Boo Hiss

by Rene Gutteridge

  “What I mean is that we haven’t had a violent crime here in four decades, so the odds are in your favor.”

  Lois shook her head. “You don’t understand. Whoever it was walked all through my house! You can see the footprints everywhere.” Her voice climbed in pitch. “They went through my refrigerator!! They were in my bathroom!” She covered her mouth with her tissue and added, “Even my bedroom closet. I feel so violated. Who would do this to me?”

  “Lois, I’m going to need you to calm down and tell me everything you remember.”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t remember anything. I’ve been so tired with this play that I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow.”

  “Were any windows broken? Doors open or unlocked?”

  “The back door was unlocked, but I always keep it that way. It’s Skary, Indiana. Why would I lock it?”

  The sheriff pulled onto Lois’s street and then into her driveway. Deputies Bledsoe and Kinard followed. The sheriff got out of his car and opened the door for Lois, helping her to her feet. “I don’t know if I can ever go in there again.”

  “Is your front door unlocked?”

  “Yes, I ran out of the house screaming this morning.” She pulled her coat around herself. “I’m still in my pajamas.”

  The sheriff looked down. She wiggled her house shoes. “Kinard, stay with Ms. Stepaphanolopolis. Bledsoe, come with me.”

  The sheriff reached the front door and turned the knob.

  “Sheriff!” Lois called.

  He turned. “Yeah?”

  “Be careful.”

  The sheriff nodded, and at the tip of his tongue were the words, If I don’t come back, know that I always loved you. He stood there stunned. What in the world would compel him to think that way? He looked in the darkened house, wondering if his life was indeed in danger. He placed a hand on his gun, causing Bledsoe to take a step back.

  “Sir, what’s going on?” Bledsoe whispered. “You okay? You zoned out there for a second.”

  The sheriff swallowed, trying to regain his composure, and then to his everlasting relief, he realized why those words floated through his mind. It was from the play. Lotus says, “Be careful, “ and Bart’s reply is, “If I don’t come back, know that I always loved you.”

  “I’m fine,” the sheriff replied. “Let’s get in there and see what we can find. Be careful not to step on any of the flour tracks. Apparently they’re everywhere.”

  The two men moved inside, tiptoeing over the chalky white footprints scattered about the small living room. It looked like Lois had put flour through every doorway, and tracks showed that whoever it was, they’d been all over the house.

  The curtains were drawn, so Bledsoe turned on his flashlight. The flour was tracked all over the place. The sheriff indicated that Bledsoe should join him in the kitchen. Once there, the two men followed the trail to the refrigerator, then to the counter, and then to the dishwasher.

  The sheriff shone his flashlight onto the counter. “Look at this.”

  Bledsoe came by his side. “Crumbs.”

  “Looks like whoever did this decided to help themselves to a snack.”

  Bledsoe raised an eyebrow. “And cleaned up after themselves.”

  The sheriff said, “Go check out the garage and backyard. I’m going to the bedroom.”

  The sheriff lit his path down the hallway, where two sets of tracks were clearly cast into the carpet. He looked into the bathroom, but nothing seemed out of order. Across the hallway was Lois’s bedroom. He walked in, straddling the footprints in the doorway. The last time he’d been here, there was a smoky smell. He could still detect the scent, mingled with a host of floral Plug-Ins he noticed all over the place. The footprints tracked over to the closet, so with careful steps, the sheriff made his way over. The door was already open, so he peeked in.

  Clothes on hangers were cram-packed together, and he wondered if the woman had ever cleaned out her closet. A large rack of shoes hung on one wall, and sweaters were folded neatly along three open shelves.

  Bledsoe had walked into the bedroom. “There’s nothing out of place in the garage, and the backyard looks fine.”

  The sheriff walked out of the closet and said, “I know who’s been here.”

  CHAPTER 16

  REVEREND PECK WAS BEGINNING to feel like a prisoner. He’d missed the town meeting yesterday and had every intention of showing up this morning to find out if anyone had found the snake. But instead, he held a paintbrush in one hand and a paint bucket in the other.

  The ever-energetic Katelyn Downey stood by his side. “It looks great, doesn’t it? I love the rainbow. And that’s one of the kids’ favorite Bible stories. They’re going to walk down here, take one look at this mural, and squeal with delight.”

  It was hard to complain. After all, no one had ever taken as much interest in his church as this young lady. And he’d never heard the word “squeal” ever mentioned outside the farm. But he was starting to feel like he might not be the boss anymore. When he’d suggested he might like to take a break and go to the town meeting, Katelyn replied, “Reverend, with all due respect, one of us has to stay here and paint. We have a lot more to do and only a few short days.”

  So he was stuck painting in the dark, lonely basement, when what he really needed to do was prepare his sermon. He’d had to stay up late last night, and now he was tired.

  The door to the basement swung open, and a long shadow stretched across the floor, followed by a shorter one.

  “Willem!” Katelyn exclaimed, and a little boy bounded into his mother’s arms. Katelyn turned to Reverend Peck. “This is my son, Willem. Willem, this is Reverend Peck.”

  “Hi William.”

  “Willem.”

  “Oh. Will … em. Hi.”

  The boy shyly hunkered into his mothers arms. A tall man walked toward them.

  “And this is my husband, Michael.”

  They shook hands, and Michael grinned warmly. “Looking forward to becoming members of your church, Reverend,” Michael said.

  “Well, your wife sure has brought some excitement to the place.”

  Michael looked at the walls. “She can really turn things around, can’t she? Sweetheart, I have the extra paint, stencils, and games in the car.”

  “I’ll help you unload.” She dropped Willem to the floor and said, “Why don’t you stay here, honey, and look around? Tell Mommy what you think when I get back.” The boy watched his mother leave up the basement stairs. Then he turned and stared at the reverend.

  “How old are you?” the reverend asked with a smile.

  “Five.”

  “Five. That’s a nice age.”

  Willem looked at the wall. “Did you paint this?”

  “I sure did, with your mommy’s help.”

  “Noah’s ark.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’re missing a color in your rainbow.”

  The reverend looked. Indeed, he was. Purple. “Thanks for catching that. I’ll add it as soon as your mom returns with the paints.”

  “So this is going to be the kids’ area?”

  “Yes it is.”

  “I hate it.”

  “You hate it? Why?”

  “You don’t even have a coffee bar.”

  “Sure we do. We serve coffee upstairs every day.”

  “For kids. I like a double mocha hot chocolate. I can’t go to church unless I have it.”

  “Well, sorry. The best you can hope for, young man, is some juice and cookies. After story time.”

  “Story timer he whined. “We’re not having interactive videos?”

  The reverend stifled a laugh. “What?”

  “Never mind,” the boy huffed. “I hate this place. I don’t know why my mother and father want to move here. It’s stupid.”

  “You know,” the reverend tried, almost forgetting the little pipsqueak was a kid, “your parents feel like this is the best place to raise you. There’re a lot of
good things about a small town.”

  “Like what? Stupid rainbows and boring stories?”

  “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

  He crossed his arms. “I’m just being realistic. Kids are going to hate this. I’ve heard the story of Noah a thousand times, and you know what? It doesn’t get any more interesting when you tell it in Spanish.”

  “I don’t speak Spanish.”

  “I do. And I’m learning German.”

  Katelyn returned with two more buckets of paint. “Mommy!” the kid sang, running into her arms.

  “What do you think of the room?”

  “I want to help paint!” he declared, jumping up and down.

  Katelyn ruffled his hair. “Isn’t he just a delight?” She squeezed his cheeks. “Why don’t you help your dad carry some stuff downstairs from the car?”

  “Okay!” He bounced up the stairs.

  As Katelyn set the paint down, the reverend recovered from the shock of his previous conversation. “Katelyn, your son doesn’t like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “This room. This place. He called the Noah’s ark mural stupid.” She batted the air with her hand. “Oh, Reverend Peck. That’s silly. My son doesn’t use words like that.”

  “He called it all stupid.”

  She stopped what she was doing and stood up. “Well, what you have to understand about five-year-old boys is that they don’t really have command of their language. So Willem might say the word stupid but really mean something else altogether.” She put her hand on his shoulder and handed him a picture book. “Now, why don’t you thumb through this?”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s the story of Noah. I thought you’d like to read this for our first story time on opening Sunday.”

  “Story time?”

  “We’re going to have a ten-minute part of the service where you read to the kids before they go downstairs for children’s church. It makes them feel important and loved, plus the Noah theme will help tie in the mural.”

  All the reverend could see was Willems scrunched-up, scowling face.

  The sheriff dismissed the deputies and approached Lois, who was sitting near the curb. He helped her to her feet. “Why don’t you come inside?”

  “It’s safe?”

  “Yes, it’s safe.” He took her hand and led her inside. “Sit down on the couch here.”

  She slowly sat down, keeping her eyes fixed on the sheriff. “What’s wrong?” she urged.

  He smiled. “Nothing, Lois. You’re perfectly safe.”

  “How do you know?”

  “What size shoe do you wear?”

  “Seven.”

  Sheriff Parker gestured toward the floor. “Recognize those footprints?”

  Lois’s gaze slid downward, and she frowned. “Are you saying those are my footprints? Impossible! I never got up once last night.”

  “Do you think that you might sleepwalk?”

  At first, Lois shook her head vigorously. “Impossible. I wear a sleep mask.”

  “But study the footprints carefully. It looks exactly like a morning routine.” The sheriff guided her focus toward the bedroom. “First to the bathroom. Then the closet. Then the kitchen.” He looked at the tracks on the living room carpet. “Do you come in and turn on the morning news while you eat breakfast?”

  She slowly nodded.

  The sheriff smüed. “Mystery solved.”

  “I do this all with a mask on my face?”

  “Sure. It’s routine. Habit. You don’t need to see to do it.”

  Lois slumped, throwing her tissue to the side. “No wonder I’m so tired in the mornings.”

  “If you’ll get me a dustpan and a broom, I’ll help you clean up.”

  “I think I’d rather go get some breakfast. Care to join me?”

  The sheriff took the hint immediately. He was getting good at this. “Breakfast? Sounds tantalizing.”

  “Could be. We could order an omelet and share it.”

  “That means we would have to sit next to each other.”

  “I can’t think of a better way to spend my morning. Let me just go change into something tight and uncomfortable, and I’ll be right out.” The sheriff watched her avoid the flour footprints as she walked toward her bedroom. This was fun.

  “Don’t be too long … Lotus.”

  She turned around. “Lotus?”

  He laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m breaking character, aren’t I? But you have to admit, I’m getting good at this.”

  Lois looked a little annoyed. She was one heck of a serious director. He wiped the smile off his face and returned to his character. “Sorry.”

  “I think breakfast is off.”

  “Off? Why? Because I laughed?”

  A terrible frown had crossed her face. “You obviously need to work harder on your character.”

  “Hey, that was pretty good back there. Bart would’ve been up for an omelet.”

  Now Lois looked depressed. “Right. Bart.”

  “What? Should he have played a little harder to get?”

  “No. It was fine.”

  “You look upset. Lois, you’re going to have to tell me what to do here. This is the first time I’ve ever been in a play. And this method acting stuff is new to me.”

  She tried to smile. “I know, Irwin. Don’t mind me. I’m just being grumpy. Work on your lines today, and I’ll see you tonight at play practice, okay?” Lois disappeared into her bedroom.

  He sighed and threw up his hands. No matter what role they played in his life, Sheriff Parker could never understand women.

  Leonard Tarffeski walked out of the fourth and final house, sweat pouring off his face. Dustin waited for him by a tree in the front yard. “Any luck?” the kid asked.

  Leonard blotted his forehead with his sleeve. “Sorry, kid. Nothing. If there was a snake in there, I would’ve found it.”

  “But what about the tracks? Snake tracks, right?”

  “Possibly. But probably too small for a boa that’s been fed every day. Judging by the pictures you have of your snake, he’s one fat dude.”

  Dustin sulked. “Great. I’m never going to find my pet.”

  “I’m going to find that snake if it’s the last thing I do. You can bank on that.”

  “Thanks, dude. So what now?”

  “You let me handle this. Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

  “Yeah. Ten minutes ago.”

  “You’d better get going. But I should warn you, Dustin, there are people who are going to want to capture your snake for their own personal gain. You can’t trust anyone else, or you may find your snake traded to the black market.” Leonard patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t fear. I’ll get your snake back.”

  Dustin nodded and walked to his car. After Leonard smiled and gave him a short wave, he turned and balled up his fists. This task was becoming more and more frustrating. Not only was this rare and priceless snake on the lam, but Leonard had unforeseen competition now. He’d done a good job of convincing Dustin of his noble deeds, despite the fact that Dustin seemed as inept in real life as he did in cyberspace. He would never forget the day that SNAKE_DUD68 arrived on the sloop. It took everyone a while to realize that he’d misspelled his screen name and left off the E. But “dud” was as good a description as any. He’d always pipe into the conversation with his supposed knowledge of snakes, and more than half the time he’d get his facts wrong. Plus, the guy was like an open book, which was part of the reason Leonard’s plan was working so well. By the third week Dustin had joined, he’d given out all his personal information (most likely trying to impress the chicks on the sloop), including his social security number. Lucky for him, he couldn’t type, so he’d left off two digits and added an S for some other number. But all that information had come in handy for Leonard when one day Dustin announced that his rare and enviable snake had gotten loose.

  Now he just needed to find that snake.

  But
ch had watched Leonard stand on the steps of the community center and shamelessly wave his ego flag. A small group had gone with Leonard. The larger group had been directed to the pet store where apparently they were going to get a lesson on rodent control. His father had taken charge of some hysterical woman. And the mayor, on tenterhooks, was being led away by Martin. So the only one left standing was a small man in overalls named Gordon.

  Butch had approached him after the dust had settled. “What are you still doing here?”

  He shrugged. “Waiting for someone to tell me what in the world I have in my house.”

  “You have tracks?”

  “Yep.”

  “Snake tracks?”

  “It was about yea wide,” he said, opening up his hands to measure six inches across. “Looks to me like I’ve either got an anaconda or a potbelly pig.”

  It took ten minutes to get to Gordon’s house, which was near the edge of town. It was an old farmhouse, the paint peeling off the wood like a cheese slicer had gone down the side of it.

  Butch followed Gordon in the front door. “This is my wife, Alda.”

  Alda sat on the sofa in the living room holding a shotgun, her hair wound back into a bun at the nape of her neck. Alda looked like she knew exactly how to handle a shotgun, so Butch just smiled, said a hello, and tried not to make any sudden moves. “Why don’t you show me those tracks, Gordon?”

  Gordon brought him to the back of the house, near the kitchen. He pointed to the flour. Butch stooped down to take a closer look. Sure enough, there were large tracks, nearly six inches wide, going through the flour. And they continued on toward the basement in an j-like sequence.

  “What’s down there?” Butch asked.

  “Aw, not a whole lot. Some cattle feed. I do a lot of wood cutting down there. It’s just a bunch of junk.”

  “I need a flashlight.”

  Alda rummaged through some drawers in her kitchen and returned with one. The light was dim, but it would do. He shone it down the stairs, where the flour faded with each step. So whatever it was had gone down the stairs, not up them. Which meant whatever it was had a high probability of still being down there.

  “Is there another way out the basement?”