But ha! on you, sheriff. I got
Uh-oh.
Just remembered those shots of Mr. Buster are missing from my stack. Maybe somebody from down at Bob’s Drug Emporium put them in the wrong envelope? Right after my visit to Grampa at the hospital, I’m gonna make a beeline over there.
“Well, been real nice visitin’ with y’all, but I got a prisoner to tend to.” Turning to leave, the sheriff stops with a chuckle. “Just recalled the main reason I came up here in the first place.” Pointing back and forth between me and Clever, he says, “I believe the two of you got something that belongs to that gentleman who lives next door.” He takes out a pad from his back pocket and flips a few pages. “Mr. Willard called down to the station last night to report that he’s missin’ a map of some sort. Said y’all stole it from him.” LeRoy takes a giant step back toward the picnic table, saying, “Ya don’t mind I have a look in your briefcase for it, do ya, Miss Gibby?” Before I can answer, I certainly do, Sheriff, I mind a whole lot, he’s already plucking at one of the leather-like’s compartments with his porky fingers. Then another. Rustling around the bottom, and not finding what he’s looking for, he slams it shut with a lotta show and says to Clever, “Maybe you’s the one hiding that map, Carol.”
“Map? What map?” she says in her most innocent-of-all-wrongdoin’s voice. “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Ya weren’t over at Browntown last night, were ya? Spendin’ the night with the Smith boy? Maybe ya even helped him murder Buster. I know how ya favor the coloreds.” He comes in close enough to sniff Clever, maybe for dump smoke. Or barbecue sauce.
Clever hawks and spits to the side, says, “Why, no I wasn’t, and no I didn’t, LeRoy. Ya know, I could swear I already tol’ you that. Seems to me”-she bobs her eyebrows at me-“what we got here is a failure to communicate.”
Oh, my cool-handed Clever!
“But thanks ever so much for worryin’ about my whereabouts, ” she says so realistically, even
Shifting his weight toward me, LeRoy asks, “How about you, Miss Gibby? Ya over to Browntown las’ night?” I can tell he’d love to add on, “You who are dumber than anthracite coal.”
“She was with me,” Billy says, trying to maintain a hold of Keeper, whose appetite must be returning ’cause he’s eyeing the sheriff like he’s a chicken-fried steak.
“And just exactly where was
Billy says, “I was with Gibby.”
“Sheriff, ya hear anything new about my grampa?” I ask, suddenly remembering. If anybody knows what’s happening over at the hospital, it’d be busybody him.
LeRoy gives us the once-over one more time, and then with a turn of his heel heads back up the lawn.
“Sheriff Johnson?” I call, chasing after him. “Grampa?”
“Gibby?” Billy calls after me, worried.
“I’m fine,” I yell back at him, and then to Clever, “Stay put,” ’cause I can tell she’s just itching to skedaddle.
Hustling, I catch up with LeRoy just as he’s pulling open his cruiser door out back near the road. I’m about to ask him again about Grampa’s condition when he warns, “Keep your trap shut about findin’ Buster on the beach or else.”
OH MY GOODNESS! HE KNOWS I KNOW!
Or is he just warning me about spreading gossip that can’t be proved? Slander: A malicious false statement.
“I’m givin’ you fair warnin’.” He grabs on to a handful of my hair hard enough to wrench my head to my shoulder. “Ya hear?”
“I’ll… I’ll write a story in my newspaper. Everybody in Cray Ridge will know that you’re trying to blame Cooter for something he didn’t do.”
“Be my guest,” LeRoy scoffs. “Who ya think they’re gonna believe? The man who’s been the law of this county for eight years or some… imbecile.”
Seconds after he backs out, siren blaring, Keeper whips past me. He musta been eavesdropping and no longer able to contain himself, ’cause he full-out chases that squad car down Lake Mary Road. “Careful,” I shout after him, even though I know he won’t heed me. That’s the thing with that dog. He’s brave, almost recklessly so, and doesn’t EVER give up. No. Keeper will take it on himself like a sworn duty not to let the sheriff outta his sight. I read the whole book out loud to him, placing special emphasis on chapter 16: Tracking.
But ya know who should be worried, don’tcha? Cooter Smith, that’s who. Because no matter how rascally he’s been acting lately, we’d all feel real bad if he was found twisting on the end of a rope in Wally’s Woods, the sheriff not bothering to hide a revolting grin when he announces to the town, “He up and escaped. I have no idea who strung the boy up like that. What a goddamn shame.”
Yes, indeed. Cooter Smith should be worryin’ his fool head off.
Cheating
While Billy and Clever are in the kitchen stirring us up some lunch, I’m picking through Grampa’s dresser drawers. His worn-at-the-seat jeans. The bleached undershirts he wears no matter how hot. I run my finger across the pearl buttons of one of his Texas shirts. The kind you see on rodeo riders. I’ve never been in his room without him. Pressing my face into his pillow, there’s a faint smell of trout twisting out of the lake. My salty tears aren’t helping. They’re only reminding me how the two of us had planned on doing some ocean fishing someday. “The Atlantic spreads out like a Texas prairie,” Grampa told me, thrilled. “Fish the size of calves. Ya’d have to see it to believe it.”
Above his cherrywood bed there’s a portrait of him and Gramma Kitty. They don’t look much older than me and Billy. I’d give up my favorite No. 2 if I could climb into that picture and feel all that love blanketing me and…
Oh, Grampa.
What else is he gonna need in the hospital? His deerskin slipper? Yes, he’s awfully fond of that slipper. I check under the bed for it, sending dust bunnies on high. There it is, next to what looks like a wooden hatbox. As I slide them both out and set them on top of his chenille spread, a voice in my head tells me to go ahead and open the box, and it isn’t Grampa’s. He’d raise holy hell if he knew I was going through his personals. I trace the smooth raised-up letters. A M. Addy Murphy. Bet he whittled this box for Mama when she was a little girl. Wonder why he never showed me this before. The top comes right off. There’s a jumble of stuff inside, but what catches my eye right off is the pink ribbon tied around a curl of dusty brown hair. And a letter.
