4 Four Play

by Cindy Blackburn

  I praised Puddles for his perfect timing, and we headed over to Roslynn.

  “Jessie!” She seemed genuinely pleased to see me. “And Puddles! I’m so happy you guys are joining us.” Roslynn waved to one of her cronies. “Go get Jessie a poster from my car, Nora.”

  “No, no.” I held up a hand and told Nora to never mind. Then I turned back to Roslynn and asked her to take a break. “We need to talk.”

  “No can do! But you’re welcome to march with me. We can talk and walk.” She got back into formation with the pastel people, and for want of a better solution, Puddles and I joined her.

  “What did you think?” Roslynn asked as we stepped in time. “How did I look? More importantly, how did my book look?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “On TV last night.” She tilted her poster toward the cameraman, who hovered back near Jimmy. “I’m so happy he got a few more close ups of The Sultan’s Secret. How did the sultan look? Oh! And I read an excerpt from The Debutante’s Destiny. Did you hear? How did the debutante sound?”

  “Whatever happened to Jimmy Beak being inconsequential nonsense?” I asked.

  “Inconsequential? Are you kidding?” She jiggled her poster up and down. “Have you talked to Geez Louise lately?”

  I groaned in answer and made an effort to twirl in time with the rest of the Rockettes. Even attached to his leash, Puddles was better at it than I was.

  “Think about our sales figures,” Roslynn was saying. “Lemonade out of lemons!”

  She stopped and held a hand up, and the pastel people stopped to listen to their leader. Needless to say, Puddles and I stopped, too.

  Roslynn reached over and gave my shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Let’s show her majesty the Queen of Smut how much we appreciate her, ladies!”

  And I kid you not, the pastel people paraded past and bowed, one by one, in honor of yours truly. Meanwhile Roslynn regaled me with our latest sales figures, spouting off phrases like “Skyrocketing sales!” and “National attention!”

  Somewhere in there I lost my patience. I looked down at Puddles and asked if he wouldn’t like to piddle on the closest pink pump, and Roslynn finally got the hint. She handed her poster to Nora and allowed me to guide her a few steps away from the other demonstrators.

  “What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” She kept a wary eye on the dog. “I mean, if it isn’t our book sales?”

  I, too, focused on Puddles and wondered how exactly I should broach the subject of Miriam Jilton’s murder.

  It’s not like I could point blank ask Roslynn if she had murdered a completely random person, so that Jimmy Beak would accuse me of murder, so as to draw negative attention to me, so that Geez Louise would have adequate reason to get me on Dee Dee Larkin’s program, so that my book sales would skyrocket, so that Roslynn’s book sales would skyrocket, so that—

  “Jessie?” Roslynn waited until I looked up. “What’s the matter?”

  I took a deep breath. “If I ask you a question, will you promise not to hold it against me? Even after you’ve figured out why I asked it?”

  “You can ask me anything,” she said sincerely. “You’re my hero, Jessie.”

  I asked her not to make me feel any worse than I already did and then blurted it out. “Where were you Saturday night?”

  Roslynn grimaced. “Candy told you, didn’t she? I know I shouldn’t have done it, okay? And I know I should have broken it off long before now. But he needed to talk, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to meet him in a public place. So we met at a little diner on the outskirts of town. This dump called Hastie’s Diner. And I swear, it really is over and done with now. Completely and totally.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Billy Joe.”

  “Bill Joe Dent!?” I shouted. I looked around, hoping Jimmy and Alistair hadn’t heard me.

  Luckily, they had not, since the two of them were in some sort of heated debate. Alistair kept pointing to me and saying something to Jimmy. And Jimmy kept pointing to Puddles and saying something to Alistair.

  Roslynn was saying something to me. “I was with Billy Joe on Saturday. I mentioned it to Candy yesterday. And don’t worry—she’s already scolded me for being so stupid. So you don’t need to bother, okay?”

  I told Roslynn her love life was none of my business. “Although seeing a married man is bound to end badly for everyone.” I shrugged. “If you’re looking for any sort of happily ever after, you need to look elsewhere.”

  “I’m working on it. But what about you?”

  “Don’t you dare ask me about my wedding.”

  “No.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I’m wondering about Willow and Kipp. Have you gotten them to the happily ever after?”

  “Not hardly.” I summarized my latest effort, and Roslynn gasped accordingly.

  “Yep,” I said. “I now have my hero calling my heroine a pig. Brilliant, no?”

  And speaking of swine. Jimmy and Alistair were on the move and headed our way, with Joe the cameraman and several of the book-banning brigade in close pursuit. A veritable herd of swine. Some with bullhorns attached.

  I pointed Roslynn back to the pastel people, adopted a demeanor which I hoped conveyed crazy, and stood my ground.

  Puddles looked up at me for instruction, and I told him to pee whenever the mood struck.

  ***

  I yanked the bullhorn from of Jimmy’s startled hands and plunged on into my performance. “I’m trying to write up there!” I pointed my free hand to my third floor windows. “I have a job to do! I can’t concentrate! You’re ruining my career! You’re destroying Adelé Nightinga—”

  I put the megaphone down and blinked at the camera. The crazy-lady act was, perhaps, a bit too easy?

  Speaking of crazy. Jimmy procured another bullhorn and launched into his own act, spouting off the typical nonsense about the public having a right to know.

  I ignored him and leveled my bullhorn at Alistair. “I haven’t written a decent sex scene in days! Days, I tell you!” I may have exaggerated my distress, but at the same time, I neglected to admit it had actually been months since Adelé Nightingale added a decent sex scene to her repertoire.

  Alistair jabbed his poster upward. “Well then!” he snapped at me. “Get back up there and get to work, Miss Queen of Smut! You have sex scenes to write!”

  “Huh?”

  I looked at Jimmy, but he seemed as confused as I. Was Alistair actually encouraging me to write sex scenes? The man might as well have been channeling Geez Louise herself.

  A slow smile made its way across my face as I suddenly understood the logic of Alistair Amesworth Pritt. He’d be having no fun at all if it weren’t for Adelé Nightingale.

  “Look at her, Jimmy!” he bellowed. “She’s thinking about sex!”

  I raised my megaphone. “I’m not thinking about sex,” I announced to the crowd. “I’m thinking about writing children’s books.”

  Well, that certainly got a reaction.

  Alistair dropped his poster, Jimmy dropped his bullhorn, Joe fumbled his camera, the synchronized step Roslynn and her cronies were executing ended in an all-out collision, and Puddles shook himself all over and snorted.

  While Alistair recovered his poster and the pile of pastel people untangled themselves, I explained. “Alistair would be mighty disappointed if I switched genres.” I turned the bullhorn in his direction. “If I stopped writing romance, you’d have nothing to harass me about, would you? This should be illegal!”

  “Your books should be illegal!” he bullhorned back.

  “Book banning is illegal, Alistair! Read the Bill of Rights. Get out your yellow marker and try highlighting the First Amendment!”

  Oooo. That was good.

  Also encouraging—Puddles remembered his task and was staring at Jimmy’s pant leg with renewed interest. Jimmy kept his distance and even seemed reluctant to raise his bullhorn at me. The thing drooped forlornly at his side.

  �
��Mission accomplished,” I told the dog. I was about to surrender my bullhorn and go inside when Alistair spoke again.

  “Speaking of the law,” he shouted. “Tell Captain Rye to get back to work!”

  I re-raised my bullhorn. “Excuse me?”

  “The taxpayers of this fine city aren’t paying your boyfriend to protect you. We’re not paying him to be your hero! He is not a character in one of your books!”

  I brandished my bullhorn one more time and told Alistair to take a look around. “Wilson isn’t even here.” I pointed to Puddles. “It’s this little dog who’s protecting me.”

  Another valid point, if I do say so myself.

  Alistair must have realized this also. He switched gears to something a bit less objective. “Evil!” he shouted and pointed his poster. And the ilk, who had been rather complacent, chimed on in. “Evil, evil, evil!”

  I rolled my eyes and again made as if to go inside, but Jimmy braved Puddles and blocked my path. Apparently Channel 15’s finest had not been getting nearly enough attention.

  “Like mother, like daughter,” he bullhorned at me. “Evil!”

  “Evil, evil, evil!” the ilk reiterated.

  I abandoned the crazy act and opted for truly sincerely berserk. “Did you just call my mother evil?” I screamed. I forgot to use my bullhorn, but I doubt anyone missed it.

  Jimmy sneered. “The public has a right to know about the woman who spawned the Queen of Smut. For anyone who missed my special report, I travelled all the way down to Columbia, South Carolina—”

  “Forget about the mother!” Believe it or not, that was Alistair, not me. “No one cares what’s happening in Columbia.”

  Jimmy skipped a beat but quickly recovered himself with his old stand-by. “But the public has a right to know. That’s why this reporter travelled all the way—”

  “One thing at a time,” Alistair scolded. “Let’s clean up our own backyard before worrying about someone else’s.”

  “But the public,” Jimmy sputtered.

  “The public needs to worry about the evil lurking here at home!” Alistair again waved his poster at me. “Beware, all ye citizens of Clarence!” he bullhorned.

  All ye citizens?

  “Beware the influence of this creature on our fair hamlet!”

  Our fair hamlet?

  Poor Alistair. Clearly the man had spent far too much time studying my books. I glanced down at Puddles. “He’s starting to sound like Adelé.”

  Chapter 26

  Willow LaSwann stared into the abyss and blinked back tears. But alas, her tears fell, not into a pool of water, but onto a dry floor far, far below.

  Kipp Jupiter told her this would happen. Only yesterday he had warned her the well would run dry. Pointing yonder, into the thicket of sagebrush, he suggested a more suitable location for a well, and had even offered to assist with the digging.

  Why, oh why, had she not listened to him? Why, oh why, had she sent him away?

  Lamenting her rude behavior, Willow wept even more, her bosom straining beneath its bonds. Eventually she brushed the tears from her sapphire blue eyes and gazed across her land toward Mr. Jupiter’s ranch.

  God rest his soul, Uncle Hazard had been wrong about Kipp. Why, everyone in Hogan’s Hollow had only positive things to say about Mr. Jupiter. He had not acquired the largest ranch in Wilcox County because of greed. Heavens, no! Kipp Jupiter was the most successful rancher because he was the most informed. Kipp understood the water issues better than anyone. And he managed his land with all due skill, preserving it for future generations!

  But where was he now? Now, when she so desperately needed his help?

  But hark! There he was! Willow caught a glimpse of her handsome neighbor as he rounded the corner of his barn. She would go to him! Yes! She would go over there, and she would apologize for being rude the day before, and she would ask his forgiveness, and she would ask him to please come over to help her locate the exact place for her new well!

  Her determination recovered, Willow LaSwann started toward her own barn to retrieve her horse, but suddenly stopped short. She lifted her delicate, if somewhat sunburned, hands to her face and touched her tear-stained cheeks.

  Oh, misery and despair! She could not visit Mr. Jupiter after all. For she had been crying. And the rugged ranchers of Wilcox County simply did not cry.

  Willow plopped her most unmanly bottom down on the nearest haystack and cried even more. At this rate she wouldn’t be able to visit her neighbor for hours.

  ***

  “Oh, misery and despair?” I slapped my laptop for the umpteenth time and warned Snowflake that I, too, was close to tears. “Willow LaSwann’s well is dry, and so is this insipid story.” I waved my arms. “Where’s the water? And more importantly, where is the sex?”

  While I stood up to pace, Snowflake hopped down from her windowsill and strolled over to her water bowl.

  “Showoff,” I muttered.

  I watched the cat lap up her water, and tried picturing the prairie where Willow LaSwann and Kipp Jupiter lived. It would be nice to know something—anything—about ranching, wells and water rights in the Nineteenth-Century American west. Was Adelé Nightingale going to be reduced into doing some actual research?

  “Research instead of sex scenes,” I said, and Snowflake deigned to glance up from her dish. “The situation has become altogether depressing.”

  ***

  Luckily my cell phone rang so I could avoid further contemplation of my rapidly deteriorating creative output.

  “Superintendent Yates here,” Gabby greeted me. “I understand you did not utilize your hall pass today, Jessie.”

  “No,” I said. “Will I be punished with after-school detention?”

  She skipped a beat. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

  “Somehow I seem to inspire your scolding-a-truant-teenager voice.”

  She groaned and apologized. “It’s not just you. I use that tone far too often. Why do I do that?”

  “Probably because you’ve scolded a lot of truant teenagers. What can I do for you?”

  “You can tell me who killed Miriam Jilton. I’ve just finished another faculty staff meeting at the school.”

  “It didn’t help,” I said.

  “Nothing.” She might have actually whined. “I’m getting nowhere with these people.”

  “Because you won’t get anywhere with those people.”

  “Pardon me?”

  I told Gabby I had some crucial news to report. “But we shouldn’t discuss it over the phone.”

  “I’ll be right there. Don’t move.” She hung up but called back before I could even look askance at Snowflake.

  “I did it again!” she said when I answered. “I’m so bossy!”

  I grinned at Snowflake. “Would you care to stop by for a visit, Gabby?”

  “That would be lovely, thank you. But I don’t want to interrupt your work.”

  I told the superintendent she’d be doing me a favor. “Adelé Nightingale is trying to tackle Willow LaSwann’s plumbing issues. Which, believe it or not, are even more bewildering than Wilson Rye’s.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Willow’s my new heroine,” I said. “And she is positively desperate. Her well has gone dry, and she has no idea what to do about it.”

  “Isn’t that what your hero is for?

  A thought occurred to me, and I crossed my fingers. “Maybe you can help Willow, Gabby. Once upon a time you were a teacher, correct?”

  “I was in the classroom for twenty years. Why?”

  “What subject?”

  “Is Willow a teacher? I’m sorry, Jessie. I’m not following you.”

  “What subject did you teach, Dr. Yates.”

  “History. Why?”

  I gave Snowflake a thumbs up and told Gabby to hurry on over.

  ***

  “Get me out of here!” Gabby pleaded.

  “Will do,” I said into the intercom and assured her I was on
my way downstairs. “In the meantime, be sure Jimmy Beak knows you’re here to see me.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Tell him we’re in cahoots to catch the killer. Oh, and be sure to mention my hall pass. And for Lord’s sake, get on camera.”

  “Pardon me? I don’t understand.”

  “Just do it, Gabby.”

  Bless her authoritarian heart, she just did it. “I am here to see Jessica Hewitt,” she said. She had turned away from the intercom, however she was using her scolding-a-truant-teenager voice, and I heard her loud and clear. “We are in cahoots to catch Miriam Jilton’s killer.”

  One assumes she was speaking to Jimmy Beak and had her gaze firmly affixed on Joe’s camera lens. And one assumes she also mentioned the hall pass. But by that point I was racing down the stairs.

  I reached the front door and stepped out to the stoop to give my visitor the hug she so richly deserved. “Dr. Yates!” I exclaimed. I whispered in her ear, “Go along with this.”

  “Jessie Hewitt!” she exclaimed.

  We swung around and smiled for the camera, and Jimmy observed that I was in a much better mood than earlier.

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “I feel much better now that Dr. Yates is here.”

  Jimmy squinted. “Why’s that?” he asked, and from the look on Gabby’s face, she wondered the same thing.

  “Because Superintendent Yates and I are going to clear things up.” I redirected my gaze toward Alistair. “Superintendent Yates and I are concentrating on the real issue.”

  “What’s that?” Jimmy asked.

  “The murder, of course. Surely you haven’t forgotten about the murder at the high school?” I fluttered my eyelashes for the camera. “Superintendent Yates and I are in cahoots to catch Miriam Jilton’s killer.”

  “Cahoots!” Gabby squeezed the dickens out of my left shoulder, and I tried not to wince.

  “The two of us and Captain Rye,” I said. “Three heads are better than one! Isn’t that right, Dr. Yates?”

  “Three heads!” she enthused to the camera.

  “We’ll solve the murder. And then!” I directed an index finger skyward.