16
I’d been gone so long, I stopped by the store just long enough to get Joe Riddley a new hat, then went back to Ridd and Martha’s. “Wanna see something cute?” Ridd greeted me with a finger to his lips.
We tiptoed to Cricket’s room. Joe Riddley lay on the bed in white shirt, gray pants, and black socks, snoring. Cricket lay beside him in gray pants, white shirt, and red socks, gently patting his chest. A beagle pup slept on the floor, curled beside two pairs of black Sunday shoes.
Cricket sensed our presence, looked around, and put one finger to his own lips. “Shhh,” he warned. We smiled and backed out.
I heard Cricket slide to the floor and pad after us. “I put Pop down for his nap.”
“That’s wonderful, honey. I wish you’d put Me-mama down for one, too.”
“Want to run on home?” Martha offered. “Ridd can bring Pop when he wakes up.”
“I’ll follow you,” Ridd informed me. “I want to have a look around for the missing you-know-what while Daddy’s not there.”
“I doesn’t know what,” Cricket said. “What?”
I don’t believe in keeping secrets from children unless absolutely necessary. They are so apt to get things garbled. “We’re missing one of Pop’s guns, honey.”
“De deer wifle? Or de shotgun? Or is it de twenty-two wifle he got when he was ten?”
The grownups stared in surprise. “How do you know so much, Little Britches?” Ridd ruffled his son’s soft brown hair.
Cricket shrugged. “Pop tole me. I know of all de guns.” His chest stuck out with pride.
“Do you know which one goes where in the case?” I asked, hardly daring to hope.
“O’ course. Dey all has special places.”
“Do you think he does?” Martha gave Ridd a worried frown. They didn’t approve of guns.
Ridd’s shrug was very like his son’s. “Only one way to find out. Let’s go for a ride, Little Britches. We’re gonna follow Me-mama home and you can tell her what you know about the guns. Okay?”
“Okay.” Cricket headed happily for the door.
“Get your shoes,” Martha reminded him.
Buster and his men were gone and had taken the crime tape from the dining room door. They’d left a legacy of fingerprint dust Clarinda was going to love, and the barbeque and potato salad on the table were as pungent as I’d predicted. What repelled me most was the memory of Hiram. It would be a while before I served a meal in there again.
At least they’d taken my junk mail as evidence.
When we stood in front of the gun case, Cricket shook his head in disbelief. “Somebody stole all Pop’s guns! He’s gonna be so mad. . . .” He pursed his lips and shook his head, speechless for once.
I put a hand on his shoulder. “No, honey, Me-mama sent them away while Pop is sick. I don’t want him getting into the guns and hurting himself.”
He nodded wisely. “Guns is berry dangerous if you doesn’t use good sense. And sometimes Pop doesn’t have good sense right now. He’s berry sick.”
Ridd and I exchanged smiles over his head. Mine was full of gratitude that they’d made things so blessedly clear and un-frightening to that little boy.
“Do you really remember which gun used to go where?” Ridd asked dubiously.
“Sure.” Cricket’s small forefinger pressed the bottom of the glass. “Dis one was de deer wifle. Pop will take me huntin’ when I’m big enough. And dat”—he moved his finger up a notch—“was de wifle Pop got when he was ten, from his daddy.” His eyes slid sideways to me, a sure sign he was talking to Ridd as well. “My daddy doesn’t gib me guns, ’cause he doesn’t like dem. But Pop will gib me one when I gets ten.”
“Oh.” I didn’t dare say more than that. I pressed my own finger up at the top of the case. “I’ll bet you don’t know which one went way up here.”
Cricket flung back his head and gurgled at my silliness. “Co’se I do. Dat was de derringer twenty-two.” He looked up to explain to his daddy, “Twenty-two means it’s got a little hole.” Then he looked seriously back at me. “It’s silber and berry old, and it looks like a toy, but it’s not.” He shook his head solemnly. “Boys must not touch guns, eben if dey looks like toys. I can’t touch any guns ’til Pop says I’m old ’nough, or he’ll gib me a hidin’!” His gave his head one short nod. Ridd and I both burst out laughing. Cricket looks like Martha, but that minute he was the spitting image of his granddaddy.
“It’s not funny,” Cricket warned, fist propped on hip. “Guns is serious bidness. Pop says so. Pop says nebber touch a gun wifout him standing right dere and saying ‘okay.’ ”
I knew Ridd was seething inside at how much his father had taught his son. I hoped he also appreciated how very much Cricket had absorbed about safety. Joe Riddley had been very thorough in that respect.
Ridd suggested, “Why don’t you two go get Lulu out of the pen and play with her a little bit? I’ve got one more thing to do before we leave.”
Cricket ran happily toward the kitchen. “I’ll search for the gun, if you’ll keep him outside a few minutes,” Ridd promised.
“The police have already looked, but go ahead.”
I went out to help Cricket let Lulu out. They greeted one another with mutual raptures and neither paid a speck of attention when I said, “I’m going to run inside and get my slippers. My feet hurt.” I headed toward the kitchen closet, where I kept yard clothes, coats, boots, and house slippers. When I got the door unlocked, I kicked off my shoes faster than a fat goose sheds water. My freed toes wiggled for joy, but only found one slipper when they fumbled on the closet floor. I bent over to have a better look and saw the mate hiding in the far back.
As I reached for it, I knocked over one of Joe Riddley’s cowboy boots, the old ones he wore to mow the lawn. They’d been standing unused so long they were gray with dust.
I picked up one dust-fuzzy boot and held it to my cheek, wondering if he’d ever need it again. Then, angry at myself for being silly, I shoved it to the back of the closet. “There’s no point in you taking up space near the front when he’s not using you.” When I picked up the second, it was heavier than the first. Puzzled, I shook the boot into the empty wastebasket, in case it harbored a mouse. What fell out was a small silver gun.
A wave of terror took away my breath. Only two people in the world knew where Joe Riddley kept the key to his gun case. Before Ridd even began to crawl, Joe Riddley came in one day with a scruffy old book. “Look, Little Bit. What I’ve been wanting.”
I examined the title. “History of the Etruscans? You’re pretty desperate for reading matter, aren’t you?”
“Look!” He opened the cover and showed me hollow pages, glued to make a box for hiding things. He took the key to his gun case from his desk drawer and dropped it into the box with a satisfying clunk. “Now nobody will open that case by accident.” He put the book up high on his shelf, along with others that were read as seldom as they were dusted. “Let’s make a pact, honey. Don’t ever tell or show anybody where that key is. That’s the only way I’ll ever have peace of mind.”
Peace of mind. As I knelt before my wastebasket, those three words bounced around in my suddenly empty brain. “Oh, honey,” I whispered. Only Joe Riddley could have opened that gun case. And I could think of only one reason why he’d take out a gun and later hide it. Joe Riddley was, as I have said, in some ways a little like Cricket just then. He probably thought if he hid the gun, nobody would ever know what he’d done.
I should have called Ridd, but I couldn’t. I wanted to pull that gun out, wipe it so shiny clean nobody would ever know it had been handled since the day it was made, and dump it in Hubert’s cattle pond. However, being an officer of the law has certain disadvantages. I knew better than to tamper with evidence. Still, Buster wasn’t going to get this evidence quite yet—not until I’d had time to think.
Hearing Ridd moving toward the kitchen, I carefully lifted the gun with a fork and dropped it back in the b
oot. Then I re-locked the closet and hurried out to our backyard swing. When Ridd arrived I was watching Cricket chase Lulu around the birdbath.
Ridd settled his long frame onto the other side of the swing. “I looked in the study and Daddy’s room. Even looked in the bathroom. But I could tell the police searched already.” He pushed the swing to move it gently. In the maple overhead a mockingbird sang, then flew into the sky. “Have you and Daddy ever thought about moving out of this isolated place?” There it was again, that casual tone that meant he and Martha had talked about it already.
“Not recently. Our minds have been rather otherwise occupied.”
“This place is a lot of work. Why don’t you look for a smaller house closer to town?”
Cricket shouted from the birdbath. “If you moves, Me-mama, I can come live here.”
Ridd gave a grunt of embarrassment.
“Little jugs have big ears,” I reminded him, rubbing his own closest ear. “He takes after somebody we both know and love.”
“Hello! Hello!” A squawk from the barn reminded me of somebody I certainly didn’t love. Lulu scampered toward the door, barking furiously. Cricket hared right behind.
Ridd stopped the swing. “What on earth?”
I pulled myself to my feet. “Come meet our guest.”
When I opened the barn door, Joe swooped down and landed on my head. Cricket danced and giggled. Lulu put her paws on my knees and griped noisily. Ridd stared in disbelief. Joe must have seen his resemblance to Joe Riddley, because he flew to his shoulder.
“Scat!” Ridd backed away, swatting air. “Get off me! Get off!”
“I wants him!” Cricket jumped up and down. Lulu leaped and yelped. Joe squawked. The yard dogs tuned up for a chorus.
I thought for a second about hightailing it to the house, locking the door, and going for a nap, but there are responsibilities never mentioned in the motherhood manual.
I reached up my arm. “Come here, Joe!”
For a wonder, he obeyed. He hopped onto my arm, and then back to the top of my head. Cricket shrieked with delight. Lulu started another aria.
“Put Lulu back in the pen and go on home,” I told Ridd. “Bring your daddy when he’s ready to come. And don’t ask any questions, just go!”
For a second wonder, Ridd obeyed me, too, without a word.
I took Joe to the lawnmower and nudged him until he hopped onto the handle. He perched on one foot like he’d lived there all his life. “I’ll get you some food,” I promised. I headed to the kitchen, figuring the dogs could hush when they were ready. They weren’t bothering anybody but me. “Just what the doctor ordered,” I muttered. “A day of quiet rest.”
When I bent to get a water bowl from the lower cabinet, my knees went off like little firecrackers. A voice spoke in my head, clear as could be. You and Joe Riddley are ten years older than his parents were when they moved into town and gave you this house. You’re almost exactly the age Joe Riddley’s grand-parents were when they died and left the house to Joe Riddley’s daddy and his family—who had already been living with them for over ten years.
“People live longer these days,” I answered out loud, getting Joe some vegetables.
That’s no reason for standing in your children’s way. If Ridd and Martha lived here, they’d be near their fields. Bethany and Cricket would love having the pool and all this space to run around. And you know how Martha’s been wanting to adopt a couple of children with special needs. They can’t put any more children in the house they’ve got.
“I don’t have time to stand around here like Joan of Arc, listening to voices. I’ve got a bird to feed and water.” The voice didn’t reply, but I had a suspicion it was biding its time.
When I got the barn door opened, Joe huddled up on the far rafters, a splash of bright in the dimness. “Dinnertime,” I told him. I set the bowl down on a dusty shelf and held out my palm full of broccoli. He fixed me with a baleful eye and didn’t budge. “Then starve. I’ve done the best I can.” I put the food beside the water.
“Back off. Back off!”
“Gladly. See you later.”
I left him on the rafter, cheeks pink and tail feathers drooping. He shrieked behind me, “Good morning, Hiram! Good morning, Hiram!” It was almost enough to break my heart. But not enough to waken Hiram.
I heard a car on the road. Surely it wasn’t Ridd back already. When I saw Darren’s little yellow Beetle, I couldn’t help a groan of dismay.
“Hey!” he called, climbing out. He wore white shorts and a bright blue shirt. Alice sat beside him, in white shorts and a white top. “We’re going over to the high school track to run, but first we thought we’d come see how J. R.’s doing today.”
I knew darned well he just wanted to show me he’d gotten her to go out with him. Boys are the same in every generation. I hoped I could keep my eyes open long enough to speed them on their way. “He’s fine, but he’s over at our son’s. I was heading up for a nap.”
“We won’t keep you, then. Just wanted to say hello. You know Alice, don’t you?”
“Sure. Hey, Alice. How’re you doing?”
She gave me a little wave through the windshield. Neither of us mentioned we’d been drinking iced tea together earlier that day. Let Darren enjoy his triumph.
“Have fun.” I hoped my feet weren’t sending down roots where I stood. Another day, I’d have offered a piece of cake and some tea. Right now I wanted to stretch out and sleep for hours.
Alice opened her door. “Would you mind—could I—” She gave me a look women always recognize.
“Sure, honey. It’s right inside at the back of the hall. I’ll show you.”
I nearly had a heart attack, though, when she tripped just inside the kitchen door and grabbed at the closet doorknob to steady herself.
While she was in the bathroom, I sat at the kitchen table and looked at that door sourly. What was I going to do about that gun?
I was so deep in sleep I don’t know how long Joe Riddley was calling before I heard him. “Little Bit? Get down here right now! Little Bit! Did you hear me? Get on down here, now.”
Just as I was thinking maybe I ought to try to open my eyes and see if my legs could still function, a small sharp finger pried open one of my eyelids. “Me-mama? Pop wants you.”
I pushed away his hand and sighed. “So I hear.” I reached for my robe. As we clumped down the stairs, I felt so heavy and tired I made almost as much noise as he did.
“Little Bit!” Joe Riddley growled as I rounded the newel post of the landing. “Call Buster. Somebody’s stolen all my guns!”
He was sitting enthroned in his wheelchair, facing the stairs. Ridd, behind him, apologized. “I’m afraid Cricket let the cat out of the bag that they’re gone.”
Cricket plunged down the last few steps and went to press against his daddy’s leg, afraid he’d be punished. When Ridd cupped the small head in one hand, Cricket relaxed a little, but his brown eyes met mine anxiously.
I tied the belt on my robe and rubbed my eyes, hoping to persuade them to join me in waking up. “He’d have found out soon anyway,” I reassured Cricket.
“Where are those guns?” Joe Riddley demanded. “I need them to go hunting.”
I stifled a yawn. “I, uh—I sent them to be cleaned.”
“Nobody cleans my guns but me. You know that. Where’d you send them?”
I thought fast. If I told him Maynard had them, he’d find a way to demand that Maynard return them. If I lied—
I was tired of making up stories and pussyfooting around, treating Joe Riddley like he was no older than Cricket. I pulled the chair Gusta had used the day before so it faced him, and bent over so my hands rested on his knees. Leaning over so we were eye-to-eye, I said, “I’m not telling you where they are until you get better. I don’t want you accidentally hurting yourself or somebody else.”
He gave a huff of disgust. “I’m not going to hurt anybody, and you know it. I want those guns back a
nd I want them now!” He pounded the arm of his wheelchair. “You hear me, Little Bit? I want those guns back right now!”
I covered my ears with my hands. “Don’t you shout at me! You’re not getting those guns until you are well.”
“I am well. I just can’t walk. There’s nothing wrong with my aim.”
The old Joe Riddley was as calm as a barn owl on a dark night. It was me who got excited and raised my voice. Having him yell at me now enraged me.
“There’s something wrong with your head! Going out in the backyard stark naked at three a.m. to practice shooting the side of the barn. Who knows what you might have hit? Or who? You even aimed that gun at me. Don’t tell me how well you are!” All my anger gathered in one big cloud and burst in a torrent of tears. Heaving with sobs, I didn’t even try to stop the words pouring out. “You scared me to death last night. I don’t ever want to go through that again. You’re not getting those guns back until I say so.”
Who Invited the Dead Man? Page 16