle. She had changed her hair from gray to a kind of blondish color and stopped wearing it in tight curls. But how was it different? Straighter? I try to picture her hair but can’t. I just know she looked younger, softer.
Another change, even more startling, is that she wears slacks occasionally. She has always maintained that women ought to stick to wearing dresses. I thought she made the change because she was taking painting classes from Ellen and wanted to be able to get dirty without worrying about her clothes, but now I wonder whether it’s a sign of a basic change in attitude. There’s no reason she shouldn’t be looking for somebody to date. She’s in my age range, and some people might say we’re too old to find romance. It’s not true. I’m a good example of it not being too late to have a good time with a partner. But for some reason, it bothers me that Loretta is dating. I guess because it means I don’t get my bakery goods. That’s plain selfish.
Lurleen brings me my enchiladas. She has worked here for years, and she knows me. Usually she’s so busy she sets the plate down and speeds off, but it isn’t busy right now.
“Everything okay?” she says. “You look like you’ve got things on your mind.”
“The usual. But mostly right now I’m hungry.”
“Eat up.”
She’s walking away when Ellen Forester steps into the café. I’m surprised to see her here. She’s usually busy with art classes all day. She looks around the room, and when she spies me she hurries over.
“Don’t get up,” she says. She waves at my food. “And don’t let your food get cold. Go ahead and eat. You mind if I sit down? I need to ask you a question.”
“Of course I don’t mind.”
For a short time through the winter, relations were strained between Ellen and me. She and I had been seeing each other for a year or more, but then I met Wendy Gleason, and things took a different turn. Like Jenny said, women around here haven’t forgiven me for what they perceive as me throwing Ellen over for Wendy, but they don’t know the truth of it. In fact, Ellen had been keeping important matters from me that had a bearing on our relationship. We might have gotten over it if I hadn’t met Wendy, but I did. Ellen told me she was glad I had met someone else. I believe her.
Lurleen comes over, and Ellen orders iced tea and a cheese enchilada. She’s a vegetarian, and I like meat three times a day. That was another little glitch that I think we are both glad not to have to navigate anymore.
“I’m surprised to see you,” I say. “No classes?”
“I have to be back in 30 minutes. I stopped over at headquarters to talk to you, and Maria said I could find you here.”
“What’s up?”
She clasps her hands on top of the table and grimaces. “I don’t want to be nosy and silly, but I’m worried.”
I’ve got a mouthful of enchilada, so I nod to her to keep going.
“Have you talked to Loretta recently?”
I swallow and wipe my mouth. “Maria and I were discussing that a few minutes ago. Loretta hasn’t been around with baked goods the last few days. You know how she is, trying to fatten everybody up with those rolls and coffee cake.”
She nods. “Samuel, have you ever known Loretta not to show up when she’s supposed to?”
“The opposite. She’s never late, and she always keeps her word.”
“Exactly. Well, we had planned to go shopping over in Bobtail yesterday afternoon, and she was supposed to pick me up. She never showed up. I tried calling her, and she didn’t answer. So I did something I probably shouldn’t have done. I drove over there and went into her house to check on her.”
“How did you get in? Was the house unlocked?”
“I know where she keeps a key. Anyway, she wasn’t there, and it looked like she had left in a hurry. She left dishes on the table and a pan unwashed in the sink.”
“That’s odd, but there’s probably a good explanation.” Is there? I hadn’t worried when Loretta made herself scarce the last few days, but Ellen’s concern puts a different spin on it. I’ve known Loretta a long time, and I’ve never known her to be late—or to not show up at all.
“Probably, but it’s not like her.”
“Did you check upstairs to make sure she wasn’t sick in bed?”
“Yes, and I called the hospital in Bobtail in case she had an emergency, but they didn’t have a record of her coming in.”
“Did you call her cell phone number?”
“Yes, but it went to voicemail. You know she hardly ever uses it. Most of the time she doesn’t even take it with her.”
I’ve lost my appetite and shove my plate away. “Did you call any of her friends?” Although it isn’t like her, it’s possible that a problem came up at the church, and she ran off to take care of it, forgetting that she had an appointment with Ellen.
“No. It wasn’t that important. I figured she forgot, and that I’d talk to her today. I left a note asking her to call when she got home. But I haven’t heard from her this m
orning. Maybe I’m being silly, but I’m uneasy.”
I lay money on the table for the bill and get up. “I’m going to go talk to her neighbors.”
“Good. I wish you would,” Ellen says. “It’s not like her to be so careless.”
I start to walk away, but then I pause. “Maria said she thought Loretta might be interested in finding a . . . a . . .” The words stick in my throat.
Ellen smirks. “You mean finding a man to date? You know, it isn’t out of the question. Loretta has a lot to offer. A man could do a lot worse.”
“Has she met somebody?”
“If she has, she didn’t tell me.”
I go back to headquarters and tell Maria where I’m going, and she insists on coming along. She and Loretta are the most unlikely pals ever, an elderly white woman and a young Hispanic cop, but they hit it off as soon as Maria started working for Jarrett Creek Police Department. Loretta admires that Maria has the spunk to be a cop, and Maria admires that Loretta doesn’t mince words.
We take a squad car over to Loretta’s neighborhood, with Dusty tucked in the back. When I knock on Loretta’s door, there’s no answer. “Look at that,” Maria says, pointing to the front yard.
“What?”
“Look how droopy those plants are. She waters almost every day, and it looks like it’s been a few days since she tended to it.”
“Maybe she went out of town.”
“If she was going away, she’d ask somebody to water.”
We go around into the backyard and see nothing amiss. I peer into the garage, and that’s our first break. “Car’s gone,” I say, turning to Maria.
“Maybe something happened to somebody in her family, and she left in a hurry to be with them.” She frowns. “Still seems funny that she wouldn’t tell anybody.”
“Let’s see if her neighbors know anything.”
We leave Dusty tied up in the shade on Loretta’s porch while we go next door.
We don’t bother her neighbor to the west, Irwin McIntire. He’s deaf as a post and wouldn’t likely hear when Loretta comes and goes. Her neighbor on the other side, Sharon Page, answers the door, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. She’s in her sixties, tall and big-boned, with bright eyes and a warm smile. “Well hello, what brings you all here? Has Ken gone and killed James? He has threatened to do it so often that I expect it any day now.” We laugh. Her husband, Ken, sold his real estate business a while back, but couldn’t stand retirement. He went back to work for James Crowley, the man who bought it. I’ve heard they don’t see eye to eye on the way the business should be run.
