One Big Bat

by Risner, Fay

  That question knocked me for a loop. “I don't think so, but your ice tea was delicious. It sure hit the spot. Why did you ask?”

  “Oh, I heard you get up to go to the bathroom in the night. I thought you might have drunk more tea than you were used to. Or is getting up to go to the bathroom a nightly thing for you?”

  I protested, “That wasn't me. I always sleep through the night as a rule. Last night when the stool flushed I did wake up. I thought Paul was up.”

  “No, it wasn't him. Not that time anyway. That was the first thing I thought, and I rolled over to see. He was still in bed fast asleep,” Diane said, frowning. “I sure thought it was you in the bathroom since you were the only one it could be, but maybe I was dreaming.”

  I shook my head. “You weren't dreaming unless we both had the same dream about the stool flushing which would be gross.”

  “Well, then who was it. There was just three of us in the house last night,” Diane worried.

  “I don't know, but you weren't dreaming it. Maybe something is wrong with the stool,” I offered. “You should tell Paul to check it out. If the stool keeps flushing on its own, it's going to run up the water bill.”

  “Oh well, it's not an emergency, I guess. Paul seems to have other priorities right now. I know better than to wake him out of a sound sleep if it happens again just to let him listen. He’d say I imagined it and get cranky because I disturbed him. I'd rather he take care of the bats in the attic first,” complained Diane.

  She knew Paul better than I did, but I thought I had him figured out. She was right. He'd tell her there was nothing he could do about the stool for a couple weeks anyway. He had his priorities. After the golf tournament, he'd put fixing the stool on his to do list right under getting rid of the bats.

  I started to take a drink of coffee and thought of the other weird thing that happened last night. Had I imagined the large blur that I thought slipped quickly by my room? I'd not gotten excited when I thought it was Paul. I sat my cup down. “Diane, does Paul ever sleep walk?”

  She laughed. “No, why did you ask that?”

  “I thought I saw him walk by my room in the middle of the night. It would have been right after the stool flushed.”

  “Paul didn't get up at all last night. It couldn't have been him? Are you sure about what you saw?” Diane's face paled.

  The last thing I wanted to do was frighten her for no reason. “Aw no, I'm not sure. In fact, I'd forgotten about it until now. I must have been dreaming.” I felt silly for even bringing it up.

  The phone rang. “Hello,” Diane answered. “Morning, Irma. What's up?” She listened. “Oh, that is too bad. When is the funeral?” After a pause, she said, “That's fine. You can plan on me to help with the church luncheon. Bye.”

  “Someone from our church died I take it,” I said.

  “Yes, it was Ada Gray. She had a heart attack yesterday and died at the hospital in the night.”

  “I hate to hear that. I liked Ada,” I said.

  “Oh, you knew her?”

  “Yes, Ada introduced herself to Jeff Briceson and me at the community center when we were investigating Alice Hutson's case.

  Ada was really helpful, pointing out Alice Hutson's friends and giving details about them. Briceson got a big kick out of her acting like an undercover agent. I'll tell him when I get to work that she passed. He will be sorry to hear it and might want to go to the funeral. When is the funeral?”

  “Day after tomorrow,” Diane said.

  I glanced at the skillet clock. “Well, I better get ready for work.”

  That evening, Diane baked meatloaf, and a potato for supper. While I sat on a stool at the kitchen bar, Diane put me to work, tearing up a lettuce head for the salad. I wondered if she was keeping us from sitting outside with the bats by not letting Paul grill.

  “So how was your day?” Diane asked.

  “Some days are so slow it doesn't pay me to go to work.” I paused then smile. “Not that I'd want the chief to hear that. He might cut my hours to save on money.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “The only excitement happened this afternoon. I was on patrol with Briceson when his radar clocked an older model, black Ford at ten miles over the twenty-five speed limit in the middle of downtown. Briceson got excited. He turned on the siren and lights to stop the car. I radioed in the location and license plate. The car came back to Alferd Stellner with a clear driving record.”

  Diane gasped. “Old Alferd! Oh dear, the poor man.”

  “That's what I thought, but I was thinking it about Officer Briceson when I tried to talk him out of stopping Mr. Stellner. I asked him if we couldn't ignore this traffic stop. He looked at me like I was crazy and puffed. Go By The Books Briceson said he had the driver dead to rights on a speeding violation even if the man did have a clear driving record. I explained the old man had the clear record because the other cops ignored him after they gave him his first warning. That statement went right on by Eager Beaver Briceson. Hello!

  As usual, Mr. Stellner wouldn't stop so Briceson waited until we got to the signal lights. Good thing the light was red. Mr. Stellner had to stop for that. Briceson pulled in front of him and parked, ready to give the man the riot act for alluding a police pull over.

  I tried again to reason with Briceson. The man wasn't actually racing away from us at thirty-five miles an hour, but Briceson said it didn't make any difference.

  Mr. Stellner peeled out of his car and came to meet Briceson, mad as a hatter. He yelled that a policeman shouldn't block the roadway like that in a no parking zone. The bellowing sort of took Briceson by surprise. He put his hand on his gun butt, and I thought I was going to have to intervene to rescue Mr. Stellner. Briceson thought better of it and pulled his ticket book out of his pocket.”

  “It should have given Jeff Briceson cause for thought when that six feet six inch, 250 pound man in overalls came charging at him,” Diane said and giggled.

  “I guess you haven't seen Mr. Stellner lately. The man has lost so much weight he seems to have shrank a couple inches and lost about fifty pounds. His faded overalls were baggy and hanging on him, because the man is too stingy to buy a pair that fit him,” I said.

  “Still that is a very big man, and when he is mad he should give anyone pause for thought. What were you doing about then?” Diane asked.

  “I stayed back by the patrol car passenger door where I could jump in if I had to and waited for Briceson to swim or sink with this collar.

  He told Mr. Stellner to stand still and get out his driver's license. I'm not sure what for since he already had the license report. Guess it's because that's the usual procedure.

  Mr. Briceson cupped his hand over his ear and yelled, “What did you say?”

  “Give me your license,” Briceson yelled, holding his hand out.

  “I don't give pay offs to corrupt cops. You can just forget that,” Mr. Stellner yelled.

  Of course, I was enjoying every moment of the exchange. You should of seen the look on Briceson's face. He finally figured out Mr. Stellner was deaf as a fence post, and that's why he didn't hear the siren.

  Now Briceson is looking over his shoulder for me. I suppose he thought I'd be right behind him for back up. I waved at him from beside the car and asked politely if there was anything I could do to help. I tried not to grin at him, because I know Briceson doesn't like my sense of humor.

  “Yeah, I do need help,” he says behind his hand. “I need a translator or something to get me out of this mess.”

  I came up behind Briceson and whispered in his ear, “You wouldn't be in this mess if you had listened to me in the first place and let the old man go. This isn't my first encounter with Mr. Stellner. I knew what I was talking about.”

  Without waiting for a grumpy response from Briceson, I went up close enough the old man could recognize me. “Hello, Mr. Stellner. Nice to see you.”

  “By golly, how are you anyway?” He stuck his hand out to shake
hands and smiled down at me.

  I stopped talking to push the full bowl of lettuce pieces across the counter toward Diane.

  She encouraged, “Don't stop. I'm feeling sorry for poor Jeff Briceson. How did the traffic stop turn out?”

  “I stood on tiptoes so I'd get close enough to yell in the old man's ear and pointed at Officer Briceson. “He thought you were going a tad too fast. You need to slow down when you're driving on Main Street in the twenty-five mile zone. If you promised to do that the officer will just give you a warning.”

  Mr. Stellner looked all apologetic. “I didn't know I was going too fast. I'm really sorry, but I'm not going to pay off that young whipper snapper to keep him quiet.”

  I patted his arm. “Of course not. I wouldn't either.”

  By that time Jeff had the warning wrote and handed it to the old man. I waved bye at him so he knew he could leave and grabbed Briceson by the arm. We hustled back to the patrol car, and Briceson pulled out of Mr. Stellner's way.”

  I paused to chuckle.

  “What? What?” Diane insisted.

  “Oh, I was just thinking about how I told Briceson he forgot to ask to see the old man's insurance card. Did he want to stop Mr. Stellner again to check about the card?”

  Diane shook her head. “Sometimes, you're not very nice to Jeff Briceson. Did he stop that poor old man again?”

  “Nope, Briceson didn't want to go through another encounter with Mr. Stellner. He said he'd let it pass this time. I'm pretty sure if Mr. Stellner doesn't get too excessively over the speed limit Briceson will ignore him from now on just like the other patrolmen have done.”

  By the time I finished my tale, Diane was laughing so hard, Paul left the news program on television to see what was so funny. We had trouble repeating the tale to him while we choked on laughter. I think he thought we'd drank too much wine already. In fact, he had the nerve to raise the bottle out of the cooler to see how much wine was left in it.

  “Hey, while I'm thinking about it, did you find my golf shirt?” He asked.

  Diane shook her head. “No, I didn't. It should have been in the closet, but it wasn't.”

  “I need that golf shirt before the weekend,” Paul complained.

  “Go buy you another one,” Diane said. “I don't know what happened to yours.”

  “Man, I like that shirt.” Paul complained. “But guess I'm going to have to do just that.”

  That evening, I made it without dozing off until after the ten o'clock news. In the middle of the night, I woke up to the sound of rushing water. It was the stool flushing again.

  Determined to find out what was going on in the bathroom, I threw on my robe and rushed across the hall. I reached for the door knob at the same time the door flew open. Paul walked right into me. The force of his body hitting mine threw me off balance. I stumbled backward, hit the wall with a thud, gave an ouch cry and sank to the floor. Paul reached down, grabbed me under the arms and help me to my feet just as Diane came out of their bedroom.

  “What's going on out here?” She was just in time to see Paul holding on to me. “What are you two doing?” Her arms folded over her chest as she looked at us accusingly.

  Paul turned loose of me fast.

  I excused, “I'm sorry, Diane. I was headed for the bathroom and didn't know it was occupied.”

  “And I was on my way back to bed when I literately ran into her as I came out the bathroom door,” Paul said with a nervous grin. “You all right, Renee? You took quite a tumble and hit the wall hard.”

  “I'm all right. Well, good night.” I started back to my bedroom, feeling foolish.

  “Hey, Renee!” I turned around to see Diane shove her hands on her hips, still trying to figure out what hanky panky I might have been up to with her husband.

  “Yes?” I asked timidly.

  “I thought you said you had to go to the bathroom?”

  “Oh, yeah! Guess I'm still half asleep.” I turned back and went in the bathroom. As soon as it was quiet in the hall, I flushed the toilet just to prove to Diane that was my intention all along.

  Chapter 4

  Wednesday morning, Diane brewed our coffee. She handed me my cup and sat down. She was very quiet as she pestered the rim of her cup with a finger. Finally, she studied me.

  I'm thinking look out. Here it comes. Just like Mom. “You stiff and sore from that fall last night?”

  I shrugged. “A little, but not bad. Just feeling foolish.”

  “Why?” She asked sharply.

  “Diane, I might as well tell you the truth. It has still been bugging me that the stool flushed the other night, and none of us did it. Last night when I heard the stool flush, I thought I was going to catch the culprit that used your bathroom or find out if the stool wasn't working properly.”

  Diane grimaced. “So that was what last night was all about. That's quite an imagination you have?”

  “I know. Half asleep like that I wasn't thinking clearly. I rushed at that bathroom door and ran smack dab into Paul. Surprised him as much as it did me,” I said sheepishly. “But I didn't want to admit to him what I was doing. I thought you said he didn't get up in the night, or I wouldn't have bothered to get out of bed.”

  “He doesn't usually, but I didn't mean he never ever gets up in the night,” Diane explained. “Renee, you're off duty when you're staying with us. That means you don't have to get up in the night to play cop around here. You're just lucky I'm not the jealous type. That looked awful suspicious when I saw Paul with his arms around you in the middle of the night in that dark hall.”

  “Paul was just helping me off the floor. That's all,” I said peevishly.

  Diane smiled and reached across the table to pat my hand. “It's all right. I believe you.”

  “I'm glad you do,” I said sincerely.

  “One more thing,” Diane said.

  “Yes?” I was wondering now what.

  “Did you come in the kitchen for a snack last night after we went to bed?” Diane asked.

  “Nope. I never snack after I go to bed. Too hard to exercise the pounds off that a midnight snack would put on. Why would you ask?”

  “When I got up this morning, the cupboard door was wide open where I keep the snack food. Oh well, maybe I didn't shut the door when I was rearranging the snacks so the ones I bought are at the back.” What Diane said sounded lame to me.

  The day didn't get any better for me. I was just about finished with the last case report and glad of it when Mrs. Pestkey showed up. Just seeing her filled me with dread. I always knew whatever she had on her mind wasn't good.

  That woman has been Mom's friend for years. Maybe the only real friend Mrs. Pestkey has is my mother. When Diane and I were kids, we used to call her Mrs. Pest, but that was behind my mother's back. She would have come down on us with some kind of hard labor punishment for being disrespectful like cleaning house for a month.

  The elderly woman marched over to my desk, thumping her cane on the floor. She planted herself in a wide stance so she could stare at me.

  “Hello,” Mrs. Pestkey. What can I do for you today?” I asked as cheerfully as I could manage.

  “Something has to be done about the stray dogs in this town,” she demanded.

  Innocently, I asked, “You have a problem with a dog?”

  “Yes, there is a large dog running around my neighborhood. He's about as big as a small horse. I'm afraid to go outside without my cane when he's around.

  This morning, I set my garbage cans on the curb and went into the house. That beast showed up and knocked both of them over. He strung the garbage all over the street. What a mess! Could I get it cleaned up in time for the garbage truck to pick it up you might asked? No! I was too late by the time I chased after that dog, trying to clobber him with my cane,” she ranted.

  “I'm sorry you had such a problem. I'll call the dog catcher and let him know so he can catch the dog.”

  “Fine, but see that you do that right away,” Mrs. Pest
key ordered, shaking her finger at me.

  As soon as Mrs. Pestkey left the station the chief came out of his office and leaned against the door frame. “Detective, when did the city hire a dog catcher?”

  Briceson spoke up from his desk behind me, “I was wondering that myself.” The chief stared him down and Briceson finished his sentence with, “Sir.”

  “No one person holds that title that I know of, Sir. Which ever policeman is on duty usually takes care of catching strays when they become a nuisance,” I said truthfully.

  The chief's eyebrows came up. “I glad you know that. So since you're on duty today you are the acting dogcatcher?”

  “Yes, Chief. I'll get right on it,” I said.

  As soon as the chief went back to his desk, I turned to Briceson and informed him he was going with me to catch the stray.

  When we arrived the dog was into Mrs. Pestkey's trash cans again. The minute he saw us he trotted off down the street with us in pursuit. Unfortunately, Mrs. Pestkey was watching out her living room window. I could just hear her the next time she saw me. “What's the matter? The dogcatcher have the day off.”

  It wasn't easy to catch up to that dog. He was a skinny greyhound. My jogging exercises did me no good what so ever trying to keep up with that pooch. Who know the next perp I'd be after was a stray. He probably was a retiree from a race track somewhere.

  The dog ran into the park and hid behind a large maple tree, panting with his long red tongue drooling. It tickled me that he seemed to be out of condition. I knew just how he felt, but I wasn't about to let him see my tongue hanging out.

  He peered out at us, resting, but waiting for us to get near before he bolted again.

  We stopped. Briceson whistled and called, “Here, Boy. Here, Boy.” He patted his leg. “Come to me.”

  The dog took off.

  We took off after him. “That sure was the wrong thing to do,” I scolded as we raced side by side.

  “Why? I thought that's how you call a dog,” Briceson panted.

  “Wrong! For one thing, he isn't about to come to strangers. We might have a cane to hit him with like Mrs. Pestkey. She scared the daylights out of him, and I don't blame him for staying away from us. If Mrs. Pestkey came after me with that cane, I'd be scared, too. For another reason, his name must not be Boy. Dogs know their own name,” I said dryly.