by Bill Crider
“Look what you’ve done, Sherm,” Jennifer said. “She’s not dead.”
Sally didn’t see or hear Sherm’s reaction, if he had one. She was too busy trying to maintain her balance.
“We have to do something,” Jennifer said.
“What?” Sherm asked.
“Go over there and hang on to her. That way she’ll choke to death.”
Sherm said he didn’t want to do that.
Jennifer insisted.
Sherm gave in and started toward Sally.
Then the doorbell rang.
Seepy knew that someone was inside Sally’s house. He could hear voices. They were muffled, so he couldn’t tell if one of them was Sally’s. He wondered if she might still be gone. What if burglars had closed the shutters so they couldn’t be seen while they took Sally’s TV, VCR, DVD player, computer, and all the other things that burglars took?
Seepy knew he wasn’t really Roy Rogers, or even Gabby Hayes, but he couldn’t allow burglars to make off with Sally’s property. He set down his guitar case and pushed the bell button again and again.
“Who is that?” Jennifer said.
Sherm shrugged. “Maybe he’ll leave.”
The bell kept ringing.
“Go to the door, Sherm. And be careful. Don’t show your face, and don’t let anybody in. We can’t afford to let anybody see us.”
“I know that,” Sherm said.
He went to the door and opened it, leaving the safety chain on as Sally had done earlier.
“Yes?” he said, staying behind the door and out of Seepy’s sight. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to see Miss Good,” Seepy said.
“She’s busy right now. She doesn’t want to see you.”
Seepy couldn’t see who was doing the talking, and he didn’t believe that Sally didn’t want to see him. She hadn’t even known he was coming. He craned his neck, trying to see into the room.
“She asked me to stop by,” Seepy said. He picked up the nylon guitar case. “She wanted to hear some of the new songs I’ve written.”
“Well, she must have made a mistake telling you that,” Sherm said. “She invited us over.”
“Who’s us?”
“None of your business,” Sherm said.
He started to close the door, but Seepy got his shoe in the crack.
“What’s all that noise?” Seepy said.
The noise was Sally, who was dancing around on her toes and making the loudest noises she could with the duct tape across her mouth.
“It sounds like someone’s in trouble,” Seepy said. “I’m coming in.”
“No. You can’t do that.”
Seepy shoved on the door with his shoulder. It stopped at the end of the chain. Seepy thought he saw movement in the room, as if someone else had come to the door. The noises from inside the house got a bit louder.
Seepy took a step back. As Sherm tried again to close the door, Seepy rammed into it with his shoulder.
Seepy was not a small man, and he worked out for an hour a day on his home gym.
Sherm, on the other hand, was small and didn’t work out at all. The door smacked him in the face, and the screws of the safety chain pulled out of the wall.
Seepy went through the door, carrying his guitar case and looking around for Sally.
He didn’t see her at first. Instead he saw Sherm, who was holding his hands over his nose. Blood was coming from between his fingers.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Seepy said, just before he saw Jennifer, who was coming at him with a knife raised above her head. If her hair had been in a bun, she would have been a dead ringer for the deranged Anthony Perkins in Psycho.
As she brought the knife down, Seepy put his guitar case up to protect himself. The knife sliced through the nylon and crunched through the wooden base of the guitar with a sound that would have broken Seepy’s heart in a different situation. As it was, he didn’t have time to think about it. He twisted the guitar case, jerking the knife, which was still embedded in the guitar, out of Jennifer’s hand.
As he turned the case over to remove the knife, he saw Sally dangling at the end of the rope.
“Holy crap!” he said.
He wrenched the knife from the case just as Jennifer and Sherm landed on his back.
Sally had no idea what Seepy Benton was doing in her house, but she was happy to see him, even if he had ruined her door frame. But it didn’t seem that he was going to be able to do much for her, as now he was rolling around on the floor beneath a pile of Jacksons, who seemed intent on getting their knife back from him and then, no doubt, cutting his throat or something equally messy, unless Sally could do something about it.
She thought she had noticed that the fan above her was beginning to give way. Maybe if she bounced around some more, it would tear loose from the ceiling. Then, if it didn’t kill her when it fell, maybe she could do something to help Seepy, who seemed to be getting the worst of it.
Jennifer Jackson was kicking and spitting like a cat, and Sherm was trying to get a grip on Seepy’s neck to choke him.
Sally jumped up and down, straining against the rope, abrading the skin of her neck, which was rubbed raw already. A little more skin loss wouldn’t look any worse. She’d just have to wear turtlenecks for a while. No scarves, however, though that’s what her mother would no doubt have suggested.
The fan was definitely loosening. Sally jumped up and down again, and with a loud squeal the rod holding it to the base on the ceiling tore away. Sally threw herself to the side as the fan crashed to the floor, breaking a couple of the wooden blades.
Sally lay still for a second, and then, somehow, she managed to get to her knees. With a little fancy maneuvering, she got the rope to slip off the rod. After doing that, she hopped on her knees over to Seepy where Jennifer Jackson had gotten hold of the knife and rolled away.
Jennifer got to her feet, and whirled around, looking even more crazed. She brought the knife around in a wide arc, slashing at Sally’s face. Sally leaned back. Before Jennifer could recover from the swing, Sally lunged forward and butted her in the abdomen.
Thrown off-balance, Jennifer stumbled over Sherm and Seepy and fell, hitting the back of her head hard against the floor. Her eyes rolled up into her head, and the knife dropped from her limp fingers.
Sherm turned away from Seepy to look at Sally, his face a bloody mask. She didn’t feel a bit sorry for him, and she fell across the back of his legs.
He loosened his grip on Seepy’s neck to make a grab for Sally, who rolled up to his thighs, throwing him forward across Seepy.
As Seepy squirmed out from under Sherm, Sally moved up onto Sherm’s back, pinning him to the floor.
Seepy got to his feet and looked around. When he saw Jennifer, he picked up the knife that lay beside her. Then he cut the tape that bound Sally’s feet and ankles. He didn’t try to cut the rope. He loosened the noose and pulled it over her head, tossing the rope aside.
“You can get up now,” he said.
Sally wasn’t sure she could. She just rolled off Sherm and lay on her back in the floor.
Seepy reached down to pull the tape from her mouth.
Sally wanted to tell him to be careful, but all she could say was “Ummmmmpf.”
Seepy grabbed one end of the tape and jerked as hard as he could. It made a loud ripping sound as it came away from her face.
“EEEEyooooooow!” Sally said.
“My feelings exactly,” Seepy told her.
29
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the emergency room?” Seepy asked.
Sally said she was sure.
“The EMTs fixed me up just fine.”
Her throat was greasy with antibiotic ointment, and she’d been given some anti-inflammatory pills, three of which she’d taken. The EMTs had also checked her for a concussion, but she’d been fine in that respect.
“You sound like that singer from when I was a lot younger. What w
as her name?”
Sally said she didn’t know.
“‘Bette Davis Eyes.’ That one. Remember?”
“Kim Carnes,” Sally said, her voice rasping out.
Her throat didn’t feel quite as bad on the inside as her neck looked on the outside, but it was sore.
“That’s her,” Seepy said. “Kim Carnes. How could I have forgotten.”
They were in Sally’s den. Sally was on the couch, and Seepy was in a chair, holding his straw hat, which had been crushed in his struggle with the Jacksons. His guitar case was on the floor beside him. He hadn’t looked inside it.
Lola was lying on top of the guitar case, shedding all over the nylon. She had come out from under the bed only after the police had left. She had looked around as if to check on what all the fuss had been about, and her eye had settled almost at once on the guitar case. She took it over at once, in spite of Seepy’s proximity. It had taken her a while to get used to him, as he didn’t seem bothered at all by her hissing. After a while she’d given up on trying to intimidate him, curled into a calico ball, and gone to sleep.
“It sounds kind of sexy,” Seepy said. “Kim Carnes’s voice, I mean. Yours, too.”
Sally supposed he was either trying to compliment her or make her feel better, but she didn’t care how she sounded. She was tired, her living room was a mess, she was going to have to get a new ceiling fan, the door frame would need repair and paint, and she hurt all over. Her neck was bruised and sore both inside and out, and she had a knot on her forehead, an aching shoulder, and rug burns on her knees.
“I think that policeman is a little upset with you,” Seepy said.
Sally knew that he was referring to Lieutenant Weems, who had arrived shortly after the uniformed officers.
“He’s always upset with somebody,” Sally said.
She had given a long statement to Weems, who somewhere in the course of it had told her that the Jacksons had admitted that they’d met with the Garden Gnome the night of his death. They had not, however, admitted killing him.
Sally had pointed out that they’d certainly tried to kill her, and she’d explained her theory that they’d killed Curtin because of his association with witchcraft.
“They’re a little crazy on the subject,” Sally had said, touching her throat with her fingertips.
Weems had agreed with her about the craziness of the Jacksons, but he’d gone on to say something about the difference in the MO in the two instances.
“I’m wondering why they didn’t hang Curtin. If they thought that was the right thing to do to witches, why not hang him, too?”
“You saw him,” Sally had said. “He was short, but he was stocky. He must weigh a lot more than I do.” She didn’t know that was true, but she hoped it was. “I don’t think Sherm could have handled him, even with Jennifer’s help. I don’t think they could have handled me if they hadn’t bonked me in the head with the door.”
Seepy had broken in at that point to mention the knife.
Weems was of the opinion that the knife might have worked if they’d threatened Curtin with it, but he’d added that the knife might not have been necessary because “Curtin was so plotzed he probably didn’t know whether he was drinking water, poison, or bourbon.”
Sally concluded that the Jacksons had poisoned Curtin rather than hanging him because it had been a lot easier than hoisting him to the ceiling fan, and he might not even have had one. She pointed out that it wasn’t as easy to hang someone as people might think.
“After all, they tried to do it to me, and it didn’t work.”
Seepy had eyed the rope burns on her neck.
“You’re going to look a little like Clint Eastwood in that movie. What was it?”
“Hang ’Em High,” Weems said.
Sally recalled having spoken that very sentence to Christopher Matthys. She wished now she’d never said it.
“That’s the one,” Seepy said. “I don’t know how I could have forgotten the name. Inger Stevens is in it, too. That’s a good movie.”
After Weems agreed with him, Seepy launched into a discussion of the Billy Jack movies. Sally had no idea how they’d gotten so far off the subject, and when Seepy started to proclaim the glories of Billy Jack Goes to Washington, she tried to bring the subject back to the Jacksons.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said to Weems, who looked grateful. “But do you think the Jacksons are the ones who killed Harold Curtin? Or not?”
Weems wasn’t sure.
“They might be nuts on the subject of witchcraft, but they were working together with Curtin on this bond issue thing. Why kill your friends?”
Sally had an answer. “Because they found out he was a member of a coven of witches. They didn’t want to be contaminated by the association.”
While admitting that it all fit together neatly, Weems hadn’t been entirely convinced. Now, thinking it over in the relative calm after the attempted hanging, Sally wasn’t so sure, either. It seemed to her that she’d missed something along the way, some small but essential clue. Or rather, she hadn’t missed it but had just overlooked it. She’d felt that way before, but whatever was bothering her still hadn’t surfaced, and with the bump on the head she’d gotten from the door, she was thinking less clearly than usual. She wished Jack were there. She could have talked the whole thing over with him. Seepy Benton was nice enough, but he just wasn’t the same.
Good grief, she thought. Could I possibly be jealous of Vera?
No, she told herself, that wasn’t it. She was happy for Jack, and for Vera, too. She had just become accustomed to talking things over with Jack, and she could still do that. The fact that he and Vera were a couple now didn’t change anything as far as their friendship went.
Or maybe, Sally thought, it wasn’t Jack and Vera. Maybe something else was bothering her. Maybe Jack had some connection to that clue she couldn’t quite remember.
“Your cat likes my guitar case,” Seepy said, breaking into her thoughts.
Sally looked over at Lola, who appeared to have settled herself down for the night.
“I’m sorry that she’s shedding on it,” Sally said.
Lola heard. As if she knew they were talking about her, she looked up and said, “Rrrrrrrr.”
“I know you’re not sorry,” Sally said. “That’s why I was apologizing for you.”
“Meow,” Lola said.
“You talk to your cat,” Seepy said, not appearing in the least surprised.
“Yes. Sometimes I forget she’s just a cat.”
“I talk to mine, too.” Seepy paused. “I have four.”
Maybe Seepy wasn’t so bad after all, Sally thought. But that wasn’t going to help her remember whatever it was that she needed to remember.
“You’re probably wondering why I came by,” Seepy said. “It wasn’t to talk about cats.”
Sally already knew why he’d come to see her. She said, “I heard what you told Lieutenant Weems.”
“Oh.” Seepy gave his guitar case a wistful glance. “Well, I guess you won’t have to listen to me pick and sing. I won’t be playing that guitar for a while, not with a knife in its back. I’m almost afraid to look at it.” He brightened. “But I have another one at home. Two more, in fact.”
Sally thought he must want her to ask him to come by again some other time and to bring one of his other guitars. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
“Have I thanked you for rescuing me?”
Seepy laughed. “I didn’t rescue you.” He looked at her door. “All I did was mess up your wall. You’re the one who rescued me. Sherm Jackson had me in a death grip.”
“You distracted them and gave me time to get loose. Well, sort of loose.”
“I wish I could take credit for saving you, but I don’t think it would be right. However, if you’re feeling grateful to me …”
Sally knew she’d made a big mistake, but there was nothing to do now. She’d have to bite the bullet and say wh
at he wanted to hear. Well, almost.
“Why don’t you come by my office tomorrow and play one of your new songs for me.”
“You’re going to be at school tomorrow?”
“I don’t miss school if I can walk and talk.”
“You can barely talk. Tomorrow you might be even worse.”
“Thanks for the encouragement.”
Seepy stood up. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. When are your office hours?”
“The afternoon might be best,” Sally told him, thinking that there would be fewer people in the building at that time.
“Great. I’ll be there around three. Will that be all right?”
“Sounds fine. I’m looking forward to it.”
Sally, she thought, you are such a liar.
Seepy reached for his guitar case. Lola roused herself and hissed at him.
“Lola,” Sally said. “Get off the case.”
Lola hissed again.
“Lola.”
Lola stood up, humped her back, and stretched out her front legs. She scratched the guitar case, tentatively at first, then more vigorously.
“Lola!”
The scratching slowed down. Lola turned her head slowly and looked up at Sally.
“Meow?”
“Get down. Now.”
“Meow.”
Lola got off the guitar case, but she took her time about doing it, grooming herself a little before finally moving to the floor.
Seepy reached for the case.
“Meowrrrrrr.”
“I’m taking the case,” Seepy told her. “You got to have a nice nap on it, and now it’s time for me to go home. You’ll be glad when I’ve gone.”
“Meow.”
“That’s what I thought,” Seepy said.
Seepy picked up his guitar case. Now he had a ruined guitar case in one hand and a battered straw hat in the other, like some itinerant minstrel from the 1930s. Except for the shirt. Sally was sure that no one in the 1930s had ever worn a shirt quite as bright as the one Seepy wore. She wondered where he found such wild shirts.