All the Old Lions (A Thea Barlow Mystery, Book One)

by Carol Caverly

  I took towels to cover my car’s wet seat and managed to drive to Jim’s house with no mishaps. By picking my way carefully to the entry by the garage door, I avoided most of the puddles, but still gathered a fair amount of persistent muck on my shoes. I was running through shoes like a track star, and needed to replace Minnie’s overshoes as well. Perhaps I could buy her another pair in town.

  When nobody answered my knock, I opened the door and stepped into the utility room. Under the circumstances, I felt certain they wouldn’t mind my using the phone even if they weren’t home.

  “Hello,” I shouted through the open doorway into the kitchen. “Anyone home?” I grabbed an old rag from the wastebasket by the door and wiped the mud from my shoes. I was ready to shout again when I looked up and saw Jim standing a few feet away, staring at me.

  “What are you doing?” he asked with a curious kind of sharpness.

  “Wiping my feet,” I answered with a smile, and threw the rag back on the trash. Was he a little miffed, or maybe surprised, that I’d walked in on my own? “I knocked, but nobody answered. I need to use the phone, if I may?”

  “Of course.” He held out his hand to draw me in. Even though he smiled, there was something quizzical in his look that made me feel gauche, or a little rude.

  Finally he asked, “Is anything the matter?”

  With some chagrin, it dawned on me that the strain and worry of yesterday must be plainly evident on my face. I wished I’d taken time to put some makeup on, or done something more with my hair. Oh well, so much for city chic. I was fast becoming resigned to my fate as a slob.

  “Yes,” I answered, “all sorts of things are the matter. Minnie had a stroke last night.”

  “Minnie? A stroke!”

  “Yes. Max and I found her in the dugout, and lucky we did, or she would have died.”

  “I’m sorry, Thea, you must have had a hell of a night. I can’t believe something like this has happened to you again.” He put his arm around my shoulders and I must say I sopped up the sympathy like a sponge. It was nice to lean on someone. “Dad’s going to be terribly upset.”

  “I need to call the hospital and find out how she’s doing.”

  “Of course.” He showed me where the telephone was and went down the hall to get Helby.

  The nurse was very helpful and I was also able to speak to the doctor. By the time I was through talking with them, Jim was back with his father. Helby did indeed look distressed.

  “How is she?” he asked. He appeared diminished: stooped and very tired.

  “She’s as good as can be expected,” I said, repeating what I’d been told. “And barring any further episodes, they expect her to continue improving. But her right side is paralyzed and she can’t speak.”

  “Never?” Helby croaked.

  “They can’t tell at this point. But, I know patients frequently regain some use…And there’s speech therapy…”

  Helby shook his head and sat heavily in a chair. “Too old,” he muttered. “Too old.”

  “Who knows?” I forced some brightness into my voice. “Minnie might be one of those who make a complete recovery. She’s certainly stubborn enough.”

  He gave me a frosty smile and nodded reassuringly, but his eyes were bleak, as if he really knew better. “One by one they go,” he said and turned his gaze to the window.

  I couldn’t stand to see him so defeated. I wanted to shake him, force him into his fancy clothes and kingly arrogance.

  “Look, why don’t you go see her?” I said. “I’m sure she’d like that.”

  “Will they let us?” Jim asked, watching his father with troubled eyes.

  “I think so. Max and I are going in soon. Well,” I said hesitantly. There didn’t seem much else to say. “I should get back. Thanks for letting me use your phone.”

  “Anytime,” Jim said and walked me to my car. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do to help, and don’t take it too hard. I’ll bring Dad in to town. He’ll feel better for visiting her.” He put his hands on my shoulders and softened the tension at the base of my neck with his long fingers. His eyes were intent on me, a worried frown on his face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I smiled, truly grateful for his concern. “I’m fine. Please don’t worry.”

  The hospital was a small, neat affair, all on one level, another repository of pride for Hijax and the surrounding community. The young and pretty head nurse greeted Max by name, a fact I was quick to note, along with the way his appreciative eye followed the swing of the close-fitting uniform as we followed her down the hall.

  Minnie’s room was dim and smelled of all the frightening unknown things that hospitals always smell of. I approached her bed with trepidation, feeling like an intruder who might be taken for a curiosity seeker. She seemed so small under the light covering, her face lax and strangely foreign. I wished I was back in Chicago, had never come here, or become more than just a voice over the telephone or a name that signed impersonal letters. How could so much change in a few day’s time, and light friendship so quickly become a bond of human responsibility?

  On the other side of the bed, Max reached out and enfolded Minnie’s hand in his callused fingers. Her eyes fluttered open and came shockingly to life when she saw us. It was as if all her useless body’s energy had concentrated in the only remaining outlet. Unimpaired intelligence lit her soft brown irises as they flicked from Max to me, over and over again, her mouth moving in a desperate attempt to form words. We stepped closer, drawn by the strength of her struggle, certain that success would follow such valiant desire. But it didn’t. She couldn’t speak and began to flail around, her breathing more rapid.

  “Max,” I cried in alarm, and he ran for the nurse.

  I took Minnie’s air-clutching left hand in both of mine and started a soothing babble. “It’s all right, it’s all right. Don’t worry. We’re taking care of everything. You’re going to be all right, it just takes time. Don’t worry.” I repeated the words until she relaxed and closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again they were filled with tears. I was at a loss; what comfort could I offer her?

  At least she was watching me more calmly now. I gave her one of those bright, idiotic hospital smiles. “I brought some things you might need, a robe, slippers, and look,” I fished in the bag I held, “I even brought your shoe. Isn’t it lucky I found it in the office? You’ll need it when you’re ready to go home.”

  Fortunately, at this point Max returned with the nurse, or I’d surely have gone on to say it was the most darling shoe in the world, or something equally intelligent. Instead I clamped my mouth shut and gave up my place to Max’s nurse friend and her blood pressure apparatus.

  I took the bag of Minnie’s things, and the shoe, over to the locker like closet. The clothes she had been wearing yesterday hung neatly from hooks, and the loafer’s mate lay on its side with both white socks stuffed in it. I placed the shoe I held beside the other, straightened the pair, and methodically removed one anklet to put in the other shoe. As I hunched there staring at them, I could hear Max questioning the nurse.

  “She can’t speak at all?”

  “No.”

  “Can she write?”

  “No. Her left side is functional, but she can’t handle it well yet. Give her a chance, Max.”

  “Well, how in hell can she tell you what she needs?”

  I listened disconnectedly to the rising level of exasperation in his voice, noted it, but remained staring at those shoes. There was something…

  “We’re anticipating her needs for now,” the nurse said. “We’ll get some communication going soon. And I think you’ve stayed long enough. She needs to rest.”

  I took the shoe Minnie had worn to the hospital and turned it slowly over and over in my hand, wondering. “Max,” I said.

  “Max,” I said again. He stood by the bed, staring remotely at Minnie’s inert figure, his face darkly fierce with an expression I knew could mean many things: ang
er, concern, frustration and even, sometimes, something much softer.

  The nurse held Minnie’s wrist and counted her pulse. I took the shoe and both socks, caught Max’s attention and motioned him to follow me into the hallway.

  I handed him the shoe. “Look.” He turned it much as I had, then gave me a puzzled look.

  “What about it?”

  “There’s no mud, Max.”

  Fourteen

  “When I came back from Enright’s that first time—when Minnie was there, on the couch sleeping, or whatever—I stopped at the front door to take my shoes off because I didn’t want to track. I admit they weren’t caked like the ones I’ve ruined since, but they were muddy.”

  “Someone here could have cleaned it off,” he said doubtfully.

  “But what about the socks?” I held them up, misshapen from wear, but quite brightly white. “If she walked to the dugout missing a shoe, at least one of these socks should show soil or at least a stain of some kind.”

  “But.”

  “Like it or not, Max, someone must have carried Minnie to the dugout and left her there to die.”

  He gave me a piercing glance, then stalked back into the room. I followed.

  The nurse was still, or once again, at her pulse-taking. Max had no qualms about interrupting her. He waved the socks in front of her. “These were in the closet over there. Did anyone wash them?”

  The nurse stopped counting, but kept her fingers on the limp wrist. “No. We don’t do anything with the clothes except remove them. Everything should be in her closet.”

  He rubbed his face and returned the socks and shoes to the closet.

  “Is she all right?” I whispered to the nurse, noting that the pulse counting was still going on. She nodded.

  “Look,” Max said. “We’ve got to talk to her. Will you help me—”

  The nurse cut him off with a firm no and added, “You really must go.”

  He was insistent. “But I’ve got to—”

  “If you don’t leave, Max, I’ll have you thrown out.”

  I took his arm and pulled him out the door. “Giving Minnie another stroke isn’t going to help.”

  “But if we could ask a couple of questions, all she’d need to do is nod or shake her head.”

  “The doctor doesn’t want her to get excited. Maybe by tonight, or in the morning they’ll let us try to talk to her.” Then I thought of something else. I opened the door to Minnie’s room and beckoned to the nurse. “Has anyone else been here to see her?”

  “Parson Potts came by this morning, but I didn’t let him see her.”

  “Anyone else?” Max asked.

  “About an hour ago Jim and Helby Enright were here. Jim didn’t go in, but the doctor let Helby see her for a few minutes. Thought it might calm her, but she got very upset. They had to ask him to leave. I doubt any other visitors will be allowed, except you two, who are acting as family.”

  “Thanks,” Max said, and walked me quickly down the hall.

  “Potts was here, Max. What do you think he wanted?”

  “I don’t know what to think, but there are a couple of simple things we can do right now. You talk to the nurse, or the director, or whoever you need to, and request that no visitors be allowed. I’m going to run over and see the sheriff and tell him everything. We should have done it a long time ago. Whether we’re right or wrong, at least we can get Minnie some protection. The sheriff’s office is next to the courthouse. I’ll walk; you can bring the truck when you’re finished here.”

  The hospital agreed to the no visitors plan without any arguments or demands for detailed explanations. I ducked in to see Minnie once more before I left. She appeared to be resting easily. I didn’t disturb her.

  I practiced with the truck’s floorboard gearshift a bit before I turned on the motor. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be that different from driving a stick shift car. I was lucky to have the whole parking lot to practice in. The gears were tight. I needed both hands to shift into first, but finally got onto the street, and headed for the courthouse.

  I wanted to be sure Max told Hank everything about Potts. I didn’t want my suspicions whitewashed to any degree. I managed to park the truck without mishap and found the office.

  “Max?” the girl at the desk said. “Max who?”

  “Max Holman. He came to talk to the sheriff.”

  “Nobody’s been here in the last hour. Besides, the sheriff’s not here, anyhow.”

  “But…” Uncertainty gripped me. Where was Max? Maybe he had run into Hank on his way to the courthouse and they were talking over coffee, or something.

  It seemed easier to walk the block and a half to main street rather than wrestle with the truck. Maybe Max had seen Potts and was checking up on him. Potts and the Enrights were probably still in town. Funny that Helby’s visit had upset Minnie so much. And how had Potts found out so quickly that Minnie was in the hospital? Did the grapevine work that efficiently?

  I stuck my head in the Stirrup Cafe. Max wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the drugstore, either, nor was anyone else I knew, which was fine by me. I certainly didn’t want to run into Potts. The thought of him prowling around Halfway Halt hunting for Minnie’s manuscript made me shiver.

  “Oh, no!” I thought, jerked to a halt. Minnie’s book.

  Minnie always kept it carefully hidden, but where had I left it? I had taken it upstairs with me last night, but what had I done with it before I flopped into bed? Was it on the floor by my bed, or had I pushed it under the bed? One way or the other it was easy prey for anyone who might happen by the house. How could I have been so careless? I broke into a run, heading for the pickup. I had to get Minnie’s manuscript. If anything happened to it I’d never be able to face her.

  I left a message for Max with the girl in the sheriff’s office, telling him I’d had to return to Minnie’s and would be back as soon as possible, and set off in the pickup. Other than a few bad moments of jerking and stalling before I got going, driving the powerful truck gave me a rare sense of exhilaration. However, my confidence faded when I came to Minnie’s hill. It still looked greasy and was crisscrossed with a wide variety of deeply plowed tracks. I wasted no time, parked the truck on the road, and walked up the hill.

  Having learned a bit about mud by now, I stuck to the far edge of the borrow pit and walked on the heavy mat of weeds and pine needles. I couldn’t believe I had actually run up that hill yesterday, straight through the gumbo. As it was, I had to stop half way up to catch my breath.

  Even though the sun shown brightly now and a warm breeze caressed my skin, something of yesterday’s storm-tossed urgency remained and I didn’t linger, but hurried on to the house. I ran lightly up the stairs to my room without the least prescience to warn me of what was waiting, until I was upon him. His hulking figure filled the room. I stopped, breathless, speechless, and nearly lifeless. Potts!

  We stood for a static moment like a game of frozen statues. My leg muscles quivered, then leaped to obey a pounding adrenaline surge. I stepped back, prepared to whirl out and away. The movement sparked Potts. He lunged for me; his large hands clamped onto my shoulders.

  “What are you doing here?” he roared, and shook me like an old rag. “Where’s that book?” Fire and brimstone lit his rheumy eyes. I screamed, a great tearing sound that ripped through all my vital organs and filled the room with skull-bursting vibrations.

  His grip loosened. I jerked away, caromed against the wall and flew out the door and down the stairs.

  “Wait!” he yelled, hard on my heels.

  As if I would wait. I’d left the front door open, and was out in a flash, with his heavy tread thundering down the stairs behind me. If I could just reach the pickup. Surely I could outrun a seventy-year-old man. But I hadn’t counted on the dog. He appeared from nowhere, eager for this new game, and bounced around my legs. I tripped over him, barely saving myself from a fall.

  “Get away,” I gasped. “Go! Please, baby, go.” He bounded from
one side of me to the other, blocked my way down the hill, and forced me in the direction of the trees. I risked a glance over my shoulder. Potts. If only he’d yell. His voice would scare off the dog. But he didn’t yell. My legs tangled with the dog’s again. Staggering, I managed to spin away from a fall. If I could make it to the trees…And angle back to the road…I raised my eyes to scout a path, and saw a vision from heaven. I ran right into his arms.

  “Jim,” I gasped. “Thank God you’re here!” I buried my nose in his chest and wrapped my arms around his body.

  “What in hell are you doing, Potts?” he said angrily over my shoulder. The name brought me alive again. I whirled in Jim’s arms.

  “He tried to murder Minnie, Jim.” I gulped for air. “And I’m next on his list.”

  My words stopped Potts as if pole-axed. His great body heaved with fatigue, and his usually florid face had turned pasty from the uncommon effort.

  “Murder Minnie?” Jim asked, incredulously. “What are you talking about? What is this, Potts?” he demanded, and tightened his arms around me.

  Potts glared as if I were some evil succubus who had bested him, but only for the moment. I caught a flash of the dog slinking off toward the barn. He’d recognized his old enemy.

  “All right, Potts, let’s have it,” Jim commanded, making a threatening movement towards him.

  The old man drew his eyes from me, glanced dismissively at Jim, and then turned away. His lifeblood seemed to drain from him.

  “No.” He shook his head like a wounded bull. “I…No.” The words were slurred, uncertain, as if he hadn’t heard the question, didn’t know the subject. His glance swung back to me, but its power had disappeared and was replaced with something that looked, surprisingly enough, like reproach. He shambled towards the back of Hallway Halt, his arms cumbersome weights that dragged his shoulders into a slump of defeat.

  We watched, mesmerized as he disappeared behind the house, and heard the hesitant cough of a motor starting up.

  “Jim, don’t let him get away,” I said, as the old man drove by us and down the road. “We’ve got to stop him.”