by Green, Jeri
To the left were the rides and games that appealed to older children and adults. The park was crammed with as many games, rides, and animals as possible. A wooden roller coaster called The Blue Cyclone rose to terrifying heights and descended to gut-twisting depths. An enormous Ferris wheel rose high above the treetops offering the rider an amazing view of the mountain vistas. A funhouse warned the faint of heart not to enter its terrifying halls. A pendulum ride, a drop tower, giant swings, and myriad other stomach-churning rides dotted the grounds. There were games of chance, a small-gauge train complete with a depot, a petting zoo, pony rides, and an arcade onsite.
No age group was overlooked.
Fun for the whole family had been promised at MEGA Mountain until the fateful day when The Blue Cyclone malfunctioned. Fatalities and severe injuries occurred. It was a nightmare. Claire and Cleve Winthrop survived. But Virgie’s daughter, Claire, had been severely injured. MEGA Mountain Funland Park had breathed its last thrilling, chilling breath. The once glorious rides and buildings had succumbed to the ravages of time and the harsh mountain winters. The faded sounds of children’s laughter haunted the dying landscape.
“Hadley,” Maury said.
Hadley noted the car they were tailing pulled off onto the gravel service road behind the parking lot of the defunct park. The stranger pulled up to the service security gate and stopped.
“Ummm,” Hadley answered, watching the car ahead. The man behind the wheel leaned out of his window and said a few words into the access gate intercom. Hadley waited. Sure enough, the gate unlatched, and the car drove through.
“Hadley, look! He was buzzed in,” said Maury.
“Yeah,” Hadley said. “Maybe it was the way the sun hit him back in town or maybe I need my bifocals changed, but when he stuck his head out of the window to talk into the intercom, he didn’t look like Teddy.”
“Do you want to go in?” Maury asked.
“Nah. It’s not like Ruth was expecting us. Besides, it’s getting late. We’re scheduled day after tomorrow for another shift at the wildlife rescue. I guess I can wait till then to ask Ruth who this mysterious stranger is. Maybe he’s somebody interested in volunteering or something. I don’t know. Come on, Maury. It’s time we ended this snipe hunt and headed home.”
“We did get our adrenaline pumping for a while, though,” Maury said. “You looked like someone straight out of the movies taking those twists and turns on Rocky Way Road at top speed.”
“Top speed!” Hadley said. “A top speed of 30 miles an hour.”
“Well,” said Maury, “sitting over here on my side, it felt faster.”
“That was because you were all hunched forward with your face close to the windshield. I’m thinking about gluing you to the hood of this car. The way you crane your neck out, you’d make a beauty of a hood ornament, Maury. You’d add some real class to this jalopy of mine.”
“Shut up, Hadley,” Maury said.
“We’ll be on the downhill going home,” Hadley said. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll live real dangerously and push it to 45.”
“Don’t let Brinkley hear you say that,” said Maury.
“Yeah. Better go easy on the speed. If I burn out the brakes, Brinkley won’t be happy, at all. He just put new shoes on the back a couple of weeks ago. Brinkley’s a good mechanic, but he’s made it perfectly clear I’ll have to walk over hot coals before he loans me his truck, again. He’s so worried everybody will start bugging him to borrow that heap. Most folks wouldn’t slide their butts in the seat until they doused the cab with a good dose of disinfectant. There’s so much grease and grime in that thing, I’m surprised the health department hasn’t hung a condemned sign on the tailgate.”
“Yeah,” said Maury.
“He does keep the engine of that old truck purring like a kitten, though,” Hadley said. “I’ll give him that. Brinkley’s a topnotch mechanic but a lousy housekeeper. You’re right, Maury, I better be nice to old Betsy and keep her on the road. Sorry, you won’t feel the wind streaming through your hair.”
Chapter Four
When Hadley arrived home, she called her good friend, Delta Arden. Delta was a waitress at the Greasy Spoon.
“Hey, girlfriend,” Delta said. “What’s up?”
“Maury and I were just riding around. Brinkley’s truck came up. I’ve been meaning to ask you how those flowers are doing since you dosed them with the manure we loaded in Brink’s truck bed.”
“Girl, those things are growin’ like weeds. I never seen a patch of flowers take off so. I’m really glad you helped me, Hadley,” Delta said. “I think the dirt I had them in was lacking something. That was the sorriest flower bed I ever had in my life until I got that compost mixed in.”
“You should have seen Brinkley eye the bed of that truck when I returned it to his garage that day,” Hadley said. “Wouldn’t have surprised me one bit if he’d pulled a microscope out of his back pocket the way he was looking over it. Making sure I’d cleaned all that fertilizer out.”
“Ha, ha, I can just imagine. He treats that rust bucket like it’s the Hope Diamond.”
“The engine does hum.”
“Yeah. He keeps that part running smoothly, “but a little soap and water and some elbow grease would do that bucket of bolts a world of good.”
“What it lacks in looks,” Hadley said, “it makes up for in dependability.”
“I guess,” Delta said. “What else did you do?”
“Nothing much. Maury and I got off on Rayna Croft.”
“Why did she come up?” Delta asked. “I try to forget her, Hadley. I really do.”
“I know. It was a jolt,” Hadley said. “Her confession that she killed Eustian Singlepenny because she believed he’d negligently stored gas in cans marked kerosene was something.”
“Junior Croft died because he mistook that fuel for kerosene when he poured it into that orchard heater that night,” Delta said.
“I know. But I just can’t believe it! And just think, Delta. Who knew Rayna was so cunning and patient! She waited all those years, biding her time, incubating her plan until she felt she could pull it off. And grinding up apricot kernels and putting them into a pie crust so that Eustian would die from cyanide poisoning! How unbelievably clever is that!”
“Yeah. Rayna’s a lot smarter than anyone gave her credit for.”
“She’d have to be, I guess. She ran that orchard single-handedly after Teddy disappeared. Until Richie grew up enough to help out. I’m sure having a son like Richie was a comfort. It didn’t bring Junior back, though. I think losing Junior was harder on Rayna than Teddy disappearing after Junior’s death.”
“Me, too. Junior was her stepson, but I think,” said Delta, “she loved him as much as her own son. By the way, how is Richie since his mom was sent to prison?”
“He’s fine. I guess young people bounce back fast.”
“I’ll say,” said Delta. “He married and got Florene pregnant before you could say ‘boo.’”
“I know. But hormones race hot at that age. Besides, Richie needs somebody like Florene. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. Together, she and Richie will do just fine running the orchard. I’m really happy that he found such a nice girl. He’s lucky. It had to be a horrible shock for him to hear his mother confess to killing a neighbor, like that.”
“Yeah,” said Delta. “I guess it is a good thing the young bounce back quick.”
Chapter Five
It was Sunday afternoon. A small crowd had gathered on the front porch of Ruth Elliot’s new shop. The Band-Aid was more successful than she had hoped. She’d chosen the name to symbolize her work at the rescue shelter she ran for sick and orphaned wildlife in the area.
Ruth and her friend, Sandy Miller, had opened it several weeks ago. It showcased the work of local craftsmen and artists. But the primary goal of The Band-Aid was to educate folks to respect animals in the wild and to recruit volunteers to help out at the wildlife rescue shelter.
/> Sandy had asked local musicians to play on Saturday nights and Sunday afternoons as an added attraction. The response had been heartwarming. Hobarth Stricker had agreed to teach young people interested in learning to play the guitar. The fact that Hobie had consented to give free lessons was a boon for the shop.
Hobarth Stricker was a legend in the area. Not only did he play stringed instruments, he made them.
“He’s just got the knack,” musicians would say. “Hobie knows when an instrument is gonna sound right.”
Famous celebrities had purchased Hobie’s guitars. In his little brick shop near Windy Creek, Hobie worked 14 to 16 hours a day churning out acoustical guitars just for the love of it. Everyday, he turned an ordinary piece of mountain hardwood into something magical. Nobody could explain it.
Hobie would sand and saw and glue, just like anybody else. But somewhere along the process, he left a piece of his soul in any instrument he made. The mellow sound of his babies could not be replicated, no matter how hard anyone tried. Hobie Stricker wasn’t your everyday craftsman. He was the master. And he played the instruments he so lovingly created.
“Hadley Pell!” Lou Edna exclaimed. “You’ll strain something Doc Emory can’t repair. Those little kiddie seats are not made to hold up an adult. You’re gonna go crashing down and bust your behind!”
“I’ll admit,” Hadley said, “these tiny chairs aren’t the most comfortable. And I think I’m gonna need a crane to hoist me up. But I want to learn to play a guitar, Lou Edna. I swallowed my pride and got here first, this afternoon. Hobie is teaching these kids. I decided I wanted to get in on the lessons. I’d swallow my pride and look ridiculous any day just to have Hobie teach me.”
“But ain’t it just for kids?” Lou Edna asked.
“There’s no age limit on the poster advertising the lessons, today. I am the biggest kid at heart. So, I qualify.”
“Yes, you are, Hadley,” Hobie said, walking up with his instruments. “Where’d y’all get all those little brightly colored chairs. It looks like a rainbow up on this porch.”
“The five-year-old Sunday School Class donated them,” Hadley said.
“Hobie, do you mind if I learn along with the kids?”
“Shoot no,” Hobie said. “Somebody took the time to teach me. I apprenticed under Minta Bartholomew. All it takes is somebody who’s really serious about learning. It’s a code we go by. It’s what keeps the music alive. I’m just passing on the tradition to the next generation. Anyone who wants to learn is welcome on my porch.”
“Thanks, Hobie. Could you give me hand? I really don’t think my oversized frame was made for this munchkin chair.”
“No problem.”
Hadley thought Hobie Stricker was the nicest man.
Chapter Six
That following Monday, Hadley walked into Lou Edna’s Beauty Boutique. She was greeted with catcalls and whistles.
“When you gonna show us what Hobie taught you, Hadley?”
“Look, Lou Edna,” Hadley said, “it may come as a surprise to you, but learning to play the guitar is something I’ve always wanted to do. Hobie was generous enough to let me sit in on those lessons he’s giving the kids.”
“I know, girl. I’m just messin’ with you,” Lou Edna said. “Have a seat in this bodacious, pink beauty, and let me get started on your wash and set.”
Lou Edna’s décor was a riot of pink. Her chairs, dryers, walls, and even her uniform glowed Pepto.
“If you wasn’t a sight though in that iddy biddy kiddie chair,” Lou Edna said. “It was all I could do not to bust a gut laughing.”
“You said it.” “I realized what a mistake I’d made plopping down in that tiny thing. Not only were my knees in my nose, but, for a minute there, I thought I was going to have to toss my stomach over my shoulders. Those Sunday School chairs are low.”
“I declare if you waddn’t a sight for sore eyes sittin’ in that iddy biddy thing,” the beautician said, scrubbing Hadley’s scalp. “And a lot braver than I’d ever be. One squat down that far would be all she wrote. I’d bust a hamstring or something as sure as the world.”
“Lou, you ain’t lying,” Hadley said. “I was sweating bullets there for a minute. I kept waiting for that sickeningly, horrific sound of inseam giving way. But thank goodness for double stitching. My pants made it through, even if my pride took a licking.”
“You going back for more lessons next week?”
“You bet. I learned three chords, yesterday. Next week, Hobie promised to teach us a song.”
“Oh, Hadley,” Lou Edna said, “you ain’t gonna sing? That would scare the daylights out of them little ones.”
“No,” Hadley said. “But I might hum along softly.”
“Well, “you see one of them little ones start tearing up like he’s gotta do number two real bad, you stop. Okay?”
“I will. I know I can’t sing. Harry told me I had to stop singing in the shower. He was afraid my high notes would crack the tiles.”
“I know the Good Book says something about making a joyful noise,” Lou Edna said, “but I’ve sat beside you in church. Your noise may be joyful to Him, but to the rest of us, it’s pure misery.”
“I just want to learn how to play. Not sing, Lou Edna,” Hadley said.
“Good,” Lou Edna said, wrapping a towel around Hadley’s head and causing her face to disappear beneath a veil of cottony pink. “How ’bout a little color, today, Hadley?”
“I promise not to sing if you promise to leave the dye on the shelf behind you,” Hadley said from underneath the towel.
“Deal,” said Lou Edna. “Now, scoot under the dryer. I think a 30-minute break won’t get you too done.”
Chapter Seven
Skip Whittaker was up to his eyeballs in stock. Dorie Squares, the boss’s daughter, had triple-ordered on the kitty litter, toilet paper, and feminine hygiene products. Pixie-Squares was going to have to run a sale drastically discounting the items, if it ever hoped to unload them in the next century.
“Son!” Maury said, “these rows are so cluttered with boxes, I can barely get my cart through.”
“You’re telling me,” Skip said. “Dumb Dorie’s done it this time. I’ve put these things on just about every shelf. There’s no nook and cranny I haven’t squeezed in an extra bag of granulated kitty dump clay. Not to mention those feminine unmentionables. These things have been packed into every aisle, and I still have boxes and boxes to unload. The back is full, too. At this rate, I’ll be setting up shelves on Pixie’s roof, just to get some of this mess organized.”
“Mmmm,” Maury said, “not something you use everyday. Well, except for the striking paper.”
“Mama,” Skip said, “what am I gonna do? Pixie doesn’t want to hurt Dorie’s feelings and make her send this stuff back. He’s willing to eat the loss. But it’s my job to make sure the store looks nice. I’d pull my hair out, but the only problem that would solve is I’d no longer have to worry about going to the barber shop.”
“Don’t do it, Skip,” Maury said. “That’s not a good fashion statement. Trust me.”
Skip laughed.
“I better get busy. Need any vaginal creams, tampons, sanitary napkins, maternity maxi pads, or panti-liners? Pixies is your one-stop-shop.”
“Hah! You’re talkin’ to a post-menopausal mom, remember. But I could use some rolls of tidy wipies. We’re running low. Thanks for reminding me. I forgot to put TP on my list.”
“Buy several packs, Mom. Any help you give me is appreciated,” Skip said.
“Get creative. Offer a contest. You know your Aunt Hadley will enter to win anything. You’ll sell this stuff. I know it,” Maury said, doubtful, but trying to encourage her son.
“Hope we don’t get litter and napkins for our Christmas bonus this year,” Skip said
“I do, too. I know what I’ll be getting under the tree if you do,” said Maury.
“Yeah. Ain’t re-gifting a bummer!”
Mau
ry laughed.
“See you for Sunday lunch, Skip.”
“Love you, Mama.”
“Me, too,” said Maury.
“Don’t forget I’m playing with Hobie Sunday afternoon at The Band-Aid,” Skip said.
“Got it marked on my calendar.”
“Radio station’s sending out a crew to broadcast us live.”
“My little boy up yonder with Hobie Stricker. You make me so proud, Skippy.”
Even though Skip still had a gazillion boxes left to stock on Pixie’s shelves, he couldn’t help but smile. Playing with Hobie Stricker was special. Any musician within a hundred miles would give their eyeteeth for the chance.
“Well,” Skip said, looking at the seemingly insurmountable task, “it’s a dirty job, but at least I got enough toilet paper to last me.”
Chapter Eight
Hadley’s cell rang.
“Hey, Aunt Hadley,” Skip said. “You home?”
“Yes, Skipper, I sure am.”
“Great,” Skip said. He cleared his throat and began reading from a sheet of paper that Pixie had given him. “I am pleased to announce that Hadley Pell is the winner of the latest contest from the good folks at Pixie-Squares. We appreciate our customers at Pixies. And thanks for entering!”
“I won!” Hadley screamed. “I won! Wait a minute, Skip. Exactly what did I win?”
“Well, Aunt Hadley,” Skip said, “uh, well. Um, let’s just say you were the winning entry, and Pixie’s been most generous. He’s decided to double the contest winner’s prize. So, you get two times as much. I’ll be delivering your winnings, shortly. See you in about 15 minutes.”
