by Betsy Byars
“Then Maggie will hit us—she always does—she hates for us to say that.”
“But Maggie’s in the house. I saw her go in.”
“Well, then we’ll do something else. If they ask why we’re laughing, you say, ‘Michael just told a joke,’ and if they want to hear it, then I will tell the joke about the monkeys on Mars.”
“Let’s go.”
The thought of the joke about the monkeys on Mars sobered Vern and Michael enough so they were able to come around the side of the house as serious as judges. They had both learned an important fact about humor—something you should laugh at is never as funny as something you shouldn’t.
“What’s going on?” Vern asked innocently.
“Yeah, what’s going on?” Michael echoed.
“Now, Mary, we know you’re awake. We know you hear us. Open your eyes.”
The woman’s voice was firm, as if she was used to getting her way.
“Mary, can you hear me? Nod your head if you can.”
Mary didn’t want to, but she nodded.
“Now, Mary, we need some information for the records.”
Mary was motionless under the strange stiff sheets. Her body felt stiff and strange too.
“We know your name. You’re Mary Cantrell. You’re a very famous person in this town, but nobody seems to know where you live. What is your address?”
Mad Mary shook her head from side to side, mute with misery.
“Can you remember your address?”
Mary shook her head.
“You can’t remember your address?”
At last Mary spoke, her voice cracking from fear and lack of use. “I don’t have one.”
“You don’t have an address. You’re, like, homeless?”
Mary shook her head.
“You’re not homeless.”
“No.”
“Where do you live then? What is your address?”
Mary saw it was no use now. She might as well give the woman what she wanted.
“I live,” she said with great dignity, “in a cave.”
Pap didn’t look at Vern and Michael, who had just come around the corner of the house. He had Junior by the shoulders, forcing Junior to look at him.
Junior didn’t want to.
Pap said, “Junior, now if we have the trial and Mud is found innocent …”
“He won’t be innocent. He’s not innocent. How could he be innocent?”
“Everybody—even Mud—is innocent until proven guilty. That’s the American way, Junior.”
“Not Mud.”
“Yes, even Mud. Now, Junior, if Mud is found innocent, then you’ll accept that, won’t you? You’ll give up on taking your revenge?”
Silence.
“Junior?”
Silence.
“Junior, we can’t have the trial unless you agree to abide by the results.”
“Oh, all right. But he couldn’t be found innocent because he’s a dirty rotten murderer and everybody knows it. So there!”
CHAPTER 16
Maggie and Ralphie
“And just what do you think you’re doing?”
After Maggie said that, the silence in her bedroom stretched on and on until it was immeasurable in normal minutes and hours. Nothing could record the length of time Ralphie stood looking at Maggie and Maggie stood looking back with those mint-green eyes.
The silence was reaching the point where it could never be broken when Ralphie cleared his throat.
“I was looking for a Bible,” he said.
The words were as astonishing to Ralphie as they were, apparently, to Maggie. But at least, Ralphie thought, he had the cool not to let his mouth drop open.
She was obviously incapable of even a “What?,” so Ralphie repeated his statement in a courteous manner.
“I was looking,” he paused effectively, “for a Bible.”
The repetition of the words gave them the calm, steady ring of the truth.
Maggie’s mouth remained open. She was still apparently in a state of shock.
“See, I heard you say you were going to have a trial,” Ralphie went on with understated brilliance, “and you’ll obviously need a Bible to swear in the witnesses. I was going to surprise you.”
“Well, you certainly surprised me, all right.”
Ralphie had surprised himself as well, but he didn’t mention that.
Maggie came into the room. She scowled as she saw the barrettes in Ralphie’s hand.
“You were looking for a Bible in my barrette basket?” she asked.
“I thought you might have one of those—er, pocket Bibles.”
“No, I do not have a pocket Bible.”
She crossed the room and held out her hand. Ralphie said, “Well, you can’t blame me for hoping.” He turned his hand over and deposited the barrettes in hers.
She looked them over with suspicion. Then with a sigh of dissatisfaction, she put them back in the basket.
The hair band with the marbles on it was still on Ralphie’s ring finger. Ralphie worked it off, bent and pretended to pick it up for her.
“You missed one.”
Maggie began straightening the objects on her dresser—even the ones he had not touched. She spent a lot of time getting everything just right.
Ralphie had the feeling Maggie was stalling for time, trying to figure out what was missing. Did she think he had come up here to steal barrettes or combs or hair ribbons? Still, he would rather she think that than that he had come up looking for a flower.
As far as he was concerned, Maggie was making too much over the fact that he looked for a pocket Bible in her barrette basket and spilled a few barrettes. If she hadn’t had too many barrettes in the basket in the first place, he wouldn’t have spilled anything.
All the barrettes and ribbons were back in the basket, the objects on the dresser were in perfect order, but Maggie still didn’t look satisfied.
She looked around for something like a lid to slam on the basket for emphasis.
Maggie did not want to slam a lid on her barrette basket. She wanted to slam one on Ralphie’s head.
Anyway, she wasn’t looking for a lid. She was looking around to see if she could spot what Ralphie was doing in her bedroom. She knew he was up to something. What?
She couldn’t ask him again, because that would give him the opportunity and satisfaction of being quick-witted. At one time she had admired Ralphie’s quick wit, but “I was looking for a Bible” was too quick-witted.
“I didn’t take anything, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Ralphie said.
Maggie turned her green eyes on him, and Ralphie fell silent.
Maggie’s eyes were her strong point, and she knew it. She could say a lot with her eyes, but she was mad enough now to use her voice too.
“You don’t have to take something to commit a crime.”
Ralphie waited. He shifted under her cool gaze.
“Trespassing is a crime, too, you know, and I don’t think you can deny you’re trespassing.”
“Come on, Maggie, haven’t we got enough crimes going on without making up something like trespassing? We’ve got a murder case on our hands.”
“On OUR hands?”
Ralphie began the long walk to the door of Maggie’s room. He limped a little, but she knew he was doing that to get her sympathy and it didn’t work.
Halfway across the room, Ralphie said, “Oh, I just thought of something important.”
Maggie didn’t ask, but Ralphie told her anyway.
“I was wondering …” Ralphie moved into the hallway in a confident and manly way. Maggie watched his back with those hard green eyes.
At the stairs he turned. Maggie was still standing by the dresser.
“What I was wondering was …” Ralphie trailed off. He appeared to be listening to something. He smiled with secret satisfaction.
This secrecy of this smile was too much for Maggie. She crossed the room, grabbed the door, and slamm
ed it shut in Ralphie’s face.
“What I was wondering was—did anyone think to read Mud his rights?” Ralphie called through the closed door.
Of course she didn’t answer, and after a moment she heard his footsteps going down the stairs.
Maggie stood at the door, breathing hard.
Slamming the door on Ralphie had helped ease her anger, but not enough. She walked to her bed. She threw back her covers. She flipped her pillow over. She looked down.
There was the flower Ralphie had worked into her braid the day before. She had slept on it. Her mother was always saying, “Whatever you put under your pillow, you’ll dream about. It’s true, Shug, it works for me all the time.”
So Maggie had put the flower under her pillow, and the only thing she had to be thankful for was that it hadn’t worked. She had not dreamed about flowers or Ralphie or anything else that stupid.
She picked up the flower. She let it rest in her palm for a moment. It was wilted, unbearably soft. She crushed it in her hand and threw it in the trash can on her way to the door.
CHAPTER 17
Mud in Absentia
Mud wouldn’t come out from behind the apple crate for his trial.
“Make him come out, Pap,” Junior demanded. “He’s your dog. He’ll come out if you tell him to.”
“Junior, it won’t do one bit of good in this world to drag that poor animal out here.”
“It will!”
“Junior—”
Junior turned away from Pap and threw himself back on his knees by the steps. He peered under the house.
“Mud, sup-per,” he called with a false cheerfulness.
“Come on, Mud, I’ve got something real good for you.”
“Don’t lie to the dog.”
Junior ignored Pap.
“Ride, Mud, want to go for a ride?”
Junior’s head jerked up with sudden thought. He looked over his shoulder at Maggie. “Will you do me a big, BIG favor?”
“What?”
“Go to the truck and blow the horn—one long, two shorts. That’ll make him come out.” One long, two shorts was Pap’s signal to Mud that he was leaving and wanted Mud to go along.
“Leave my truck out of this,” Pap said.
Ralphie was standing by the steps while all this was happening. His arms were crossed over his chest.
Ralphie had never felt so in control in his life. He was like a master puppeteer, he thought. He couldn’t wait for the glorious moment when Maggie gave up her anger to recognize and appreciate his quick wit and clear thinking. He knew Maggie had not been serious when she slammed the door in his face, because when she came downstairs five minutes later, she had seemed perfectly normal.
“We’ll have to try him in absentia,” Ralphie said. He maintained a modest expression, which wasn’t easy when his mouth kept saying brilliant things.
Junior turned to look at Ralphie. “What’s that?” he asked.
Ralphie was happy to explain. “It’s when the defendant is absent.”
Junior looked to Pap for confirmation. Pap nodded. “That’s what it is.”
“So we can have the trial?”
“Yes.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
Junior got to his feet and dusted off his knees.
“And we can sentence him and everything?”
“That’s right.”
“And carry it out?”
Ralphie said, “Mud will have to have representation.”
Junior said, “What’s that?”
“It’s like a lawyer,” Ralphie explained. “I’d like to defend Mud, since nobody else seems to want to.”
Maggie stepped forward and gave him a cool glance. “I’ll prosecute,” she said.
“What’s that?” Junior asked. His head was swiveling back and forth as if he were at a tennis match.
“That means Ralphie’s going to try to prove Mud is innocent, and I am going to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Mud is guilty.”
“Good,” Junior said.
“Can we be the jury, me and Michael?” Vern asked. “Because we just came around the corner of the house—didn’t we, Michael?—and we didn’t hear anything and don’t know what’s going on.”
“That’s right,” Michael said. “We’d make a good jury because we don’t know anything.”
“Will you be fair?” Maggie asked.
“Yes.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute, if we’re going to have a trial here, let’s do it right,” Ralphie said. “We should choose a jury, the way they do in court.”
Ralphie had already adopted his courtroom attitude, which, he had decided, would be unemotional, superior, and with a lot of law talk.
Maggie spoke without looking at him. “They are the only two people we have to choose from.” Her voice was as icy as her eyes.
“It still wouldn’t hurt to ask them a few questions. Also there ought to be some dogs on the jury.”
“Dogs?”
“Yes, Mud is entitled to a jury of his peers. Where’s Dump?”
“Last time I saw him, he was on the sofa,” Maggie said.
“I’ll get him,” Junior said. He went in the house and came out with Dump in his arms. “Now, Dump,” he was saying, “you’re going to be on Mud’s jury, and you know how mean Mud’s been to you and—”
“That’s influencing the jury,” Ralphie said.
“It is not,” Junior said. “I’m just talking to him. There!”
He handed Dump to Vern, and Vern put the dog between Michael and him. Dump looked from one boy to the other as if trying to figure out what was expected of him.
Pap said, “Somebody get me a hammer.”
“What for?” Maggie asked.
“So I can bang it down on the porch railing and call this court to order.”
Mad Mary’s eyes were closed.
“Next of kin?” the woman asked.
No answer.
“Next of kin?”
Silence. Then with a low sigh, Mad Mary said,
“My kinfolks are dead.”
“All of them?”
“That’s right.”
“No living brothers or sisters?”
“No.”
“No children?”
“No.”
“I need the name of someone who could be notified in case of …” the woman trailed off.
“… in case I die.”
“You’re not going to die, Mary, but we need to have this information. Could you give me the name of a friend?”
“Alec Blossom,” she said.
CHAPTER 18
The Trial
Junior was on the stand.
Junior had not actually been called to testify yet, but the presiding judge—Pap—had allowed him to take the stand anyway.
The witness stand was a folding lawn chair that had seen better days, and everytime Junior jiggled with anticipation the chair tipped.
The two attorneys, Maggie and Ralphie, were sitting opposite each other. Occasionally Ralphie would get Maggie’s attention by saying, “Ms. Prosecuting Attorney,” but she would never meet his eyes.
Mud, the defendant, was still in absentia under the porch. He had, now that everyone was letting him alone, fallen asleep.
Junior said, “Well, Pap, go ahead and say it.”
“What?”
“Order in the court.”
Pap rapped his hammer on the porch railing. “Order in the court.”
The jury came to attention.
Maggie got briskly to her feet. She was determined to win this case even if it meant Mud would go to the electric chair.
“I’m ready with my opening statement,” she said.
Pap said, “Proceed.”
Ralphie said, “Sorry, for interrupting”—Ralphie’s voice boomed out, a real courtroom voice—“but the judge forgot to ask how we plead, guilty or innocent.”
Maggie shot Ralphie a look of pure hatred,
but Ralphie shrugged. He had seen a lot of TV movies where opposing lawyers ended up madly in love, which is how he intended for this trial to end.
Pap sighed. “How do you plead?”
“Your honor, my client pleads not guilty—”
From the witness stand Junior interrupted with scorn. “Huh!”
“… not guilty by reason of temporary insanity. The prosecuting attorney may proceed.”
Maggie put her hands on her hips in what Ralphie thought was an unlawyerlike way. Her voice was also unlawyerlike. “It’s not your place to tell me to proceed. You’re not the judge.”
“I stand corrected,” Ralphie said with legal politeness. Ralphie was pleased with all his legalities. His politeness was as perfect as his courtroom voice, if he did say so himself.
Pap said, “Proceed! I’m not going to sit up here all afternoon.” He struck the railing with the hammer so hard it left a dent in the wood.
“Gentlemen of the jury,” Maggie said to Michael and Vern and Dump.
Now that the trial was under way, Michael and Vern had gotten interested and only had to give a rare thought to the monkeys on Mars.
Dump, unnoticed by the other members of the jury or the attorneys, lay down, put his head on Vern’s leg, and closed his eyes.
“Gentlemen, this afternoon I have the unpleasant job of asking you to convict a dog of willful, premeditated murder. The evidence is overwhelming. I call my first witness—Junior Blossom.”
Junior twitched with eagerness, causing his lawn chair to tip dangerously. “I’m here.”
“Er, your honor,” Ralphie said, “I appreciate the prosecutor’s zeal, but I’d like a chance to make MY opening statement.”
“Make it.”
“Thank you, your honor.”
Maggie’s back was to him, which was unfortunate because Ralphie wanted her to see what a masterful opening statement he was going to make. However, she couldn’t turn off her ears. Ralphie had never fully appreciated that about ears before. She would have to hear every single brilliant word of it.
“Gentlemen of the jury, at this moment my client lies cowering under the house …”
“Sleeping’s more like it,” Maggie muttered to the jury.
Michael and Vern snickered. Ralphie ignored them. Dump slept on.
“… lies cowering under the house—afraid to come out because he is no longer part of the family who once loved him. He is a dog with a broken heart, a dog who was driven into temporary insanity by the presence of a hamster carelessly left unattended in a poorly constructed—”
