Popcorn Thief

by Cutter, Leah

  Mama just glared at Franklin, while Gloria looked thoughtful.

  With an effort, Franklin released the knife, dropping it back onto the table, letting loose the power in his hand. “I won’t use the knife, Mama. Not on you. I promise.”

  Gloria couldn’t actually make him a thief when it came to the most important thing in his life, growing popping corn.

  This knife, this thing of power, wouldn’t turn him into a cheater, either.

  * * *

  Franklin called Darryl from the Kroger the next day, during his first break. He’d stepped outside the store, into the back alley, where he’d at least have a little privacy. Large bales of cardboard boxes that had been flattened lay neatly stacked next to the dumpsters. The sun beat down on the tiny alley. Franklin hung next to the brick wall, trying to stay in the shade.

  “The sheriff’s being an idiot,” Franklin told Darryl. “He’s gonna get one of us killed.”

  “Whatcha mean?” Darryl asked.

  Franklin told Darryl the plan the sheriff had about gathering deputies and going hunting this thing. “He’ll end up just winging it, right? So it’ll come directly after us.”

  “Then we gotta be prepared,” Darryl said. “You know it’ll go to your place first.”

  “Maybe,” Franklin said. He hadn’t thought about that. “How are we gonna fight it?” He still didn’t think they could just use love.

  “I’m thinking maybe the problem has been the shotguns,” Darryl said.

  “What?” Franklin shook his head. Of course, Darryl would be thinking about weapons.

  “It’s a whirling thing, right?”

  Franklin nodded, shivering in the heat. He could still see it in his mind’s eye, like a dust devil, with poisonous whips.

  “So maybe it needs something that’ll penetrate it more slowly. Like an arrow.”

  “I don’t understand,” Franklin complained. “And I don’t know how to use a bow.”

  “It’s okay. I do.”

  “Now, you are the one gonna get us killed,” Franklin said. “No. We gotta come up with a better plan on how to defend ourselves.”

  “Well, when you come up with one, I’ll be all ears,” Darryl said. “In the meanwhile, I’m getting more ammo ready,” he added, hanging up.

  Franklin sighed. Darryl was probably right—that thing would come after him first. And while Darryl’s plan was terrible, at least he had one.

  Franklin needed to come up with some kind of plan soon.

  * * *

  The funeral for Adrianna was at the Unitarian church across town, one that Franklin had never been to before. It didn’t have crosses or pictures of saints, just scenes of regular folks, helping each other. The floor was made from a fancy marble that clicked or clacked with every step. Wide wooden beams held up the roof, making the sanctuary feel even more open. Families huddled closer together on the pews, friends sitting right beside their neighbors, ’cause the place felt so big.

  Franklin sat with Charlene and the others from the store, though Charlene made sure that a couple of folks sat between her and Franklin. None of his cousins had come: They hadn’t known the Sorrels as well. But at least half the town was there.

  The sermon was nice enough, though Franklin didn’t know any of the hymns they sang. But lots of people stood up and talked about Adrianna, telling stories about her life, her acts of kindness, how they’d all miss her and her crazy schemes.

  After the service, they all went downstairs to the community room. That, at least, felt the same as the one at Franklin’s church, with similar round tables, cookies, coffee, and tea.

  Franklin went to say hello to Ray. “I’m so sorry,” Franklin said, shaking Ray’s hand.

  “I know,” Ray said. “You make sure you take care of this thing. You stop it from killing anyone else.”

  “I will,” Franklin promised. He had no idea how, but he would.

  * * *

  Karl came up to Franklin as he was getting ready to leave the church. Franklin almost didn’t recognize him, wearing a gray-green suit that hung on him, like it had been made for a larger man, his hair washed and hanging down around his shoulders, with a cream-colored shirt and black tie.

  It figured. Karl even dressed better than he did.

  “Hey, jailbird,” Karl said, reaching out his hand to shake Franklin’s first.

  “You ain’t never gonna let that go, are you?” Franklin asked, surprised, but still taking Karl’s hand. “I didn’t know you knew Adrianna.” Karl had been at the Sorrels’ parties, like most of the folks in town, but Franklin hadn’t known they’d been friends.

  Karl shrugged. “Everyone knew Adrianna.”

  Franklin nodded. She’d always been talking with everyone at the store, asking people how they were and how their day was going, even if she didn’t know them. “You know the sheriff’s planning on coming after the creature,” Franklin told Karl softly. “At your farm.” Even if Karl was his rival, he still deserved to know.

  “You’re shitting me,” Karl replied. “Dang it! How the he-heck does he intend on doing that? He can’t even see it. I don’t even think it’s real.”

  “He says he’s gonna get a warrant, do a line shoot.” Franklin shook his head. At least the sheriff had enough discipline over his men that they wouldn’t go shooting each other.

  “That even legal?” Karl asked.

  “Sheriff thinks so,” Franklin said. “’Course that means the thing’ll just come after Darryl or me.”

  “Really?” Karl said. “You sure?”

  “Every time it’s been injured, it comes looking for revenge,” Franklin told Karl.

  “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes,” Karl said, shaking his head.

  “Why, thank you,” Franklin said dryly. They stood in silence for a moment, watching a group of young women walk by. “Why does that thing like your fields so much, Karl?” Franklin asked. “Do you even know?”

  “I didn’t remember until just recent,” Karl admitted. “When Adrianna and Roy first came to town, they tried to buy my fields. Adrianna said they was the most powerful in town. The place they got was the second most powerful.”

  “You think that thing is feeding off your land somehow?” Franklin asked. No wonder the thing kept going back to Karl’s fields, why it had attacked Adrianna. It was drawn to that power.

  “Yeah. That businessman, too, wanted my fields.” Karl paused, then added, “My popping corn’s better than yours.”

  “No, it ain’t,” Franklin replied automatically, stung by Karl’s statement.

  “It is,” Karl insisted. “And it’s because there’s something special in my land. I’ve seen how you treat your fields, how much precision you use in drying your corn. You should be winning the prize. But you never will.”

  “Bull,” Franklin said heatedly. He looked over his shoulder, then looked down again, embarrassed at the older black woman giving him a dark look for swearing. “I will win it. This year, too.”

  “If you win, it’ll only be because someone’s been stealing so much of my crop,” Karl said seriously. “It ain’t that you ain’t good, Franklin. You are. You’re the best competitor I ever had. But I know, I know, there’s something special in my land, especially since this summer.”

  Franklin nodded, swallowing down the bitterness rising in his throat. He wasn’t ever gonna beat Karl, was he? Everything was stacked against him, as always.

  “Don’t take it so hard,” Karl said, patting Franklin’s back. “All that I got that’s special is that field. While everyone in town knows you’re special, all on your own.”

  Franklin paused, turning to look at Karl. He’d never thought of it that way before.

  Karl continued. “Most folks never gave me much credit for what my farm produced. They knew it was the land. Could throw seeds across the stones there and they’d grow.” Karl sighed. “I work damn hard. You can believe it. But nobody else does. None of my great crops come from me. No one ever thinks I’m t
alented or special. It’s just the land. Not me.”

  “They’re still great crops,” Franklin pointed out.

  “Yeah, and I wouldn’t trade that. But I just—I wish I could take a bit more credit, you know? You earn that second-place ribbon. I don’t know if I do or not.”

  Franklin thought about that for a long time after Karl left the room. He’d always thought he wanted to exchange his life for Karl’s.

  For the first time, Franklin wasn’t so sure.

  * * *

  Just outside the church, Franklin saw Charlene talking to some of the checkers from the Kroger. He walked over toward them, pleased to see Charlene not only didn’t turn her back, but instead, excused herself from the group and walked toward him as well.

  “Morning, Miss Charlene,” Franklin said. “You look nice.” And she did, in her white blouse with the frills down the front and a tight black skirt. She still only wore work makeup, enough to be pretty but not stand out. Large gold hoops, like what Mama wore, dangled from her ears.

  “Morning, Franklin. You still look like shit,” Charlene said with a smile. “You ever sleep?”

  Franklin shook his head. “Not much. I’m hoping that things get settled soon though.” Either he was gonna take care of the creature, or it would get him.

  “I’m glad you came to the funeral,” Charlene said.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Franklin asked.

  “You was there when she was killed,” Charlene said. “I figured you might be too guilty.”

  “What, are you thinking I killed her or something?” Franklin asked. He kept hold of his temper, though, hoping Charlene wasn’t accusing him of anything else.

  “No, I don’t,” Charlene said seriously. “I know you did everything you could to help that poor woman.”

  Franklin nodded. He just wished there was something he could have done, even if he’d gotten over there earlier.

  “You know, the sheriff don’t really believe in all your talk of a creature,” Charlene said.

  “I know,” Franklin said with a sigh. How could the poor man? He’d never seen it. Hell, most of the time no one believed Franklin’s ghosts, including Charlene, and ghosts was harmless. Thinking that something that most folks couldn’t see was deadly was just asking too much. “But he’s still going after it,” Franklin added.

  “Really?” Charlene asked. She had that gleam in her eye, wanting to know more. “Details.”

  Franklin happily obliged, telling her about the sheriff’s plan to shoot up Karl’s fields.

  “So that’s why he canceled his deputy’s leave. Wanted him to come in, instead,” Charlene said, nodding.

  “Really? He canceled leave? That’s just wrong,” Franklin said.

  “Don’t I just know it. Say, have you heard—” Charlene broke off as Sheriff Thompson’s Crown Vic pulled into the parking lot, the lights on top flashing. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Beats me,” Franklin said, though sweat broke out all across his shoulders. Had someone else been attacked? Was there someone else dead?

  The sheriff got out of his car, leaving the lights flashing. He walked directly toward Franklin. “You thought you were so clever, not giving us your prints, that first time,” the sheriff complained as he bore down on Franklin.

  “What do you mean?” Franklin asked, backing up.

  “I’m here to arrest you for the murder of your cousin, Lexine. Now, turn around, hands behind your back,” the sheriff directed.

  Franklin turned, helpless. What the hell? Why was he suddenly a murder suspect?

  Then he remembered the cob of corn, with his fingerprints on it.

  They must have finally gotten around to matching his prints to it.

  When Franklin turned back around, the cold metal of the handcuffs cutting into his wrists, the first thing he saw was Charlene, backing away and shaking her head.

  He’d lost her friendship, for sure. Hopefully, he still had a job.

  * * *

  “Did you really have to do that?” Franklin complained as the sheriff removed the handcuffs once Franklin was seated in the back of the sheriff’s car. The seat felt sticky under Franklin’s good suit, and the car stank of sweat, stale French fries, and spilled sweet tea.

  “Told you I was going to arrest you in front of your friends and everyone,” the sheriff said with great satisfaction.

  “I didn’t kill Lexine,” Franklin said.

  “We’ll talk about that back at the station,” Sheriff Thompson replied as he peeled out of the parking lot and raced back toward Main Street.

  Franklin sat back and banged his head against the seat. How could this be happening? He hadn’t killed Lexine, any more than he’d killed Adrianna. Was the sheriff thinking he’d been too involved, like Charlene had been implying?

  Mama would be so ashamed of him, right now. Sitting in the back of a police car! She might’ve closed the beauty salon for a week to hide her shame.

  Since Franklin had recently been arrested, they didn’t have to process him, like they normally would, with fingerprints and pictures. Instead, the sheriff took Franklin directly to an interview room. A camera, set up on a tripod, stared at him from the corner, the single eye of the lens accusing him of things he’d never even thought of doing. The chairs were hard and uncomfortable, the cushions made from black vinyl that squeaked every time Franklin shifted in his seat. A dingy, formerly white particleboard table sat between Franklin and the empty chair that would hold his interrogator.

  Franklin had seen these rooms on so many TV shows. He’d sometimes wanted to be the one questioning the criminal, but he’d never wanted to be on this end of the table. The room felt small and closed in like a trap. He kept telling himself to take deep breaths, despite how stale the air smelled, how it felt like there wasn’t enough of it.

  Why were they making him wait like this? Franklin had assumed they’d just jump right into questioning or accusing him. Were they giving him time to stew? To think about his supposed crimes, so he’d be ready to confess to anything?

  Franklin jumped when the door finally opened and the sheriff came in, carrying a plain file folder. He jumped again when the sheriff slapped it down on the table.

  “I know we asked you these questions before, but I’m asking again. And this time, you better tell me the truth,” the sheriff warned. “Where were you on Tuesday?”

  “I was at work. You can check with anyone,” Franklin said. At least Franklin knew he was covered there.

  “And afterward?”

  “I went home and worked in the field behind my house,” Franklin said. He knew Lexine had been killed that afternoon, and he didn’t have an alibi.

  “And on your day off, Thursday, right? What did you do?” the sheriff asked.

  “I worked around my farm,” Franklin said. He shifted, then regretted it, as the vinyl squeaked.

  “Break it down for me. Step by step,” Sheriff Thompson said. His beady eyes bored deep into Franklin.

  “I got up at my usual time—too damn early. Made breakfast, went out into the field back behind the house. Spent the day pulling weeds, tying up tomato plants, shoring up the chicken-wire fence the squash is climbing up,” Franklin said smoothly. Those were all the things he’d actually done that day.

  Darryl had always told Franklin to lie with as much truth as possible.

  “Then how do you explain your fingerprints at Lexine’s house?” the sheriff asked.

  “She was my cousin? I saw her a lot?” Franklin pointed out reasonably. “I went out to her place often?”

  “On one of the ears of corn placed next to her corpse?” Sheriff Thompson slipped a photo out of the folder.

  There was that damn ear of corn, put there by Gloria. A white ruler had been photographed next to it. Franklin noted again that it had been growing well, before Gloria had ripped it off the stem.

  “I didn’t put that there,” Franklin told the sheriff truthfully.

  “Who did, then?” Sheriff Thom
pson said. He pointed to the corn. “You said there’s no corn missing from your fields. But there are cobs missing from Karl Metzger’s fields. You said you aren’t stealing his corn. But here’s a cob with your fingerprints on it. It was put there after Lexine and Earl Jackson were killed. Put there by you.”

  Franklin chuckled nervously and shook his head. “I swear to you, sheriff, I did not place that cob of corn there. I don’t deny that it’s from Karl’s crop, or that my fingerprints are on it. But I did not put it there.”

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me some damned creature dropped it there instead,” the sheriff growled.

  Franklin shrugged. “That’s the honest truth, Sheriff. I swear. I didn’t put it there. It was a ghost.”

  “How can you be so damn sure it was a ghost?” Sheriff Thompson asked, his eyes flicking from the photo to Franklin and back. “You’ve been guilty about something since the start. Were you there in the house?” When Franklin didn’t reply, the sheriff slapped the table hard. “Answer me!”

  Franklin jumped. He didn’t want to admit that he’d been there, at the house. That just wouldn’t be smart. Besides, Darryl would kill him if he confessed to anything.

  “Stands to reason, don’t it?” Franklin said reasonably. “I didn’t put it there. Must have been a ghost. The ghost who took it from Karl’s fields. Like she’s been taking the rest of his crop.”

  “I don’t believe in your ghosts. You put it there,” the sheriff said, jamming his finger into the photo. “You were there. In the cabin. Before we arrived. And you didn’t report the crime. Why?”

  “I wasn’t there,” Franklin insisted. “And even if I had been there, I couldn’t have reported the crime. There’s no cell phone reception up at Lexine’s place. It was one of the reasons why she bought that land.”

  “I know you were there,” the sheriff said. “Or maybe, maybe you aren’t lying about that. Maybe it’s something else. Something you feel guilty about. Don’t you want to tell me, Franklin?” Sheriff Thompson’s tone turned more gentle. “Don’t you want to help me get Lexine’s killer?”