Thistle and Twigg (8 page)

W
hen he reappeared from his shower, dressed in his clean clothes, Cal reached in the bag he brought with him and took out an old notebook. “After we talked the other night,” he said, “I went ahead and wrote out a few things about our deal.” I took the notebook proffered and skimmed it. In rough language, he had made a bill of sale, according to our agreement.

“Cal, considering the circumstances, perhaps we should let this go for a while. After all, much more important things occupy our minds at the moment.”

“No.” He shook his head adamantly. “There ain’t nothing more important than this. This here,” he said tapping the notebook heavily with a tobacco-stained finger, “is the only important thing there is. I want it to be a done deal.”

“Of course I want the same but there’s no need to hurry. Right now; we need to call a lawyer for you.” Since I knew only my own, I was about to ring him to see if he could refer us to a criminal lawyer.

“Wait.” He sat very still. Indecision and pain lined his face. “I got my own.” He took his wallet out of his back pants pocket, fingered through a number of cards, and pulled one out. It was yellowed and quite wrinkled, as if he’d been carrying it a long time.

“Come sit down at the table and eat a bite. You look famished. I’ll call him for you.”

He handed the card to me. I called and asked for the lawyer but was told he was out of town. The secretary said his junior associate agreed to come straightaway.

“Cal,” I said when I hung up, “you must be completely honest with the police. If you are innocent but lie to them about something trivial, you will discredit yourself needlessly. You understand that already, I’m sure. Just remember to choose your words carefully.”

He nodded. “I know you’re right. I’ve been there before.”

I hoped he would also keep jail in mind. He’d been there before as well.

“You didn’t have to fix this,” he said of the plate of food I sat before him. “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”

“You need your strength. It’s no trouble at all.” I’d scrambled a few more eggs and a bit of ham for Homer, still on the back porch. I set the bowl down next to him and by the time I brought him another bowl of water he’d cleaned his plate.

“Here is what I’ve been thinking,” I said. I sat down next to him with a glass of tea. “When the lawyer comes, we’ll talk about the bill of sale, if it will ease your mind. Then, in a day or two, we’ll see where we need to go from there.”

“I’ll be in jail by then, I reckon.”

“You mustn’t think that. They will ask you questions. A murder was committed on your property. It’s inevitable. They’ll have no evidence against you.”

A derisive smile curled his lips. “Evidence or no, they’ll lock me up. He was on my property And yes, I’ve been known to shoot at people. But I never hit anybody. Could have if I wanted to. Ain’t nothing wrong with my aim.”

“It makes no difference. They must prove you shot this time. The past doesn’t matter.”

For the first time, Cal lifted his eyes to mine. They were full of disbelief but he said nothing.

Not long after, the front doorbell rang. I looked through the window beside the door. I expected to see Cal’s lawyer, certainly, but was not prepared to see the lawyer was a she, a young and beautiful lady Her straight red hair hung to her shoulders with short bangs on top. Her summer-weight suit was pale yellow, the skirt of which just touched her knees.

“Mrs. Thistle? I’m Shelley Barnette from Hannigan and Wade.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” I said, as her small hand shook mine. I noted her control as she saw Cal. Only a flicker sped across her eyes before we stepped through to the kitchen. Curiosity? Compassion? I couldn’t tell.

“Hello, Mr. Prewitt. Shelley Barnette. Pleased to meet you,” she said, as she put her hand out. Cal took it and gave a tentative shake. “Ma’am,” he said.

Shelley smiled. “Mr. Wade is out of town. I hope you don’t mind that I’m his replacement.”

“No, ma’am,” he said. His face looked transformed and obviously pleased with his new counsel. He pulled a chair out for her to sit, then returned to his own. She set her briefcase on the table, and we got right down to business.

While we explained Cal’s situation, she jotted a few notes in a leather organizer. She didn’t interrupt either of us. When we’d finished, she sat without speaking for a few moments, then said, “Mr. Prewitt, first, we need to call the police right away. I’ll be happy to do that, but I believe it would look better if you did so yourself.”

I took the card Detective Waters had given me and handed it to Cal. He said nothing but took it, walked to the phone on the kitchen wall, and dialed.

“Detective Waters? Yes, sir, this here is Cal Prewitt. I just stopped by Jane Thistle’s house and she said y’all were a’looking for me. Say there’s been some trouble out at my place?” After a few moments of listening, Cal said, “Yes, sir. I’ll be right here then waiting on you.”

I must have sighed too loudly as he replaced the cradle, for he laughed at me as his own worried look relaxed. “You ain’t got to worry about me. I’ve been playing with them boys for a long time. You might say it’s my avocation.”

He drew out the last word with a slow delight. Even at what might be his weakest point, healthwise, with certainly a dark outlook for his immediate future, the force of his personality sparkled out of his eyes into mine.

I would like to have seen Detective Waters’ reaction on receiving Cal’s call. Naturally, it would be good news for him, but I pitied the officer stationed outside who would surely be reprimanded for letting Cal slip by unseen.

Before Cal returned to his seat, he retrieved the hand-written rough draft of his bill of sale for his land. He tried to smooth wrinkles out of the paper in front of Miss Barnette. “Young lady, there’s something else I’d like you to do for me.”

She smiled and read over the document. Her eyebrows rose high on her forehead. Her finger slid down the page with a pause at each of Cal’s stipulations. “I see. Well, this looks straightforward enough. It brings up a few questions that I’ll need to doublecheck first.” Her brow furrowed. “I’ll look into everything and get it written up in legalese,” she said, giving me a wink and a smile. “I can have it back to you in a few days to sign.”

“No, ma’am,” Cal said. “No, ma’am, that won’t do.”

“Did you need it sooner?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’d like it to be official now, just like it is. It’s got to be right. No confusion. No loopholes. No wiggle room for lawyers. No offense. Just saying it like it is.”

She laughed, looking at the rumpled sheet, front and back. “No offense taken. Still, there are some specific points I need to research to be sure what you want will hold up. I want it worded right just like you.”

A knock at the door prompted Cal to interrupt. “That’s why I need it now,” he said, as he pointed toward the door. “I want everything set before they cart me off.”

Shelley’s eyebrows wrinkled. She looked as if she might want to further her argument.

I stood and offered a compromise. “Let’s say this is the temporary agreement,” I said. “We can do as you wish now, Cal, then she can draw up a more detailed one from that to override it later, if necessary. After you’ve approved it, of course. Is that agreeable?”

Cal nodded. He didn’t say it, but I believe he thought he might be gone before the second document was drafted.

Shelley looked from the paper to her watch to the door. “Wait. Let me make a quick call. Mr. Prewitt, if you could come with me or wait in another room, that would give me a little more time. I don’t want you saying anything to the police unless I’m there. Mrs. Thistle, do you think you could entertain the officer for a few minutes?”

“Certainly,” I said, heading for the door. “Use the phone in the kitchen, if you like.”

“Thanks. I’ve got mine.” She held up a tiny cell phone. She grabbed the bill of sale and stepped quickly to the kitchen.

“Tell him I’m in the restroom,” Cal said, as he turned in the opposite direction toward the hallway

I let in the police officer, who was extremely young and quick as well, judging from the short amount of time between Cal’s call and the doorbell’s ring. Detective Waters must have radioed him from the station, and this man would surely be the one I’d seen parked in the shade of the refuge trees.

I asked him in and told him Cal would be just a moment. “Make yourself comfortable, officer. May I get you something to drink?” Shelley was still on her phone when I entered the kitchen.

“Okay. Will do. Talk to you when you get back.” She disconnected and turned her phone off before putting it in her briefcase. “Now, let’s get the two of you to sign this.”

Shelley gathered her things, the bill of sale last, and went to the hall where Cal walked slowly toward us. We stopped at the small hall table and put our signatures at the bottom of the document. “And you have the money?” she asked.

“Oh. No. That is, I don’t have it in cash.”

“I’ll take one dollar in earnest money,” Cal said. “The rest to be made payable by say one week from today Does that suit you?”

“Very well.”

Cal waved his hand over the paper. “Write that down, Miz Shelley.”

She did so while I got a dollar bill from my purse. We checked her amendment, I gave Cal the dollar, and we shook hands. Shelley then locked the document away in her briefcase. Cal offered his hand to Shelley as well. “I thank you. I guess I don’t have to tell you that this is strictly confidential. Don’t tell a soul.”

“You’re my client. You have my word.”

Cal took a deep breath. “Good. I appreciate that.”

“Mr. Prewitt?” Our officer had stepped into view. “Detective Waters asked if I’d give you a ride to the station.”

Cal turned to him. “Thank you. That’s mighty kind.”

“May I go, too?” I asked. “I can drive him home when you’re through and save you the trouble.”

“Not sure what time we’ll get done, ma’am,” the young officer said.

Shelley stepped forward. “It’s all right, Mrs. Thistle. I’ll be glad to bring him home. Shortly.” She gave the young policeman a quick glance. “Mr. Prewitt has volunteered to answer a few questions and has graciously agreed to do so at the station so as not to inconvenience the very busy Detective Waters. Considering Mr. Prewitt’s health and age, I think he’s being more than cooperative, don’t you agree, officer?” The policeman blushed a little and looked away, as if something in my china cabinet suddenly caught his interest.

Shelley tucked her briefcase under her arm and patted its side. “Now then. All official and no wiggle room.” She winked at Cal. “Shall we?”

Cal smiled and crooked his arm for her like an escort at a fancy ball. He was smitten.

I followed the three of them outside. Shelley steered Cal to her own car without a word and deposited him in the passenger seat. The poor young policeman looked like a helpless pup. Shelley’s charms had an effect on him as well. “I’ll follow,” he said. I suppressed a smile.

Cal rolled his window down. “Cal, dear, don’t worry about Homer,” I said. “I’ll enjoy his company this afternoon.” The humor present only a few seconds earlier in his dark eyes was replaced by a bleak stare. He nodded and whispered, “Thank you,” as Shelley started the engine.

T
he R. D. Basham Recreational Sporting Range was built right on the line between Winston and Bankhead counties. The land looked a lot like Cal’s place, only taken care of and prettier. Off behind us in the distance was Bankhead National Forest about a half-mile away from where we set up to shoot.

We registered for the one-day workshop at the welcome desk inside the lobby of the office building. It looked more like a lodge. It’s a real popular place for the men in town, especially on Saturdays when the wives run their husbands out of the house. Men of all ages milled around the place while I signed up. The old guys held coffee cups and the young ones drank Cokes from the vending machine.

I was the only woman there. That didn’t bother me a bit, not with that handsome instructor. Ever since I first heard of Jack Blay lock, he has been winning one championship or another for shooting or hunting. He travels all over for tournaments and the like so we hardly ever see him in Tullulah. He’d make a good movie star with his dark hair and moustache, kind of like Tom Selleck but in camouflage or waders. His hair color looked natural even though he had to be near my age. I figured he was part Indian like a lot of people around here. I’ve tried and tried to find Cherokees or Chicka-saws or Choctaws in my genealogy. I haven’t yet officially, but I know way down deep that I am part Indian. I don’t care if I never find it out for certain on paper, I still know it. Just because it’s not written in some white boy book doesn’t mean a flip. They don’t know everything. They want you to think they do, but they don’t.

We had a class in one of the rooms first. Jack handed out a stack of papers about gun safety cleaning your guns, storing your guns, and first-aid tips in case you shoot yourself. Everybody in the class but me was a young boy, about a dozen of them. Their dads stood back out of the way because Jack didn’t want them to “distract” the boys. I think he really meant “interfere.”

I wasn’t surprised I was the only woman. Around Tullulah, probably in all Alabama, females fall into one of three categories when it comes to guns. A few have been shooting since they were kids; they were tomboys with older brothers and wanted to do whatever they did, so they don’t need lessons. Or they’re the kind who don’t believe a lady should shoot when there’s a perfectly good man right there in the house to do it for her.

The biggest category though is women who just don’t have time. They’re so busy doing for their families and friends and church that they wouldn’t dream of taking time out to learn to shoot, especially on a Saturday, when their husbands aren’t able to be much help since they’re out in the woods with their buddies getting sloshed and looking for something to kill.

The classroom stuff was boring and not worth paying attention to. Outside was a different story. We lined up thirteen across with thirteen targets in front of us. The shooting center rents ear and eye protection, but we got to use them free. We spent about thirty minutes getting used to firing with Jack walking down the row to check everybody. He helped people to stand and hold their guns right.

He took special care of me. The first few times I shot my CZ, which was a lot more powerful than I would’ve thought, it jerked around in my hands so bad I dropped it. Jack looked after me real good after that. The most thrilling moment was not when I hit the target, although that was pretty fun. The best part was how Jack put his arms around me while showing me how to aim. One time he put his cheek against mine, you know, to see the target better, and he gave me a little squeeze after I shot. Talk about motivation.

I tried not to get too flustered, him being so close and all. Instead, I concentrated on the lessons, so I’d know how to load and unload when I was by myself. I wished I had Jane there with me to help me remember things, but since she already knows how to shoot, she would’ve been bored. Besides, it felt good to not have a tag-along with me. Especially one as cute as Jane. Competition is mighty tough when you’re our age.

We went inside for a box lunch, also included in the registration price. The eating area had tables and flimsy chairs with plastic seats and metal legs. On the other end of the room they had a sink, microwave, and a refrigerator. Jack sat with us students, but the daddies sat away from us.

You’d think I wouldn’t have enough in common with this particular group of boys, all young enough to be my grandchildren. True, some of them snickered at me because they thought I was a decrepit little old lady. They changed their tune when one boy said, “I know you! You were on TV about finding that dead man.”

This drew a good bit of respect from a crowd usually only impressed with video games. They wanted all the details, being curious just like all little boys. “Tell us! Tell us!” they said, so I did.

“Well, all right. Let me see now. It all started the other day at Wriggle’s Sporting Goods …”

We shot for another hour or two after lunch. Jack paid more attention to me than anybody else. Later, Jack and a couple of other men demonstrated how to walk or run with your gun ready, which was harder than you’d think. They did a few rough and tumble moves to show how to handle an armed attacker without getting shot. After they finished, we learned how to clean our guns. Jack came over to the folding table where I worked. “You did a fine job, Phoebe. I hope you got something out of the class.”

“Oh, I did. You’re an excellent teacher.”

“It does my heart good to see a lady learning to defend herself.” He smiled at me. “A weaker woman would’ve stayed in her house the rest of her life, after a horrible experience like you had.” He smiled as he took my hand and rubbed the back of it.

Ooh-wee, who turned the heat on. “Not me. No, sir, I intend to do just like I always have. I give everybody the benefit of the doubt. Then if they turn out to be scum, I’m ready for them.” I patted the gun and took a deep breath. “I appreciate your help so much. Why don’t you come over for supper tonight?”

He looked away so in a hurry, I said, “My friend Jane, that was with me when I found the body, is coming over, too. There’ll be plenty.”

“I wish I hadn’t already made other plans.”

“Maybe another time,” I said. He winked and went over to shake hands with a few of the boys.

I fanned myself with the safety handout he’d given us as soon as he turned his back. My whole body felt like it was on fire.

T
HREE HOURS LATER, I WAS FINISHING UP THE DIRTY POTS
and pans I’d used to fix supper when Jane rang my doorbell. She carried a bouquet of flowers and handed them to me as she stepped into the living room.

I went in the kitchen and poured us a glass of tea. “Everything’s ready whenever you’re hungry.”

“I’m famished. It has been a very long day. I hope your class went well. Did you enjoy yourself?”

“I sure did. I didn’t hit anything much. I believe my target was cockeyed.” We talked about all the shooting and what all we did. And of course I talked about Jack.

She told me about finding Cal under her house. What a lowlife. Didn’t I say he was no account? I took a bite of squash casserole and pointed my fork at Jane. “Watch out for him. He may be old and sick but he’s still sharp upstairs.” I pointed at my head. “Sly. Conniving, is what he is. He’s liable to tell you anything to get what he wants.”

“Really Phoebe, he has done nothing.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure. He must have something up his sleeve. We just don’t know what it is yet.” The lime and pineapple Jell-O salad had turned out good, if I do say so myself, so I spooned a little more on my plate while Jane talked.

“I called the police station before I left home,” Jane said. “He and Shelley are still there. I thought I’d stop by on the way home.”

“You’re too soft-hearted, Jane. I understand how you might feel sorry for him, him being sick and alone. It’s sad, I give you that, but he’s still low class. You shouldn’t be worrying about him.” I got up to take our plates away and poured us both a cup of coffee while I was up.

“Look here,” I said. “Let that cute little Shelly Barnette take care of him. She has always been one smart young lady. Her mama and daddy are so proud of her they could bust. Not just anybody could have got all the scholarships she did and then get a plum of a job at Hannigan and Wade. There’s no more respectable business in the whole area. Mighty good folks. So don’t worry about any of that. She knows what she’s doing.”

Jane sat staring into space. “I like him. I want to help him.” She took a sip of coffee. “And I am convinced he is innocent.”

I sighed but didn’t say anything else. When somebody’s hard-headed, you might as well just hush. She’d just have to find out for herself.

I’d fixed a peach cobbler the night before. I took it out of the refrigerator and put it in the oven. Meanwhile, we took our coffee with us and walked through the house to my front porch and sat while the cobbler cooked.

My porch isn’t like Jane’s. Hers is big and rich looking and goes across the whole front of her house and wraps around to the side. Mine is the poor folks’ version, a little screened-in box. But you know what? Jane said it was so comfortable she’d stay out here day and night if it was hers. She meant it, too. She liked the pots of geraniums and ferns I had around us. We got to talking about Gladys Philpott, my next-door neighbor, and her mums, and then walked over to her yard so Jane could see the ones just now blooming.

It was about six thirty, still light outside and still fairly hot. A little breeze helped cool us off but the gnats were swarming. We got tired of fighting them off and walked back toward the house. “The oven buzzer should be going off any minute anyway” I said as a bug fell in my coffee cup. We reached the grouping of dogwood trees set about midway between the house and the street.

“What sort of ground cover is this?” Jane asked. She bent down to touch the leaves.

“That’s a variegated periwinkle my sister from Augusta brought me. If you want some, you’re welcome to them. They’d look pretty out there around that big maple tree in your front yard. Here, let’s go ahead and get you some clumps.”

I bent down to pull up a handful for her when all of a sudden we heard glass breaking around the back of my house and the sound of tires digging in and slinging gravel in the alley out back. We both looked up and right then
Boom!
—an explosion rocked the ground and fire shot straight out all my kitchen windows.

Jane and I screamed and hugged each other while Lowell Tuten, my next-door neighbor on the other side, came running out of his house with a red-checked napkin tucked under his chin. He took one look at us and the house, and then ran back in to call the fire department.

You never heard such a roaring. That fire sounded like a locomotive coming at us. The explosion took out the whole outside kitchen wall and the whole back porch blew clean off. Flames just kept getting bigger and they shot out all over the place, higher and higher. I worried they’d burn up my shade trees before the fire trucks got there.

“We could’ve been killed,” I said. “If we’d been in that kitchen, we would’ve flown out of there like two slices of burnt bread popping out of a toaster.”

“Was it the stove do you think?” Jane asked. “The gas line, perhaps?”

“It’s electric.” By now, the shock was wearing off. All I could think of was my brand-new rug and matching kitchen towels I got at Dillard’s and paid full price for.

“How then? I’ve never heard of an electric oven exploding.”

“I have no idea,” I said. “But I know one thing for sure. That peach cobbler is good and done.”

Several neighbors came over to talk to us and watch the firemen work. Once they finally cut off the hoses, and the smoke and steam cleared, I could see there was nothing left whatsoever of my kitchen, other than the oven and the refrigerator, but they were ready for the junkyard now. It looked like a black hole in there— melted appliances, woodwork, linoleum, all black as a pit.

“Molotov cocktail,” the fire chief, a big guy with soot all over him, said as he came toward us. “Folks that live behind you said they saw a pickup truck, no tag, driving down your alley, and saw it earlier going real slow past in the street. We’ll be running some tests, but right now I’d say it looks like this fire was set deliberate.”

“Arson!” Jane gasped. She put her arm around my shoulder and said, “There, there, dear. Don’t cry. We have much to be thankful for. No one was hurt,” she said, as a policeman with a notepad walked over.

I watched the smoke billowing out of the ragged opening where my kitchen had been. “No one has been hurt yet, you mean,” I said. “Mr. Fireman, I sure hope y’all catch whoever did this before I do. Jail bars are about the only thing to keep the dirty dogs safe from me.”

“Now, Miz Twigg, these people are obviously dangerous. You let the experts handle this. We’ll get them.”

“This is my fight, too,” I said, shaking my head. Those “experts” couldn’t possibly understand how this hurt me. It had taken me two weeks to pick out just the right artificial flower arrangement to match the colors in my wallpaper. They matched good now, all right, seeing as how walls and flowers alike were all one new color, Charcoal Briquette.

Jane gave my shoulders a squeeze. “You’ll come stay with me. No question.”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose,” I said.

“Nonsense. I have plenty of room. I insist. At least until you can see about getting some sort of temporary wall in place and a new door and lock.”

I didn’t have much choice. We couldn’t stand there looking at the firemen all night. Luckily, the upstairs closets kept my clothes fairly smoke free. I picked out a few outfits and other things I’d need for a few days and threw them all in a suitcase. Smoke and dust covered everything downstairs. It would take me a week of steady cleaning to get everything back to normal. We gave the chief Jane’s phone number. He said he’d let me know as soon as they found anything and promised to stay in touch.