Saving Allegheny Green

by Lori Wilde

  It sounded quite odd hearing the sheriff use slang drug terms. I suppose I expected him to say “marijuana cigarette” like some cop on reruns. Perhaps the good sheriff was more worldly than I imagined.

  Sissy started to shake her head.

  Conahegg’s mouth tightened.

  “Well, maybe once or twice,” she conceded.

  “Once or twice?”

  “Okay, so I smoke dope occasionally, what’s the big deal.”

  I whirled on her. I knew Rocky smoked grass but I didn’t think Sissy was that stupid. “The big deal is that you have an eight-year-old son who looks up to you as a role model,” I let loose. “Are you a complete moron?”

  Sissy flipped me the bird.

  Conahegg raised a hand. “Allegheny, let me handle the interview, please.”

  “Fine.” I sat back in my seat and folded my arms over my chest.

  “Your family dynamics are not my primary concern.” He glowered at me, then turned back to Sissy. He shook the baggy at her. “The weed could have been yours.”

  “I never buy it.”

  “That doesn’t excuse your culpability.”

  Sissy thrust her wrists straight out in front of her. “Are you going to arrest me? Is that what you want? Then clamp the cuffs on me and get it over with.”

  I sighed. Sissy gets her melodramatics from Aunt Tessa.

  “There’s no need for that, Ms. Green.” Conahegg cleared his throat. “I’m going to flush the marijuana down the toilet.”

  Sissy and I stared at him, the surprise on her face matching what I felt. What happened to Mr. Merciless Zero Tolerance? Not that I was complaining, mind you. But his easy capitulation took me unaware. Worried, I gnawed my bottom lip.

  Was he planning something? I studied his face but got nothing. Maybe he wasn’t as uncompromising as rumor had it. Maybe underneath that uniform beat the heart of a nice guy. The thought of what he might look like underneath his clothes got to me. My face heated and I had to look away.

  “You’re not going to throw the book at me?” Sissy whispered.

  Conahegg cracked a smile for the first time since we’d entered his office. “I don’t think that’s necessary. Particularly when you have a young child at home under your care.”

  “What about the charge of unlawfully discharging a firearm?” I asked.

  “Is the gun registered?”

  “Yes. The pistol belonged to our grandfather. We use it for shooting the copperheads and rattlesnakes that come around the house.”

  “And does Rockerfeller Hughes happen to fit that description?”

  “At times.” I had to smile back. Conahegg looked like a real human being when he smiled and not some stiff-necked G.I. Joe with a badge.

  “Both of you ladies, need to give me your statements and then you’re free to go.”

  “Really?” Sissy breathed hard and for the first time I realized how much she’d been sweating possession charges.

  “Really.”

  “Wow. Gee. Thanks,” Sissy enthused. “You’re not nearly as bad as everyone says you are.”

  I kicked her in the ankle.

  “Ow!” Sissy scowled at me. “What was that for?”

  “You figure it out.”

  We spent the next several minutes telling Conahegg how Rockerfeller Hughes came to be stretched out on our garage floor, a bullet lodged in his foot. When we got up to leave, Conahegg followed us to the door.

  “Could I speak to you alone for a moment?”

  I placed a hand to my chest. “Me?”

  He nodded.

  “Go ahead.” I waved to Sissy. “I’ll catch up.”

  She looked from me to Conahegg. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

  Truth was, I shared her apprehension. What did he want to say to me in private that he couldn’t say in front of my sister?

  “Ms. Green,” he said, after the door closed behind Sissy. “I wanted to make you aware that you are responsible for what goes on inside your household.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The marijuana. It was found in your home. Even if it doesn’t belong to you, according to the law, you can still be held accountable. Particularly since you’re aware that Mr. Hughes and your sister partake of an occasional joint.”

  There are definite drawbacks to being the sane, sensible one. Mainly, you’re held responsible for the crazy, unpredictable people in your life.

  “You’re saying I’m responsible for Sissy’s use of recreational drugs?”

  “In the eyes of the law, you should have turned them in.”

  “You want me to rat out my sister?”

  “Or get her into rehab.”

  “Sissy’s not a pothead.”

  “Oh? And I suppose you’re not an enabler.”

  I hate that word. Enabler. Truly hate it. When you’re the sort of person who takes care of your family and loves them unconditionally, the mental health care profession can’t wait to slap labels on you. Why am I an enabler? Because I do the right thing? So much for Mr. Nice Guy. What I’d mistaken for understanding a few minutes earlier was actually condescension.

  “And I suppose you’re not an arrogant son of a bitch.”

  Conahegg’s voice hardened, a vein at his forehead jumped. So, he was angry. Well, join the club. “Foul language is un-called for.”

  “You don’t have a family of your own, do you?” I accused, alarmed that I was still so aware of his body.

  I read the papers. I also knew our new sheriff wasn’t married and never had been. I knew he had come home to Cloverleaf after his father died. I also knew it was the first time that he had been back since high school. Not much of a son if you ask me.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “I’d rather be an enabler any day than neglectful of my family. You don’t have to worry about enabling anyone because nobody gives a damn about you. Isn’t that right, Sheriff?”

  He lowered his head so we were eye to eye. My heart galloped. The saliva in my mouth dried up. Those eyes of his could wither a cactus. “Don’t make me rethink my decision not to arrest your sister.”

  “Are you threatening me?” I eyeballed him right back. I wasn’t backing down. I had a few nasty expressions in my repertoire, as well.

  “Think before you speak, Ms. Green. Sistine could get as much as a year in prison.”

  “For a half-dozen joints? Don’t make me laugh!”

  “Haven’t you heard? Parker County is now zero tolerance on drugs.”

  “Since when?” I asked. The man had a chin like a rock cliff. A very steep, very slippery, very dangerous cliff. So why did I have the urge to plunge my tongue along that treacherous outcropping?

  “Since I took over.” He stabbed his thumb into his chest. Was his hard-line stance supposed to make me hot and bothered? If so, to my complete embarrassment, it was working.

  “So Parker County belongs to you?” I was literally breathing hard.

  “That’s right.”

  “I didn’t vote for you.”

  “Too bad. I’m still here.”

  “If you’ve finished trying to intimidate me, I’ve places to be.” I put my hand on the doorknob.

  And he put his hand on me. On my shoulder to be more specific.

  My knees liquefied into noodle soup. It was damned hot in here. Someone, please, turn on the air-conditioning, give me a fan, and while you’re at it, how about a gallon of ice water?

  “Let’s get something straight,” he said. “If I were intimidating you, then you’d know it.”

  “Excuse me.” I tugged open the door but that pesky hand remained branded on my skin.

  “Be careful what you say and do, Allegheny Green,” he warned. “I’ve got my eye on you.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  I’VE GOT MY EYE ON YOU.

  His words echoed in my head. And, I really could feel his eyes on me. Burning, searing, scorching my backside.

  I stalked away, determined not to wiggle. I held my head high, then re
alized to my chagrin I was going to have to ask Conahegg for a lift home. I turned and saw him in the doorway, one strong shoulder slouched against the jamb, a smug grin on his face, his car keys looped around his finger.

  Did he have to look so damn sexy?

  “Need a ride?”

  Briefly, I closed my eyes and reached into the depths of my soul for patience. Oh, he knew what he was doing. I wasn’t fooled for a moment. I stared at Conahegg and forced a smile. “If you please.” My tone of voice could have frosted a dozen cakes.

  “My pleasure.” The corners of his lips twitched. He was clearly amused at my predicament.

  The turkey.

  I searched the corridor for Sissy but didn’t see her. “Just let me get my sister.”

  “The ladies’ room is around the corner.” Conahegg pointed. “Try there.”

  “Thanks,” I judiciously said. What I really wanted to tell him could have landed me in jail.

  “I’ll wait right here.”

  From the front of the building came the sound of an argument. In unison, Conahegg and I craned our necks at a man’s raised voice.

  “I have to see the sheriff. It’s extremely urgent.”

  “Could I have your name, sir?” we heard the dispatcher ask.

  Conahegg pocketed his keys and stalked toward the entrance in long-legged strides. Compelled by curiosity, and the fear my sister was somehow involved in the commotion, I followed.

  We rounded the corner, Conahegg in the lead. We found a well-dressed man of about sixty standing at the front desk. A mousy woman maybe ten years his junior, stood beside him, nervously worrying her purse strap.

  The man looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him at first. His silver hair was swept back off his forehead in a glorious pompadour. His face was slightly flushed as if he’d either been drinking or had recently run a short distance.

  He smelled of Yves Saint Laurent and something darker, mustier. His teeth were so perfectly white and straight, I figured that they had to be capped. He used his hands when he spoke, punctuating each sentence with flourishing jabs.

  “I want to see the sheriff right now!” Both palms went up, slicing through the air faster than a ninja on Dexedrine. “As a taxpayer I should have carte blanche access to my elected officials, day or night.” He spoke as if winding up for a Sunday-morning sermon.

  Then I knew who he was.

  The Reverend Ray Don Swiggly. And his wife, the very antithesis of Tammy Faye Bakker, Miss Gloria. Or that’s how Swiggly referred to her on his weekly Sunday-morning, bible-thumping rampages.

  I’d only caught the program because Aunt Tessa liked to hiss and boo at the man while she ate breakfast. More than once his television effigy had sustained damage from flying Captain Crunch. Aunt Tessa had a fit when she had discovered the Swigglys had built the house next door to ours.

  Miss Gloria was as dull as her husband was showy. The peahen to his peacock. She wore a shin-length brown print dress, sensible flat brown shoes, brown purse, brown hair worn in a tight bun at the back of her head, brown eyes without a hint of makeup—brown, brown, brown.

  “I’m Sheriff Conahegg. How may I help you?” Conahegg stepped forward, all business, his hand outthrust.

  Glad-hand was Swiggly’s middle name. He pivoted and slapped his palm into Conahegg’s.

  “Well.” Swiggly smiled. “You’re the kind of public servant I’m pleased to meet.”

  “You have a problem, Mr.…?”

  Swiggly looked surprised that Conahegg didn’t know him. I could tell from Swiggly’s expression that Conahegg had slipped into the “sinner” category.

  “Swiggly. Reverend Ray Don Swiggly. Perhaps you’re familiar with my weekly television prayer program—One Step Closer to Jesus?”

  “Sorry,” Conahegg said. “I attend local services on Sunday morning.”

  “Good man, good man.” Swiggly pounded Conahegg on the shoulder. “Let me guess, Baptist?” Swiggly had formed his own offshoot of fundamentalist Protestantism which he had dubbed The Church of the Living Jesus.

  “Catholic,” Conahegg replied.

  Swiggly drew back his hand as if he’d been introduced to the devil. “Well, long as you hear the gospel. That’s all that’s important.”

  “May I ask your business here, Reverend Swiggly?”

  Swiggly puffed out his chest. “I have come to press charges against those no-count heathens that live next door to my brand-new summer home on the banks of the glorious Brazos river, built by the grace of God, praise his name. Amen.”

  “Pardon?” Conahegg frowned.

  “He’s talking about me,” I whispered in Conahegg’s ear. “Or at least my family, but he distracted himself and took a mental side trip down the Holy Roller highway.”

  Conahegg glared at me. “Why don’t you go find your sister, Allegheny?”

  Allegheny. Why did my name trip so easily from his lips? Why did it sound so lyrical even as he was chiding me?

  Disturbed by these questions, I backed away but stayed in the immediate vicinity. Swiggly was putting on quite a show and I wanted to see what was going to happen next.

  “Are you referring to the Green family?” Conahegg asked.

  Reverend Swiggly sniffed disdainfully. “I don’t know their names.”

  “We’re the ones who called about the gunshots,” Miss Gloria ventured, barely raising her head. “We saw you arresting some of them so we came down to file a formal complaint.”

  Swiggly placed a restraining hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Miss Gloria, I’ll thank you to let me handle the matter.”

  Miss Gloria ducked her head, stared at her feet and mumbled, “I’m sorry, Ray Don.”

  I wondered why she’d been dragged along on his misadventure at two o’clock in the morning. I felt sorry for the woman. She seemed so devoid of gumption.

  “As I was saying,” Swiggly continued. “These people have all-night parties even during the week, playing that devil music and throwing their garbage over the fence onto my lawn. Do you have any idea how much it cost to have three acres of Saint Augustine grass sodded? They’re ruining it with beer and vomit and urine. And tonight they were shooting off guns. I’m fed up, Sheriff, and I want something done.”

  Conahegg nodded and let Swiggly rant. Since I wasn’t a fan of self-righteous bitching, particularly when my family is the subject of said bitching, I figured I’d take the opportunity to search for Sissy.

  The Parker County Sheriff’s Department is not a big building. Maybe ten thousand square feet, not counting the jail facilities butted up against the main structure. There are four entrances to the place—one, the front door through which Swiggly and his wife had come. Two, the back entrance where Conahegg had brought us, accessible only with a key. Three, the doorway through the jail. And one more entrance through the small courtroom where prisoners were arraigned.

  I knew the layout because I’d been here once before when Aunt Tessa was arrested for chunking rotten eggs at the Mayor during the Founders Day parade while in the throes of an Ung moment but that’s another story.

  It didn’t take long to walk through the facility. I checked the ladies’ room with no luck and ended up back at the front desk five minutes after I started. Conahegg and Swiggly were still deep in conversation about the evil Green family.

  I waited until Swiggly halted his soliloquy to take a breath and I jumped in.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” I apologized. “But I can’t find my sister.”

  Conahegg gave me his full attention which I found rather flattering until I belatedly realized he was simply desperate to find an excuse to get rid of Swiggly. So much for my natural charm.

  “Do you think she left the building?” Conahegg asked.

  I shrugged. With Sissy, who knew.

  He frowned. “She shouldn’t walk alone in this neighborhood.”

  Conahegg was right. The sheriff’s department hunkers in the roughest part of town, which granted, in Cloverleaf isn’t that ba
d, but it’s where most crimes occurred.

  Swiggly started talking again but Conahegg raised a hand. “Excuse me a minute, sir.”

  “Well…” Swiggly looked affronted. “I was talking to you first.”

  “I’m afraid something more important has come up.” Conahegg took my arm and guided me out the front door. If I hadn’t been so worried about Sissy I would have paid more attention to the strange sensations rioting through me at his touch.

  “Do you think she would take off on her own?”

  I shook my head. “It’s twelve miles home.”

  “Would she hitchhike?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Damn,” he swore.

  And then we both heard it. A distinctive moan coming from the patrol cars in the parking lot.

  A soft feminine moan.

  My stomach knotted.

  Conahegg began to run.

  We found Sissy crumpled on the ground in the fetal position.

  “Sissy,” I cried, struggling to stay my rising panic. “What happened?”

  Conahegg bent and scooped her into his arms. When he raised her up, I could see her face in the light from the street lamp. Her right eye was swollen shut and her nose was caked with dried blood. My stomach lurched and I feared I was going to be sick.

  You can’t throw up, Sissy needs you.

  “Ally?” She groaned and reached for me.

  “I’m here.” I squeezed her hand. “Right here.”

  It completely did me in to see my little sister beaten like that. I started to shake and my head swam with empathy.

  “Where are you hurt, sweetie?”

  “He punched me in the stomach.”

  “He who?”

  “A man.”

  “Did you know him?” I asked.

  Sissy didn’t answer. I took that as a bad sign. She probably had known the guy. What a hellish night. First Rocky, then Tim, now Sissy. What was going on? Was there a full moon? Was Mercury in retrograde? Had the remaining Beatles reunited?

  “Are you sick at your stomach? Can you describe the pain? How hard did he hit you?” I hurled the questions at her, desperately needing answers.