Authors: Mary Saums
‘Thank you. I’d like that. Feel free to roam about here as you wish. Look all you like. Next time, I’d appreciate a word beforehand though, if you please.”
“Ah sure do appreciate it, ma’am,” he said, bowing slightly and touching his visors as if they were the bill of a cap. “Thank you, ma’am,” the two girls chorused. Sarah turned to Phoebe and said in a pleading voice, “And don’t forget about not telling Granny.” Phoebe didn’t answer. She still had her arms folded tightly across her. She was shaking her head at the sight of Riley and the girls making their way to the center of the small cemetery.
“Have you ever in your life heard such nonsense? They’re all old enough to know there’s no such thing as ghosts. The very idea. Come on, Jane. It’s too chilly to be standing out here watching a bunch of crazy fool younguns.”
She was right, it was a bit nippy with us only in our night-clothes. Still, I hated to turn away at that moment. The ghost boys were playing some sort of game with Riley. I couldn’t see well enough to be certain, but it looked like they were playing catch or juggling with small balls of light. Phoebe turned toward the house and, as I was about to do likewise, the boys smiled at me and waved good-bye. I waved back, which caught Phoebe’s eye and brought a curious look from her since the ghost hunters took no notice of our leaving.
Homer had been so quiet and still, I’d forgotten he was there. His eyes tracked the movements of the visitors until I turned toward the house. Another long glance satisfied him the intruders wouldn’t follow and he turned with me, staying well clear of Phoebe.
I kicked off my gardening shoes once inside the back porch. Phoebe, who had run outdoors without her shoes, stood on the mat at the kitchen door to peel off her soggy socks. “Could you hand me a paper towel? I don’t want to track dirt in on the floor.”
I stepped inside, tore off two sheets, and handed them to her. Just as I turned to go sit down, I stopped myself. Halfway between the door and the kitchen table, a small object lay on the floor. I walked forward slowly.
It was a leaf, bright red and quite large, about the size of my hand. I was certain it had not been there before Phoebe and I left the house. I picked it up and turned it over in my palm. Neither of us had been so far into the room, so I knew we hadn’t brought it in with us from outdoors.
“Isn’t that pretty,” Phoebe said. “Is your maple tree out front turning already? I hadn’t noticed, but then we’ve had so much excitement, I’ve been distracted. That’s the first red one I’ve seen this year.” She gave it a look, front and back, then said, “I’m bushed. I believe I’ll just head on up to bed, okay?”
“Certainly, dear. I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep as long as you like.” I ran my fingers over the red leaf, wondering how it could have gotten inside. The maple in my front yard had not turned yet, nor had any in the back. This one came from somewhere else. I carried it with me upstairs and placed it next to my bedside lamp before getting in bed. It was several hours later, while I lay awake between foggy dreams, when I realized the leaf had lain in the same spot as the two tiny acorns.
E
arly next morning, a police cruiser drew up in front of the house. Phoebe and I were up, dressed and having breakfast. Homer, who had eaten already, was prowling the grounds out back near the cemetery, nose to the ground, tracing the movements of our previous night’s visitors. When he heard the car, he dashed to the road and reached it before I did.
Cal seemed ill at ease as he stepped from the police car. He met us with a sudden cheery smile, though he looked even thinner and weaker than the day before.
Cal bent down to rub Homer’s black coat, sending his tail wagging into double time. Phoebe watched from the porch. Cal waved to the departing patrol car, and man and dog walked slowly to the house.
“Cal, this is my friend, Phoebe Twigg. Phoebe, my neighbor, Cal Prewitt.”
Phoebe frowned but nodded her head in acknowledgement. “Nice to meet you,” she said unconvincingly.
Cal squinted his eyes and looked her over for some time. “You’re Ben Midgette’s daughter.” He said it as a fact, not a question, and with great fondness that made his lips curl up in a big smile.
Phoebe was astounded. “You knew Daddy?”
“Sure, everybody did. He was a mighty fine fellow Seems like yesterday he was walking you around down on the square to show you off. You was a pretty little thing with that long red hair. You haven’t hardly changed a bit. Couldn’t have been more than six or seven at the time but you could talk up a storm, just like a grown-up.”
“I don’t remember that.” The change in Phoebe amazed me. The mistrust in her face had melted away at the mention of her father. She took Cal by the arm and led him inside and into the kitchen, listening to another story, chiming in herself with several comments.
Homer stopped at the door when I stepped inside. He looked up with sorrowful eyes.
“One moment. Stay here,” I told him. I crossed quickly to the kitchen and got paper towels. He allowed me to wipe each paw thoroughly with no complaint. “Now. We couldn’t very well have a welcome home party without you.” He hopped over the threshold and trotted jauntily past me to follow his master and friend.
“Yes, I liked Ben. He was always kind to me,” Cal said. “Back in them days, not everybody here was. It was a bad time. I was young and wild. Not the most upstanding citizen.”
We sat at the table while Cal told us about his interrogation. The longer he talked, the more Phoebe warmed to him. She asked question after question about his treatment at the station. He insisted he was treated well and had been given breakfast just as thec detective told me. He felt terrible for losing his temper with Detective Waters. I cooked up a bit more for him as we talked, though most he reserved for Homer who thought a second breakfast was an excellent idea.
“I don’t think they believe me, Jane.”
“But they have no proof.”
‘That don’t necessarily mean they think I’m innocent. They just had no choice but to let me go. For now.”
“Shelley must have done a good job for you then.”
Phoebe waved her hands to get our attention. She pointed to the small TV on my kitchen counter. “Y’all come look. They’re showing us again on TV.”
We missed most of the news footage showing us talking to police at the scene. Cal hung his head, seeing for the first time his own land in the video and the news reporter mentioning his name. “They’ll be back for me.”
We watched quietly. Suddenly Phoebe got up and strode to the television. With a hard smack, she turned off the set and faced us. “That’s enough of that.” We drank coffee and talked a while longer. Phoebe told Cal about her house burning.
“Oh, no,” Cal said softly. He sat and rocked in his seat. His eyes took on a far away look. He was obviously deeply disturbed at the news.
“What is it, Cal?” I said. “Do you know of someone likely to do such a thing?”
He shook his head but I wasn’t sure if he meant no, or if he thought of something else. From his expression, it appeared he was thinking hard in order to solve a difficult problem.
“I’m sorry about your house,” he finally said. “We’ll have to see what we can do about that.” He coughed a little, which made me realize he’d been coughing less since arriving than usual. Perhaps they had not allowed him to smoke in the jail.
“I need to get me and Homer on home,” Cal said. “I do appreciate the hospitality.” His knees creaked when he rose. “Come on, Homer,” he said, then to us, “I’m old but not completely useless. I’ll see what I can find out for you, Miz Phoebe, about your house.”
“The main thing, Cal,” I said, “is that you get plenty of rest now. I’ll come over to check on you later with a little lunch, all right?”
He agreed as he and Homer left us. Phoebe and I looked to each other. “I wonder how he thinks he can help with the shape he’s in?” she said.
Cal was hiding something, something important. “I don’t know. I just hope he’s very careful.” The police car that brought Cal home sat down the road in plain view. Cal waved to the figure seated inside as he and Homer crossed over to his property.
My telephone rang inside. “Heavens,” I said to Phoebe. “You’re the only person I know who might call.” Before I reached the phone, Phoebe’s muffled voice came from the porch. “The po-lice, maybe.” Yes, she was probably right. I had given Detective Waters my number.
“Hello?” Static buzzed in my ear. “Hello? Anyone there?” I thought I could make out faint noises in the background that might have been speech, but I couldn’t be sure they were even words. The static sputtered a bit more. Phoebe stood behind me.
“No one there,” I said, replacing the receiver. “Just static. Sounded like something wrong in the wiring.”
“You might have varmints in your walls or attic,” she said. “When Ronald and I first got married, our doorbell would ring but nobody would be at the door. It turned out that squirrels had got in the attic where the doorbell wire was. They’d chewed it up until it was frayed, and then every time their little legs ran across the wire, it made the bell ring.”
“Amazing. I would never have thought of that. Yes, the house is so old and was empty so long, there very well may be something of the sort happening here. If not Varmints,’ perhaps just old phone wire.” Perhaps the squirrel that brought me acorns was a resident rather than a visitor.
Phoebe and I each had business to attend to in town. We’d agreed that I’d drive her to her house where she would meet with her insurance adjuster. I needed to make a stop at the bank.
W
e left Jane’s house not long after Cal did. We both had business in town, and I needed to get my car so I could come and go as I please and run my errands.
Jane told me the night before that Cal was selling her his land, which nearly knocked me on the floor. That’s why her first stop was going to be the bank. She wanted me to swear I wouldn’t tell a soul about Cal selling, but I told her that was against my religion so I’d just have to promise, cross my heart, and spit on the ground.
That insurance adjuster, Eddie Free, was the cutest thing. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, and had a blond crew cut and a turned-up nose just like his daddy. I’ve known him all his life since all his family goes to my church.
Eddie was on the job. He told me he’d take care of everything, not to worry. He already had a crew lined up to come redo the walls that day and then they’d get everything painted and fixed just like new within the week. I was so impressed. You always hear horror stories about lazy insurance people and construction workers not showing up when they’re supposed to. Well, Eddie wasn’t having any of that. We walked around the outside and inside of my house, looked at every little thing, and Eddie wrote it all down, money estimates and all.
“Have you ever seen anything like this? I mean, in your line of work, you must see damage you know was done on purpose. I don’t suppose there’s been a rash of firebombings in Tullulah or I’d have done heard about it.”
“No, ma’am,” he said and laughed. “Most everything I’ve covered has been accidents or natural causes. You know, acts of God. Tornado, lightning, flood damage. The only thing other than those was when Jody Taylor’s boy jumped on a bulldozer when the River Glen condominiums were being built. It got away from him and he ran across the road into a neighbor’s garage. But that was unintentional. This? No, ma’am, I haven’t ever handled a case like yours.”
“I can’t understand anybody doing this to me. Or to anybody around here.”
Eddie clicked his pen and stuck it in his shirt pocket. “I did see something interesting several weeks ago. May not have any connection. We get a monthly report at the office of claims filed from all over the state. Usually I just scan it for what’s happening locally. Two weeks ago, there was an incident in Lawrence County that caught my eye. A business had a fire claim. The inspector said it looked like arson.”
Lawrence County. That was the next one over from us, on the other side of the river. “So, was it like regular arson? With a gas can and a match?”
Eddie shook his head. “No, ma’am. Bottle firebomb. No witnesses. Done in the middle of the night.”
“Where was this?”
“A honky-tonk by the railroad tracks, right at the Highway eighty-seven and fifty-one junction. The Pool Cue. They mostly attract the afterwork crowd from the plants at shift changes, plus, being at a major intersection, they get a lot of travelers and folks from the outer-lying areas. I talked to the adjuster that handled the claim at a regional meeting last week. He said the bar’s owner thinks he knows who did it, some guys who’ve been coming regularly for several weeks. They play pool a lot, sometimes get a little loud. Some other drunks hassled them one night and a few got punched. The owner threw everybody out, even the ones who hadn’t started the fight. When he did, they threatened him. The next night, the place was burned.”
“I don’t see how the police haven’t arrested them, if they know.”
“They don’t have any evidence. The police did question them like everybody else in the bar. Fortunately, the bar only had a small area damaged. The clean-up crew was still there when the fire started. They were able to get the fire department out in a hurry. So, the bar was reopened for business after only a couple of days.”
“And the suspects were never seen again, right?”
Eddie shook his head. “No. The owner said they still come in, like they’re innocent. Maybe they are.”
Once Eddie and I had done all the figuring we needed to, I picked out some more clothes to take to Jane’s. After that, I stopped at Tullulah Appliances on the square and looked at the stoves and refrigerators. They said they’d take my old melted burnt-up ones as a trade and haul them off for me, so I was thankful for that.
That left just one more thing on my to-do list. Revenge.
That’s right. I’d been thinking about it and stewing over it and getting hotter and hotter over the bombing. I’d come to the conclusion that I needed a real gun. Sure, the little pistol I bought from Alton would’ve been fine before, especially since I hadn’t really planned on using it much. I mean, it’s one thing to discover a body completely unknown to you and not your fault for being dead. But it’s quite another to have your house destroyed, not to mention the lives of you and your friend endangered. That is personal. What if those boys from down the street had been in my house? That right there officially used up all my sweet reserves. I mean every lick of them. Having spent sixty-five years under the regime, I had precious little left to begin with. Next stop, the Gun Show.
I called Jerry Nell Gillispie, who runs the ceramics class I go to, to find out if this was the right weekend for the Gun Show and if her husband, Donnie, was setting up this month like he usually does. She said he was and that she would be there, too, since this month the fairgrounds were having two shows, a combination Gun plus Arts and Crafts.
Jerry Nell makes the prettiest baskets and floral arrangements. She can make anything. She painted and framed all my living room pictures and made all the wall doodads, too. I expected to see lots of her hunting-dog pictures at her booth since the men who are Donnie’s customers like that kind of thing.
Of all the ladies with talent I’ve seen in ceramics and other artwork, Jerry Nell is definitely the best. She and Donnie also personalize T-shirts with an airbrush. Car tags and coffee cups, too. Donnie isn’t a bad artist himself, and he can make anything out of wood—cabinets, lamps, duck decoys, you name it. They are one talented family.
I walked inside one of the air-conditioned buildings at the fairgrounds. The smell of hot dogs and cotton candy hit me as I pushed the heavy door open. I stopped for a cold drink and looked over the booths on the way to the very back. Some things interested me but when it comes to true art I’d never buy from anyone but Jerry Nell.
She and Donnie had one of the biggest booths there. It took up the whole left back corner of the building. Donnie stood in it, front and center, behind five or six huge tables set out in a rectangle. Gun stuff covered them. It would take all day just to look at every single holster, ammo box, knife, and Lord knows what all that he had laid out.
Donnie’s a fairly good-sized old boy. He was wearing his usual white T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, a ball cap, and worn-out jeans slung under his belly. Today’s cap said, “Para Hawg.” I didn’t know what it meant but I liked it. He was busy showing a pocketknife to a fellow from out of one of several glass cases with small items in them so I didn’t interrupt.
Jerry Nell was sitting in a folding lawn chair a few tables down to the right, painting the finishing touches on a vase. Her area for her crafts was just about as big as Donnie’s. All her tables were full, too, with decorations crafts mainly Their airbrush machine was up against the wall.
“Oh, Phoebe! How are you, darling?” she said. Jerry Nell always looks nice. She keeps her hair colored and knows how to fix it as good as a beautician. That day she had a little pink dogwood blossom, artificial but it looked real, stuck behind her ear where her glasses hook over. She’s pretty hefty. I would be, too, if I cooked like she can. All the girls in her family were taught right by their Grandmother Genie. Not a county fair goes by but one of them wins a blue ribbon.
“I’m sure sorry about your house,” she said. “I heard you weren’t hurt or I’d a done been over to see about you. Lord, what kind of times are we living in. I heard the whole kitchen was blown apart. Mama said Gladys said her dogs licked the screen on her porch all night after it happened.” Gladys, my next door neighbor, is Jerry Nell’s first cousin.
“They licked the porch screen because they liked the taste of smoke and ashes?”
“No. I believe Gladys said it looked like peach cobbler. But now listen, if there’s something me and Donnie can do for you, you know all you have to do is let us know.”
“As a matter of fact, that’s why I’m here. Y’all can help me a lot. I was hoping Donnie would have a good rifle he could sell me this weekend.”
“Sure he can. He can fix you right up. But now, come on over here and look at some of my new stuff while he finishes helping that other customer. You know how these men are—they could talk forever about a stupid knife.”
We walked down to a section of new crafts she’d made. Ladies were swarming down at that end, all looking at a nice Christmas display Jerry Nell had set up with snowmen, Santas, and some little angels made out of raffia, cotton balls, and pipe cleaners.
When Donnie’s customer left, Jerry Nell went and told him what I was looking for. He motioned me over. I said, “Now, Donnie, I want me a big gun. Some kind of rifle. Something nice.” He led me past several upright glass cases and pegboards full of handguns to where a locked cabinet held the bigger rifles. Some were old and ugly looking. Antiques, I guessed. Others shined like they had been spit polished.
He showed me some newer ugly ones first. They were the least expensive, which I thought was considerate of him. He also tried to tell me that, if he was me, he’d get a good shotgun. They were easy to use and even a lady like me could stop somebody with it, if I had to. I appreciated the advice and he made a good point. Maybe I’d get one some other day. But right then, I knew a shotgun wasn’t what I’d buy.
“What I want,” I said as I reached into my purse, “is one that these here bullets fit in.” I showed him the box.
He jumped back a couple of steps. “Hoo-wee, Phoebe,” he said and tilted his ball cap back.
“Yeah,” I said, patting my hair and trying not to sound smug. “Israel.”
He scratched under the cap’s brim. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do or anything, but have you thought about maybe just buying some different bullets?”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “No. I don’t want that. I want these. They’re lucky.”
He stared at the box a little longer and shrugged. “Okay. I’ve got two a lady might could use that this ammo will work in. And I have to say, they’re both real high now but you can’t find no better.”
One of them he brought out was the scariest gun I’d ever seen in my life. It was love at first sight. I didn’t even have to hold it or anything to decide.
“That one right there,” I said.
“But, this other one …”
“No, sir. You might as well put that one back in the cabinet.”
Donnie’s front two teeth have a sliver of space between them. So, when he drew in a breath, it whistled a little bit as his eyebrows rose. He didn’t say a word though. He leaned the big, long ugly one carefully back into the case.
Meanwhile, I took my rifle from his other hand. It was black and shiny with a couple of pieces of wood on the top and back. Not too heavy either. My palm fit around the grip just like it had been made for me.
“Was this what Rambo had in the jungle?” I held it up and looked through the sight up at the ceiling. Oh, yeah. I wouldn’t have any trouble aiming at a criminal. A gun like that? A bad guy with a lick of sense would run at the sight of it without me firing one shot.
“Real similar to Rambo’s. That was an AK-47. This here is an AK-46 and a half. Ladies’ model. Made small for a woman’s hands, lighter body. The magazine only holds twenty rounds, though.”
“Twenty is plenty. I’ll take it.”
While Donnie took my check and wrote up my receipt, another one of Jerry Nell’s displays on the other side of the booth caught my eye. Of all the kinds of art she does, my favorite by far is her Native American stuff. She’s got paintings of all sizes, cross-stitch patterns, ceramic statues, whatever you can think of, of Indians. She did the two pictures in my living room of warriors on horseback, did them made to order because I wanted the orange and turquoise to match a blanket wall hanging I already had over my couch.
Right when I saw some new T-shirts Jerry Nell had personalized by airbrushing people’s names on them, Donnie looked up and said, “I tell you what, you’ll be good and prepared now. This here will fix somebody’s wagon before they can give you any more fire or smoke damage.”
“Hah. I’ll fire this baby up and smoke them good, is what I’ll do.” I looked over at those T-shirts again and had what they call an epiphany
“What I have to do,” Donnie said, “is run a background check on you, even though I know you’re an upstanding citizen. Federal law.”
“What? You have got to be kidding me. If you can’t buy a gun in Alabama when you want to, something is wrong.”
He shrugged his big shoulders. “Alabama will let you, just not the Feds. It won’t take long. Like checking a credit card, is all. You’ll be ready to go here in a minute.”
“You know what, it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve got a little work I want Jerry Nell to do on it before I take it home.”
He looked at me funny. “She don’t know nothing about guns.”
“No, but she knows about other stuff.”