Thistle and Twigg

by Mary Saums

  “We could’ve been killed,” I said. “If we’d been in that kitchen, we would’ve flown out of there like two slices of burnt bread popping out of a toaster.”

  “Was it the stove do you think?” Jane asked. “The gas line, perhaps?”

  “It’s electric.” By now, the shock was wearing off. All I could think of was my brand-new rug and matching kitchen towels I got at Dillard’s and paid full price for.

  “How then? I’ve never heard of an electric oven exploding.”

  “I have no idea,” I said. “But I know one thing for sure. That peach cobbler is good and done.”

  Several neighbors came over to talk to us and watch the firemen work. Once they finally cut off the hoses, and the smoke and steam cleared, I could see there was nothing left whatsoever of my kitchen, other than the oven and the refrigerator, but they were ready for the junkyard now. It looked like a black hole in there— melted appliances, woodwork, linoleum, all black as a pit.

  “Molotov cocktail,” the fire chief, a big guy with soot all over him, said as he came toward us. “Folks that live behind you said they saw a pickup truck, no tag, driving down your alley, and saw it earlier going real slow past in the street. We’ll be running some tests, but right now I’d say it looks like this fire was set deliberate.”

  “Arson!” Jane gasped. She put her arm around my shoulder and said, “There, there, dear. Don’t cry. We have much to be thankful for. No one was hurt,” she said, as a policeman with a notepad walked over.

  I watched the smoke billowing out of the ragged opening where my kitchen had been. “No one has been hurt yet, you mean,” I said. “Mr. Fireman, I sure hope y’all catch whoever did this before I do. Jail bars are about the only thing to keep the dirty dogs safe from me.”

  “Now, Miz Twigg, these people are obviously dangerous. You let the experts handle this. We’ll get them.”

  “This is my fight, too,” I said, shaking my head. Those “experts” couldn’t possibly understand how this hurt me. It had taken me two weeks to pick out just the right artificial flower arrangement to match the colors in my wallpaper. They matched good now, all right, seeing as how walls and flowers alike were all one new color, Charcoal Briquette.

  Jane gave my shoulders a squeeze. “You’ll come stay with me. No question.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t impose,” I said.

  “Nonsense. I have plenty of room. I insist. At least until you can see about getting some sort of temporary wall in place and a new door and lock.”

  I didn’t have much choice. We couldn’t stand there looking at the firemen all night. Luckily, the upstairs closets kept my clothes fairly smoke free. I picked out a few outfits and other things I’d need for a few days and threw them all in a suitcase. Smoke and dust covered everything downstairs. It would take me a week of steady cleaning to get everything back to normal. We gave the chief Jane’s phone number. He said he’d let me know as soon as they found anything and promised to stay in touch.

  fiftfeen

  Jane Brings Phoebe Home

  Ibundled Phoebe and the few belongings she’d need while staying at my house into my car. On the way home, we stopped by the police station to see about Cal. Shelley Barnette was just coming down the steps to the sidewalk. She was alone.

  “They’ve taken him into custody,” she said, confirming my fear.

  “But why? Surely he didn’t confess?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what got into him. He went wild and tried to hit a couple of police officers. He tried to cooperate at first, but after awhile, he became belligerent. Nothing I could do. They’ll keep him overnight. They’re just letting him cool off. He’ll be free in the morning.”

  “What about bail? Can’t we get him out?”

  “The night judge is on the same hunting trip as my boss.”

  “But he’s so ill. Surely they could see that.”

  “Yes. The police assured me a nurse would be there if he needed medical attention. Don’t worry Cal said he’d be fine in jail for one night.”

  This gave me pause. I couldn’t believe he said that, not when he’d been terrified at the very thought of jail when we talked.

  When Shelley walked on, I turned to go back to my own car. Phoebe’s head and arm hung out the window, the better to hear our conversation. “So they’re hanging onto him for a while, huh?” she said. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Phoebe, I should go in and make certain Cal doesn’t need me for anything. I won’t be a moment.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. I walked quickly toward the building. “And you’re too tenderhearted,” she said from behind me.

  Dusk settled around the police station, a modern square of concrete and glass with three stories. It sat on a block of its own across from the west arm of the town square. Care had been taken in the design of windows and doors for they echoed those of the much older buildings of the downtown shops. The landscaping visible in the lights along its sidewalks was as lovely as could be and also matched the quaint, colorful decorations along the square’s storefronts.

  Inside, florescent lighting dispelled any connection with the past. I stopped at the high black counter that stretched across the width of the room. “May I help you?” asked the burly officer who manned the desk. He tapped a stack of papers together, stapled them, and set them aside.

  “Yes. A friend has been taken into custody. I hoped I might be allowed to see him.”

  The desk sergeant studied my face. “Cal Prewitt?” he asked.

  “Why, yes.”

  He nodded. “I’ll check for you, ma’am.” I thanked him and only had a short wait. The desk sergeant instructed me to walk through a metal detector at the door that connected to the inner offices. I left my purse in his care then followed his directions to the end of the hall where I was to turn again.

  A familiar figure prevented me from doing so. Detective Waters stood immovable, like a mountain, with a resolute, expressionless face. Once again, his look switched to an instant smile. “Come this way, please.”

  I did as he asked, although we went in the opposite direction from that given by the desk sergeant. Detective Waters waved me into his office and politely pulled out the chair reserved for guests and interviewees.

  “Shelley Barnette told me Cal had been arrested. I thought I should come and see about him. I’d like to talk to him, if I may.”

  The detective nodded in a friendly, attentive way as I spoke. “No, ma’am. That won’t be possible.” I was taken aback momentarily, as I’m sure was his intent. “It’s a nice thing, you coming down to check on him. Very nice, since you haven’t known Cal for long. I can appreciate that.” His head nodded again as he tapped his blunt fingertips in a little tattoo on the desktop. “Cal is fine. He’s not too happy, but we’re going to make sure he’s comfortable for the night.”

  “Yes. I’m quite sure, it’s just that he’s in such poor health …”

  “A nurse will be by to check on him around eight o’clock.”

  “Ah,” I said. “Good. That’s a relief then. That was my main concern.” I looked him straight in the eyes and said, “I imagine you rarely hold men of his advanced age overnight,” with the most innocence I could muster.

  The on/off smile lit up and relaxed his facial muscles in what was the closest to a real smile I’d seen so far. “It’s a first,” the detective said. “Even for us backwoods hicks.”

  “Oh, dear,” I said, “I meant no offense.”

  A loud, hearty laugh filled the small room. “I’m just playing with you,” he said, his Southern accent now more prevalent. “And if it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll tell you a little secret. Cal isn’t as weak as he looks. I know, because I’m the one he tried to knock to the floor.” He nodded at my shocked look. “That’s right. Ordinarily, I’d have set him down and let him cool off before sending him home. Couldn’t do that this time. He went flat out of his head. And he hadn’t even been drinking. That would’ve changed onc
e he got home. He’s better off being here, where we can make sure he doesn’t hurt himself or somebody else.”

  “I see.” His concern for Cal’s welfare made it impossible to think of further argument. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Thank you, detective.”

  He rose, so I did likewise. When I stepped into the hallway, I saw a flash of red and orange clothing disappear around the corner ahead, Phoebe hurriedly and stealthily making a getaway with long, tiptoe strides.

  “What time will Cal be released?” I asked Detective Waters when he caught up with me in the hall.

  “We’ll feed him a good breakfast and let him go about seven.”

  “Good. I’ll pick him up then.”

  “No need. I’ll have a patrolman drop him off. At your house, if it will ease your mind.”

  “That’s very thoughtful.” I shook his hand in the lobby and said good night. He smiled then, but when I turned for a quick look a second time, his face had fallen again into a blank but serious stare.

  Phoebe sat in the car exactly as she had when I’d left her, only now she was well into a nail manicure. “Everything okay?” she asked without looking up.

  “Yes. All is well.” It was a relief that Cal was all right. I would sleep more easily, except for a small new thing that now hung in my mind, a scribbled note I’d seen on Detective Waters’ desk. The word “ex-military” caught my eye. Below that followed a man’s description, age thirty-two and one distinguishing mark, a scar down his neck. It was stacked with a paper about Cal.

  HOMER GREETED US WHEN WE ARRIVED HOME. HE LAY on the top porch step and perked up his head when the car rolled into the driveway. He was particularly friendly toward Phoebe but she would have none of it.

  “I can’t stand old nasty dogs,” she said. “And they all know it and come right to me first thing and want to lick and paw all over me. Git outta here!” She flung a foot in his direction.

  Poor Homer. He looked positively dejected. Needless to say I didn’t bring him inside with us. I’m sure he preferred the outdoors in any case. I fed him outside and let him wander for the night.

  Phoebe ranted a bit as she bustled about, putting some of her things away in the upstairs bedroom across from mine. Cal, naturally, was the reason and the topic of conversation. “He has done every mean thing known to man.”

  “What specifically?” I asked.

  She described a few incidents, all involving a drunk Cal, all done when he was quite a bit younger and fighting other drunken young men, none so terrible for the reputation she, and according to her, the town, ascribed to him.

  “But nothing in many years, correct? He seems very different then from the man he is now.”

  Phoebe huffed. “A raccoon does not change his stripes, Jane. Get real. Dead bodies don’t just show up any old where.”

  Phoebe’s remarks often required a moment of thought.

  “Well, he’s just no good, that’s all,” she said in summary as we went downstairs to wash the clothes she’d brought. The smell of smoke on them was faint, barely noticeable at all, but I knew she would feel better if we ran them through the wash. I brought out an old bottle of brandy. I felt a little indulgence was called for due to the disturbing events of the day.

  “Oh, my,” she said, as we went out the front screen door. “I’m not sure I can drink this. It’s awful thick.”

  “Try to take a few sips and relax, dear. It will do you good.”

  “All right. I’ll try” She took one tiny one, barely enough to wet her lips.

  She grimaced but quickly took another sip. “What a day,” she said. “I’ll get things squared away at home as soon as I can. I don’t want to be an imposition at all. In fact, I could get a good rate at the hotel tomorrow.”

  “I won’t hear of it. Please, I’d like you to stay as long as you wish. It will give us a chance to get our strategies together.”

  Phoebe stared at me wide eyed. “Strategies?”

  “We have much to consider. The fire chief made it quite clear. Your kitchen fire was no accident.”

  “Strategies,” Phoebe whispered as she looked into the distance and gulped a mouthful of brandy. “You’re right. If those sorry criminals think they can get the better of me, they’re dead wrong. Why, the very idea of bombing my house and making us find a dead body.”

  “Let’s not get overly excited. I agree the two are possibly connected. I don’t mean we will interfere with the authorities’ murder investigation.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Phoebe said.

  “Nor would I.”

  Phoebe moved her lips as she thought. “It’s just that while they’re looking under microscopes and testing dumb things, like your guns for instance, somebody needs to be doing important stuff.”

  “I’m sure the police are busy pursuing all leads and covering all aspects of both cases. However, it occurs to me that we certainly have something of an inside track as far as the two locations. When Cal is released, I think we should ask his opinion. I think he has been holding something back from me. Perhaps we should concentrate on getting him to open up.”

  “That won’t be tough. I’ll pick up a bottle of whiskey in town.”

  “Isn’t Tullulah dry? I thought there were no liquor stores here.”

  “Oh. I’m not going to a store. Don’t worry. I know just how to go about it. Me knowing the ins and outs of everybody and everything in town will be a big help. See, I make a good partner. I like taking care of business. I can be the muscle, and you can be the brains.”

  I laughed. “I don’t know about all that. I do know this, I’m certainly lucky to have found such a wonderful friend.”

  Phoebe grinned and raised her glass. “Here’s to Friendship.”

  I clinked her glass. “To Friendship.”

  She sipped, puckered her lips and squinted her eyes shut momentarily. She held out her glass again and said, “To Justice.”

  We clinked again. “To Justice.” We sipped once more.

  “And to Revenge,” she said.

  I stopped my glass midway.

  “Aw, come on, Jane, don’t be a wuss.”

  I thought of the macho videos in Phoebe’s living room. I didn’t comment on the possibility that she might be too influenced by them. Perhaps I’d been hasty in giving her a shooting lesson. Surely she wouldn’t go overboard with her tough-guy fantasies. No, I thought, she’s just having a bit of fun. Nothing serious. Nothing but a couple of harmless little ladies, the both of us. I touched my glass to hers. “To Revenge.”

  After a good laugh, she downed the last of her brandy and smacked her lips. “Now,” she said, “how’s about another look at your gun collection?”

  sixteen

  Phoebe Can’t Sleep

  Ithink I took the house-bomb thing rather well, consider- ing. Thanks to my Midgette genes (that’s my maiden name, Midgette), I was able to withstand the stress and horror of watching my beautiful little kitchen burn without me falling apart.

  Jane made sure I was comfortable in her guest room and then went on to bed herself. I sure was glad to finally lie down and rest in that big fluffy bed. I felt like I was a kid at Grandma’s house. Even as worn out as I felt, I still didn’t drop off to sleep right away Too many things churned in my mind. I kept seeing those firemen, working at putting my kitchen out.

  Was it possible it was just a mean bunch of kids? But whose kids? Nobody in Tullulah had any that bad. Any that mean would’ve been whipped into line good by their parents long before they got old enough to drive a truck or make a firebomb. And why me? What if it wasn’t because of that body at all, but was something else entirely? Why would anybody pick my house out of all the others? Have I not been a good person? Did I cut somebody off on the highway? Did I say anything that offended anyone?

  It was no use. I couldn’t sleep. I figured I might as well get up since my throat was dry and I needed some water. I cut the light on and picked up my watch. It was almost midnight. I tiptoed downstairs to t
he kitchen and was surprised to hear steps following me soon after.

  “What’s the matter, dear? Can’t sleep?” Jane said, as she shuffled in.

  “Not a peep.” I filled a glass with water from the tap and took a big long swig. “I’m thinking you’re right.”

  “About what?” Jane went through the back door and looked out the porch screen. Homer woofed at her from the backyard. “Good boy” she said.

  When she came back, I said, “Somebody threw that bomb because of us finding the body. They think we saw something or know something. That’s how it always is on TV. We’re going to have to be on the lookout. They might try something here, too.”

  Jane nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that. It’s possible. Think back, Phoebe. Has anyone, other than the police, shown particular interest in our discovery of the body? Have you talked to anyone about it?”

  “I believe I might have mentioned it to one or two folks.”

  “Good. We can start there. Not that we’d interfere with the police.”

  “Nooo. Not in a million years.” We sat there straight-faced for all of five seconds before busting out laughing.

  Jane got her breath and said, “Of course, anyone could have seen the news coverage on television.” She got up, went to a drawer, and took out a legal pad. “Still, we should make a list of what personal connections we can think of. It will help us remember everyone later on. We can mark off anyone with an alibi or anyone we find otherwise unsuitable for our purposes.” At the top of the paper, she wrote “Suspects” in big letters. “Right, then. After talking to the police, whom did you see?”

  I thought a second. “Well, I went to buy my gun so I saw Alton Twigg.

  “He’s the owner?”

  “Yes. And Jack Blaylock was in there, too,” I said and let out a big sigh. He was such a hunk.

  “Good. Only two. That’s a short list.”

  “Then I needed some groceries so I stopped at the Pig. Let’s see, I saw June Freeman. Deb Wiley and her husband. Then Rennie May Adams was in the checkout lane when I got there, talking to my cousin Lois and her sister Dean, who isn’t able to drive anymore, so Lois carries her to get her groceries, to the doctor, or wherever she needs to go.”