Part 21 (1/2)
He was standing in the doorway of Bo Poole's office and he and Bo both grinned soon as they saw me. Might've known the bailiff wouldn't waste time telling them every detail.
”I know you're still new at the job,” Dwight said, ”but judges are supposed to throw the book, not duck it.”
”You laugh, but those hardback Bibles ought to be changed to paperbacks. I could have been injured for life. Any word from the lab yet?”
”Nope,” said Bo. ”They've got so much on their plate it looks like Friday before we hear for sure. How's Herman?”
”We're real worried about his legs,” I admitted. ”They still don't know if his nerve damage is permanent. He's getting therapy, but they're also teaching him how to maneuver in a wheelchair.”
”And that joker from Environmental Health still can't figure out where he got that a.r.s.enic,” Bo fumed.
”Got to give him A for effort though,” I said. ”Julia Lee's mad because he's over at First Methodist's kitchen right this minute.”
”How come? Was Bannerman at your swearing-in? Ralph sure as h.e.l.l wasn't.”
I explained about how the Marthas had catered his daughter's wedding, and we kicked it around a few minutes.
”Y'all locate Ba.s.s Langley yet?”
”Tell you the truth, we hadn't been looking all that hard,” Dwight admitted. ”His brother doesn't seem worried, and Ava says she doesn't want him back.”
”Maybe you should take her up on her offer and check out that dumpster back of the Coffee Pot,” I said tartly.
Dwight thought he had too much paperwork to knock off just then. All the same, when I said maybe I'd go see if Gordon O'Connor had found anything, he said he reckoned he'd come along with me.
The church was only two blocks away, but by the time we got there, O'Connor was gone. As he walked me back to my car, Dwight said, ”What time you getting back from the airport?”
”I don't know. Nine or nine-thirty, probably. Why?”
”How 'bout I come over later and keep you company? You make us some popcorn and I'll bring that video you've been wanting to see.”
”The Last Wave? Hey, great!” I'd been trying to track down a copy for months. ”Where'd you find it?”
”Was.h.i.+ngton.”
”Little Was.h.i.+ngton had The Last Wave?”
”Not Little Was.h.i.+ngton. Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C. I got tired hearing you whine so I asked a friend to UPS it. It'd better be as good as you say it is.”
”Better!” Touched by his remembering, I impulsively added, ”Listen. If I tell you something, will you promise you'll keep it to yourself?”
His eyes narrowed. ”What've you done now?”
”Promise first.”
”Okay, I promise, even though I can tell by that look on your face I'm going to regret it.”
He listened with growing incredulity as I told him of my encounter with Mr. Ou that morning.
”Jesus H., Deborah! You know how many phone calls we've gotten about those missing dogs? Miz Castleberry's in my ear every morning; Doug Woodall's wife's uncle-you can't just take the law into your own hands like that.”
”Oh, come on, Dwight. What would be gained by hauling him into court at this point? It won't bring those dogs back. All it'd do is cause hard feelings. Besides, think how you'd feel if you got plopped down in India and couldn't afford to buy meat for you and Cal. You think you wouldn't soon be inviting one of those sacred cows to come home with you some dark night?”
He shook his head at me. ”Don't tell me any more secrets, okay?”
I was hurt. ”I thought you'd be glad to know you don't have to worry about any more pets going missing. You always say I don't tell you things.”
”And this is what you start with? Barbecued beagles?” He was already heading down the bas.e.m.e.nt steps. ”I didn't hear a thing you said. Remember that. See you at nine-thirty.”
”Well, he's got a point,” said the preacher, smoothing the wrinkles in his favorite hairs.h.i.+rt. ”You probably should have given Mr. Ou some meaningful community service. Maybe some hours out at the animal shelter.”
”That sorry place?” snorted the pragmatist from the depths of his comfortable lounge chair. ”Ninety-eight percent of the animals taken out there get put down and their bodies burned. Would Mr. Ou see that as a civics lesson or a waste of good protein?”
When I got home, Aunt Zell was still trying to decide between black silk slacks, which would let her forget about heels and hose, or a champagne-colored c.o.c.ktail dress that would require an extra bag. She was as fl.u.s.tered as a teenage bride packing for her honeymoon.
Annie Sue had brought over the adapter plugs that Nadine had used with her hairdryer when she and Herman took that Holy Land tour with their church group a few years back, and Cindy and Paige were with her.
The three girls had bonded closer than ever, but there were lines of strain in all three faces as things got more weirdly complicated with each pa.s.sing day. Paige had killed a rapist; because of Paige, Annie Sue had escaped rape but now faced the possibility that Herman would be permanently disabled; Cindy's father had been exhumed and, along with Herman and Carver Bannerman, might have been the victim of a successful poisoning attempt. Yet, they were each trying to act as if the most interesting thing in their lives was Aunt Zell's first trip to Paris.
”I'm going to bring back a bottle of real French perfume for each one of y'all,” Aunt Zell promised as she hung the c.o.c.ktail dress back in her closet and opted for a black sequined top for the slacks. She tucked it in next to something pale pink and lacy.
”Why, Miss Zell,” giggled Annie Sue, fluffing out one of the skimpiest nightgowns you'd ever hope to see.
”Oh, it's beautiful!” sighed Paige.
Aunt Zell laughed. ”Isn't that the silliest thing?”
In went her makeup kit and she was just zipping the bag when Uncle Ash came in, handsome in navy linen blazer and gray slacks.
”All packed?” he asked.
”Ready!”
”You sure you want to make that long drive, honey?” Uncle Ash asked me for the third time. ”I really can leave our car at the airport. Five days won't cost that much.”
”Don't be silly,” I said. Also for the third time. ”I'll want to hear a full report while it's fresh.”
The girls each picked up a bag and as the four of us waited in the side driveway for Aunt Zell and Uncle Ash to make a final round of the house to see if there were something they needed to tell me about besides the puppy, I remembered something myself.
”That epidemiologist that's trying to find a common denominator,” I told the girls. ”He asked me if Carver Bannerman was at my swearing-in reception. Did y'all see him there?”
Furrowed brows and slow headshakes as they tried to recall a man they hadn't yet met themselves two weeks ago.
I had a sudden flash of brilliance. ”Stevie's video!”