09 Dead Man Running, page 4
“I don’t care if Ruby Markham had mono or not, I’m not printing a column about it. No, no, I don’t think there’s an epidemic. Yes, yes, I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you,” he said, and hung up the phone. He sighed heavily and smiled at me.
“An outbreak, eh?”
“Rosie at the bank is convinced it’s as bad as Ebola,” he said. “She just skipped right over meningitis and went right to Ebola.”
“Well, let’s hope not,” I said.
Sam got up and picked up the piece of paper he’d thrown at the trash can. He sat back down and tried throwing it again. He missed. Sam and I had gone to school together. He graduated a year after me, married his high school sweetheart, and had four kids—and unless he’s hitting the Grecian Formula, he doesn’t have near the gray hair that I do. He also has a fairly athletic body and a healthy tan.
“Here’s the family tree on the mayor,” I said.
“Thanks.”
“You know, Sam, I don’t really agree with this,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Bill’s family tree has nothing to do with his ability to be mayor,” I said.
Sam looked a bit surprised. I guess what I’d just said could be misconstrued as sticking up for the mayor, and the whole town knew our history. Really, though, I would say this no matter what. Because I really believed it.
“Look, I’m not going to compare ancestor to ancestor, Torie. I just want to get an idea of where each man came from,” he said. “You know, something like ‘Colin is a fourth-generation American whose father was a farmer over in the next county.’ No biggie.”
“Oh,” I said. “Elmer didn’t make it sound quite like that.”
Sam smiled. “Oh, well, we still love him.”
“True,” I said and smiled. I felt much better now that Sam had made it a little more clear what he was going to use the genealogical tables for.
“Besides,” Sam said, “I don’t really know that much about the mayor’s family. I mean, I know about his kids and that sort of thing, but beyond that … I don’t remember ever even meeting his father.”
“I understand,” I said. “Well, I’ll try to get some info from Colin tonight for you. I have one side of his family tree on file but not the other. I’ll bring it by as soon as I can.”
Sam got up and picked up the piece of paper, sat back down, and tossed it into the trash can, finally succeeding on the third try. “Aha! Two points,” he said and made a fist.
“I’ll see you later,” I said and went out to my car.
I drove south about two miles until I came to a small industrial park that was located right on the river. I pulled in, made a left, and followed the street down to the very end where the warehouse was. I was surprised to find that there wasn’t anybody there. This was where most of the floats were being stored, and with only three days to go until the parade, I figured people would be here doing last-minute touch-ups. I glanced at my watch. It was straight up noon, so I guessed everybody had gone to lunch.
I got out of my car and pulled on the door. It was locked. I stuck my fingers down in the potted plant next to the door and pulled out the key. It helps when you know the owner.
The lights were still on, so I knew somebody had just been here. I walked down aisles lined with floats of all kinds, listening to that weird sound that shoes make in a building with forty-foot ceilings, and finally came to the float belonging to the historical society. We had paid about fifteen teenagers in Mr. Holbrook’s shop class to build a small version of the Gaheimer House on the float. The officers of the historical society were going to dress in period costumes and stand on the float next to the house. We had also found a reproduction of a spinning wheel, which we put on the float, and Helen had taken a class down in Progress, Missouri, to learn how to use it. She’d be spinning the whole time we marched. Of course, there were banners with the name of the historical society, and the sides of the float were covered in roses. Except I immediately saw that none of the roses were on the float yet.
I took out my cell phone and called the woman in charge of the flowers. “Betty? It’s Torie. How’s it coming with the roses on the float?” I asked.
“I’ve got all of the roses here at the shop,” she said. “I’m separating them by color. I should start putting them on tomorrow.”
“Is that enough time?”
“I don’t want to put them on too early, because they’ll wilt.”
“All right,” I said. “Give me a call when you finish with them.”
“Sure will.” She hung up.
I walked around the float to see if anything needed touch-up painting. I had just found a spot on one of the window shutters when I heard a noise. I jumped just because I always jump when I hear sudden noises, but I didn’t think too much of it, since I figured there’d be lots of people coming back to work. Then I didn’t hear anything else—which made me think whoever had made the noise didn’t want to be heard.
Goose bumps danced down my arms. I bent my head, listening for another sound. Total silence. Maybe it was just a stray dog. I did the stupid thing. I called out. “Hello?”
Nothing.
I glanced around the warehouse, which was full of floats. There were twenty-foot clowns, and a twelve-foot dog for the Granite County humane society. Floats were kind of creepy, now that I thought about it. At least when I was alone in a warehouse with them. A big tall riverboat with a paddle wheel was by the entrance. I wasn’t sure whose float that was, but it was really detailed.
At that point, I saw somebody run past the giant clowns and out the door. Whoever it was wore a dark suit and shiny shoes. Seemed to be a lot of that going around. This guy was blond, though.
Why would somebody run through the warehouse? All of us working on floats were allowed in it. It didn’t make sense, unless it was somebody who didn’t have any business being here. So the fact that this person took off running made me think he was up to no good.
I decided right then and there that I could check on my float when there were other people around—or when I came accompanied by a small army. Of course, now I didn’t want to leave, because I thought whoever it was might be waiting for me outside.
I called Colin from my cell phone and told him to meet me at the warehouse. I was fairly certain that if the prowler was up to no good, he’d flee when he saw the sheriff’s vehicle.
Colin showed up about twenty minutes later, and right behind him were some other people who’d come to work on their floats. He looked irritated, but I didn’t care. That’s our relationship in a nutshell. He’s irritated. I don’t care.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“There was a prowler in here,” I said.
“You called me all the way out here for that? Torie, it coulda been anybody working on a float.”
“I know,” I said, “but he took off running fast, like he wasn’t supposed to be here.”
“How do you know he didn’t get a call from his wife saying she’d gone into labor or something?”
“I didn’t hear a phone ring, for one thing.”
He sighed.
“Can you just check around the warehouse?” I asked. “Make sure everything looks …”
“Looks … what?”
“In order?”
“You called me out here all because somebody ran through the warehouse,” he stated, and blinked his eyes. When he said it that way, he made it sound ridiculous.
“Well, no, actually I called you because I was afraid to leave the warehouse. I was afraid whoever it was would be outside waiting for me.”
“I am not your personal bodyguard,” he said.
“Come on, Colin. After that weird incident with the guy in the mayor’s yard, I’m jumpy,” I said. “Look, it wouldn’t hurt for you to check it out.”
“Fine.”
He walked around the warehouse and checked things out, just as I’d asked. More and more people came in to work on their floats, and I waved and said hello to the ones I knew. A few people asked me if there was something wrong, even though they knew Colin had a float in the warehouse. I assured them everything was fine.
In a few minutes, I knew everything was fine, because Colin came back to my float looking as ticked off as a rattlesnake. “Nothing,” he said. “Happy?”
“Better safe than sorry,” I said sheepishly.
“Ever heard of the girl who cried wolf?”
“I wasn’t crying wolf,” I said. Colin and I walked out of the warehouse together. “Somebody ran like his butt was on fire. That just screams guilt like nothing else, Colin. You know it.”
“Maybe his lunch didn’t set well with him. Thank God, you’re not a cop,” he said.
“Speaking of which,” I said, “who’s taking your place if you become mayor?”
“I should know by tonight,” he said as we made it out into the bright sunlight.
“I’ll see you in a few hours,” I said.
“Right,” he said.
THE NEW KASSEL GAZETTE
The News You Might Miss
By Eleanore Murdoch
It is that time again! Pumpkins and squash, goblins and ghosts! Tickets for next Friday’s horse-drawn hayrides will go on sale Thursday afternoon, and the tickets for the tractor-drawn hayrides will be sold at the time of the event. Our illustrious mayor has finally agreed to let us have some fun and have a parade in this town! What the heck took him so long?
Our soon-to-be mayor, Colin Brooke, wants me to remind you all to wear some reflective clothing on Saturday night, if possible. Reflective stickers that you can put on your jackets are available at the Smells Good Café, the Lick-a-Pot Candy Shoppe, the sheriff’s office, and city hall.
On a more personal note, Virgie Burgermeister is asking for help this year with making jams and jellies for the Strawberry Festival in June. She needs somebody to agree to help by the end of May. I think she’ll have plenty of time.
Last but not least, I’m putting together a New Kassel recipe book, called The Tastes and Smells of New Kassel. Please donate your recipes. I plan to have them for sale by the Strawberry Festival. All proceeds will go to Clean Our County.
Until next time,
Eleanore
Four
My mother and the sheriff live in a cozy two-bedroom house in Wisteria, about five miles west of New Kassel. Wisteria is actually a much bigger town than New Kassel, much more spread out, with a Wal-Mart and every fast-food restaurant you could ever imagine. The population is fifteen thousand, and the town is home to the only hospital in the county.
Large oak trees shade each side of my mother’s yard, and the leaves were all changing, making her entire yard glow orange and red. I knocked on their front door and then entered without waiting to be invited. Before I could get my foot in the door, Matthew squeezed between my leg and the door jamb and took off running for his grandma. My mother, who has been in a wheelchair since she contracted polio at the age of ten, was waiting in the archway to the kitchen to kiss him. He stretched on his tippytoes, and she leaned over as far as she could and kissed him on the cheek. We don’t do a lot of lip kissing in my family because I am a germaphobe. I realize that she’s his grandmother, but grandmothers can still give grandkids the flu.
We don’t eat or drink after each other in my family, either. Backwash is the most disgusting thing on the planet.
“Hope you’re hungry,” she said.
“Always,” Rudy said and rubbed his stomach. I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that remark. Was he always hungry just because he’s Rudy and he’s always hungry? Or was he alluding to the fact that he was always hungry because I’m a terrible cook?
The girls made their way to hug and kiss my mother and Colin. Weird, to see the sheriff playing the role of grandfather. My kids call him Grandpa Badge or Grandpa With the Badge, because that’s what Matthew started out calling him. I must admit, Colin plays grandpa well—and really, can children have too many people to love them?
The spread of food on the kitchen table was impressive by my standards. For my mother, it was average. She’d made fried chicken, mashed potatoes, homemade bread, those little candied carrots, sliced tomatoes, snow peas, and blackberry pie. I could make all of that food, too. Every bit of it. Nothing except maybe the sliced tomatoes would taste anything like my mother’s, though. Her fried chicken should win an award. Part of the reason her chicken is so good is that she cooks in thirty-year-old cast-iron skillets, like the ones used back in her home state of West Virginia. They aren’t just any cast-iron skillets, either. They’re seasoned. It makes a difference. I’m not lying.
We all sat down to eat. I put Matthew next to me so I could intercept any of his food that might end up on the floor or go flying across the room. I’m not sure why he throws his food. It’s not like he’s ever seen the rest of us doing it. The girls took TV trays and ate in the living room. It’s not like they were banished from the kitchen. It just seems to be a tradition at Grandma’s house to eat in the living room. My mother had a small Coca-Cola glass that Mary insisted on drinking out of when she was over. Guess that glass was seasoned just right, too.
Rudy and Colin are fishing buddies, so, of course, my mother and I had to sit through about ten minutes of fish stories and testimonials on fishing products. That’s all right, I suppose. They have to listen to me talk about dead people all the time. Anyway, I’d rather hear them talk about fishing than bowling. They are respectable as fishermen. As bowlers, they just plain old stink.
“So,” I said. “Colin, you mentioned that you might have an idea of who is going to replace you as sheriff if you should win this election.”
“Don’t they vote on that?” my mother asked.
“Of course,” I said, “but nobody has come forward to run. I guess the whole county is convinced you’re going to lose to Bill, or else they’re all frightened that you’ll win and they’d lose you. I have to admit, I’m sort of in that crowd that’s afraid you’ll win myself.”
Colin’s expression owed as much to surprise as it did pride.
“God, it’s not like I said you were the greatest man on earth. I’m simply saying that I want Bill out of office, but I’m not sure I’m willing to get a new sheriff in order for him to get the boot.”
There was silence at the table.
I swallowed a snow pea. “What?”
“Honey, have you just admitted that Colin is good at his job?” Rudy asked.
“Probably because I don’t really have anybody to compare him to,” I said.
“Well, thanks, Torie. For that near compliment,” Colin said.
“So who’s running for sheriff?” Rudy said.
Colin has never even so much as had to campaign for his job before. Granite County isn’t exactly a big county, or even one with a large population. It’s mostly farms and the occasional small town. When the county seat only has a population of fifteen thousand, that tells you something. I’m not sure if nobody has ever felt worthy enough to run against Colin or if everybody just figured there was no point. Before Colin decided to run for mayor, it never occurred to me that there would be a time that he wouldn’t be sheriff.
“Mort Joachim just called me yesterday to say he’s running,” Colin said.
“I’ve never heard of him,” I said.
“And Lou Counts.”
“Never heard of him, either,” I said.
“Louise Counts,” Colin said. “Lou is a she.”
“Oh,” I said. Well, that would certainly be interesting, to have a woman in the office.
“In fact, she’s coming by after dinner to talk with me. I’m thinking of endorsing her,” Colin said.
Whoever Colin endorsed would pretty much be guaranteed the office. It really bugs me that somebody who irritates me as much as Colin does is so beloved by everybody else.
I took a slice of bread and shoveled it through my mashed potatoes. I firmly believe that there is no point in eating mashed potatoes if you don’t have any bread to pile them on. “Well, I can’t wait to meet her,” I said.
A woman. Somebody who will understand woman things. Like intuition. She’d probably understand why I was so freaked over the guy running out of the warehouse earlier. There had been no logical reason for me to feel that way, but something about the person’s body language told me he didn’t want to be seen, and if you don’t want to be seen, there has to be a reason. And that reason would be? See, Lou Counts would understand that because she’s a woman. I was warming to the idea. Maybe it would be a good thing to have Colin as mayor after all.
We finished dinner. Rachel helped me do the dishes and take the leaf out of the table. Matthew found his stash of toys that my mother keeps in the spare bedroom. Mary had taken a plate of food over to the elderly neighbor next door. Ms. Rhodes is almost ninety and has broken her hip three times, so my mother feeds her whenever she has the chance. Mary, who has never met a stranger, didn’t come back on her own, so I had to go over and fetch her. About fifteen minutes after that there was a knock at the door. Colin answered it and stepped aside to let in Lou Counts.
“Good evening, folks,” she said.
Lou was about five feet tall, maybe a little older than I was, with hair so short it was nearly a flattop. She wore jeans, a T-shirt with one of those quilted camouflage vests over it, and army-issue combat boots—and a gun secured to her hip.
I suppose my gaping mouth was a sign to Colin that he needed to explain, because he immediately started speaking. “Deputy Counts, this is my family. Um, everybody, this is Lou Counts. Lou has been a deputy over in Deutsch County for about ten years. She just bought a house outside of Meyersville. If I don’t win the election, I’m going to hire her to replace Deputy Duran.”
“Nice to meet you,” Rudy and my mother said.
