Who Let That Killer In The House? (11 page)

“Outside.” He climbed up beside me and heaved an enormous sigh as he settled himself on the bench. “It’s sure hot out there. Can I go swim in your pool?”

I took my cue from Martha, who was shaking her head. “Not today, honey. Oh, look, there’s Garnet.” Cricket brightened.

Art Franklin was ushering her in, his eyes almost as bright as Cricket’s. Garnet’s looked anxious. Furtive, even. She wore a drab brown skirt with a long-sleeved cream top and had a book bag slung over one shoulder, so I figured she was going to or coming from class.

“Have a seat anywhere. I’ll bring you a Coke,” we heard Art say, “but I have to clock in and put on my apron.” He hurried toward the kitchen door.

“Garnet, come sit with us,” Cricket called.

She turned in our direction, but I heard the rustle of Buddy’s paper behind me. “Garnet?”

She froze as solid as Myrtle’s fresh fish.

“Come here.” His voice was stern. Garnet headed his way with dragging feet. I heard him say in a low voice, “Hollis said
she
was driving you to class and picking you up.”

I could hear only snatches without looking over my shoulder. “ . . . first week . . . out early . . . drove me back.” Finally, clearly, “I was going to call Hollis, to tell her not to come.”

“Sit down.” He laid down his paper. “I’ll wait for you to drink your Coke, then take you home.” I heard her slide into the booth.

Cricket had knelt on our bench to watch all that. Now he turned around and plopped down, lower lip a shelf of disappointment. “I wanted her to sit with me.”

“She’s busy right now,” I consoled him.

Art bustled out the kitchen door, carrying our order plus a large Coke on a tray. When he saw where Garnet was sitting, he snatched up a coffeepot and headed for their table. My back was to them, of course, but Martha filled me in. “He’s filling Buddy’s cup like he’s offering a libation to the gods,” she said softly.

“Maybe he is. You think it’ll work?”

“Apparently not. Buddy’s still frowning. He’s going to have to realize pretty soon that those girls are growing up.”

Art hurried from their table to ours. After I’d thanked him for our pie, I added, “I don’t know if Myrtle has told you yet, but don’t let anybody sit in that corner booth until a policeman comes to get the notebook that’s there.”

He stepped toward the booth and glanced down. “Okay.” He hurried away.

As if my thoughts had conjured them, Smitty, Tyrone, and Willie sauntered through the door. Smitty looked our way, then led the other two toward the entrance to the bathroom hall, using a route that didn’t come anywhere near us or the corner booth.

“Watch them,” I ordered Martha. “Tell me if they start this way.”

A few seconds later, she reported, “Smitty’s come back out and is lounging in the archway leading to the rest rooms. The other two haven’t made an appearance.”

Cricket bent over his place mat and began to adorn his dogs and cats with fierce horns, big black eyes, and long marks from their paws. When I asked what the marks were, he muttered, “Swords, o’ course. To kill the bad guys.” Martha gave me a wry smile. Grown-ups who think children don’t know at least the mood of what is going on are only fooling themselves.

Myrtle and Art moved back and forth, refilling cups and setting down plates. We didn’t discuss the school at our table, but everybody else did. At each table, Myrtle performed her usual service of keeping everybody up with what the rest were saying.

“They found the ladder under the bleachers.”

“Paint cans were in the Dumpster, but nobody has said if they have fingerprints on ’em.”

“There’s a company in Augusta that thinks the paint will come off if they steam clean it within twenty-four hours.”

Martha and I motioned her to silence whenever she came near our booth, pointing to Little Big Ears. While we ate our pie and talked about their family’s plans for a week at the beach in July, I kept wondering what was keeping Ike.

I hadn’t heard Buddy and Garnet exchange a single word since she sat down. “Are Buddy and Garnet talking?” I asked Martha softly.

Before she could answer, Cricket climbed onto his knees to peer over the bench. He leaned close to my ear and murmured, “He’s reading his paper and she’s reading a book and drinking her Coke.” He returned to his station, practically hanging over the booth, while his ice cream melted. In a few more minutes he reported, “Now he’s getting up and going to the bathroom. Hey, Garnet!” He waved.

“Turn around, sit down, and eat,” Martha ordered.

I signaled Art to refill my cup and made a face when I sipped it. “Tepid,” I grumbled.

Martha wasn’t paying me any attention. A worry pucker had appeared between her eyes. “Forget your manners, Mac, and turn around. Cricket, sit down and finish your ice cream.”

When Martha used that voice, everybody obeys. I turned and saw Smitty standing beside Garnet, arms akimbo and pelvis tilted forward. “What you reading?” he crooned.

When Garnet didn’t look up, he bent closer and asked again. This time he sprinkled the question with profanity. Martha slid from her bench. “Let’s go to the bathroom, Cricket. You’ve got ice cream on your face.”

He obediently slid out and followed her. He said, “Hello, Garnet,” as they passed her. Garnet waved but didn’t speak. Her eyes were glued to her book.

Smitty slapped both palms on the end of Garnet’s table and bent right over her ear. “Cat took your tongue when he left you alone?” He reached out and jerked her hair lightly. She lifted one shoulder and moved slightly toward the wall. Smitty sat down on the end of her bench. She cringed and moved farther away.

When Smitty started to put one arm around her shoulders, Art dashed over, carrying his coffeepot. “Leave her alone!”

Smitty looked up and sneered. “Says who?”

“Says me.” Poor Art looked stringy and weak beside Smitty’s biceps.

“Says
who?
” asked Smitty again.

“Ignore him,” Garnet begged, without looking up. “He’ll go away.”

Smitty leaned over close. “I’m never going very far. I’ll be real close to you all the time.” He reached over and stroked her cheek with the back of one forefinger.

Art lifted his pot and poured coffee all over Smitty’s lap. Smitty yelped and swore. Then he jumped up and struck Art in one catlike move.

Art toppled backwards, taking one of Myrtle’s tables with him. “No!” cried Garnet, sliding across the booth. But she couldn’t get out. Smitty blocked her path, waiting for Art to rise. Women gasped. Men hesitated, maybe wondering if breaking this up was worth getting themselves hurt over. Garnet sat frozen, pale as skim milk and eyes wide. Art climbed awkwardly to his feet. Smitty continued to swear, brushing the soaked front of his jeans.

Art clenched his fists and Smitty crouched again, ready to spring. I flew out of my booth and hurried their way. “Stop it, right this minute!” I commanded. “Both of you. Get out of here, Smitty. You know better than to brawl in a public place. Art, go back to the kitchen.”

“He burned me!” Smitty put one hand over his crotch. “You saw it, Judge. He poured boiling hot coffee all over me. I ought to sue.”

“He—” Art began. His face was scarlet with fury or embarrassment.

They were both still talking at full voice when Buddy spoke behind me. “What’s going on?” I was sure glad he’d arrived. Garnet sat in their booth, shaking, looking at the floor like she hoped a hole would appear in the tatty linoleum and swallow her up.

“These two were wrangling, but it’s over. Go on, Smitty, get out. You weren’t burned. I’ve just had coffee from that pot, and it’s like bathwater.”

I have to admit I was trembling inside, wondering what I’d do if he didn’t leave. A lot of folks, including me, were surprised when Smitty glanced out the plate-glass windows in front, where Willie and Tyrone slouched on the sidewalk, and gave me the devil’s own smile. “Sure, Judge. Anything you say.” The way he swaggered out, I half expected a patter of applause. Art slunk to the kitchen, his face still red.

Buddy joined us just then. “Glad you were here, Judge. Thanks.”

I didn’t reply. I was too busy hurrying to the corner booth. As I had feared, the notebook was gone. Smitty had created a most effective diversion.

10

I asked, but nobody had seen who took it. I tried to call Ike to tell him to pick up the trio. He didn’t answer. When I called headquarters, the dispatcher said, “I’ll give somebody the message, but almost every officer we’ve got is over at the school, and the rest are tied up with a bad wreck out where they put up the new four-way stop signs. You and I both know nobody remembers those signs are there.”

Disgusted as much with myself as with Smitty, I motioned for Myrtle and pushed my cup her way. “Bring me a fresh cup, as hot as you’ve got it.”

As she brought it, Martha and Cricket returned. Buddy and Garnet walked with them, chatting. Buddy carried his paper neatly folded, but Garnet’s unzipped book bag hung precariously on one shoulder. She was still pale.

“Did you get the picture I mailed you?” Cricket was asking Garnet.

She nodded. “I loved it. Thank you.” Her bag slipped and she automatically shoved it higher.

Buddy frowned. “Zip that thing and put in on properly, before you spill everything.”

He wasn’t the only man right then who wanted to run her life. “Put my picture on your wall,” Cricket commanded, “and I’ll send you my new one when it’s done. It’s going to terrorize you!” He climbed onto the bench, picked up his crayon, and started coloring industriously.

Seeing Garnet’s startled look, Martha explained, “That’s his new word for
scare
. And by the way, that thing we were talking about after class yesterday? It’s getting checked.”

Buddy had moved toward the register, but turned back. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” Garnet gave Martha a warning look, biting her lip so hard I was afraid she’d draw blood.

Martha waved one hand to show how unimportant it was. “Just something I promised Garnet I’d check on after I spoke to her class yesterday.”

“Okay. Come on, Garnet, let’s go. I want to drive by the high school. We seem to be the only two people in town who haven’t seen it today.” He turned to me for confirmation. “Sounds like they said some pretty nasty things about DeWayne Evans.”

Considering how much Garnet admired DeWayne, Buddy could have been more tactful. Cricket had perked up his ears, too, so I quickly said the first thing that came to my mind. “Speaking of DeWayne, Buddy, have you talked to him? He came by my office yesterday and said there’s something he needs to discuss with you.”

Before he could answer, Garnet’s book bag finally fell. Books, notebooks, pens, and loose papers flew all over the floor. “Oh!” She knelt, her face pink with embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

When Art came rushing to her assistance, the pink deepened. She seemed real glad when Cricket slid off his bench to help, too, although his glare at Art was ferocious.

Except for a frown when it happened, Buddy acted as of nothing was going on at his feet. “Yeah, DeWayne came by the office early this morning.” He leaned closer to me and said so no other table could hear, “Did he tell you who he really is? Little Gerrick Lawton. We used to play together as kids.” He shook his head ruefully. “He used to be littler than me. I could pick him up. Now he could give me three inches and a good fifty pounds. I sure hate for his sister to bring all that up again about his daddy, though—especially after what happened this morning. Well, gotta run.” He headed for the register again, calling impatiently, “Hurry up, Garnet. I need to get back to the office.”

By then Art and Cricket had collected her books and papers. When Art walked her toward the front door, Cricket climbed back onto our bench, picked up his yellow crayon and drew a circle, pressing so hard he snapped the crayon. “This bee is going to sting those two mean old dogs.”

Art stayed with Garnet only a second, before Myrtle’s frown sent him back to work. Garnet gave Buddy a quick sideways look, then hurried back to us. “Could Cricket come home with me for the day? I don’t have anything to do, and I’d love to have him.” She wasn’t dumb, that girl. With Cricket along, Buddy wouldn’t be as likely to fuss.

Cricket, of course, was enchanted. He swaggered out like a prince consort. While they waited on the sidewalk for Buddy to finish paying, I signaled Art for another cup of coffee.

“How many cups is that, Mac?” asked Martha the Nurse with a frown.

“I sent the tepid one back, and I’m gonna need all the stimulants I can get when Ike and Chief Muggins hear what I’ve done.” Since Cricket was gone and I could talk freely, I told her about the notebook. “I had it in spitting distance and let it get away.”

She reached out and touched my hand. “There are some things we cannot fix no matter how much we want to. You know that. So stop worrying. There’s bound to be another way to find out who painted the school.”

“Tell that to Ike. He’s coming in the door.”

He hurried over to our booth, apologizing before he reached us. “Sorry to be late. We had a crash on the highway, and most of our folks are tied up over at the high school, so I had to go. Where’s the notebook?”

I felt sick as I described how cleverly Smitty had engineered its retrieval. Ike listened glumly. “I’ll get a warrant to search their houses. Maybe we’ll find it, but I doubt it.” He sighed. “That Smitty’s got more smarts than a bee sting.”

“Smitty is slime,” I corrected him.

“Sure he’s slime, but he’s smart slime. He’s cut from the same cloth as generals or corporate CEOs. If somebody had taken charge of him early—say in the hospital nursery—”

Martha shook her head. “Sometimes I doubt that the womb would have been early enough for Smitty.”

“Did you get Tyrone’s jacket?” I asked.

He shook his head. “He claims he lost it. I’ve got deputies alerted to check out Dumpsters, but the force is spread pretty thin right now. Don’t take this personally, Judge. We can’t win them all.”