A Thorn Among the Lilies

by Michael Hiebert

  “Your pa round?” Leah asked.

  “Let me go see.”

  The kid started walking back into the house hollering, “Pa! Someone at the door for you!”

  Finally, a man Leah barely recognized showed up in the doorway. He was about six foot one, had a couple of tattoos done in jailhouse blue, wore no shirt, and was wearing Levi’s that hung a little too low at the waistline. His hair was curly and fell down the front of his face. He looked very boyish—not at all the way Leah remembered Glen Swift the last time she saw him.

  Of course, the last time she saw him he was piss stinking drunk and in handcuffs at one in the morning, having just driven his car through the plate-glass window at the front of the bank.

  “Hi,” he said, with a smile that dimpled perfectly.

  Leah collected herself. “I’m Leah Teal, detective for the Alvin police. I was wonderin’ if you wouldn’t mind answerin’ a few questions.”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  Oh, dessert is so much better than dinner. “Do you still own the 1982 Chevy pickup you drove through the Alvin First National Bank window?”

  He laughed. “No, it was sort of a bad reminder of things for me. Got rid of it the moment I got out of the can.”

  “Do you own any pickups?”

  He leaned forward. “Lady, look around you. I don’t own any vehicles.”

  “Would it be okay for me to take a look inside your house and your garage?”

  He hesitated on this but finally decided it would be all right.

  She looked through his house first. Other than toys littered over the floor pretty much in every room, the place was clean. Working with Glen Swift was a stark contrast after trying to work with Corwin Strait. It didn’t take long for Leah to convince herself that there were no hostages anywhere inside Swift’s house. He was just a man who lived with a boy he seemed to love very much. Everything about the house showed a father trying to handle raising a son on his own. Made Leah wonder what happened to the mother.

  “You own any guns?” Leah asked.

  There was a hesitation. “Sure, I use ’em for huntin’. What’s that got to do with anythin’?”

  “Mind showin’ them to me?”

  “They’re in a gun vault in my bedroom. I have a license and everythin’.”

  “I’m sure you do, I just wanna see what you got.”

  They went into the master bedroom where he showed her the guns.

  His vault was a rather stylish wooden affair with glass sides so you could see the rifles sitting vertically inside. There was a compartment at the top that had its own key that stored handguns.

  “So you own a rifle and a shotgun?” Leah asked, lookin’ into the vault.

  “That’s right. The rifle is a .22 long and the shotgun is .12 gauge.”

  “Any handguns?”

  “No, under the 1968 legislation prohibition, my past makes me unable to buy anything but long guns. But you already know that. At least you should.”

  “Care to open the top of your vault?” Leah asked. That would be where someone would normally store their handguns.

  “Care to show me a warrant, Detective?”

  “I’m lookin’ for an old gun. Somethin’ more like a collector-style thing than somethin’ you’d use for huntin’ with. It’s a Beretta 950, made back in the fifties or sixties. Know anyone who might have somethin’ like that?”

  He was already shaking his head before Leah finished her question. “No, ma’am. I don’t talk to a lot of people ’bout guns.”

  “You know anyone who collects old guns?”

  Swift thought for a moment. “Not really. I don’t get out much anymore since returning home from my stay in prison. Most of my time is spent lookin’ after Wyatt.”

  “Okay, well, I guess you’ve answered all my questions. If you can think of anyone who might have a lead on that Beretta 950, please give me a call.” She handed him one of her business cards, both of them knowing it would be tossed into the trash as soon as she left.

  He took it. “Are you done lookin’ through the house?”

  “I think so,” she said.

  He escorted her to the front door.

  “Now can we look in your garage?” Leah asked.

  “Sure,” Swift said.

  The garage was empty of any cars or trucks, but looked like a junk drawer full of children’s toys. Swift was beside her when they walked in. “How many kids you got?” Leah asked.

  “Just the one,” Swift said. “He’s enough. What a handful.”

  “His mom round?”

  “No, she left when I got outta the joint. Not sure why she didn’t take Wyatt with her, but I’m kind of glad she left him with me. Be awfully lonesome otherwise.”

  “All these toys belong to him?”

  Swift laughed. “Yeah, most of these are from when he was four or five or even younger. I don’t like to throw anythin’ away. I figure one day he might have a kid and I can give him back all this stuff.”

  “You still drinkin’ beer?” Leah knew she was on shaky ground with this question.

  “I have the odd one. Nothin’ like before. As soon as I was the only one in charge of Wyatt, I knew things had to change. It’s amazing what kids can do for your life.”

  “Yep,” she said, her mind shifting gears to her own kids and everything they’d brought into her life. There are times she thought that, without them, she wouldn’t even be here anymore. They gave her reasons for living. “Kids are great . . .” she said, almost to herself, her voice trailing off.

  “Sure are. Anyway, feel free to come back anytime.”

  “Thank you.”

  Leah returned to her car and drove out onto the street, wondering if there might be more to Glen Swift than he let on. He seemed too nice for comfort. And then there was the rifle and the shotgun.

  To say the least, they made an impression on her.

  CHAPTER 50

  “Okay,” Dewey said, trying to sound spooky, “are you ready to learn your future?”

  “Sure,” I replied, not really caring.

  Dewey had his mother’s scarves tied all over him and looked like he should be twirling around onstage with ice skates on or maybe on one of those TV shows where the men all dress up as women.

  Closing his eyes, his left hand fingers shot to my forehead. I thought he was going to poke me in the eyes, so I backed away really quick.

  “Don’t,” he said, opening his eyes. “Come back where you were. Don’t move.”

  “Then don’t poke out my eyes.”

  “I wasn’t. I was getting your psychic aura.”

  “Okay.”

  I moved back and he did it again, this time ending up with three fingers on my forehead. “I see . . .” he said. “I see that your name starts with an A.”

  “Dewey, you know my name already. This isn’t psychic. This is psycho.”

  “Just give me a chance. Your name is Abe and you come from the small town of Alvin.”

  “You’re just brilliant at this,” I said.

  “Wait! I see something else! You’re going to encounter some danger soon.”

  “Danger of boredom,” I said. “Don’t you use your cards? I think they’d be better than this.”

  “I do . . . just give me a sec, I’m still receiving images. Someone is going to kiss you tonight.”

  “Okay, I’m not listening to this.” I started getting up. “You’re about as psychic as the Palmers’ beagle.”

  “No! No! Sit back down! We’ll use the cards!”

  With a huff, I sat.

  We were sitting in my bedroom on the floor at the foot of my bed. The hardwood was cold, but it was a nice day outside so we didn’t mind so much. Lately the temperature had been bouncing around like a rubber ball. One day it would be sixty degrees, the next it would be forty, the next it would be fifty-five. One day even dropped to thirty-five, if you can believe it. I don’t think anyone went outside that day.

  The only good thi
ng about the weather was that there hadn’t been much rain. We’d had a little and the one big rainstorm, but for the most part every day had been fairly sunny with white puffy clouds filling the sky, when there were clouds.

  But today, once again, dark clouds had been threatening. They’d started in the east a few hours ago and looked the color of pencil lead right after you’ve sharpened your pencil and you fill in a picture with it at school. So I wasn’t holding my breath about the good weather holding up much longer.

  “Okay,” Dewey said, having pulled the tarot cards from the deck. He started going through them, looking at their fronts.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Looking at a card to represent you.”

  “Madame Crystalle never did that.”

  “My book uses a different method than she does.”

  He finally pulled out the Page of Swords and laid it on the floor in front of him. Then he handed the rest of the deck to me awkwardly using his left hand. I went to grab it, and he said, “No! Use your left hand.” So I did.

  “Shuffle the cards overhand.”

  I did. Just like Carry did when we saw Madame Crystalle. Then I laid them down in three piles with my left hand and Dewey picked them up with his left. As he pulled cards from the top of the deck he said things like, “This covers you,” and “This crosses you,” and “This is beneath you,” and stuff like that. In total, he put ten cards down. Two went on top of my card, three went around it, and four came down the right side.

  Then, with the help of his book (and I’m sure a fair amount of imagination), he read my future.

  “I see a new beginnin’ in some sorta financial venture where you’ll do well except right now somethin’ is holdin’ you back from startin’.”

  “Maybe the fact that I’m twelve years old?” I suggested.

  “Whatever it is, it’s gonna take a bit of strugglin’ to get past it.”

  “Probably not my age, then. That just sort of goes by on its own.”

  “In your head, money’s always been a problem, but the reality is you’re unable to see how clever you really are, believe it or not. Which is hard to believe because you think you’re pretty clever.” He looked up.

  “It doesn’t say that,” I said.

  “No, but it should.”

  “Just stick to the cards.”

  “You see yourself as havin’ a good imagination, and you reckon you’re smart enough to keep up with everyone else.”

  “Who can’t I keep up with?”

  “I’m just readin’ ’em, Abe.”

  “Fine, go on.”

  “Other people see you as reckless, with no direction. They reckon you’re suspicious by nature, and misuse your energy, which would be better spent in other places.”

  “I ain’t suspicious by nature.”

  “You are, too. Remember Mr. Wyatt Edward Farrow? What ’bout Preacher Eli? And how much time did we waste lyin’ in your front yard staring at Mr. Wyatt Edward Farrow’s stupid garage wonderin’ when he left to go pee?”

  “Okay, then, there’s no way it says that.”

  “Does too,” Dewey said, turning the book around. “Look.”

  “Holy cow.”

  “Yeah, I told you these work.”

  “Keep goin’.”

  “You like to be congratulated for stuff. When you come up with a theory or an accusation, you want to be right. But that’s not usually enough. You want the world to know you’re right.”

  “Everyone wants that,” I said.

  “Not as much as you. Okay, we only have one card left—it’s called Temperance and it’s in the tenth position. So in that position, it means you will eventually find calmness and balance, but first you’ll need to go through a bunch of struggles. Most of those struggles will be over showin’ the world how smart you are and then provin’ to it that you are right. Which sounds to me like you’re awfully stubborn.”

  “Stick to the book. I don’t need your editorializin’.”

  “Well, there ya go, that’s your readin’.” Dewey picked up all the cards. I just sat there, thinking.

  “You know, Dewey, I think if you could memorize all the stuff in that book? You could make money doin’ this. You’re actually pretty good at it.”

  “You’re surprised? I told you I was psychic.”

  “Surprised ain’t the word. Shell-shocked would be more like it. I wouldn’t wear the women’s clothing, though.”

  “This isn’t women’s clothing, Abe, it’s psychic attire. You know, like pirates and how they wear scarves.”

  “I’m not sure about pirates wearing scarves, especially on their heads.”

  “Sure they do,” Dewey said.

  “Well, they definitely don’t wear lace, Dewey. And I’m pretty sure their scarves aren’t made from their ma’s silky lingerie.”

  CHAPTER 51

  “How good are you at golfing?” Jonathon asked Carry the morning of New Year’s Eve.

  “Golfing?” she laughed. “Um, I don’t know. I’ve never held a golf club in my hands. There are no golf courses in Alvin.”

  “There are,” Jonathon said, “in fact, two. And today we’re going to one.”

  “Oh, we are, are we? And where might these mythological golf courses be?”

  “That’s private information, only given out on a need-to-know basis, and you don’t need to know. Just make sure you’re wearing comfortable shoes.”

  They were currently at Carry’s watching television, only for once Carry’s eyes weren’t glued to the TV screen, they were fixed on the side of Jonathon’s head. He was sort of lying down in her lap. She had found herself becoming more and more fixated on him since they first met that day on the sidewalk with all the pizza.

  The golf courses, wherever they happened to be, couldn’t be very far away on account of Jonathon told Carry they were leaving on foot and wouldn’t be taking the bus. That meant they were within walking distance. Now there was one thing Carry was sure of and that was that there were absolutely no golf courses within walking distance from her house.

  She turned out to be wrong.

  Sort of.

  The only club she wound up needing for golfing turned out to be a putter. Jonathon took Carry to Jolly Castle Fun Park, an arcade with mini-golf located just off Main Street on Sweetwater Drive. Carry hadn’t actually been inside the place for years. It was in a giant castle. Like being in the castle, she hadn’t mini-golfed since she was, like, twelve, so she doubted she was going to be any good.

  “Oh, it’s like riding a bike,” Jonathon said.

  “I haven’t really done that since I was twelve either,” she said.

  “Okay, then it’s like falling off a bike. Either way, you’ll remember how to do it after the first couple of holes.”

  Before they actually started golfing, Jonathon took her for lunch at the castle. It wasn’t the greatest of lunches—hot dogs and soda pop—but it was lunch with her boyfriend, and Carry loved the way boyfriend rolled around in her head when she thought about the word.

  Jolly Castle Fun Park had two different mini-golf courses. One had an aquatic theme, the other a jungle theme. Jonathon bought the tickets, choosing the jungle-themed course. The courses were beneath the castle and they had to walk down two flights of steps to get to the entrance.

  Inside, everything was dark. There were floodlights (mainly blue) positioned around each of the holes.

  “How many holes are we playin’?” Carry asked, kind of hoping he’d say nine.

  “You gotta play eighteen. It’s the law.”

  “Whose law?”

  “The law of miniature golf.”

  “Great.”

  The first hole was pretty straightforward. Just a straight drive from the tee to the hole with a small bump in the middle. At the other end, a purple octopus wrapped around the outside of the hole with its tentacles reaching in toward the cup. It looked like it should make things easier.

  “You go first,” Carry
said.

  “No, no. Ladies first.”

  “You go first, or I wrap this club around your neck.”

  “Okay,” Jonathon said. “There are always exceptions.”

  Jonathon ended up with a three, which was one over par. Carry ended up with a seven, but it was a sort of cheat seven with Jonathon blocking her ball with his foot as it sailed over the hole, so instead of whipping past it dropped straight in.

  “I knew this was going to be a disaster,” Carry said.

  “It’s not ’bout the score,” Jonathon said. “It’s about the fun.”

  “I’m not having much fun. I’m losing ridiculously.”

  “That’s not fun?” Jonathon said. “Just relax. By the end of the course you’ll be better.”

  Jonathon’s theory turned out to be totally wrong. By the end of the course, Carry was just as bad as she had been at the beginning of the course. In fact, she was worse because her mood had turned so sour. She wanted to club Jonathon to death for choosing this as their New Year’s Eve date. She was so happy when she saw the sign for the eighteenth hole coming into view.

  On that hole (which, thank God, was the last hole), if you got the ball into the lion’s mouth, you won a free game of mini-golf. Jonathon went first and barely missed. His ball ended up dropping to the edge and rolling away.

  Then Carry went. Please don’t let me win a free game, she thought. She whapped her ball, not taking aim at all, and lo and behold, her ball bounced off the top of the screen blocking bad shots, came back down, and fell right into the lion’s mouth. She had won a free game of mini-golf.

  It was the last thing she wanted. She raised her club, considering bludgeoning Jonathon with it if he even so much as mentioned playing another round.

  “Oh my God, that was great!” Jonathon said, brushing the club she was holding up and giving her a great big hug. “Do you want to play your free game now?”

  Carry was too stunned over the hug to answer. Her stomach felt like a burst of sparrows had just flown from a tree growing in its center.

  “Well?” he said.

  “Well, what?” she asked, having completely missed his original question.

  “Wanna play again and use your free game?”