The Sow's Ear

by E. Joan Sims

  I considered ‘Huntley’s’ warning again and found that I believed he was serious, and maybe more than just a little worried. Maybe his crush on my daughter had been real and he was concerned for her well being—in which case, it was time for me to become concerned as well.

  William seemed innocent enough—made a little too perfect, but innocent. Meaning, I had found nothing on the Internet to cause any misgivings. It had been easy to find his background information—where he went to school, his graduate degree, his career thus far. He was an open book, or so I had thought. And his sister certainly had nothing to hide. She was so naïve and eager to please—she had practically told me her whole life story the other night after dinner.

  Why, then, would Huntley, or Timothy, be so adamant that we stay away from him? Maybe tomorrow I could go back to the lake—to the little hamlet of Minton—and search him out. Surely his friend—the brand new owner of the little restaurant—would tell me where he was, or…

  “Rats!”

  How could I be so stupid? How in the world could I have overlooked the fact that Jane Alesworthy was Huntley’s mother. She could quite obviously be the one who held the key to this whole mess. Maybe she wasn’t as crazy as she had first appeared.

  I tried to remember what she had said—something about receiving “lovely money” at one time. And she had called the murdered children “poor mites,” and said that someone named “Meg” had known what happened but didn’t tell. On one of her more lucid days, Jane might be able to testify in court, but who knew what she really knew?

  I ruminated further, and my visit to the mental hospital began to take on a more sinister aspect. I was slowly coming to the conclusion that someone might have slipped the Queen a ‘mickey,’ as Leonard would say—a sleeping pill—before our little interview.

  And it could even have been one of her regular meds—not something meant to stop her from talking. I needn’t look for a murderer under every bush, like Horatio had warned me; but I had the uneasy feeling that if I were allowed to see her again the results would be the same.

  Leonard always complained that a good detective had a perpetual headache from butting his head against a brick wall. First thing tomorrow, I decided, would be the time to check out his theory. Besides I hated being dependent on anyone else for information. That was the reason Andy Joiner and his fellow lawmen had so many reasons for disliking my methods—I was always in the way of their investigations. But now was not the time to be hesitant. Billy was in jail awaiting trial for a crime he did not commit and no one believed him but me—and maybe the absent Horatio.

  “Enjoy your holiday, Horatio. And up and at ’em, Leonard,” I muttered.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The beautiful Indian summer days appeared to have ended. Temperatures had dropped and the wind and rain made driving a nightmare as I resolutely headed back to Minton. I had to stop twice on the shoulder of the road because it was raining so hard I couldn’t see. When I finally arrived I was exhausted and practically shaking from the stress.

  Aside from my real reason for the trip, I now was really looking forward to a hot cup of coffee and maybe something to eat, but when I pulled up in front of the café there was a big “closed for remodeling” sign on the front door.

  “Drat! Drat on every level!”

  Somewhere in the little kid’s part of my mind I could hear my mother saying, “You should have called first, dear.” But that had never crossed my mind. Silly me.

  I pulled my raincoat over my head and jumped out of the car and right into a huge puddle of standing water. Soaked up to my knees, I decided it couldn’t get any worse and sloshed through the mud and gravel of the parking lot to the front door.

  The rain had washed away most of the writing on the sign—certainly all the important information like the owner’s name and phone number—but the new ‘grand opening’ date was clearly visible and just as clearly not worth anything to me because it was six months away.

  I huddled under the sparse protection of the overhanging roof while I surveyed the rest of the street. Most of the other businesses were closed as well. The little towns around the lake depended on the summer tourists for their survival and closed down in the winter months while their owners tried to make a living doing something else. Minton was apparently such a place.

  I was too dispirited to try anything more, but Leonard, or my own stupid pride, prodded me to ask at the gas station so I got back in the car and headed in that direction. As soon as I pulled under the portico, a man came running out the door and locked it behind him. He stopped for a moment and turned around when I hailed him, but shook his head and ran to a beat up old pickup and took off like a scared rabbit down the road.

  “Well, I sure know how to clear the room,” I grumbled. And then I heard the siren.

  The little hairs on the back of my neck stood at complete attention and all the spit dried up in my mouth. I quickly turned on the radio and heard the tinny mechanical computer voice telling me to seek cover immediately.

  The gas station attendant obviously didn’t consider the meager roof of the station to be safe cover so, I imagined, neither must I. He was probably headed for his home and a nice safe basement stocked with all kinds of emergency supplies like flashlights and weather radios and nice hot coffee. Poor little me, on the other hand was far from home and had nothing but a very small car and a raincoat.

  Mother and I had been through a tornado once before and it had unnerved me for weeks afterwards. I didn’t relish going through that again, so I did a very stupid thing and turned around and decided to outrun it.

  Fortunately, the State Patrol stopped me two miles on the other side of town. They stated the obvious when they told me my little compact was no protection against a storm the likes of which was headed our way. And they insisted that I follow them to the local high school where half the town and a few unwary travelers were being held.

  Feeling like I was being escorted to prison, I followed the trooper reluctantly into the gym. I’m not sure what I expected—maybe hard grey cots and a few port-a-pottys—and if we were lucky, a table with bags of chips and stale cookies; but the huge room was warm and surprisingly cozy with tables and chairs and a buffet of hot food.

  “Coffee’s over there, miss, if you want some,” stated the trooper, “and the ladies accommodations are behind that portable wall in the middle of the gym.” He tipped his hat and added pointedly, “You’ll be safer here than on the road. Just make sure you stay until the danger’s over. Makes my job a lot easier.”

  Feeling chagrined and suitably chastened, I made my way over to the coffee table and thanked the nice lady when she gave me two cardboard cups of great smelling coffee.

  “They’re small, honey. I’d give you three but you only got two hands,” she giggled. “Come back for more and some cookies when you’ve warmed up and dried off a bit.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Worn out by the harried drive and warmed by the surprisingly good coffee and delicious chocolate chip brownie, I lay down on one of the cots set up in the women’s section and dozed off. I must not have slept that deeply because somewhere in the background of many muted conversations I heard the unmistakable sound of a voice as Australian as a didgeridoo.

  “Huntley!” I shouted as I sat up, wide awake. The few women around me looked over curiously but soon decided I was having a nightmare and turned back to their card games and laptops.

  I shrugged off my wrinkled raincoat and ran my fingers through impossibly tangled red curls. I knew I must look like a scarecrow, but that didn’t matter right now. I had to find Huntley. Getting up stiffly from the cot I peered around the partition and searched the crowd in the auditorium. Most of the men were huddled around one side of the hot food buffet—drawn to it no doubt because of the price—free, and the charming looks of the three nubile young women serving.

  Listening carefully for the accent of the bush, I walked slowly through the gym. I heard snatch
es of conversations about this and that—mostly concerns over pets left behind—and worry about crops and cattle. One woman was having a quiet come apart in the corner, and I almost went over to see if I could help. Thankfully, I was too slow in acting on my feelings of compassion and a young man she obviously knew came over and put his arms around her. When she stopped crying and looked up at him with love in her eyes I almost teared up a bit; but realizing it was mostly feelings brought on by my own fear and exhaustion, I shrugged it off and continued my search.

  “Here ya are, mate, have a bit of this right tucker and she’ll be apples in no time.”

  I turned around and saw a small boy at the other end of the buffet holding out his plate while a big rangy dark- bearded man filled it to the brim. “Don’t go walkabout and forget the chokkie, now.”

  The little boy grinned back. “Too right! Mr. Mick!”

  ‘Mr. Mick’ was still chuckling when I approached. He looked me up and down and whistled.

  Well, I’ll be gobsmacked! Where did you come from, lass? A bit of lippy and you’d be right spiff!”

  “Thank you, I think.”

  “Some hot tucker, gorgeous? Good for what ails ya.” His smile was a fifty-watter at least, and I found myself warming to Mick instantly—but business was business.

  “Huntley. I need to know about your friend Huntley…or Timothy Alesworthy, or whatever he is calling himself at the moment.”

  The smile disappeared like the sun going behind clouds. His eyes darkened and his answer was terse.

  “I’m no dobber.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Look, I’m a busy as a cat burying shit, so if you don’t mind…”

  “Just tell me where he is?”

  “You can go on with your ear bashing all you want. Like I said, I’ll not dob on any bloke.”

  I turned away and looked for a place to sit down where I could keep Mr. Down Under in my sight the rest of the afternoon. A nice little cot pulled back against the wall was comfortable enough, and I settled in for my surveillance.

  People came and went—Mick loading up plate after plate with a smile and a kind word for everyone. Either he was a genuinely nice man or he was a shoo-in for the Australian Oscar.

  Finally a pretty young thing hurried over to take his place. She reached up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek and took over his apron. They both shared a laugh because it hung way down below her knees. He gave her a cheeky salute and walked away from the table and away from me.

  I went running.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I called after Mick but couldn’t tell if he was ignoring me, or just couldn’t hear above the roar of the crowd in the auditorium. It seemed in the last few minutes that the throng had doubled. Most of the new arrivals appeared to be emergency workers from the look of the bright orange jackets and hard hats. And they all were headed straight for the food. I felt like a salmon swimming upstream against the tide of tired, but hungry folks who had done a job above and beyond and were poised to head back out in the wind and rain as soon as they had something warm and filling to eat and drink.

  For a moment I felt selfish and frivolous—all these people were helping a community in peril, and I was probably just wasting my time and theirs with a fool’s errand, But then I thought about Billy huddled in his cell waiting for news of the reprieve I had promised him, and I pushed onwards.

  I finally caught up to Mick right outside of the men’s bathroom. He turned around and winked at me and went straight inside. Without any thought of my mother’s southern lady manners, or my own sensibilities, I followed.

  “Wow! You are a gutsy little sheila!” he laughed. “I’ll give you that!”

  “I just wanted to make sure you know I’m serious about talking to you. And—that there are no other windows or doors in here.”

  “Too right, love. I’ll be right out, I promise.”

  “We all promise,” came a chorus of at least three other voices behind closed stalls.

  Mick burst out laughing, and I could feel my face going up in flames. I quickly backed up to the door, turned around and blindly fought my way outside. I could never remember being so horribly embarrassed.

  When Mick came out, rubbing his hands together to get them dry he was still laughing. He laughed even harder when I pleaded with him not to disclose what had just happened.

  “I mean, I don’t really know you …well, not at all, but if my mother ever found out…”

  “Don’t worry. Settle down, lass and let’s take a load off over here in the corner. Seems like I’ve been on my feet for hours…actually, I have been on my feet for hours. Damn tornado!”

  “Too right!” I grinned back. I don’t know what I expected, and I hoped with all my heart that he wouldn’t disappoint me, but Mick seemed to be one of the good guys.

  “Are you really from Australia, or is all that bonzer talk straight out of some Crocodile Dundee movie?”

  It was Mick’s turn to blush a shade or two of crimson. “Just between you and me, miss, I do put on a bit of a show now and again, but it’s good for business, or it’s gonna be when I open up the café.”

  “So what is your connection to down under? And Huntley, or Timothy?”

  “Andrew.”

  “Who?”

  “Andrew Alesworthy. That’s what my Aunt Jane always called him, anyway.”

  “Queen Jane is your aunt?” I was floored.

  “So you’ve met the dear old soul, have ya?”

  “Yes, I have, and you are right. She is a dear, but what’s going on here between you and Tim…Andrew, and Jane.”

  He took in a big breath and sighed. He was tired from a long hard day, and I began to feel badly about ambushing him at the end of it. But as long as he was willing to talk, I wanted to listen.

  “Andrew is my cousin…one I’d never actually met until recently, mind you. The oldies—my parents—that is, migrated to the US when I was just a babe. Dad came over here on a job and Ma liked it so much—the trees and lakes were so different from the dry back home, they decided to stay. Dad’s older sister—that’s Aunt Jane—followed shortly afterwards when her fiancé died in a freak accident—and she finished her education degree.

  “But where does Andrew come in?”

  “Gettin’ to that in a minute. A friend of Jane’s got in a spot of trouble awhile back and wanted a change of scenery, so to speak. Auntie told her about her family in Melbourne and said they’d be glad to take her in—so she went. Didn’t take her long to fall for my Uncle Roger and the next thing you know—along comes Andrew.”

  “So he really is Australian, not British.”

  “Where’d you get that idea? Of course not! Andrew may be a lot of things, but he’s no bloody whinging Pom!”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I went and got us some more coffee and some cookies, but after a while even that couldn’t keep Mick from slurring his words from exhaustion. I decided to take pity on him and let him stretch for “a bit of nappy.”

  I was long past caring if he really knew the vernacular or was making it up as he went along. He made it sound real enough, and he certainly looked the part. I found myself hoping he would succeed in his ‘shrimp on the Barbie’ business, and looked forward to partaking of it with maybe Cassie and the Raleighs in tow.

  I went back to my cot, but someone had already settled in—using my wadded up raincoat as a pillow—so I sought the solitude of the far end of the gym and found an empty space complete with a fresh clean pillow and a nice warm blanket. I was asleep in minutes.

  When I woke up again, the gym was almost empty. I couldn’t believe I had slept through the night—through all the hustle and bustle and activity—and the all-clear.

  The food line was still there, but the pickings were poor. I grabbed a couple of pieces of burnt toast and a slice of cheese. Another cup of the more-than-decent coffee, and I had my breakfast at a table where I could watch for Mick.

  I was on my second c
up when I decided that he had most likely left earlier in the morning when the all-clear had sounded. It was time for me to go home, too.

  After a desultory search for my raincoat, I slogged my way through the parking lot and found my pitiful little car covered with branches and flyaway garbage from the nearby dumpster. It took a good twenty minutes to clean enough mud and refuse off so I could safely drive, and another twenty minutes trying to get out of the parking lot, which was also covered with garbage and branches.

  When I finally got to a clear space, I had to wait for a line of emergency vehicles to get back on the road. It was slow going all the way and I was worn out when I finally arrived at Meadowdale Farm.

  Cassie ran out to meet me.

  “Mom! I was so worried! Why didn’t you call, or answer my calls? You would have killed me if I had gone off the grid like that.”

  “I know, honey, I know, but the cell towers were down and only the police and firemen could use what landlines there were and…”

  She launched herself at me and gave me a great big hug. She smelled sweet and clean and reminded me how stinky and dirty I had to be.

  She must have known it, too.

  “You go and have a nice hot shower and I’ll fix you a great big farm breakfast—just like you like it—bacon and eggs and…”

  “Cassie, baby, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll have the shower and skip the food. All I want is my own wonderful soft bed. The drive back was a bear, and I’m pooped. How about a nice hot dinner instead?”

  And so we enjoyed some delicious eggs Benedict with a fresh spinach salad in front of the fire that evening while I regaled Cassie with Mick stories.

  “He does sound like a trip,” Cassie said.

  “A very entertaining fellow, I must admit.”

  “But the men’s bathroom. Mom! I can’t believe…”

  “Now, remember you promised never to tell anyone about that.”

  “Pinky swear,” she chuckled. “But wouldn’t Gran just…”