David and Bryan wore wearing guilty expressions.
Brad took the jar and stirred it. “What is this stuff?”
“It’s fake bird poop,” exclaimed Bryan proudly. “We made it in science class.”
“David?”
“It’s a non-Newtonian fluid. That means it doesn’t follow Newton’s law, like ketchup, you know, you shake it and it gets thinner so you can pour it? Honey and peanut butter are too, and they’re inventing a liquid bullet proof vest. We did make it in science lab. We were mixing it and stuff, it’s mostly cornstarch and glue and stuff, and Jimmy picked some up and dropped it and it hit with a splat and he said it was like pigeon poop and, I don’t know, it just sort of snowballed from there.”
“David swiped the jar before recess and we came out here and have been dropping it on people and it’s been funny,” grinned his little brother. “It won’t stain or anything. And no one gets hurt. It just goes plop on your head or whatever.” Seeing the officers face he shut up and stopped smiling. “Are we in trouble?”
“Let’s see, you stole from the classroom, you’re out way past recess, so technically you’re truant, you’ve been attacking people with a science experiment, so that’s assault, and you’ve made me miss my lunch. Would you think you were in trouble?”
Just then, Aurora Anderson and Miss Beckley came across the park. “And here come your teachers, right on time, and I think you’ve got trouble. And if they don’t give you enough hell,” the little boys eyes got big at his use of a bad word, “then when I talk to your dad, I suspect you’re going to have even bigger trouble.”
“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said politely. “Would you be looking for the boys?”
“We would indeed and I see you’ve got our experiment which is supposed to be sitting on the table settling for the next class,” said Mrs. Anderson. “Just how did that get out here?”
The sheriff gave the teachers a rundown of the last hours activities. Their faces passed through the unlikely progression of relief, disbelief, upset, and into two women desperately trying not to laugh at the latest antic of the pastor’s boys.
“I think I see some detentions coming on,” said Ms. Beckley. “Thank you kindly for capturing them, but if you can put them back into our custody, we’ll handle this as an internal affair.”
“Strikes me that some external application might be in order, but we can have their dad do that. Shall I cuff them for you?”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary,” smiled Aurora. “Missing recess for a week, and afterschool chores for the week as well, ought to make them think a bit about their sins.”
“I’m rather fond of writing out the seventh commandment five hundred times, but this is a public school,” replied Brad. “However, I can get the secular for you from the Revised Code. It’s nearly thirty pages long, the section on stealing and the various types. Handwriting thirty pages a few times might take them until Christmas but could make them into lawyers.” The boy’s faces were approaching abject horror as each punishment was discussed, each one worse than the last.
“I’d consider that a fate worse than death,” answered Ms. Beckley. “The lawyering, not the writing. The writing could teach them exactness and to be more careful. If you could just sort of email that text to me as an attachment?”
“No!” gasped David. “Softball season just started last week. I have after school practice. I can’t spend the time writing. I have to learn to pitch.”
“Pitching may take a back burner to whatever the officer has to say,” came a voice. They all turned to see Pastor Atherton standing quietly with his arms folded. “Just what have you two been doing this time?”
The pastor checked out the really quite interesting glop in the jar, the boy’s faces and abject demeanor, heard the story and said,” How many people did you actually hit with this stuff?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do.”
“There was old Mrs. Drummond, and she said a bad word, and a couple Amishmen, who said something in German, and a couple high schoolers and the detective and that old lady who’s spinner we found,”
“Back up, what old lady?”
“The one that gave David the spinner.”
“Did she actually give it to you?”
“No, she sort of dropped it and kept walking and I picked it up and studied it and then Bill called me and I ran over to the class but the teacher caught me with it and then the detective came.”
“I see. Anyone else?”
“No, the rest we sort of missed.”
“There’s a lot of non-Newtonian fluid missing and we needed the entire bottle for class,” replied his teacher. “You will need to stand before the class when we go back and apologize for ruining science class for today. You will miss the points from the afternoon lab quiz and everyone else will get full points. You will stay in for the week after school for thirty minutes cleaning the room, and you will write an essay overseen by your father, no less than three hundred words, on the evils of stealing, due Friday. Do you understand?”
David nodded glumly. His little brother looked up hopefully at his second-grade teacher.
“Bryan, I know you just followed your big brother, but you could have turned back at any time. You will miss all recesses this week. You will write fifty times, ‘I will not steal again.’ Your father can do at home whatever he feels is right about this, but until this is completed before Friday, you will consider yourself on room arrest: no recess, no prizes, and you need to sit in the back thinking-chair corner for the rest of the week by yourself to do your work. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He was biting his lower lip to avoid crying.
“Pastor Atherton, David will be home late tonight.”
“I will be waiting when he comes home.”
“You boys run back to the classroom. I shall call the aide and tell her what is to be done now,” said Ms. Anderson, pulling out her cell. “March right now.”
The boys ran/walked across the park. When they were over half way across, Brad started to chuckle, the teachers joined him, and soon all four adults had given into their impulse to laugh.
Sheriff Black came upon them as they were starting to settle down. “I don’t see a flock of pigeons,” he said. “I’ve been getting complaints, and so has the mayor that the pigeons are overrunning the park. Lots of droppings,” he was interrupted by the laughter starting up again. The two teachers shook their heads and turned back to the school. The pastor wiped his eyes.
Brad was left to explain to the sheriff who, halfway through, started chuckling and got out his phone. “I’ll just call over to the Mayor’s office and let him know we stopped the bombing and dispersed the pigeons. Sheesh! Those boys remind me of me when I was that age.” He shook his head. “I came over to let you know there’s been another spindle issue.”
“Oh?”
“Appears that six or seven of them have come up missing at the fiber shop. Allyssa is really upset and says she doesn't think any of her ladies would have done that. They were in some sort of bucket or jar or something. Anyway, Jed took the report but thought you’d want to add it to the other two cases.”
“Well, one of them is solved. One of those spindles belongs to an older lady and David had it. She dropped it and rather than give it back, he chased other kids with it. Kid has more energy than sense.”
Just then, there was the sound of running feet. The two boys in question had run back from the school.
“Officer Brad?” asked David. “We have to go back to school but mom always told us if we hurt somebodies’ feelings or anything, we ought to apologize. I haven’t figured out how we’re going to apologize to the other people, but we’re going to apologize to the class at school and we want to say we’re sorry for causing you trouble and making you miss your lunch.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that. And I want to ask you to do something for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Come over to the car.” He led them over, got into the trunk and pulled out a small book.
“A bunch of kids work with me helping keep our town safe. I want you to consider joining our group of detectives. Before you earn your badges, you have to read this book, cover to cover and tell me what you think of becoming one of my Irregulars.” He handed them a book for kids of Sherlock Holmes Mysteries that happened to focus on Sherlock as a child. He’d gotten a couple dozen copies and thus far had made good use of them among the younger set at the school.
“What?” asked David. “You want us to be deputies?”
“Read the book and then read it to your brother, and we’ll talk. And don’t get into any more trouble. Now scoot.”
He stood up and shut the trunk lid.
“That a good idea?”
“I’ve found if you give kids a nudge in the right direction, they can be really helpful. And it will keep them out of trouble. I hope. I’ll run over and see the Fiber Mavens.”
Chapter Nine
“Here we are, Mom,” announced Casey as her mother opened the door. “Kai gets pretty excited when he knows we’re pulling up to your house. Enya is just quiet and watches everything with those big blue eyes.”
“Well, of course. This is the official spoil-a-grandchild center,” she grinned. “Kai, you just wait to see what we’re going to get into today! Enya, I have a new teddy bear for you.”
Casey laughed. “I’ll be back by lunch. I just have morning visits and then back home.”
“I thought that man of yours had you convinced to stay home?”
“He tried. But Mom, there are so many hurting people out there. As long as this little man can have good care from his dad or his sister or grandma, I can do at least a little to alleviate the pain.”
Knowing her daughter and that further argument would not end well, Mrs. Armstrong changed the subject. “What did you think of the new spinning teacher?”
“She was lovely. I can’t wait to take ourselves out to meet her flocks. Brad promised to get me a bar stool to sit on so I have a farther drop for the spindle.”
“A bar stool! That’s a good idea. Tell him to snag one for me.”
“He said he’ll ask Finian. I’ll tell him at least three, for Annie wants one, too.” The Finian in question ran Finian’s Fine Furniture Store, a place that dealt in new and old furniture, an eclectic group of both. You might find a modern couch sitting next to 1950’s kitchen dinettes, or a Queen Anne chair next to end tables made of logs. It sounds jarring, but somehow, Finian made it all work well. The idea he could have some errant bar stools somewhere in the warehouse didn’t surprise anyone. In fact, he had recently pulled several spinning wheels of various vintage out to display, as so many people were talking about them right now. He’d asked Dana to come in and make sure they had all their pieces. Three of the five were in perfect shape, and she bought two of them on the spot; the others she explained where to get parts to repair them, so he figured to sell them soon. She’d told him the ones she bought weren’t antiques, they were simply Ashford travelers, but she needed them for the classes and he’d given her a good price for them. The remaining working wheel was a Kromski.
Anyway, he’d told Brad he had some bar stools, could not guarantee they matched each other but they were sturdy and serviceable. Brad had told Casey he’d get them for her this afternoon. Casey explained this to her mother.
“Well, that’s good,” said her mother. “We’ll have them in time to help with the homework. How are you doing? Which roving did you get?”
“I chose cream because I want to try dying it. Annie took copper colored.”
“I got black. It will go well with my coat. I can’t get over how soft this stuff feels.”
“It does. Allyssa told me they’d shortly be handling some other rovings in dyed colors in the shop. I can’t wait to see them. Well, I need to be off. One more kiss, there, on my way to my client.”
“You be careful.”
“I always am.”
Casey drove off, considering how nice early fall weather felt. Leaves against the blue sky were gorgeous, yellows, reds, oranges, and some sort of a lime green – they’d softened from their dark green and, against the other leaves, stood out like beacons. The assorted white and Scotch pines here and there gave the small hills outside the feel of a warm patchwork quilt, covering the hills, putting them all to sleep for winter. Here and there farmers were out finishing the hay harvest, or soybeans or planting winter wheat. Some of the Amish fields had actual corn shucks standing up in them, like tilted old giants, stooping in the fields in neat rows. She followed progressively smaller roads until she reached gravel roads and then a long lane, where she pulled in. Her client lived back here on a secluded farm.
Casey left her windows down; there wasn’t a sign of rain. She left her briefcase and took her bag to the door, where she was met by a tired farm mother with three kids. The children were set aside to work on a game and the mother sat down to talk about the week with Casey. Sometimes Casey thought that just having a listening ear was all the folks needed, just someone to listen and trust. They were willing to make changes if they could just see why. Casey’s job as a therapist was to aid them in finding ways to make changes that would make their lives and their families lives more stable. She interjected some ideas and options here and there, but for most of the back-country clients, she would be the only other person besides their family that they would see, sometimes for weeks at a time. The session hour seemed to pass quickly. Casey gave each of the children a sticker for being quiet, and left.
When she got back to her car she groaned. Sitting in her back seat, acting as if he owned it, sat a goat. She was pretty sure it had just come through the window but her lunch bag was rapidly being chewed up and swallowed. She went back to the house and knocked on the door.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Roberts. I seem to have gotten inhabited while we were in. You think your boy could come out and take the goat out of the car?”
“Oh, heaven’s sake, I hope he hasn’t caused any damage.” The mother and her kids came out and hauled the goat out of the car. “I can’t imagine why she’d do that!” Poor Mrs. Roberts was so embarrassed.
“I suspect it was the sandwich in my lunch bag. It ought not harm her and I’m not really hungry, and doesn’t appear he got into anything else. Is she expecting?”
“All the goats are bred right now.”
“She was just nibbly, that’s all. No real harm done.” Casey reached in and brushed the seat off, then noticed the spindle on the floor.
“Now that’s odd. Do you spin? Pretty sure the goat doesn’t.”
“No, lands, I’d not have time for such doings. Pretty thing though.”
“I can’t imagine how it got in the back seat. My spindle is at home.”
“Can I make you a sandwich?” asked Mrs. Roberts.
“Oh, no, I’m fine. I have to get along. I have three more calls to make today. You remember to do your calming exercises, morning and evening.”
Casey drove off. The car smelled vaguely of goat so she left the windows down. She got back to the main road and saw her husband driving by, so she honked the horn. He waved and kept going. He had Jed with him so they were most likely off on a case. She waited for traffic and looked at the spindle. It was solid wood, the whorl being some dark shade she guessed was walnut. It was indeed a pretty thing. “I’ll have a story to tell Brad this evening,” she thought to herself. “Goats in the car leaving spindles. At least someone is giving out good stuff and causing no harm this time. Two more clients and a quick stop to enter the data in the computer and I’ll pick up the babies.”
Chapter Ten
“It’s a good crowd,” remarked Brad as he and Jed pulled up to the Hershberger’s farm.
“Great day for a barn raising,” he replied. “They were able to save some of it. What happened to the boys on Rumspringer?”
“Rumspringa, and they’re in their pare
nts’ custody. There’s some doubt in my mind as to motive here. I talked it over with the sheriff and judge and we’ve got a plan. I’m here to talk to the boys and their father’s at intermission, so to speak. Here they come now.”
The three Amish fathers were headed his way, followed by three boys whose heads were bowed down a bit as they followed.
“Brad, why are you doing this in public? Normally you would meet in private?” Jed was concerned.
“The boys’ dads wanted it public. They apologize in public for their sins and it’s my understanding the boys apologized in church last week, so everyone will know why we’re here. And yeah, I’m not comfortable, but it’s a culture thing.” They men got out of the car and headed towards the Amishmen, stopping after ten feet as they came to meet the officers.
“Morning, Jacob, Enoch, David,” nodded Brad. “Great day for a barn raising.”
“Yah, we come together always to help each other,” replied David, extending his hand to shake. “The burnt parts were cleaned out last week by family mostly, and our barn expert came and let us know what was needed, so we had the wood all here and in place and now it’s getting done. While we’re at it, we’re enlarging a little, adding to one end. It will be good when it’s done. But admiring our new barn isn’t why you’ve come?”
“No, it’s not. However, can the young men involved come up here where I can see them?” The boys, who had been partially hidden behind their fathers, now reluctantly stepped around them and stood closer to the officers.
“Boys, there is some doubt in our minds as to how much of this was deliberate, and how much was foolish error. For sure, hiding fireworks in a barn wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but, thank goodness, you’d not hidden them in your bedroom or basements. Taking them from an older person you didn’t know was maybe not so wise either, and we’ve yet to find the old lady who allegedly gave them to you. Firing them off behind the firehouse was most likely in the category of being foolish, not being spiteful. After discussion with the sheriff and the local juvenile court judge, they’re content with this, and we’ll see what your folks have to say about it as well.
Criminally Spun Out: Book 5 of the Fiber Maven's Mysteries Page 5