“Whatcha doing?” she asked.
“Marshmallow isn’t going to stay that size forever. I’m making a ramp so he can get in and out of the house.”
Immy and Hortense, but mostly Immy, had been carrying Marshmallow in and out, up and down the short flight of steps to the back door that led into the utility room, where Marshmallow’s litter box was kept.
“Good idea,” said Immy. “Your idea about the ballistics test is good, too. Chief Emersen is going to have it done.”
“What’s ballistics?” asked Drew from across the yard.
“It’s a scientific comparison,” said Ralph. “It’s something the police do to solve cases.”
“Oh.” Drew didn’t look like she believed him. She at least knew when she was being put off, even if what Ralph said
was
true.
“Imogene, dear,” called Hortense from the back door. “Could you drive me in to Wymee Falls this afternoon? I nearly forgot, my Association of Retired Librarians is meeting today.”
“How could you forget that?” asked Immy.
“My conjecture is that the fact that today is a holiday threw me off.”
Her group usually met the first Monday of the month. But today was July 5th and therefore was the official holiday for the Fourth. “So why are they meeting today?”
“Habit, I suppose.”
Immy knew librarians were meticulous, habit-plagued people, so that made sense.
“Ralph,” said Hortense, “would you like to stay for lunch?”
“Sure, Mrs. Duckworthy. I might be about half finished by then. What do you say we all ride into town and Immy and Drew and I will putter around while you meet?”
“Excellent proposition.” Hortense beamed at him and went inside to prepare a sumptuous, thick, roast beef sandwich with horseradish sauce, using the bread she’d baked the day before, and some potato salad made with lots of mayonnaise.
* * *
“Good shot,” called Ralph.
Drew had finally gotten the golf ball through the clown’s mouth. “I know,” she said, complacently, in spite of her five previous failed tries. “I think I’ll get a good score.”
“I know you will,” said Ralph.
Immy frowned. Yes, Drew would get a good score with Ralph keeping it. But she wasn’t sure she wanted her daughter to learn how easy cheating was while she was so young.
Ralph caught her eye and shrugged at the frown. Immy made a little grimace and accepted the fact she was outnumbered.
After their miniature golf outing (Drew had won), they stopped at the food court in the mall where Ralph indulged Drew with a smoothie. He indulged Immy, too, and the cold treat tasted good after the heat of the golf course. She marveled that people played real golf in this weather. It took even longer and required even more exertion.
A blob of smoothie dribbled down Drew’s chin and Ralph reached over and gave her a tender wipe. He caught Immy’s fond gaze at her daughter and returned one to her.
It occurred to her, not for the first time, that they looked just like a little family of three. Ralph doted on Immy and Drew, Drew doted on Ralph, and Immy doted on Drew. Did Immy dote on Ralph? She needed to decide about that, probably soon. She should make a list of his plusses and minuses.
It was time right now, though, to fetch Hortense from her meeting. With Drew wiped off, they bundled into the van and Ralph drove it to the Wymee Falls library, a grand edifice fronted with two story white columns flanked by large US and Texas flags.
Hortense nearly skipped to the van when she emerged. Immy climbed into the back seat with Drew.
“I’m so delighted,” Hortense said, pulling the seatbelt to enlarge the girth, since Immy had adjusted it for herself. “The Association is making a special gift to our own little Saltlick library. Some sort of national grant monies, our president said.”
Ralph headed for the outskirts of Wymee Falls.
“Unca Ralphie buyed me a smoothie,” exclaimed Drew. “And I won at goff.”
Hortense twisted in her seat to answer Drew. “Wonderful, dear.”
“Was Louise there today?” asked Immy.
“Louise!” Hortense spat. “I’ll tell you about Louise Cotter. That woman is a prevaricator of the worst ilk.”
“What did she do?” asked Ralph. “What did she say?” Immy thought she saw Ralph’s ears prick up when he jerked his head toward her.
“She said she was a librarian in Bootstrap, where she used to live. Well, we had a new member tonight, newly retired from the self-same institution, the Bootstrap Public Library. A wonderful man named Algernon. He has never heard of Louise Cotter. According to him, a twenty-year veteran of Bootstrap, she was never employed there.”
“What?” said Immy. “Where was she a librarian?”
“I doubt she was.”
“She’s not a librarian?”
“Not even,” said Hortense.
That was a peculiar sentence structure for Mother, thought Immy.
“No one has ever heard of her,” continued Hortense. “I’m positive she has never been employed by a library. To think, she lied about the profession of librarian. Who would do such a thing?”
“Louise Cotter, I guess,” said Ralph.
Since it was Ralph who said it, he didn’t get the glare Immy would have gotten.
Chapter 23
Tuesday morning the phone rang while Immy and Hortense lingered over after-breakfast coffee. Drew had scampered to the backyard where she was coaxing Marshmallow up and down the sturdy wooden ramp Ralph had made.
Immy jumped up to answer, but hesitated when she saw the caller was Mike Mallett.
“It’s my old boss,” she said.
“And?” asked Hortense.
“Maybe he wants to press charges after all.”
“Answer the telephone, dear.”
She picked it up carefully, thinking that if she didn’t squeeze too hard, the call might go better.
“Hey, kiddo,” he started. “How’s tricks?”
“Well....” Tricks weren’t all that good without the income from her job, she wanted to say. She felt her grip tightening and flexed her fingers.
“I just wanna tell ya, I’ve interviewed like crazy all week long. I kinda thought you’d be easy to replace.”
That didn’t sound like a compliment. Immy couldn’t think of a reply, so she didn’t make one.
“Well, you ain’t that easy, it turns out. These gals waltz in here in tank tops and flip-flops, wires and tattoos hangin’ out all over. I need someone in the front that looks good, kid. How’d ya like your job back?”
“Uh, really?”
Way to sound articulate, Immy.
“Yeah, really. They’re poppin’ gum and answerin’ cell phones while I’m talkin’ to ’em. And, I’ll admit, I been hearin’ all the news from those people you’re mixed up with out there in Saltlick and Cowtail. I guess I can’t blame you for all the time you been takin’ off.”
“I would really like the job back, Mr. Mallett.”
“Hey, it’s Mike. You’ve never called me Mr. Mallett. We’ll have to work something out about hours, though. I can’t pay you for not showing up and for not working. C’mon in next Monday and we’ll talk.”
“Uh....”
“Deal?”
“Deal.”
Dazed, Immy turned to face her mother. “I got my job back.”
Hortense beamed.
“So,” said Immy, “you think that’s okay?”
“I am becoming inured to your proximity to the detecting profession. And, I surmise, being in private practice is significantly different from being in service to the public.”
“Don’t worry, Mother. I’m never going to be a police detective. Too much school involved.”
Hortense frowned at that, higher education being one of her causes. But Drew distracted them by bursting through the back door into the utility room with her pet pig trotting behind.
“Marshmallow is hungry,” she announced. “And so am I.”
“No wonder,” said Hortense. “All that running up and down your nice new incline.” She rose to get both of them something to eat and Immy retreated to her bedroom.
Her PI course book lay on her dresser, seeming to admonish her for not having studied lately. She’d been leafing through the
Bull and Cattle Handling Guidebook
instead. But if she were going to resume her detective career, she’d better get back to it. She flopped onto the bed and opened her book to the topic, “Using the Internet”. The test wasn’t until next Friday, so she’d be able to use Mike Mallett’s computer to study. Maybe she’d discuss that with him Monday. Maybe he’d even be okay with it. She’d try to get lots of work done for him, too.
* * *
Ralph phoned Immy Wednesday morning to tell her the bullets she’d extracted from Gretchen’s poor dead head were a match for the test bullets they’d fired from Sonny Squire’s gun.
“What does that mean?” she asked. “Chief said it doesn’t mean Sonny killed Gretchen.”
“Right. Sonny’s gun killed Gretchen. Sonny probably fired it, but there’s no way to find out now that Sonny is dead.”
“Betsy Wiggins told me that Rusty admitted to her he lied about being the one who killed Gretchen. That Sonny really did.”
“Since they’re both dead, I don’t see where we’re going from here.”
Immy thought there must be something they could figure out from the fact. After she hung up, she made a list on the back of an old grocery list.
-Gretchen dead
-Sonny’s gun
-Rusty confessed
-Betsy says Rusty lied
-Betsy says Sonny killed Gretchen
Immy crossed out what she’d written and tossed the paper in the trash. Her list told her nothing. She needed to get a notebook. It would be much more professional.
Maybe she’d approach it from the other end. She found the envelope from the phone bill in the trash and fished it out.
-Rusty murdered
-Poppy murdered
-Sonny murdered
She drew a line from Rusty to Sonny and wrote “Gretchen” on the line. Then she drew a line from Rusty to Poppy and wrote “affair” on that line. There was no connection between Poppy and Sonny that she could see, though.
Vern had confessed to killing Rusty, but he was in jail when Sonny was trampled by the bull. She crumpled the second list and pitched it into the wastebasket. Maybe her online course would help figure this stuff out if she stuck with it. She got her course book and delved into the chapter called “Internet” again.
After two pages, Immy started pacing up and down the kitchen. Hortense and Drew were out back playing with the pig, but Immy didn’t think she should play when her test loomed and her cases were unsolved.
She dialed Ralph’s cell phone. “Do you still think Vern killed both Rusty and Poppy?” she asked abruptly.
“Did I say that?”
“Well, I got that idea. I think.”
“He says he killed both of them. I think the
Saltlick Weekly
is publishing the confession in their next issue.”
“But then, what made that bull decide to kill Sonny Squire?”
“I’m on my way to make an arrest for that right now.”
“Really? Who?”
“I can’t say right now, Immy. Come to the station in about half an hour and you’ll see me take her in.”
“Her?”
“Good-bye, Immy.”
Her?
What else could she do? She grabbed her purse and car keys and raced out the front door to try to follow Ralph.
He was gone by the time she got to the station. She idled the van in a parking space and thought, hard. Vern, Poppy, Rusty, Sonny, Gretchen. They formed a web, and sitting in the center was Amy JoBeth. Gretchen, the initial victim. Either Rusty or Sonny, the perpetrator, the killer of Amy JoBeth’s pig. Vern, the avenger. For Amy JoBeth. Poppy, she suddenly thought, the innocent bystander who may have witnessed Rusty’s death. And all the strands of the web led to Amy JoBeth, huddled in her storm cellar while death swirled around her.
Immy pointed the van toward Amy’s Swine.
A little more than halfway there the wind picked up and the sky darkened. Immy peered up at the sky and scanned for funnel clouds, the automatic reaction to sudden weather changes in Texas. She also switched the radio on. The unwelcome grunt of the storm warming system issued from the dash speakers.
Immy grabbed her cell phone and called home.
“Mother, there’s a tornado spotted outside Saltlick.”
“I know, dear. The sirens just went off. Drew and I are under Ralph’s nice new ramp, with Marshmallow. I think it’s the safest place.”
They usually exited the trailer for tornado warnings and lay flat in the yard, since tornadoes seemed to have a preference for picking up trailer homes and flinging them around. Immy thought that maybe under the ramp would be a good place to shelter.
She was closer to her destination than to home, so she kept going. She didn’t see a funnel at the moment, but picked up her speed anyway. When she reached Amy’s Swine, the wooden sign swung with such violence Immy thought it would fly off the post. She bumped down the long driveway, where she saw Ralph’s vehicle at the end.
She slammed the van up next to Ralph’s cop car and tried to open her door. Something large and wooden flew past her windshield, followed by a barrage of paper. She put her shoulder into the door and pushed it open. A piece of flying metal clanged against the other side of the van.
Immy ran for the tornado shelter. She tugged at the handle. It was locked.
“Let me in!” She banged on the hatch three times. It flew open.
Ralph ran up the steps, dragged her inside and slammed the door down.
“Immy, what in the goddam hell are you doing here?” Was he angry?
A sudden roar outside drowned out further conversation. Immy sank beside Amy JoBeth on the mattress, Ralph leaned on the wall, giving Immy frequent scowls, and the three of them listened to the storm rage for a good fifteen minutes.
Amy JoBeth shook so hard that Immy put her arms around her to keep the poor woman from falling apart. As the terrible din started to subside, Immy could hear Amy JoBeth’s teeth rattling together. She was surprised she couldn’t hear her bones, too.
“My pigs, my pigs,” Amy JoBeth intoned over and over.
Immy wondered if any of the little porkers would be alive when they emerged.
Chapter 24
The sun peeked through the clouds with an innocence unrelated to the terror that had just descended from the sky. Amy JoBeth’s shaking continued, so Ralph and Immy supported her up the steps into daylight.