Lethal Lineage

by Charlotte Hinger

  “Show time,” I said. He frowned. “Actually no. Far from it. We charged Irwin Deal with false arrest, malicious prosecution, defamation of character, and obstructing a police officer.”

  “Yes,” Josie and I both said together. “And we’re looking forward to it,” Josie added.

  “Well, don’t,” Harold said. “Here’s how it’s going to be. We are going to drop every single charge but false arrest.”

  “What? Why would we do that?” Josie moved to the edge of her chair.

  “Because I kept my eye on the prize,” he said. “The goal has been to expose Deal for the stupid bastard he is. He’s been thoroughly humiliated in the press and through the media. If that hadn’t already been accomplished through a certain YouTube video, the television interview certainly did him in.”

  “But Harold! We can’t just let this go.”

  “We are going to do just that, Josie. Let me go over these charges one by one. Defamation of character is very hard to prove, and you haven’t suffered one bit of monetary damages as a result of your lock-up. The District Attorney didn’t follow up on prosecution so the malicious prosecution charge in no longer valid.”

  “What about obstructing a police officer,” I asked, unable to hide my disappointment.

  “That was short-sighted and precipitous on my part,” he said. “And I apologize. We were all madder than hell. I hadn’t thought it through yet. Now I have. If we would go ahead with that, and the court went against him, and he appealed, it would be a nightmare of litigation for god only knows how long.”

  “And the false arrest?”

  “It stands. Absolutely. I hope he has to pay a hefty fine. That charge is valid, and even if it isn’t, I wouldn’t want the judge to decide we were being frivolous.”

  Even wearing old jeans and a worn faded shirt, Harold managed to look authoritative.

  “We’ve achieved our ultimate goal. We’ve gotten maximum publicity to give citizens of Copeland County reasons for supporting the recall petition.”

  Harold’s kind brown eyes belied his keen ability to size people up. He had droopy jowls, and a meaty nose. He was heavy-set without straying over to out-and-out fat. Standing before us, with his fists shoved in his pockets, like everyone’s favorite uncle, I could see why most juries simply believed he was the most trustworthy man in the room.

  “There were 12,600 hits on your YouTube video,” he’d said. “And that’s at last count. It’s still attracting viewers.”

  Josie and I leapt to our feet and high-fived each other. Harold and Keith exchanged looks of mock disapproval.

  “At least confine yourselves to fist-bumps in public,” Harold said. “Do not blow this recall election by creating the impression this campaign is the frivolous doings of a couple of teenagers.”

  We responded by stooping and thumping our chests.

  He watched and shook his head. “I have no idea what comes over you two when you get together. You act like neither one of you have a brain in your head.”

  We looked at one another, giggled, and started line-stepping across the room chanting “I heard it on the grapevine, Sheriff Deal is gonna be mine.”

  “Well,” he said abruptly, “Keith and I have a big day ahead tomorrow. He’s going to take me fishing.” The two men rose and headed for the stairs. Tosca followed with a haughty glance back at us. “And in the meantime Keith says you have top-notch equipment for viewing my favorite worthless baseball team.”

  I grabbed Tosca’s ball and threw it at his disappearing back. “Quitter! We want you to tell us what to wear and what to say. We’re interested. We really are.”

  “His momma didn’t raise no fools,” Keith called back and then laughed.

  ***

  The courtroom was packed. I didn’t recognize a good many persons, which was to be expected since the hearing was in Copeland County before Judge Clawson. Although a number of persons would undoubtedly sign the recall petition, by the looks Josie and I received when we came in, I suspected that Deal’s relations had come in full force.

  Despite our horsing around, Harold had instructed Josie and me about proper courtroom demeanor and attire. I thought he was been a bit condescending, but he reminded us it was always a serious matter when one messed with another person’s reputation.

  Even Tosca had obediently entered her little portable kennel without so much as a reproving glance at Josie for taking off without her.

  We all knew what was coming. The lawyers had met in advance. Harold would move to dismiss all charges expect for false arrest and Deal had agreed to plead guilty to that one. Judge Clawson’s demeanor was subdued. He had to be acutely aware that the many of the observers in the courtroom would decide his fate at the next election.

  No dressing Deal down this time, and I suspected the fine would be modest and his statement very, very simple. But it wasn’t. Not huge, but three thousand dollars. Deal’s face darkened. Clawson was a clever bastard. High enough to hurt, but not so high that Deal would risk appealing and being liable for paying more attorney fees.

  Keith and Josie and I sat on the front row in the observers section. We all rose when Clawson left the courtroom. When he was gone, Deal turned and gave us all a look so black that I automatically checked to make sure he wasn’t carrying a weapon.

  A woman who had been sitting behind me stepped out and blocked our row. Tall, with a thinning grey masculine hair cut that accentuated her small head, I suspected she was Deal’s mother. “You’re going to be sorry you ever stepped foot in this part of the state,” she hissed.

  Keith immediately stepped forward to block her access and shoved me behind him. Neither he nor Harold spoke and other persons came forward and immediately grabbed her elbow and pulled her away. Friends? Relation?

  Keeping her from getting into trouble. Whispering to her, protecting her just as Keith was doing for Josie and me. I looked around at all the faces.

  We were dividing into camps. All of us. Each and every person here.

  As we filed out, I saw Bishop Talesbury sitting in the back row. As usual, he wore his formal cassock. For an instant, for the very first time, I thought I saw a faint smile on his face.

  ***

  Technically this was a great victory. A fine victory. But not a one of us was in a celebratory mood. Instead all four of us were oddly quiet on the drive back.

  We had made an enemy. One who had lots of relations.

  Keith’s Suburban is heavy enough to withstand buffeting by Western Kansas winds, despite being a high profile vehicle. But the wind had increased and a little flurry of last year’s tumbleweeds whacked the car. Dust devils rose, then sank, in a summer fallowed field.

  “Goddamn this wind,” Josie said quietly. She pulled out her cigarettes.

  I didn’t say a word. In fact, I was thinking of taking up smoking myself.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “I’ll be in the office,” Keith said, “trying to catch up on bookwork.”

  I nodded. Harold and Josie had left before we got up. Before we could wish them a proper goodbye.

  Last night, still edgy from the collective ill-will we had incited during the hearing, it was as though we couldn’t bear the sound of our own voices when we got home.

  Josie and I had both curled up with books in separate rooms. Keith watched old Westerns on the TV in our bedroom and Harold retreated to the media room upstairs. Josie checked on him once and said he was surfing from one channel to another. Tosca had made a few pleading attempts to interest us in a siege with her little red ball, but finally gave up and sat beside Josie, giving her little reproving looks.

  ***

  Sam was on duty at the sheriff’s office and William at the historical society. I suspected Keith had gone behind my back and arranged with Sam for us both to be home.

  Where he could look out for me.

  I went to the doorway of the office and peered inside. He looked up. A lock of brow
n hair dangled across his forehead. He looked young. Earnest. He rolled his chair back and held out his arms.

  “Come here,” he said. “Baby got the blues?”

  “You’d better believe it.” I eased onto his lap.

  I was better after a long, long kiss.

  I lay against his chest, getting strength from his heavy steady heart.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “I’ve been thinking about terrorists.”

  He laughed suddenly and tilted my chin so he could look in my eyes. “Terrorists? Haven’t we got enough problems around here without dragging terrorists into it?”

  “No really, Keith. I think we underestimate little terrors. I’ve been thinking about Edna and all she’s had to endure.” I had told Keith everything about her tragic life. And how much I admired her courage.

  “Think about it, honey. Her husband made her life hell, but there was no chargeable offense. There was nothing that anyone could report to the police. But he was killing her anyway. Just killing her. Even if she hadn’t ended up in an institution.”

  “I get it,” he said with a sigh. “You’re saying Deal does the same thing?”

  “Exactly. Little terrors.”

  “First things first, Lottie. We’ve got to get that man out of office. Then we’ll just have to take things one step at a time.”

  “Just so we don’t have to wait until he does something huge.”

  “Ruining my oats field was huge. To me, at least. Bad-mouthing people’s businesses is huge to them.”

  “I guess by ‘little terrors,’ I mean secretive acts. When a person murders, or sets buildings on fire, the whole community knows about it. Deal has spent his whole life doing stuff without getting caught.”

  “It’s a family tradition.”

  The phone rang. I stood so Keith could reach it.

  “It’s for you,” he said.

  “Bishop Rice here, Miss Albright. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  I said nothing.

  “Are you there?”

  “Sorry. Yes, sir, I am.”

  “We already have a decision on Bishop Talesbury’s claim on the glebe and the judge ruled in his favor. He owns everything.”

  “And the building? Everything we’ve done there?”

  “Yes, that’s about the size of it. I’m terribly, terribly sorry.”

  I knew he was, but it didn’t help. “I’ve already compiled a list of women who helped with fund-raising. I’ll notify them right away.”

  “Excellent. Sounds like you are right on top of it. I’m quite sure Bishop Talesbury will never consecrate St. Helena. They need to know that. It will always remain a mere building.”

  “I’m so disappointed.”

  “He has the authority to consecrate it himself, if he so desires. I’m feeling rather displaced myself at this point.”

  “Isn’t there a process for stripping bishops of their credentials?”

  “Yes. It’s quite lengthy, formal, and a very solemn process. This man has done nothing that would call for such drastic discipline. In fact, he leads an exemplary life.”

  “Just thought I’d ask.”

  I thanked him and hung up, dreading the task ahead. Before Rice called, I’d wondered about contacting house-movers to see if we couldn’t just hoist up the church and move it somewhere else.

  When Kansas was first settled houses, business, sheds, all manner of buildings had ricocheted around the prairie like pool balls. When it appeared that one town would fail in its bid to become the county seat, structures were hauled to the next most likely place.

  Josie answered on the second ring. I told her about Rice’s news.

  “What I can’t figure out is why Talesbury and Deal want that particular piece of land.”

  “Is there a possibility that Talesbury wants it for the reason he says he does, to build an orphanage for African children?”

  “St. Helena isn’t big enough,” I said.

  “I know that. But it’s a start. He could add other buildings. In fact, he could keep the church as a place of worship and continue with other structures.”

  “I suppose he could, if he could get the funding.”

  “Think about it. I’ve about decided it’s the only thing that actually makes sense.”

  “There’s only one fly in the ointment. Irwin Deal. I just can’t see him doing this if there isn’t some payoff. Money.”

  ***

  Keith and I got back to work. He was gearing up to till the ruined oats field and replant it with corn.

  I put in a totally uneventful day at the sheriff’s office, which gave Sam a break. Margaret had caught up on answering requests for information at the historical society but was clearly relieved that I wasn’t going to be “gallivanting around sheriffing.”

  There were pages of typeset back from the printers. I clipped the stories apart and started laying them out on pages with ruled grids, filling in extra spaces from a pile of newspaper quotes.

  Elmira Howarter came in about the time I was due for a break.

  “How’s Edna?” I rose to get her a chair. “Giving her caretakers a hard time?”

  “Land no. She’s plumb enjoying it. And they like her. I’m keeping a pretty close eye on things. Mrs. Hardesty is her favorite. They chat like they’ve known each other all their lives.”

  “Good. What a relief. Her son will be thrilled to know everything is working out.”

  “Well, her son is what I’ve come to talk to you about. She got plumb excited about it. She says she wants Stuart to know some stuff and you’d know what she is talking about. Whatever it is, she wants you to call him. Says you have her permission. Said you’d know what it was,” she repeated. Her eyes gleamed with curiosity.

  I did know what it was, but I didn’t think it was my place to tell him. I looked at Elmira.

  I certainly wasn’t going to tell her either.

  ***

  Mrs. Hardesty answered when I called. She told me it was really hard for Edna to hold a telephone and could she just relay a message.

  “Please tell Edna that Elmira stopped by and said Edna wants me to call Stuart and tell him some personal things about his family history. I’m calling to double-check.”

  “Just a minute, Lottie.”

  “She certainly does,” says Mrs. Hardesty. “Says she wants him to know some things before it’s too late.” I heard her holler at Edna. “Now I hope you heard how ridiculous that ‘too late’sounds. Like you’ve got one foot in the grave.”

  “All right. Tell her I’ll call him tonight.”

  “Hope she isn’t getting morbid on me. I’m going to cheer her up again.”

  We hung up. The visit from Elmira was all it had taken to ruin a fairly good day. No real prize of a day, but plenty good enough, as Edna would say. Plenty good enough.

  Nevertheless, remembering how Edna’s story had affected me, I felt like a surgeon charged with giving bad news to a waiting family. Stuart was a kind decent man. This would break his heart.

  It was my last call of the day, timed for when he would be home from work. I began by making sure Stuart understood it was at his mother’s request. It took a long time and I did my best, but I doubted that it was possible to convey the tone, the nuances, the overwhelming tragedy of Edna’s story.

  Little terrors inflicted by a man who didn’t beat her, didn’t drink, and was a good provider. No reason to leave him. None at all.

  “My God,” he said when I finished. “I had no idea. I don’t know if I can wrap my head around this.”

  “Frankly, you’re doing better than I did when I first heard it.”

  He was quiet for a while. I wished I could see his face. Was he thinking? Weeping?

  Finally, he said. “There’s quite a hole here, Lottie. How did Mom get to Kansas?”

  ***

  Our own little terrors started right away. When I got home that eve
ning, Keith leaned with one hand braced against the side of the machine shed. He should have been in the field. He looked exhausted and didn’t bother to wave.

  I didn’t swing onto the slab into front of the garage, but drove directly over to him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  For a minute he didn’t answer, then, “Fucking Deal poured sugar in my tractor’s gas tank.”

  Modern farm equipment is huge and enormously expensive. Keith keeps his in immaculate shape. He didn’t look me in the eye as though he was afraid my sympathy would trigger an explosion.

  “How do you know it’s sugar?”

  “There’s some spilled here on the ground.” He pointed to white crystals at my feet. “I tasted it. Hell of it is, I’d already started the engine before I noticed it. Let everything warm up.” He started cussing in earnest and I had sense enough not to ask questions. There certainly was no point in asking “who?” We both already knew.

  “Is it ruined, Keith?”

  “Yes and no. If I don’t have the right mechanic, it will be. But when the engine started making funny noises, I turned everything off. We can pull the engine and get everything cleaned up. If I can get the right men to help. It’s the time of year when everyone is tuning up equipment and all the shops are full. So I’m guessing it will be about a week before it’s fixed.”

  “Oh no!”

  “And say I get it fixed,” he continued. “Let’s just say everything goes right for once. Which isn’t likely. The point is that unless I want to sit out here with a shotgun for the rest of my life, this kind of thing can keep happening over and over.”

  “Little terrors,” I whispered. “Little terrors.”

  “Nothing little about this. I’ve got to figure out some way to stop the bastard or our life isn’t going to be worth a plug nickel.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m going to call a machine shop and see what my chances are of getting in. Then I’m going to call Harold and we’re going to have a serious chat about security systems. And I don’t want the kind that posts labels every three feet so intruders can do a little research and figure out how to sabotage it. We’re going to spend whatever it takes to catch this bastard in the act.”