OUT ON A LIMB (2 page)

“Disgraceful!” snorted a stout woman behind him. Beside her, a rotund man with a shock of white hair bobbled his head emphatically, as did the rest of the protesters.

“Bunch of damn tree-huggers!” shouted someone beyond the range of the camera.

“Kiss my oak!” shouted another.

Unwilling to be upstaged by amateurs, the reporter gestured for the camera to follow her as she moved toward the tree. “Let’s see if we can get a statement from the demonstrator on the platform. Miss Parchester, are you confident you can remain there indefinitely? Have preparations been made for your comfort and safety?”

Caron took another slice of pizza. “When we saw who it was, Rhonda began to laugh so convulsively that Louis had to steady her. How fortunate for her that he was conveniently nearby. It would have been such a tragedy if she’d plopped into a puddle. I would have been underwhelmed with grief.”

“Miss Parchester is hardly a close friend of yours,” said Luanne. “Considering your mother’s epic reign of ineptitude and meddling in murder investigations, I should think your classmates would understand.”

“You are so not funny,” I muttered, meriting a dirty look from Caron. I leaned forward as Miss Parchester peered down from her perch some ten feet above the ground.

She had chosen a cardigan sweater and a dress with a lace collar and cuffs as the appropriate garb for treesitting. Her bifocals glinted as sunlight found paths through the foliage. “Oh, yes, I’m quite nicely equipped. My friends have provided me with a sleeping bag and an air mattress. I have a small duffel bag with clothes and personal items, as well as a transistor radio and a flashlight to read by at night. A box contains provisions and several jugs of water. I have a tarp in case it rains. I shall be quite comfy up here in my leafy bower with the birds, butterflies, and squirrels.”

The reporter gestured at those who had gathered at the edge of the parking lot. “Do any of you have an opinion that differs from that of the Farberville Green Party? Does Phase Two reflect economic progress or—”

“You got a potty up there?” jeered a thick-necked man in a grimy T-shirt that did little to hide his protuberant belly. His companions, one with the pinched features of a weasel and the other with the flattened nose of a bulldog, guffawed at his witticism.

Miss Parchester’s lips tightened briefly. “There are some questions a gentleman doesn’t ask and a lady doesn’t answer. This is not to imply I’m confident that you are a gentleman, but perhaps you might pretend to be one in order not to embarrass yourself on television.”

“Why don’t you head on home to your outhouse?” added Finnigan Baybergen. The rest of his supporters inched forward, although they were less than menacing. With the exception of their leader, they appeared to qualify for Medicare and senior discounts at movie theaters. The yardsticks stapled to their signs would not fare well against the tire irons and monkey wrenches that the trio of troglodytes were likely to have in their pickup trucks.

The reporter hastily moved away from the tree, wondering, perhaps, if Miss Parchester had a chamber pot at her disposal. “This is Jessica Princeton, on location for KFAR. Let’s go back to the studio for more local news.” She smiled brightly until the image faded and her twin, albeit a male, began to drone on about revised costs for renovations to the football stadium.

“Goodness,” I said as I turned down the volume, “Miss Parchester does seem to create awkward situations, doesn’t she? Were there any police officers there?”

Caron shook her head. “A private security cop was trying to keep people from parking in the spaces in front of the condos, but nobody paid any attention to him.”

“How large was the crowd?” asked Luanne.

“Maybe twenty-five, not counting the television crew and the protesters. Most of them probably heard about it on the radio and stopped by on their way home. Do you think Miss Parchester is really going to stay in that tree night after night?”

“She might,” I said. “She may appear to be scatterbrained, but she has a great deal of determination to fight whatever miscarriages of justice she perceives. After all, as she is so fond of telling us, her dear papa was on the state supreme court.”

“While her dear mama stayed home and made elderberry wine,” Luanne said through a mouthful of mozzarella. “I hope the designated martyr doesn’t have any alcohol with her. Stubbing one’s toe in the living room is momentarily uncomfortable; falling off a high platform is a bit more grievous.”

I wasn’t pleased at the idea of again becoming embroiled in Miss Parchester’s affairs, having once aided and abetted her when she’d been charged with a murder in the teachers’ lounge, and on another occasion having retrieved her beloved basset hounds when they’d been stolen by a repulsive dealer. But despite all that, she’d offered me tea, cookies, and her trust—and I doubted Finnigan Baybergen had her best interests in mind when he allowed her to take the stage, so to speak, in this current drama.

“I’ll drive,” I said to Luanne as I put down my glass. “Caron, you’ll have to come along and show us how to find this place.”

Caron picked up her backpack. “I have already endured enough mortification for one day, thank you very much. Besides, I have a test tomorrow in algebra. Inez is coming over after dinner so we can study together.” She looked at the remains of the pizza. “
Her
mother fixes things like pot roast and baked halibut.”

“You wouldn’t know a halibut if it bit you on the—” I stopped and took a breath. “Just give me directions. If Peter shows up, tell him I’ll be back shortly.”

Luanne fiddled with the radio as we drove up Thurber Street, passing not only our businesses, but also the bars and pool halls that lured in Farber College students on weekends. If I believed a neon Budweiser sign in the window of the Book Depot might do the same, I’d have purchased one years ago. Caron and I skimp by without resorting to thrift shops and soup kitchens, although my gloomy accountant implies the possibility is not remote. I could easily imagine him perched atop a doorway, pointing at the pizza box and rumbling “Nevermore.” It was unfortunate that my deceased husband had met his demise without the benefit of a life insurance policy, but he’d found coeds more worthy of his attention than his family’s welfare. Then again, he hadn’t anticipated a chicken truck careening down an icy mountain road.

“Wasn’t there something in the news last year about Oakland Heights?” I asked. “A fire, maybe?”

Luanne found a country music station to her liking and sat back. “A fire caused by a gas leak, I seem to think. Nothing worthy of Jessica’s breathless coverage.”

I shrugged, then turned my attention to the increasing amount of traffic as we approached the scene of the demonstration. Oakland Heights was on the east side of Farberville, within the city limits but in an area that still had a few farmhouses, pastures, and stretches of woods. Several sprawling apartment complexes had sprung up since I’d last driven that way. I wondered if Anthony Armstrong was responsible.

A car pulled out, allowing us to find a space near the entrance to the condos. The lot itself was packed with vehicles parked haphazardly, including a van from the TV station. Jessica Princeton was likely to be inside it, making sure her Up gloss would still glisten if she had to emerge to provide live coverage of Farberville’s first brawl that did not involve fraternity boys, alcohol, and football. As we walked toward the back of the lot, where we presumed Phase Two was in the works, a very irate young man shouted, “Do something, damn it!”

I stopped, hoping he-was not addressing me since I had no idea what he had in mind. Haul Miss Parchester off the platform? Bulldoze the oak tree? Tie a yellow ribbon around it?

“Over there,” Luanne whispered.

In front of one of the units were two young men. Neither was smiling. The one with the more ferocious expression had shaggy black hair that flopped over his forehead, thin lips, and the angular jaw of a pugilist begging for a right hook. He wore a gray sweatshirt and jeans, standard campus attire for all but the dedicated preppies who aspired to become partners in their daddies’ law firms. The other man, his face round and flushed, wore a blue uniform with a patch on his shoulder, leading me to deduce a la Miss Marple that he was the security officer Caron had mentioned.

The latter began to sputter. “Why doncha give me a break? I already told you I can’t do anything. I warned them they was trespassing when they parked here, but nobody listened/Even the folks from the TV station ignored me. You want I should shoot them all?”

“I have a seminar in thirty minutes. How am I supposed to get there—hitchhike?”

“Beats me,” the officer said, then walked toward the back of the parking lot, where the crowd had gathered.

“This is insane!” howled the floppy-haired man. “There’s no way I can get my car out! What’s happened to my rights as a private citizen? What about my seminar?”

I decided to “intervene before he went berserk and attacked Miss Parchester and the other Farberville Greens. “Excuse me,” I said, “but we can give you a ride to the campus in a few minutes. I just need to speak to someone, and then I can drop you off in front of whichever building you prefer.”

“Who are you?” he demanded, huffing and puffing as only a graduate student can.

Luanne, whose Yankee blood comes to a boil every now and then, nudged me aside. “She is someone who has offered you a ride. If you are concerned that this is a ploy to take you to a remote county road, steal your wallet, and leave your battered body beside a scummy pond where your bodily fluids will be sucked by mosquitoes and leeches, then by all means start hitching a ride. I suggest you do so briskly.”

He gaped at her, then pushed back his hair. “No, I’d appreciate a ride. It’s just been—well, a bad day, and now this. I’ll get my backpack and wait here for you.” We watched him walk over to his condo and enter it.

Luanne and I resumed walking. A few people were heading in the same direction, but an equal number were coming the opposite way, now more interested in getting home than in staring at an elderly woman on a platform in a tree. The rednecks were milling around at the edge of the pavement, mumbling among themselves and, I hoped, tiring of the situation. The Farberville Green Party postured near the tree, clearly prepared to bash anyone who might dare to approach. The security officer had managed to evaporate for the time being. Where he’d found refuge was hard to determine, but I doubted his presence would do anything to help.

“Miss Parchester?” I called as we arrived at the nowinfamous tree. “It’s Claire Malloy.”

Her pink face, ringed with fluffy white hair, appeared at the edge of the platform. “How delightful of you to drop by, Claire. I’d offer you a cup of tea, but I cannot allow anyone to join me up here. You would, I think, enjoy the view, especially now. I can see the towers of Old Main as they are silhouetted in the rosy hues of the sunset. I wish I’d thought to bring my watercolors and a pad.”

“I need to come up there,” I said flatly.

Finnigan Baybergen moved in as though I’d brandished a chain saw. “Miss Parchester has chosen to hold a solitary vigil. No one will be allowed to join her.”

Luanne poked him so hard he nearly fell backward. “Listen here, buddy, if you don’t back off, I’ll back you off the bluff. Miss Parchester is not a poster child for your movement. She is more than capable of deciding for herself if she does or does not wish to entertain guests on this thing you’ve built.”

“We had a meeting last night,” he said as he rubbed his shoulder.

“I don’t care if your meeting was in Yalta.”

“Actually, it was at the Unitarian Center.”

Luanne advanced again on him. “And you drew straws to determine who would risk his or her life to sit in a tree? What about you, Assistant Professor Baybergen? Afraid of heights?”

I ignored both of them. “Why can’t I join you, Miss Parchester?”

“I really don’t see why not,” she said, looking a bit confused. “It’s not as if you’re going to drag me down, is it?”

“No, I promise I won’t do that. I’d just like to make sure you’re safe up there. Why don’t you drop the ladder and allow me to join you for a few minutes?”

A dubious contraption of rope and wooden crosspieces tumbled off the platform. I reminded myself that Miss Parchester, who was at least thirty years older than I, had used it to scramble up.

I may have been breathing heavily when I reached the platform, but I was reasonably calm. Miss Parchester helped me crawl away from the edge, then hauled up the ladder, squeezed my hand, and said, “This is so very kind of you, Claire. I must admit this is a bit stressful. Finnigan has done everything he can to assure my comfort and safety, but…”

“Are you sure this is what you want to do, Miss Parchester? Perhaps Finnigan or one of the other Green Party brigade ought to be here. Why did you agree to do this?”

“How about a nice cup of tea? I have this darling little propane stove. It won’t take a minute to heat a kettle of water.”

“Why you?” I persisted.

“Because I believe in the cause, my dear. We must pass along a proud heritage to the next generation, and the generations to come. How would you feel if you knew your grandchildren would spend their lives surrounded by asphalt? The Earth is precious, and we must fight to preserve it—trees, fields, birds, rivers free of pollutants that cause diseases, expanses of clover and black-eyed Susans, deer and foxes coexisting with domesticated animals. How can we sit at home and allow this to be destroyed by greedy men who would eradicate the intrinsic essence of nature in order to build tacky condominiums?”

I refused to be distracted by her Utopian manifesto. “Miss Parchester, your heart may be righteous, but it’s going to be cold tonight. At best, you can delay the bulldozers by a few days. The deer and the antelope are going to have to play somewhere else sooner or later.”

“Then it shall be later. Lemon and sugar?”

“You’ll be arrested for trespassing.”

“So be it. Papa always admired those who availed themselves of civil disobedience when no other options were left. If I am physically removed, I shall be kicking and screaming. Finnigan has assured me that legal assistance will be available.” She glanced down at the protesters. “He has also assured me that should this developer choose to have me forcibly removed, national media will be on hand to record the brutality. It’s quite likely I shall have a heart attack.”