Small Kingdoms and Other Stories

by Charlaine Harris

  The next day, as he lay on the couch in the so-called family room – a room no one but JimBee frequented—he had time to ponder the incident. He was full of Tylenol, with a heating pad under his back and an ice pack on his face. He’d wasted a lot of money on a trip to the emergency room, just to find out that nothing was broken. JimBee was so lost in his thoughts he barely registered the knock at the front door and his wife’s voice.

  “The police are back,” Lizzy said as she came into the family room. She helped him sit up. He noticed she was glad to pull her hands away the minute he was upright.

  “Bring me some more coffee,” he said, not bothering to thank her for the help. He was angry at everyone. Lizzy would pay for her revulsion. When he was better. So would Sarah, who’d appeared shocked by his appearance when he’d finally staggered into the house. James, who should have been swearing vengeance on anyone who dared to lay hands on his father, had simply seemed confused. And they all swore they’d been together in the house since James had returned from football practice at six.

  They hadn’t even scrambled to the phone to call the police until he’d hollered at them.

  And here the cops were, back again this morning. JimBee was getting his taxpayer’s dollars’ worth.

  But after the police left, JimBee was even angrier, and more puzzled, and more anxious.

  “We can’t find tracks of any other car off the road,” Detective Crosby had told him. She was a smart-mouthed woman in her forties. “There’s no crate, as you described, in the trees on either side. So we have no physical evidence that you were attacked where and when you say you were.”

  “Goddammit,” JimBee roared, and winced as his whole face hurt. “You think I did this to myself?”

  “No sir,” she said, all cool and collected. “But we did wonder if you had been gambling on the side, maybe? Or did you stop into a bar, didn’t want to mention it in front of the wife? Something of that nature? You say you have no enemies, but this whole scenario seems very elaborate and mysterious.”

  “I got no enemies, I’m just a tire salesman,” JimBee mumbled, his mouth sore and painful. “I don’t gamble, except for friendly bets on college football games. Nothing more than fifty dollars on those.”

  “Are you maybe seeing someone else outside your marriage?” the detective asked, leaning forward confidentially. “Someone who has a boyfriend or husband who might object?”

  “Not at the moment,” JimBee said unguardedly. The detective’s face hardened. Uh-huh, he’d hit a nerve there. Bitch had been cheated on, and who could blame the unlucky man who’d gotten saddled with her?

  “Who can you think of who has it in for you?” she asked. “If the event happened as you’ve described, someone went to a lot of trouble to give you a beating. Someone must not like you, Mr. Toth. Help us out, here.”

  JimBee glared at her. He hadn’t overlooked that “if.” But he was genuinely puzzled.

  “I really, truly, don’t have any idea who did this,” he said. Without even checking the clock, JimBee knew he was due to take some more Tylenol. “It happened just like I told you. Believe me, if I knew who had laid into me this bad, I’d tell you in a heartbeat.”

  Detective Crosby looked at him for a long moment, her face unreadable. “Okay, Mr. Toth,” she said, getting up from the easy chair. “That’s what we’ve got to go by.”

  She didn’t believe him at all. He felt like crying.

  Lizzy brought him his medicine when he yelled for her, and when he’d swallowed it she sat down in the easy chair the detective had vacated. “JimBee,” she said, “you know you can tell me if you’re in some kind of trouble.” And she waited.

  JimBee’s eyes watered something fierce. He was touched that she cared enough to express concern. “I got no idea who did this. I can’t think of anyone who might have thought I deserved this.”

  She looked at him, and he could not decipher her expression. “All right, JimBee,” Lizzy said. She got up and left the room. He called after her, “Heat up some soup for my lunch!”

  People were talking about Sarah’s father after the mysterious beating, and in a way that let her know he was not as universally popular as he believed. She was able to act baffled about the whole thing, and to hide her inner exultation at being right.

  With her dad at home moaning in front of the television, she and her mom shopped for Sarah’s Homecoming dress and ordered James’s tux at the rental shop with a giddy sense of fun they’d never gotten to enjoy before. Sarah picked a long dark blue dress with sparkles on the bodice. She wasn’t surprised at all that James selected a completely conventional tux or that he seemed morose. He only began smiling when he ordered Mercedes’s wrist corsage.

  Unfortunately for the short-lived bliss of the rest of the Toth family, after a week of recovery JimBee felt almost well again. He was anxious to get back to work full-time, anxious to get out of his damn house, and pretty tired of having soup for every meal. Not even homemade! His wife had stocked up on Campbell’s. He was bored.

  James was shut up in his room every night. When he did share a room with his dad, he looked grim and anxious. And Sarah spent all her non-studying time on the phone with that Brian boy, talking about the Homecoming dance. No one paid attention to JimBee.

  So the next time JimBee spotted Sarah walking around with her cell phone clapped to her ear – smiling to herself, like a bitch in heat – he leaped to his feet, grabbed the phone away from her, and hit her in the back with it. She went sprawling.

  Sarah screamed so loud that James came out of his room and looked down the stairs at his dad, and Lizzy ran out of the kitchen. Oddly, James looked relieved.

  JimBee realized that for the first time he was facing a wall. It was composed of the other members of his family.

  “No more,” his wife said. Her hands were so tense he thought she might actually swing at him. “You said no more, and I believed you.”

  “Hey, she asked for . . .” he began, sounding even to his own ears like he was younger than his son.

  “Don’t you dare,” Lizzy said. “Don’t you dare say that.” She was shaking, not only with fear but with rage.

  And as suddenly as if they’d discussed it, Lizzy, James, and Sarah scattered to other parts of the house, leaving him by himself.

  JimBee remembered tomorrow would be the Homecoming game and dance. He didn’t care if he saw Little Miss Bitch in the damn dress or not. Or even James in his tux. He conceded inwardly that he might go to the game, see if James got something right out on the field.

  But that was all he’d do.

  Though he’d known for two months that he and Lizzy were scheduled to chaperone the dance, he decided she could do that on her own, if she was so damn mad at him.

  The next day, Travis High was buzzing with excitement. The cheerleaders put up laboriously created banners (“Panthers CLAW the Bears”), parents came and went all day decorating the gym and dropping off refreshments for the dance, and though the kids rotated through their classroom schedule, it was easy to see that learning was the last thing on their minds.

  “Yes, Sarah?” Coach Halsey said. She’d stopped at his desk when the second period bell rang.

  “My dad promised to chaperone tonight, but he’s not going to come. Just my mom will be there.”

  “I’m sure there are enough parents coming, Sarah.”

  “I just thought you ought to know.” She went out. She was walking stiffly.

  He related the conversation to Anne DeWitt later that day.

  “That’s very interesting,” Anne said. “I heard Sarah telling Buddy the exact same thing when she came in this morning.” Buddy Mathis, Anne’s assistant, was a burly plodder who talked tough and looked tougher, befitting the person in charge of discipline.

  “Hmmm,” said Holt. “Why would she . . . ?” And then he paused, startled.

  “Yes,” Anne said. And to Holt’s surprise, she laughed.

  That night at the Homecoming Dance, Prin
cipal DeWitt was the subject of many admiring comments. The warm slacks and boots and coat she’d worn to the game had been exchanged for a dressy emerald-green suit and some notable high heels consistent with conservative chic, her adopted look since she’d assumed the name and persona of Anne DeWitt. Holt Halsey (who himself looked fairly mouthwatering in a suit that fit surprisingly well) appreciated Anne’s grace as she made a point of talking to all the chaperones working the first shift. The two moms closest to him were talking about Anne. He listened in, of course. “How can she afford such an outfit on her salary?” said a senior’s mom. Her husband had just lost his job.

  “I don’t know, but it sure looks good on her,” said a very plump mother, with a sad touch to her envy. “You know, she’s a widow. Maybe she got a big insurance payment?”

  “Oh, right,” said the first mother with some sympathy. “Well, I’d sure rather have my husband.”

  Not everyone felt that way, Holt thought, and his gaze lingered on Lizzy Toth, who was wearing tired slacks and a creased silk blouse. Holt searched the happy throng for the Toth kids. Sarah was holding hands with Brian, and she looked as pretty as she ever would, with her brown hair hanging free and the dark blue of the dress bringing out her eye color. Unfortunately, the lingering bruise on her upper shoulder wasn’t covered by her hair. She was looking around the room smiling, but she seemed a bit anxious. James and his date Mercedes were dancing. James looked like he’d been let out of prison early.

  Holt worked his way around the room to stand by Anne. He leaned toward her wearing his public smile, and said, “Well?”

  “Seems wrong to let her down,” Anne said, clearly surprised at her own conclusion.

  Holt shrugged. “Whatever. I can slip out.”

  “You know . . . I think I’ll do it. She’s watching you and Mathis. It’s about time Miss Sarah got a surprise.”

  “People will notice your being gone more than me.”

  “Not in these shoes,” she said wryly, and held out one foot, inviting his gaze.

  She began easing her way to a corner of the room where a few parents were sitting. She dropped a complaint about her aching feet into three ears before settling herself into one of the metal chairs close to an exit. After a moment, she slipped out, right after asking Buddy Mathis to do a tour of the boys’ bathrooms.

  In forty minutes Holt saw Anne come back into the gym in a lower pair of heels, reappearing as unobtrusively as she’d left. She drew her change of footwear to the attention of a few moms. “I keep these in my car,” she told Lizzy Toth. “They’re my go-to shoes.” She and Lizzy laughed together.

  Holt Halsey completed his tour of the perimeter of the gym, confiscating a flask from a sophomore and reminding a junior couple that public displays of affection in the school gym were not cool before he drifted close to Anne, who was talking to the president of the senior class, a go-getter named Leon Gilchrist. Gilchrist was trying to persuade the principal that he would be the logical choice for Outstanding Senior.

  With a few well-chosen words, Anne let Gilchrist know that he was definitely on the list, that his name would be given all due consideration, that she thought he was a good class president . . . and that he should enjoy the dance with his date, instead of talking to her.

  “Done?” Holt said, smiling broadly for whoever happened to be watching, as soon as Leon departed to claim his date at the food table.

  “Done,” she asked, smiling back. “Stairs. He was drunk.”

  Holt understood from this that JimBee had made an involuntary and very quick trip down the stairs. He had certainly had help, but that would not be apparent.

  “Shame on him,” he said mildly.

  He waited while Anne took a moment to greet some parents who were arriving for the second shift of chaperoning. The first shift parents, among them Lizzy Toth, were easing their way to the door. Lizzy took a moment to crane over the crowd and see her children, with their dates, having their pictures made by the hired photographer.

  As Friday night turned the corner into Saturday morning, the gym began to empty out. Holt thought it took a surprisingly long time for the Toth children to get their phone calls from their mother. She must have waited until the body had been removed.

  Sarah was so upset her father was dead that she hugged the assistant principal, which Buddy Mathis endured until he was relieved by a friend of Lizzy’s. Buddy was glad to resume marshalling the parents who were on the cleanup team. From a distance, Holt thought that it seemed as though Sarah started to walk toward him, but the cluster of solicitous parents moved her inexorably toward the parking lot and a ride home to her mother, sweeping James up into their net. Holt made his way over to the Toth kids’ stunned dates, to suggest that Brian take Mercedes home. They were grateful at being organized, and left quickly.

  The temperature had dropped on Sunday night, so on Monday afternoon Holt Halsey wore a suit and an overcoat to JimBee’s funeral. He was accompanied by Anne, Buddy Mathis, and two other teachers who’d known the deceased. They drove directly to the Presbyterian church from the school.

  Buddy said, “Is it true that Sarah’s score is the best one a Travis kid has ever made on the SAT?”

  “True,” said Anne. “I’ve spent this morning studying the scores of our kids.”

  “And then this has to happen,” said the calculus teacher. “Lizzy is a sweet woman, and Sarah and James are good kids. Maybe . . .” But she stopped short of sharing her opinion that the whole family would better off now. They all understood that.

  Buddy Mathis said, “I heard his alcohol level was way high.”

  Holt nodded. “No surprise he went down the stairs,” he said.

  “I hope they come back to school soon,” Anne DeWitt said. “James doesn’t need to miss any classes.”

  In fact, the Toth kids returned to school the next day. Holt was not too surprised when Sarah came into his class. She seemed much as usual, though she walked with her head up.

  In the teachers’ lounge that day, Coach Redding told them all how much happier James seemed. “Like the weight of the world had been taken off his shoulder,” the coach declared. “I guess it was true, the talk about what happened in that home.” He shook his head in a weighty, regretful way. “Them poor kids. Poor Lizzy, all by herself.” And Redding, a divorced man, looked suddenly thoughtful.

  Sarah followed Holt Halsey into Christy’s office after the last bell rang. While he walked straight through into Anne’s inner sanctum, Christy stopped Sarah to ask her what she could do for her. Holt and Anne heard Sarah’s clear voice asking if Anne was available. Christy appeared in the doorway, barely giving Holt a glance. He’d gotten the impression that Christy did not think her boss should be dating a coach.

  Christy whispered, “It’s Sarah, whose dad just died? She wants to talk?”

  Anne nodded. “Tell her to come in,” she said. Christy, after checking to make sure there was a box of tissues available on Anne’s desk, went back out to tell Sarah that Anne was ready. Christy tactfully closed the door behind her.

  “Sarah, how are you?” Anne asked. Her voice was carefully calibrated to convey a medium amount of warmth and concern. Holt smiled inwardly. “Do you mind if Coach Halsey is here?”

  “Not at all,” Sarah said. “It’s really him I came to talk to.” She took a deep breath. “I’m good, better than I’ve ever been.”

  Holt and Anne exchanged glances. He felt a little jolt – of anticipation? Curiosity? A little of both, he decided.

  “Are you relieved the funeral is over?” Anne said.

  Sarah gave her a Get real look, loaded with the scorn teenagers can pile on. “He’s gone, and he’s never going to slap me again, or mock me, or tell me I’m not his daughter,” she said. “He’s never going to tell James he’s dumb, he’s never going to talk ugly to Mom, and he can’t stop me going to the college I want.”

  Holt could see Anne considering several responses before she said, “I assume he left your mother
some source of income? Or will she need to go back to work?”

  “Both,” Sarah said with some satisfaction. “Today she went for a job interview as a receptionist at the mayor’s office, and she’s got an appointment with an investment counselor to keep the insurance money working for us.” It was clear Sarah had been giving her mother some advice. Though the girl had said she wanted to talk to Holt, she seemed pleased to have a chance to tell Anne about her new condition too.

  Holt reminded himself of how intelligent Sarah Toth was. And how young.

  “Is James doing as well as you are?” he said.

  “No, James is really troubled, but he’ll be okay in time,” Sarah said confidently.

  “I’m sure what you made James do really bothered him,” Anne said.

  Sarah’s face froze.

  “What do you mean?” she said, in a much shakier voice.

  “Making him hit you,” Anne said. “Much harder than your father ever did.”

  “James doesn’t like to be violent,” Sarah said, dodging the allegation. “Like Dad was.”

  “James doesn’t like to hit people?” Anne said. Holt watched her deconstruct Sarah, with admiration.

  “Not people he loves,” Sarah said. She smiled.

  “You told him to do it,” Anne said, with no emotion at all.

  The little smile was still on Sarah’s face as she nodded.

  Holt absorbed what he’d just learned. Anne was so sharp. She’d been the best interrogator at the training camp, he’d heard. Trainees would give up their deepest secrets when they’d met her eyes. “Your father didn’t beat you,” Holt said. “He really did just give you a little slap now and then.”

  “Even a slap is an assault,” Sarah said righteously. “I just got James to improve on the situation.” A smile was still on her face. “Dad would never have let me go to Davidson. After I thought about Teddy Thorndike’s last-minute rescue, I realized there were a few other kids at Travis who’ve gotten their way paved, unexpectedly. There’s someone helping. I knew someone would help me too. If they thought I really needed it. If I was a victim.”