Baptists at Our Barbecue, page 24
On the other hand, I felt the reason Bob wanted to see us was far more complicated.
There was an inactive Mormon woman by the name of Betty Potipar who lived at the edge of town. She had at one time been very active in the Church. In fact, she had been the branch Relief Society president for the couple of years right before she stopped attending church. The cause of her inactivity was a ward activity one of her counselors had put together.
It seems that some years back, the Saints of Longwinded worked and scraped up enough money to attend the annual Pioneer Trek which took place near Salt Lake City. It was a five-day trip where everyone pulled handcarts and did without all the creature comforts of home.
All the Saints from Longwinded thought it was just going to be a leisurely stroll down the paths their beloved ancestors had once made. Instead, it turned out to be one of the sweatiest ordeals any of them had ever been through.
Everyone started out happy—positive they could mimic the footsteps of their forefathers with minimum effort on their part. But they all quickly realized they were involved in something much more challenging than imagined. Sister Potipar patiently prodded everyone to “keep their chins up.”
“Think of the pioneers,” she would challenge.
But after the first two days of the hike, everyone lost all empathy for the pioneers, whom they now blamed for their discomfort. Tempers became shorter and shorter, patience thinner and thinner.
“Think of the pioneers,” Betty Potipar would repeatedly encourage.
“Think of your own stinking pioneers,” the others would yell back as they tried to pull their bulky handcarts over rocks and other obstacles in a mad dash to get back to comforts such as porcelain potties and TV dinners.
On day four of the trek, Brother Hatch got his handcart stuck between two trees while trying to take a shortcut. No one could get it out. After everyone had tried unsuccessfully, Sister Potipar gave it a go. Well, the combination of the sweltering sun, her heavy wool dress (similar to one Eliza R. Snow had once worn), and everyone giving her flak for trying to help throughout the week caused her to crack.
As she tried to loosen that wedged handcart, she broke. She began kicking and beating the immovable handcart. Then as she defeatedly walked away from it, someone (by accident I hope) stepped on the hem of her dress, causing her to fall to the ground. She got up, wiped her sweating forehead, and screamed in utter frustration:
“Whose #$!@ idea was this Pioneer Trek, anyway?”
Everyone stood there dumfounded (which wasn’t difficult for any of them to do). Sister Potipar had never used profanity before. Not even when the Smith boys had stolen her cat and sent it back to her through the mail had she succumbed to the ugly use of profanity. She prided herself on having a mouth so clean you could eat out of it.
But she blew it on the Pioneer Trek.
Sister Potipar was so embarrassed she refused to go back to church when she got home. Finally, the branch president at the time talked her into coming back and giving it just one more try. Well, she was so nervous about what everyone thought of her that she mistakenly took the sacrament with her left hand (a spiritual faux pas the Saints just couldn’t overlook). Sister Potipar never came back.
Last week, out of the blue, however, Bob had been told by Betty Potipar that she too had heard the hum, and she would like to come back into the fold. She didn’t want everyone to make a big deal about her coming back, so she had asked Bob to explain the situation to Ian before she gave it a go.
I was pretty sure this was what Bob wanted to talk to Charity and me about. He probably wanted us to begin fellowshipping her.
We pulled up to the shed and got out. Bob’s patrol car was the only other vehicle there. I was actually nervous as Charity and I walked in.
Bob had set up as many chairs as the shed could hold (six) and was now sitting silently behind his desk.
“Hi, Bob,” I said, waving my good hand.
“Tartan.”
“Hi, Bob.”
“Charity,” he responded.
I could tell Bob was trying to appear calm and collected for some reason.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“If you two will have a seat, I’ll be with you in a minute. We’re waiting for a couple more people.”
“Who?” I asked out of curiosity.
“You’ll see,” was all Bob said.
A couple of seconds later, the door opened and Fern and Erma stepped in. They sat down next to Charity and me, trying hard not to look nervous.
“What’s the deal, Bob?” Fern asked.
“Fern, you need to be quiet until we’re ready,” Bob said harshly.
Fern sank down into his seat.
The shed was suddenly hot and uncomfortable.
The door opened again as Ian and Bronwyn entered. They sat down next to Fern and Erma without saying anything.
Bob stood and removed his reading glasses. He looked over the eclectic group of people gathered in his shed and then shook his head sadly. I suddenly felt guilty for something I didn’t know I had done. What could Bob possibly want from all of us? I now felt certain this had nothing to do with Betty Potipar, and Bob certainly didn’t look like he wanted to announce his retirement. Ian looked at me and shrugged his shoulders.
“Let’s get started,” Bob said.
I watched Erma squeeze Fern’s hand tightly. I wanted to ask Charity what she thought this was all about, but I was certain Bob would reprimand me if I did.
“I trust none of you told anyone else about this meeting,” Bob said.
We all shook our heads, no.
“Good.” Bob marked something down on a piece of paper. “It seems that somehow with the hum, Rich burning down the barn, Mary dying, and everything else that has been going on, we have forgotten about one of Longwinded’s most pressing problems. Any idea what that problem might be, Fern?” Bob asked.
“Ticks?” Fern guessed.
“No,” Bob said, “although they are unusually heavy this year. It takes me a good five minutes in the shower to completely check for them. You find those things—”
Ian, thankfully, cleared his throat, bringing Bob back to the present.
“Oh, yes, the real problem. The real problem Longwinded is facing is that the greatest crime ever committed here has gone unsolved. Someone stole half of the Mormon chapel.” Bob paused to let his last words sink in. He then paced back and forth in front of his desk tapping his chin.
I had no idea what this had to do with any of us. Luckily, Bob was here to clear things up.
“Fern, where were you on the night the chapel was stolen?” Bob asked suddenly.
All eyes turned to Fern.
“I can’t remember that far back, Bob,” Fern said nervously.
“Come now, Fern, it wasn’t that long ago.”
“I suppose I was sleeping,” Fern answered weakly.
“Oh, really,” Bob said snidely. “What about you, Erma? Do you believe what Fern is saying?”
Erma looked at her aging fingers for a few moments and then spoke. “Fern was with me,” she confessed.
Fern looked sharply at Erma.
“Well,” she said, “it’s no secret anymore. Fern was with me until at least two in the morning. I remember because we watched back-to-back episodes of Murder, She Wrote until two. Fern went home and called to let me know he made it all right and to say a few other things.” Erma blushed with embarrassment.
The rest of us blushed with her.
“So, after two a.m. you really have no idea where Fern was?” Bob asked.
“He was at home. I could hear the hum of his giant freezer the whole time we talked.”
“And how long did you talk?”
“This is ridiculous,” Fern said, standing. “Just what are you trying to say?”
“Sit down, Fern,” Bob said calmly.
Fern sat.
“We talked at least an hour,” Erma answered.
“An hour, you say?” Bob asked.
“An hour,” Erma responded.
“Thank you,” Bob said, scribbling something on his paper.
“So, Tartan,” Bob turned to address me. “Wouldn’t you say it’s perfectly clear that Fern and Erma had romantic interests in one another well before the chapel was stolen?”
“It looks that way,” I answered.
“What did Mary think of you and Erma?” Bob asked Fern.
“Mary had no idea about our relationship,” Fern said defensively.
“Oh really,” Bob snickered. “How, may I ask, did you keep it a secret from Mary?”
“We broke no laws,” Erma said. “I just administered her medication at a time most beneficial to us.”
“And Mary never found out?” Bob asked incredulously.
Fern and Erma shook their heads together.
“Then why did Mary send me this?” Bob asked accusingly, holding up a brown envelope with Mary’s handwriting on it and pushing it toward them as if it were a flaming sword.
Fern started to sweat; Erma turned tipsy.
“Do you want me to read what it says?” Bob asked, “or do you two want to change your last answer?”
Fern and Erma exchanged worried glances.
“Mary knew,” Erma finally whispered.
“That’s what I thought,” Bob replied. “And how did she feel about your relationship with Fern?”
“She was disgusted by it,” Erma answered. “She thought Fern was too old for me and that our seeing each other somehow soiled her reputation.”
“But you continued seeing one another?”
“We did,” Erma said.
“I’m surprised Mary didn’t fire you,” Bob commented. “Or at least take you out of her will.”
“She threatened to fire me,” Erma said.
“And you, Fern,” Bob scoffed. “Ever since you accused Mary of stealing her recipe for hot berry pie, she has loathed you. I’m surprised Mary even let you into her house. You know,” Bob said addressing all of us, “I can’t think of anyone she liked less than Fern, except for maybe the Baptists. Too bad Mary’s not around to hear the hum; it might have done her some good.”
Bob would get no argument over that. Although I alone knew that at this moment Mary was probably having to listen to Rich whine about the heat of their present state.
“It seems to me you would have had to do something extraordinary to win Mary’s good graces,” Bob said to Fern. “But for the life of me I can’t think what. Can you?” Bob asked Fern and Erma in a condescending tone of voice.
Without giving them time to answer, Bob turned to Ian. “Did you bring the note?” he asked.
“I did,” Ian said, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a folded piece of paper. Bob took it from him and read it aloud.
False President Smith,
I hereby resign my membership in the Church. The reason for this is because I cannot associate with a ward that meets in a camper. Tea is tea, and coffee is coffee.
May you all burn as the Lord sees fit,
Mary Longfellow
“In talking with Ian earlier this week,” Bob said, “I discovered Mary’s name had been removed from the rolls about a week before she passed away.” Bob waved the note around for effect. “You Mormons really are down by three, not two.” Bob stuck up three pudgy fingers and thrust them toward Ian.
“I wonder,” Bob said dramatically, “what difference this would have made had everyone known before the hum. I have no idea why Mary didn’t tell Wynona she left the Church. The best I can figure is that Mary still believed and was just doing what she felt she had to do. Mary probably wanted to keep it quiet, and if she had told Wynona Wingate, quiet is the last thing it would have been.”
Bob looked at all of us sharply.
“Are things starting to fall into place, people?” Bob asked frantically. “Are pieces starting to gel?”
I had no idea what Bob was talking about. He was acting like Matlock on model glue. I couldn’t imagine Bob having a theory any more believable than Martians stealing the trailer or that he had discovered large mirrors behind Scott’s bar which created an illusion that half our building was missing.
After all, this was Bob. Certainly, if there had been a way to solve this mystery, someone of a higher intellect would have figured it out already. There was no trace of our building and, as far as I knew, no clues as to who had done it.
Bob was about to start up again when two Mormon missionaries came through the door. We all just stared at them for a minute. I had never seen any full-time missionaries in Longwinded. They looked so out of place. Finally one of them spoke.
“We’re missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we can’t seem to find a certain address.”
“Where’d you come from?” Bob asked, as if they had originated from another planet.
“We’re assigned to the city, but our mission president sent us here to teach a family who is interested in the Church.”
“Who are you looking for?” Bob asked, somewhat annoyed they were interrupting his secret meeting.
The shorter missionary read a name off a piece of paper he held. “The Benderholdens,” he said.
We all gulped in air.
“What do you want with them?” Bob asked suspiciously.
“They called the mission home and said they would like the missionaries to come and visit them.”
We all just sat there staring at the poor missionaries.
“The Benderholdens did?” I finally asked.
“I guess so,” the tall elder said sheepishly. “Is there something wrong with that?”
Ian introduced himself and gave the elders directions on how to locate the Benderholdens. They left quickly.
“No one mentions a word about this,” Bob demanded. “If Bruce Benderholden and his family want to have the Mormons over, so be it. But let others hear it from them, not from us.”
These were odd words coming from someone with such a big mouth. Fern and Erma got up, hoping this distraction would enable them to leave.
“Sit!” Bob barked.
They sat.
“Fern,” Bob continued, “where were you that night, before you found Erma tied up?”
“You know where I was,” Fern responded. “I was at my place until I went up and discovered Erma.”
“Had you been at your place all night?” Bob asked.
“To the best of my recollection, yes.”
“To the best of your recollection, huh?” Bob asked, scratching his floppy ears. “What about your recollection, Erma?” Bob drilled. “Do you recall seeing Fern any other time during the night?” Bob clasped his hands behind his back as he asked.
Erma paused nervously, giving Bob reason to drill harder.
“Do you? Had you seen Fern earlier in the evening? Tell me, Erma,” Bob demanded.
“Yes,” Erma shouted. “Fern came up around six to get his early evening kiss.”
“Was this something he did regularly?” Bob asked.
“Yes,” Erma said confidently.
“Hmmm,” Bob said, writing down more on his paper.
“What are you getting at, Bob?” Ian asked, voicing our confusion.
“Yeah,” I said. “Fern and Erma might have been sneaking around to see each other, but I can’t see how any of this ties them in with our missing chapel. If you ask me, it was probably Rich.”
“Maybe so,” Bob said, “but would it be all right if I told you what I think happened?”
“You are the law,” I said.
“Thank you, Tartan,” Bob commented, thinking I had just complimented him.
It was interesting to think about just what kind of law Bob was. If my cat were stuck in a tree and I had all afternoon to watch an overweight cop try to figure out how to get it down, there is a good chance I would call Bob. But if my child had been kidnapped, I would probably go out of my way not to ask Bob for help.
Sure he had a kind heart, and yes his intentions were well meaning, but truth be known, I just didn’t view him as competent. Maybe I did possess some backwoods bigotry, but I’d ask for help from a crossing guard before I went to Bob with a real problem. Not that I didn’t like him or appreciate when his screwball ways worked to my advantage. I just didn’t consider him to be any more effective than say . . . mall security. Now he was about to explain how the greatest heist in the history of Longwinded had been pulled off. I sat back and folded my arms, confident his scenario would provide little more than a good laugh.
Bob leaned his ample behind against the desk, picked at his yellow teeth for a moment, and began.
“Somehow, Fern, you and Erma accomplished the impossible. You two had a serious relationship for months without anyone else in town knowing. What I find even more amazing is that you two somehow managed to keep Mary quiet about it. Impressive indeed. Let me tell you just for fun how I think you did it.
“True, Mary hated you, Fern. It’s arguable whether she hated you or the Baptists more, but she disliked you through and through. Of course she loved you, Erma. In fact the only thing she loved more than you was Longwinded.”
I watched Erma’s eyes moisten and start to tear up at the thought of Mary.
“And you Mormons bringing in that mobile home was too much for her. She already had hard feelings about the Church, and that just cinched it for her. I think old Mary became a little obsessed and decided to play the one card she had been holding.
“And that card was Fern.
“I think Mary gave you and Erma an ultimatum: Get rid of the trailer or your relationship is history.”
Fern and Erma slouched in their chairs like withered weeds.
“Fern, do you love Erma?” Bob asked.
