by Joyce Magnin
"That's right," I said. "I heard we completely sold out at church last Sunday."
"And no," Boris said. "I can't do anything to stop her from driving around town keeping watch over things. The minute something does go wrong all you people will be up in arms against her for not stopping it, so I'd just let her be."
The squeal of Mildred's siren sounded through the café's thin walls.
"That's got to be her," Boris said. "Only Mildred Blessing would arrive at a dance committee meeting with lights and siren blasting."
I looked out the window in time to see Mildred pull into her parking spot like she was pulling up to a crime scene. "Now why would she need to make all that racket?"
Mildred burst through the door. "I'm sorry I'm late. Got here lickety split from Shoops. I'm glad you're all still meetin' because I got news. Bad news."
23
A hush fell over the café as all eyes, even those of the customers turned toward Mildred. She took off her cop hat and hung it on the coatrack. "It took me a little while but I knew I'd find something. I knew I'd get the goods."
"Now what kind of news could be so important that resorted to lights and siren?" Boris said. "Unless of course you ran out of tickets again."
"No, no, now listen," Mildred said as she adjusted her utility belt. "I delivered the tickets to Vera. No problem with that but then I—" She huffed like she'd run all the way from Shoops.
"Wait a second Mildred," I said, "come on, sit down and tell us. Maybe have a glass of water first."
"Thank you, Griselda." She grabbed one of the small, vinyl chairs Zeb kept on hand for large parties and sat close to Nate. He seemed a touch annoyed and moved his chair toward Boris an inch or two.
Dot returned, coffee pot steaming. "Who wants more?"
"I'd love a cup," Mildred said, "and maybe some eggs and toast and some of the chipped beef if Zeb has any left."
"You're the only one who eats it," Stu said. "I hate that stuff. Reminds me of the army."
"Me too," Boris said. "You know what we used to call it?"
"All right now, let Mildred tell us this bad news," I said. "What can be so terrible to make you come blazing back from Shoops like you were chasing a bank robber?"
"I stopped in to see Dabs Lemon," she said. "You know the reporter from the paper down there. I asked him to do some snooping and see if he could dig anything up on that Cliff Cardwell character."
"Here we go again," Nate said. "You need to leave that man alone. He's not a criminal. His plane broke, that's all. End of story."
"Not so fast, Nate," Mildred said. "Dabs found some dirt. Dirty dirt. Seems I was right all along. That Cliff Cardwell is a thief. A thief and a rat and an all around no-goodnik."
"What?" Nate said. He straightened his back against the chair back. "Prove it."
"Dabs said he found records indicating that Cliff—"
Dot dropped off a full plate of food in front of Mildred. And then stood there with her arms folded across her chest listening.
"Hold on a second, Mildred," I said. I called Zeb from the kitchen. "You might want to hear this, Zeb."
Mildred cut her chipped beef on toast into bite-size chunks while we waited for Zeb and everyone else to get settled. Ruth excused herself to use the bathroom.
"Now don't go saying what you came to say until I get back," she said squeezing around Studebaker and me. "I don't think I can wait. Besides I'll hear better with an empty bladder. Don't you find that's true, Griselda, when you have to go to the bathroom so bad that your back teeth are floating it's almost impossible to pay attention?"
"Just go, Ruth," everyone said in unison.
Zeb joined us after a few minutes. "Looks like all the customers are satisfied so I can sit a while." He wiped his hands on his apron, grabbed a chair and sat next to Mildred.
"Maybe you should hang the CLOSED sign on the door," Dot said. "Until we finish our talk."
"Good idea," Zeb said. "Go on, Dot, hang the sign."
Dot clicked her tongue and hung the sign on the door. There were only six people in the café at the time and they looked like truck drivers only interested in filling their bellies.
Ruth returned and squeezed herself between us. Mildred finished her chipped beef, wiped the plate clean with a piece of raisin toast, and excused herself as a belch formed in her throat.
"How can you eat that stuff?" Zeb said. "I make it and I don't even like it."
"So here's the scoop," Mildred said wiping her mouth on a paper napkin. "Cliff Cardwell, aka Cliff the Griff, has been arrested five times on bunco charges in Florida, North Carolina, and once in New York."
"Bunco," Ruth said. "What's bunco? I knew a Bunco the Clown once, or maybe that was Bucky the Clown, he had these really long front teeth."
"He's a flim-flam artist," Mildred said. "A grifter."
Ruth fanned herself with the one-page menu. "Oh, he's a confidence man. Like that fella who tried to sell the Eiffel Tower. That scoundrel nearly got away with it."
All eyes turned toward Ruth. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she said. "I read it in a book once. This is exciting. Imagine it, a man trying to sell us—" She looked at Mildred. "What's he trying to sell us?"
"Nothing that I know of, leastways not yet," Mildred said.
"He's done nothing here that I can have him arrested for," Boris said.
Nate dropped his fork in his empty plate. "Where'd that Dabs Cucumber—"
"Lemon," Mildred corrected.
"OK, then, Lemon," Nate said. "Where'd he get his facts?"
"Newspapers and police reports," Mildred said.
"So what did he do—exactly?" I asked.
"He bilked little old ladies out of their life savings by pretending to be a contractor," Mildred said. She straightened herself to her full height as she made her report. "And he is known in North Carolina for pulling what they call the pedigree dog scam."
"Oh come on," Nate said. "Cliff's too smart for all that bait-and-switch nonsense."
"Can't be stupid to be a bamboozler," Studebaker said. "But I still don't get it. What's he doing in Bright's Pond? He hasn't tried to swindle anyone in town—leastways that I know about."
We continued to discuss Cliff Cardwell until the knocking on the café door got so loud Zeb couldn't ignore his lunch patrons anymore.
"So what are we supposed to do Mildred?" I asked. "Not talk to him?"
"Oh, no, no, that would be the worst thing you could do. It's important that he thinks he's luring us into his trap and then we'll be ready when he strikes."
I couldn't help smiling at how ridiculous it all sounded. Cliff came across as a perfectly reasonable, nice man and I hated all the suspicion that was mounting against him. But, if Mildred was correct, then it would follow that he was doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing—gaining our confidence.
"That tears it," Zeb said. "I will not let you go up in his plane anymore, Griselda."
"What?" I said. "You can't tell me what to do and besides he's been nothing but a perfect gentleman."
"But he could be planning something," Zeb said.
"No, no," Mildred said. "I think Griselda is right. Let her go. She might get some information out of him, and we don't want to make any sudden changes that might alert him that the jig is up or is about to be up."
"I still don't like it," Zeb said. "But you're right, Griselda, I can't tell you what to do."
"Well it's not up to you, now is it?" Ruth said.
In an effort to change the subject I said, "We should really be discussing the dance. Not Cliff Cardwell."
"Griselda is right," Ruth said. "We came here to discuss the dance."
"I agree with Griselda," Nate said. "I'm working steady on the scenery and props. I finished the saloon and if I say so myself it is pretty dang good. I'll get the props set up in plenty of time. You all take care of the food and music and we're good to go."
"Music," Studebaker said. He snapped his fingers. "I forgot to che
ck with the Barley Boys."
"Barley Boys?" Ruth said.
"Yeah, they're a group of guys from Shoops who like to play country and call square dances. They're a little more blue grass, but they'll do."
"He got them for a good price," Boris said. "Just make sure they're at the town hall on time, Studebaker."
The committee members settled down and finished off cups of coffee or tea until Boris excused us. "If no one else has any more business I say we adjourn until, well, until the dance."
"Yee haw," Nate said. But his heart was not in it.
By the time I reached my truck, my head swam. God bless Mildred. She knew she smelled a rat and was not going to give up until she caught him. Trouble was I didn't know what I was supposed to do with this information. I didn't think it was a good idea to tell Stella what with Cliff staying at their place. I knew her and I knew she'd get nervous and maybe even spill the beans. The real question remained though. What did Gilda Saucer have to do with all this?
I hadn't thought to ask Mildred if she did any digging on Gilda. But she probably did and came up empty.
Ruth caught up with me outside. "Can you drive me home? Studebaker already left."
"Sure. Come on."
Ruth climbed into the truck while I went around to the other side. I saw Cliff standing several hundred feet away. Just standing there, leaning against a lamppost looking in my direction. My stomach flip-flopped even after he waved. I waved also and climbed behind the steering wheel. It was hard not to feel a tad nervous under the circumstances, but I refused to find a man guilty until there was just cause in spite of what my stomach might have been telling me.
"Should I wait for him?" I asked.
"Who?"
"Cliff. He's standing right over there." I turned to point in the direction of the lamp post when he appeared at the window. I quickly lowered my finger.
Cliff smiled wide and indicated to me to roll down the window.
"Where you off to?" he asked.
"We just finished up our meeting, and I was taking Ruth home."
He leaned to the side and said hello to Ruth. "When you going flying again?"
Ruth's eyes grew wide as she shook her head. "Not me. Never again." Her whole body quaked. Cliff laughed, but it wasn't out of derision. It sounded sympathetic. "It's OK, Ruth," he said. "It can be scary up there."
I patted Ruth's arm. "I don't know, Cliff. I got the dance and my work and all." "Ah, come on. I'll give you a lesson. You'll be flying over Bright's Pond solo in no time. Like I said, you are a natural flyer."
My insides quaked as much as Ruth's outsides. And not because I was afraid of flying but because I was suddenly afraid of Cliff. All the talk around town and from Mildred finally got to me.
"Oh, don't worry, Cliff, I'll go flying again. One of these days."
"So, what are you going to do?" Ruth asked when I stopped in front of her house.
"About what?"
"You know, Cliff and Gilda and Walter and all. It's becoming scary. To think we got criminals running lose in Bright's Pond. Thieves! Why it scares me to the bone. I mean why us?"
"Ah, don't worry, Ruth. This is all going to blow over, and nothing bad will happen. Gilda is more interested in Walter than us. And even though I am starting to feel a little nervous about Cliff, I think it's just the effect of the talk. Gossip, rumors are like a drug. It gets into your system." Of course my hands went sweaty as I said the words. I couldn't be sure what they were planning but I wanted Ruth to rest easy.
"Likely to bring my ulcer back," Ruth said as she opened the door. "Well I'll tell you this much. I am not opening my door to either one of them."
I opened up the library before going to Stella's. I needed some time to consider how and what I would say to her. The SOAP ladies would probably show up also to discuss their annual shoe drive. Every year at the Harvest Dance they make a plea for money so they can purchase shoes for the needy backwoods families. But it is Boris Lender who makes the request on their behalf, and folks drop money into a bucket near the town hall door. They raise quite a bundle that way.
After completing my usual business of opening mail and such, I went about the library—an old Victorian house—with my duster and a can of Pledge. There were so many nooks and crannies in the old girl it could take the better part of the day to clean her properly. I asked Boris if I could have a cleaning service come in once or twice a year to do a proper job but he always shot me down.
"I have enough trouble keeping the doors open and the shelves stocked," he'd say every single time. "Budget constraints, you know? Course if you want to give part of your salary—"
So the job fell to me. And I will admit as I made my way through the stacks and tables I saw that the place needed a good stiff cleaning. Then right on time the front door opened and in walked Tohilda Best, Ruth, and the rest of the SOAP ladies.
"Morning," called Tohilda. "You want us to set up in the usual place?"
I nodded toward the periodicals table. "Yep."
Ruth waved. She was an odd bird. Outside the group she was talkative and flighty at times, but when she was with the SOAP she became very staid and quiet and barely acknowledged my presence. Must have had something to do with the secretive nature of the group. Ruth worked very hard to keep their plans under wraps, although she seldom succeeded.
But that day, even Tohilda spilled some of the beans when she assured me that Mercy Lincoln would be receiving new sneakers and socks.
"Thank you," I said. "There's something special about that child."
"They're all special," Tohilda said. "I wish we could do more."
After work I headed over to the Kincaid's farm and found Nate in the back tending to Bertha Ann. He was snipping scraggly weeds from around her bottom and talking to her at the same time.
"Now you just keep growing, Bertha Ann. Don't you worry about these weeds. Daddy will take care of them. You just keep growing."
"She is really getting big," I said holding back a snicker. It was not often that I heard Nate sound so gentle.
Nate scratched under his Burpee Seed cap. "Oh, Griselda, how long have you been standing there?" He seemed a bit embarrassed. "I . . . I was just."
"It's OK. I read somewhere that talking to plants helps them grow."
He closed his shears and stood making a noise like he had a crick in his back. "I think I got this year's winner even considering all the trouble we went through with the gopher and the mildew. I heard some talk down at the feed store about a couple of pumpkins, but I think Bertha Ann's got them beat by at last a few pounds."
"I think you might be right. I have never seen a pumpkin this big."
Nate just shook his head and patted his pumpkin. "I hope you're right. Pumpkins have a way of looking smaller when you pick them from the vine."
"Is Stella around?" I asked.
"No, no she ain't here," he said. "Ever since she discovered the bus she's been going all over. Like she sprouted wings or something, and say, speaking of wings, I heard Cliff take off and fly overhead about an hour ago. He just up and left, too, without telling me a word. He was supposed to help me in the barn today."
"He probably had business."
"Yeah and if I listened to you people I'd say it was criminal business."
"Oh Nate, don't be like that. Mildred can't help herself, and you got to admit the information she discovered is pretty serious. But I'm not judging him or anybody until we see some kind of proof."
"Listen," Nate said, "men are like pumpkins. I can always tell a good one from a bad one and when a bad one cracks it ruins the whole gourd. Cliff has no cracks. I'm betting that he's changed and he's making an honest living now."
Nate knelt on the ground and pulled a long, skinny greenish yellow vine away from Bertha Ann. "I better get back to work."
"OK. Tell Stella I stopped by."
I started to walk away from Nate. He stopped me.
"Griselda. Are you going to tell her all this nonsense
about Cliff?"
"Are you?"
"There's nothing to tell."
Just then we heard the buzz of Cliff's plane and watched as it came into view.
"Looks like he's landing."
I jumped in the truck and headed toward Hector's Hill. I waited in the truck until Cliff secured Matilda.
"Hey Griselda," he called. He walked toward me carrying a small box.
"Looks like we keep running into each other. I was just in Wilkes-Barre. Got the spark plugs I needed."
"Oh. So now Matilda will be in tip-top shape."
"Sure will. I wanted to make sure she was all set before your lessons."
I would have gone with him that minute if he asked. But he didn't.
"Except that I promised Nate I'd help him today. Maybe in a day or two if that's all right with you."
"That's fine. We have the weigh-off and dance coming up."
He rested his arms on the truck's opened window. "Speaking of which, I guess you'll be going to the dance with Zeb."
"I will. Are you coming?"
"Now that depends, little lady," he said in a John Wayne voice. "Do you think he'd mind if we had just one dance?"
"Nah. I think that will be just fine with him . . . and me."
Cliff smiled into my eyes and once again I noticed butterflies had taken up residence in my stomach. It was no wonder he made such a good con artist. His voice was so soft and inviting I could hang on every word.
24
Saturday arrived, and we could not have asked for a more tailor-made day for the weigh-off or the Harvest Dance. The sun shone bright, a slight mountain breeze carried hints of cayenne pepper as small, puffy clouds rolled overhead like tumbleweeds. Arthur mewed at the door until I finally let him out. I knew full well that he would bring me a mouse or a shrew later. I had come to accept his love offerings.
It was still early, only seven o'clock, but I knew the men would be at the town hall setting up for the dance and the women would be tucked away in their kitchens making final food preparations. I opened the kitchen window and could smell Hazel Flatbush's famous five-alarm chili in the air. I winced when I thought about Darcy Speedwell's cottage cheese–lime JELL-O delight. We tolerated it. I doubt anyone could or would ever tell Darcy that her JELL-O delight was not all that delightful.
