The Sow's Ear

by E. Joan Sims

  I pulled and tugged, but it was no use. The damned door was locked, and I was trapped in the dark in the ancient basement of the George P. Whitherspoon Public Library.

  Chapter Nine

  I struggled with the old-fashioned brass knob, but it wouldn’t budge. I was trapped with no light, no food or water, and nothing but my cell phone to help me out of my dilemma.

  I called the library desk, but there was no answer. Unfortunately, I had to call Mother.

  When she finally stopped laughing, she promised to call Trudy at home and get someone to liberate me. I sat down on the top step to wait.

  And I waited, and I waited.

  I tried to call her back, but the number was busy. Mother had an aversion to the “call waiting” feature on our telephone. She has always thought it unfriendly to say the least and unmannerly at the worst. Right about now she was probably calling all her little old lady friends to tell them about her zany daughter and had no intention of interrupting one second of her important conversation.

  I waited.

  I was just about to nod off again when I heard a key turn in the lock and the creak of the old door as it opened. I fell backwards onto the floor of the library and looked up into the laughing face of Andy Joiner, Rowan Springs’ own stalwart Chief of Police.

  “Well, well, well,” he said. “Seems like our little mystery writer wrote herself into a corner. Now just how did you go and do that?”

  “Trudy went off and left me, that’s how,” I growled.

  “Oh, yeah, that. Your mother called me when she couldn’t reach her. I called her assistant, and she told me one of Trudy’s kids had a problem at school. Nothing serious, but she had to leave early. Guess she did forget you after all.”

  He reached down and helped me up with one effortless pull of his strong right arm. I bounded to my feet, swaying for a moment, and leaned against the doorframe while my head stopping swimming.

  “Dizzy?” he asked, his face betraying a sincere concern.

  “Thirty-year old microfiche reader for four hours, and maybe a little starvation,” I said.

  “I was just about to head out to the DQ. Wanna join me?”

  “I’d love to, but I made this promise to Cassie last year—fats and carbs and stuff like that are forbidden fruit.” I felt no need to add that I had fallen from grace only a few days ago since, so far, no one had found me out.

  “They have a new menu now. The wife loves their grilled chicken salad. Maybe you could…?

  The grumbling in my stomach responded loudly. “Lead on, MacDuff!” I agreed.

  Andy decided we should go in his cruiser then he would bring me back to my car after we ate. Being my mother’s daughter, I couldn’t help but wonder how it might look to someone else.

  “Where’s Connie? Doesn’t she mind your taking beautiful unattached females out to dine without her?”

  “She would, if I did,” he teased. “She’s over at the school helping with some kind of banquet—something about planning for the new academic year.”

  “I thought all your little ones were big ones now.”

  “Flora’s a senior this year. Then we’ll be done. She’s got a scholarship for four years at Georgetown—if she can keep her grades up.”

  “Good grief, Andy! I had no idea. That’s wonderful.”

  “Don’t look at me,” he chuckled. “Connie’s the one with all the smarts. All’s I got are those GOB genes.”

  “GOB?”

  “Good ole boy.”

  “Yeah, right! You’re just a poor dumb schmuck with hayseed for brains, a daughter with a 4.0, and a wife who still looks like Miss America. Poor you.”

  “Let’s just say I’ve been lucky.”

  “You really have, Andy,” I agreed, all my teasing over and done with. “Too bad Billy Arlequin wasn’t so lucky.”

  “Paisley,” he warned, his voice slipping into a low growl.

  “I mean, poor guy, with Madame Grazziani just up and kicking like that. Must have been such a shock. And then being arrested for her murder…bummer.”

  The windows were down and Andy drove slowly, letting the night air cool us as we skirted the perimeter of his domain—the fiefdom he had been appointed to guard. He ignored my needling query, his face set and confident—the king of the jungle avoiding the persistent buzz of a pesky mosquito.

  We ate in silence. The salad was good but the constant parade of trays overflowing with hot fries and chili-dogs filing past our booth made my mouth water. It wasn’t long before my unhealthy desire for junk food reared its ugly head. My pique at not being able to weasel any information about Millicent’s death from Andy was overpowered by the intense desire to make an absolute pig of myself. I decided to try and make him an accessory before the fact.

  “Wanna share some fries?”

  Andy shook his big head, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes—bringing out that boyish look that made those who didn’t know him underestimate his acumen.

  “Promised Connie,” he mumbled over a mouthful of grilled chicken.

  “You’re just a freaking tower of strength, aren’t you?” I snapped.

  He put his fork down and folded his beefy arms over each other on the table. “What’s up, Paisley? You’re as skittish as a colt. And that’s twice you’ve bad-mouthed me today.”

  “Sorry.” I stopped myself from biting my lower lip just in time to keep from looking like a kid with a hand in the cookie jar.

  “Is it because I teased you about your looks? ’Cause if it is, I can assure you I was just jokin,’ but you know that. Besides, talk about what Connie wouldn’t like—praising another woman’s good looks is right there on the top of the list.”

  I grinned in spite of myself. I hated to admit it, but that comment had been one source of my irritation.

  “So I’m gorgeous, eh?”

  He blushed and picked up his fork again to attack the remaining lettuce on his plate. “That’s what the boys on the force say.”

  “Wow! A group compliment.”

  “Of course, they also think you’re nosey and impetuous and generally a big fat pain in the ass. And to a man they wish you’d mind your own business and stay out of theirs.” He finished off his dinner and downed half of his biggie ice tea in one swallow. When he set the cup down he held the lemon slice between his front teeth like a big yellow smile.

  “You’re so high school, Andy Joiner,” I responded heatedly. “You know, I’m not just your average citizen. There were more than a few times in the past couple of years when you welcomed my expert help.”

  “I know there’ve been more than a few times in the past when I’ve had to pull your bacon out of the fire, but you help me? When did that happen?”

  “Oh, rats. You’ll never admit it, so why bother.”

  He chuckled again, and then grew serious once more. “Paisley, this is one time when you’d better stay out of the fray. I will only say this once: there’s more to this case than meets the eye, and it could prove very dangerous. Please believe me and drop whatever interest you have in Billy Arlequin.”

  Nobody was home when I got back to the farm. We used to laugh about the fact that the big old house never looked lonely or empty—too many ghosts, we said. But old houses cast long shadows and Mother had placed little gizmos in her lamps that turned them on at a certain time every night to create the illusion of life going on inside. She needn’t have bothered. The house on Meadowdale Farm had a life of its own—like a forest where the sound of a falling tree could be heard even if no one was there to hear it. It didn’t need people to be inhabited.

  A big fat full moon hung like a tub of butter just over the horizon, and when I turned off the engine I could hear the tiny frogs singing in the little pond in back of the carriage house. An occasional “belly deep” from a much bigger bullfrog boomed out of the darkness in the reeds, and several cicadas added a brief staccato chorus.

  I climbed up on the hood of the car and lay back against the warmth of t
he metal listening to the sounds of the night. A hint of honeysuckle from the back fence scented the light breeze and brought back memories of other nights like this in my childhood when the dinner dishes were washed and put away and there was nothing to do until bedtime but relax on the big back porch and talk about the events of the day.

  Back then—at least for us—there was no need for a sleeping pill, or late night television as a cure for insomnia. The grownups worked too hard to feel the need of sleeping draughts, and we had not yet succumbed to the stupefying lure of the magic box. It was a time when children learned by listening to the hum of adult voices instead of being encouraged electronically by a brightly colored felt puppet to count or read.

  After a scorching day the gathering mist would have covered the fields with a soft blanket of swirling greys and the cool breeze acted as both soporific and truth serum. As I perched on the edge of my little red chair I found out my grandfather was a die-hard Democrat while my father always voted for a Republican. From the two of them I learned how to agreeably disagree, but I also learned to step in like my gentle grandmother when voices got just a tad edgy. I learned a lot in those happy times, mostly how to love and be loved—how to treat my neighbors, and when to stand up for my rights.

  I missed those wonderful evenings, but I was getting cold. The dew had fallen and the hood of the car had gradually lost its heat. High time, I decided, to stop reminiscing and go inside. I slid off into the gravel of the driveway—the noise made by my feet immediately calling a halt to the symphony of amorous amphibians—and headed toward the big old house and all of its beloved ghosts.

  Chapter Ten

  I trudged up the driveway, my moccasins scuffing up loose gravel like a little kid, stopping once when a piece of rock lodged in the toe of my shoe—that’s when I heard the voices.

  Startled, I stood absolutely still—waiting until I heard them again. One was Cassie, that much I could tell, but the other voice had a different rhythm—a strange cadence that was unfamiliar—and angry.

  I crept closer, careful now not to make any more noise—straining to hear the conversation. Normally I tried to stay out of my daughter’s business, but my protective motherly instincts took precedence over manners any day. Besides, it sounded like she might be in trouble.

  “You must admit you’ve led me on a wee bit, lass.”

  “Absolutely not. I told you that I thought you were nice, that’s all. And I’m beginning to change my opinion about that!”

  “Look, dolly, I know when a lassie sets her cap for someone, and you gave out all the right signals. ’Tis not my imagination alone that tells me you want it as much as I do. Now come here and give us a kiss.”

  I started forward, then halted when I heard a resounding slap—a grunt, and the sound of someone’s backside tumbling down the front steps. I raced around the corner of the house and came up short when I saw Cassie’s date dusting off the seat of his trousers. He was headed resolutely back up the steps when I opened my mouth.

  “Good evening.”

  The man stopped and turned around quickly, giving Cassie time to duck into the house and lock the screen door. It was protection—even if it was flimsy, but I had an idea that it would be more than enough with me on the scene. I couldn’t tell for sure in the moonlight, but I would have bet that her date was beet red with anger and embarrassment.

  “Uh, good evening, Mrs. DeLeon,” he offered in a breathless voice. “I was just, um, saying good night to your lovely daughter. I’ll be off now. Ta.”

  And he was gone—practically running to the car he had left down by the entrance. I stared after him a moment—shooting daggers with my eyes.

  “Cassie? Are you all right?”

  “You know perfectly well I’m just fine,” she huffed. “You were out there in the dark snooping on me long enough.”

  “You sounded distressed. I was just concerned, that’s all”

  “You’re nosey as a mother hen! You know perfectly well I can handle myself with any man.” She unlocked the door for me and flounced off down the hallway toward the kitchen.

  I followed.

  She threw her purse on the counter and turned on me.

  “Now what do you want?”

  “I’m hungry,” I complained. “All I had for supper was some stupid salad at…well, I’m still hungry.”

  She leaned closer and took a suspicious sniff of my clothes.

  “You ate at the Dairy Queen, didn’t you? And don’t even try to deny it. You smell like a vat of salty lard.”

  “A salad, Cassie, I swear that’s all I had. Andy Joiner can vouchsafe for me. He had one, too. Are you sure you’re all right? You look a little flushed.”

  “Well, why wouldn’t I be? No matter how hard I’ve tried, I still have a mother who cares more about a bacon double cheeseburger than she does her cholesterol count.”

  “Cassie,” I chided gently, “this isn’t about my cholesterol count and you know it.”

  She plopped down in a kitchen chair and burst into tears. “That filthy little pig,” she wailed. “He tried to…he was going to…”

  “Never mind, baby.”

  “Baby! That’s all you think of me, and I’m not a baby. I could have handled it, you know. I’m just so…so…so damn mad.”

  “Oops, you’re beginning to sound like your dear old mama,” I chuckled and tried to put my arms around her but she shrugged me off.

  “He was right, of course. I was leading him on, but it was all in a good cause.” She looked up at me, her eyes shining brightly through the tears. “He had every reason to try and, well, you know; but I can’t feel sorry for him, not after what I think I found out.”

  I knew better than to force any further attempts at maternal comfort on my offspring. Cassie had a fright, and she was angry with herself as well as her erstwhile date. Knowing that she had to go through the litany of how interfering I was, and how she could have taken care of everything by herself, I decided to wait until the fireworks were over for another try at a hug.

  I reached back inside the refrigerator in a mighty effort to snare the half banana I’d left after breakfast without removing the milk, eggs, and orange juice that stood in my way.

  Behind me in the kitchen Cassie blew her nose loudly and sniffed, “He’s a drug dealer, you know—big time,” she confided.

  I straightened up quickly—but not in time to avoid the calamity that followed. The milk, eggs, orange juice, and a host of other cold, wet things tumbled out onto my feet and the kitchen floor bursting into a dazzling array of yuck. “Drug dealer? You’re kidding?”

  “Look what you’ve done,” she accused. “And Gran’s coming home any minute.”

  “Forget about Gran. What the hell did you mean, drug dealer?”

  “I think it’s pretty self-explanatory, don’t you? Drug dealer, as in one who deals in drugs? Got it? Now get out of the way and let me clean up this mess while you go and change into something without food on it.”

  Aggie was asleep on my pillow as usual and gave me only a cursory glance when I entered the room. I tossed my discarded shirt so that it landed on her face, and grinned smugly when that provoked a low and very menacing growl.

  “You stupid dog. Where were you a moment ago when your mistress was in peril?” She got up and shook herself violently, spreading little doggie hairs and other canine flotsam over my clean sheets, then walked daintily over to my other pillow and took up residence. She raised her left leg and licked her stomach deliberately, daring me to swat her one. I would have, too. Or at least I would have tried, but Cassie’s bombshell was still ringing in my ears. I had to hurry if I wanted to wheedle the rest of the story out of her before Mother and Horatio came home.

  Cassie had a glass of sweet tea and a bowl of fruit salad waiting for me when I returned. Knowing that I had to appease her, I sat down at the kitchen table and took a couple of bites of pineapple before I posed the burning question.

  “So, you were saying that th
e good Dr. Haverstock is a drug dealer?”

  “I said I think he’s dealing in drugs,” she said, making the point with her fork. “I noticed it the first time when I took Aggie in to have her teeth cleaned.”

  “I’d have to be on drugs myself to accomplish that little feat,” I mumbled.

  “Mom, if you’re not going to be serious about this, then I’ll go to bed and you can just forget about it.”

  “Sorry, honey. You were saying?”

  “For one thing, Huntley’s been through at least three assistants since he took over for Doc White.”

  “What’s so strange about that? Mother can’t even find someone to clean the gutters.”

  “And,” she went on after casting a warning glance my way, “while I was in the waiting room I noticed some rather strange looking people coming in to pick up packages, and none of them had an animal with them. People generally take their dog or cat to the vet even if they’re only picking up a prescription, or kibble, or a new leash. Kind of like they’re showing it off.”

  “What did the packages look like? Big? Little?”

  “Always small—little brown paper sacks, mostly. Like the ones you take your school lunch in if you don’t have a lunch box.”

  I finished off my fruit salad and snagged an extra grape from her bowl.

  “Huntley seemed nice—at first, anyway, and then he got sort of—well, I guess “coarse” is the right word for it.” She slapped my hand away when I tried to steal another grape. “Yes,” she said, considering, “he got coarse, and kind of naughty.”

  “Damn it, Cassie. What did he try to do?”

  “Nothing overt really, that is not until tonight. He just started making innuendoes—things that tickled him to death but made me feel sort of slimy. I don’t think he’s really a very nice man, Mom.”

  “How could you have let yourself put up with that, Cassie? Things could have turned out much worse.”