by Rita Kano
The furrows on Sheriff Pate’s forehead deepened. Shirley knew he had read and understood the message her smile conveyed. Shirley Foster, whether in or out of her Social Worker shoes, was not going to dance to his threats.
Chapter 18
A Heavy-Handed Accusation
“Lizzie?” Shirley called opening her front door. “I’m back, sweetheart.” Shirley’s greeting received no reply. She glanced around the room as she dropped her pocketbook down next to the lamp. “Lizzie…” a cartoon show blasted from the television set. Grandma lay curled up in the lounge chair where Shirley had last seen Lizzie. “Lizzie? Lizzie, where are you, baby?”
No answer came.
Shirley clicked the TV off and headed for the bedroom to see if Lizzie had fallen asleep there. At that moment a heavy-handed triple rap rattled the front door.
“Who is it?” she called out.
“Open the door, Miss Foster.”
Shirley cringed upon recognizing the voice. Sheriff Pate.
“Who is it, please?” she glanced toward the bedroom. Oh my God! Lizzie… With a surge of watered down blood, Shirley rushed toward the front door to lock it. She didn’t move fast enough. The knob turned, the door opened and Sheriff Pate stepped one foot over the threshold.
“Sheriff Pate? What are you doing? You can’t just walk into my house uninvited.” Shirley secured one hand on the door edge and one on the opposite wall, blocking the Sheriff with her body.
“I’m here to search the premises for Lizzie Lovett, Miss Foster. Her mother, Arlene, called not five minutes before you arrived at my office. She has suspicions you’re involved in the disappearance of her daughter.”
“What? Me? Arlene Lovett thinks I took Lizzie?” Shirley had failed to factor into her plan the possibility Arlene would have the insight and audacity to accuse her of kidnapping. “That’s ridiculous, Sheriff. You don’t need to be wasting your time here. Good day, sir.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” said the Sheriff. “Looks to me like your sails ain’t as puffed up as they were. Where’s the bluster you threw at me back at my office? You got an answer for that, Miss Foster?”
Shirley had to get rid of the Sheriff before a sleepy eyed Lizzie came shuffling out of the bedroom. If he found Lizzie there… Shirley’s stomach knotted as one by one the exits of escape slammed shut.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you about the call from the kidnappers. I told you everything I know.”
“I recollect what you told me, Miss Foster.” The Sheriff’s head leaned to one side and then to the other. “Step aside.” He placed one heavy hand against Shirley’s shoulder as he presented his demand.
Shirley twisted away. “Don’t touch me. You have no right to be inside my house and no right to put your hands on me.”
“I said. Step aside.”
“No!” replied Shirley. “You need to leave. Now.”
Sheriff Pate stepped closer.
Shirley tightened her grip on the door and refused to move.
“Lizzie! Lizzie Lovett!” he barked out over Shirley’s shoulder.
“I told you. She’s not here.” Shirley’s upper lip curled. “I don’t remember asking for a sample of Purity’s version of law enforcement, Sheriff, but, I must say, it’s everything I expected it to be.”
“It pleases me to hear that, Miss Foster, on both counts. Then you won’t mind if I just poke my head into the other rooms, will you?” Sheriff Pate grinned as if he had just heard a mouse trap snap.
“I do mind. You are not going to force your way into my home. Get out. I want you out now. You can’t search my house without a warrant.”
“That’s a fact, Miss Foster, and why my deputy’s getting one right now. So don’t think for one minute anyone will be entering or leaving this house before he gets here with it.” Sheriff Pate shifted to a wide-legged guard stance.
“All right…” Shirley fumbled through her options. “All right,” she repeated, “but as for now, until your deputy gets here, you are not a welcome guest in my home. You can wait outside.”
“Uh-uh. Oh, no.” The Sheriff’s right hand restrained the door as Shirley attempted to close it. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, little lady.”
For a moment, Shirley and Sheriff Pate stared at each other, both sets of eyes wrestling over the last word.
Shirley sighed and shook her head, for all appearances handing over a victory and bragging rights to Sheriff Pate, all the while reaching for her last possible escape route.
“Suit yourself, Sheriff. But stay right where you are. Unwelcome guests in my home are not spared honesty. The sight of you is making me sick. You’ll have to excuse me while I recuperate in the bedroom.”
“No!” Sheriff Pate reached out to stop Shirley but quickly pulled his hand back and landed a solid slap on the door frame. “You’ll be staying right here in this room. You are a suspect in a serious crime. Sit down in that chair and stay there where I can see you.” He pointed to the recliner.
Shirley’s alternate route came to a dead end. She was as trapped as trapped could get. She scooped Grandma up from the cushion and sat down in the chair with the cat on her lap. After several strokes to the cat’s head, she looked up at the Sheriff.
“I’ve had a change of heart, Sheriff Pate. On second thought…” she continued to stroke Grandma, “yes,” she said, swaying as if to a rhythmic beat, “on second thought, there’s no better cure for nausea than watching you make a fool out of yourself.”
Sheriff Pate shoved out an exasperated huff, folded his arms across his chest and settled his legs into lock position.
Shirley turned on the TV, increased the volume and ignored the sheriff’s presence.
In minutes, the whoop of a siren ripped the sandpaper silence between her and the sheriff. The trouble with small towns was that some things moved a whole lot faster than in big cities. One of them being the time it took to obtain a warrant to search Shirley’s home. Until the siren sounded, Shirley had clung like a snapping turtle to the last and only hope within sight … Lizzie staying fast asleep in the bedroom and Sheriff Pate, having tired of waiting, leaving.
Sheriff Pate smirked as he flashed the official paper in Shirley’s face and stomped toward the bedroom. “Make sure she stays put,” he said to the deputy.
Shirley’s heart raced. With no place left to hide, she braced for the cry of a child startled out of sleep. Nothing. She heard nothing. What was happening? As the seconds ticked, the absence of sound swelled into the smothering sensation of drowning. On the brink of fainting, she heard the closet door open and shut and footsteps stomp toward the kitchen. The pantry door opened and shut. Then the door to the back porch opened and closed.
Panic weighed the scales of Shirley’s breathing. Oh, God. Lizzie? Lizzie, where are you? Don’t let him find you.
Every door in the house opened and every door slammed shut.
“Damn!” said the sheriff from somewhere out of Shirley’s sight. “Damn!” he exclaimed again, as footsteps pounded through the kitchen. The air in Shirley’s lungs filled with the scent of Old Spice and stale cigar smoke as Sheriff Pate pushed through the living room and out the front door. The deputy looked at Shirley, hesitated for a moment and then followed him.
Shirley’s petrified brain heard the two patrol cars kick up driveway gravel and speed away.
“Lizzie!” she called, running from room to room. “You can come out now. It’s okay. They’re gone. Lizzie. Lizzie!” she screamed.
Shirley screamed to no avail. Lizzie was gone too.
Shirley dashed for the phone, hands trembling as she dialed.
“Hello.”
“Nash! Nash, you should have left a note. You should have called.”
“Why should I have called? What do you mean left a note? Left a note where about what. What are you talking about, Shirley?”
“About Lizzie. I’m talking about Lizzie.”
“What about Lizzie?”
“Arlene called the Sheriff. She told him she suspected I had taken Lizzie. He came here looking for her.”
“You mean the Sheriff’s got Lizzie?”
“No,” said Shirley. “Nash… she’s not with me. She’s not with you? You didn’t come and get her? You haven’t seen her?”
“No. What’s going on? Where is she? Where is Lizzie?”
Shirley dropped to the floor. “Oh, my God no… they’ve got her. Nash… They’ve got her.”
“They who?”
“The ones who took Martha Ann. They’ve got Lizzie. They took Lizzie.”
Silence stuffed the other end of the phone line. Shirley waited for the pressure to explode and blast a raging flurry of well-deserved accusations.
“I’m sorry, Nash. Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I just… I just wanted to protect Lizzie. I only wanted to help.”
“I know,” said Nash, breaking free of his disbelief. “Listen to me. Calm down. There ain’t nothing for you to be sorry about. If it hadn’t happened this way, it would’ve happened another. It ain’t your fault. Don’t fall apart. I need you. Can you come over? Don’t worry about Arlene and Joe. I don’t care now what anybody thinks or suspects. We need to put our two heads together. We need to figure out what to do next. Will you come over?”
“Of course I will. I’ll leave right now. I’ll be there as quick as I can.”
“Thank you, Shirley. And don’t you worry… we’re getting Lizzie back. There ain’t no way in hell those people are going to keep my Lizzie baby from me.”
The clunk of the phone receiver and the shift back to silence scraped every raw red nerve in Shirley’s body as she sawed her steps toward a door from which there might be no return. She grabbed the door handle and started out, but as she did, Grandma leapt up from the lounge chair, arched her back and hissed.
“What’s the matter, kitty?” asked Shirley. She checked the kitchen to be sure there was plenty of food and water for Grandma and then headed out again.
Shirley reached for the doorknob and Grandma repeated the same odd behavior.
“What?” said Shirley. “You’re fine. You’ll be fine. I’ll be back before dark.” Shirley clicked a lamp switch to on. “Okay. Is that better?”
Shirley opened the door and the cat scratched furiously at the air as if being attacked by something invisible.
Shirley shoved the door closed again. “I know you’re trying to tell me something, Grandma, but I’ve had no experience with cat language and I’ve got to go because that little girl who was here needs my help.” Crease lines revealed Shirley’s brow plowing the way for lagging thoughts. “What am I saying? You were here. You know what happened. If only you could tell me. Grandma… is that what you’re trying to do? Is there something I’m not seeing? Lord help me! Am I about to do exactly what you’re trying to tell me not to do?”
Shirley’s face drained to blank and then lit up like the star on top of a twenty foot high Christmas tree. She dropped her handbag, pulled the phone directory out of a table drawer and glanced at the time.
“He’s probably still there,” she mumbled as she flipped pages. One finger ran up the lines of print and then dialed a number.
“Purity Post, Dish Townsend speaking.”
“Mr. Townsend?” Shirley swallowed and licked her dry lips. “Mr. Townsend, my name is Shirley Foster and… and I need your help.”
“Foster… Shirley Foster…” He repeated her name as if sifting for memory connections.
“Yes. I work with the Department of Social Services.”
“Oh yes. That Miss Foster,” he said in a lackluster tone. “What can I do for you?”
“A little girl has been kidnapped, Mr. Townsend. The kidnappers called me today. They aren’t asking for ransom. They only want one thing… a story published in Sunday’s paper on the front page.”
“Who is the child, Miss Foster?”
“Lizzie Lovett.”
“I see.” The lilt of interest in his voice fell flat. “One of the Lovett girls?”
“Yes. Martha Ann’s cousin.”
“Miss Foster, that family has a reputation for girls running off and then showing up a few weeks down the road. I can’t print an unsubstantiated story like that. If I were you I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Pranksters run rampant in this town. There ain’t anybody knows that fact better than me. Makes my job much harder than it ought to be.”
“I understand your position. But I do wish you’d reconsider…”
“Nope. Not a chance. Too big a risk, Miss Foster. Sorry.”
“Dish… Mr. Townsend, please. Lizzie didn’t just run off.”
“Miss Foster, I’m not a hard hearted man. Do you have any proof? Can you prove, without a shadow of a doubt, that she’s been kidnapped?”
“No,” answered Shirley. “I… I don’t have any proof that Lizzie’s been kidnapped. And I didn’t mean to… to imply you’re a hard-hearted man. I’m sorry if I…” Shirley’s choppy blocks of words served a purpose… to stall until… Yes! Her running on blank mind suddenly materialized a possibility. But how could she…
“Miss Foster? Miss Foster?”
“Sorry. I’m here.”
“Well then… in that case… if there’s nothing else,” said Dish.
Shirley heard papers shuffling as her idea jelled. “No. There isn’t anything else. I guess not. Thank you for your time, Mr. Townsend. I should have trusted Sheriff Pate’s decision.”
“Sheriff Pate? You talked to the Sheriff?”
“Yes. I took the story to him. Written down just the way the kidnappers told me.”
“What did the sheriff say?” Dish Townsend’s voice tightened like a hangman’s knot.
“Same as you. He said it was a waste of time and tossed it into his waste basket.”
“Is it still there? The story the kidnappers want published… is it still in Sheriff Pate’s waste basket?” he asked.
“As far as I know. Don’t know why it wouldn’t be. It’s only been a few hours since he threw it there. Why?”
“This puts a whole new slant on things, Miss Foster. Puts things in a whole new perspective. I think I just might be able to help you out after all. Thank you for calling.”
The disconnection clicked in Shirley’s ear and a smile spread over her face. She glanced over at Grandma. The cat now lay curled up contentedly in the chair.
Shirley picked up the phone again and dialed. After five rings…
“Nash,” she said quickly as he answered. “It’s Shirley.”
“Shirley? I thought you’d be on your way over by now.”
“I won’t be going after all. Things have… there’s been a change of direction on my end. I think we just might get that story in Sunday’s paper after all.”
“You think?” said Nash. “Is that enough? Times running out real quick, Miss Shirley. There ain’t any time left to waste.”
“I know. I know. But I’m pretty sure the idea I’ve come up with is a good bet, Nash. How are things over there?”
“Arlene’s falling apart despite Joe’s best efforts to keep her on stable ground. And poor little Tadpole don’t know what to think with first Martha Ann disappearing and now Lizzie.”
“And you?” Shirley asked.
“I’d be a whole lot better if I could wake up from this nightmare and… and if you were here. So, what do we do now?”
“We wait.”
“Wait? In case I ain’t already told you, there ain’t nothing I do worse than waiting. Ain’t there something we can do in the meantime?”
“I’m sorry, Nash. That’s all there is right now.”
“That ain’t what I wanted to hear but if I ain’t got no choice except to hang all my wash out on one line… that’s all I can do. And if the story don’t show up in Sunday’s paper?”
“It will, Nash. It will,” said Shirley.
“That answer sounded a bit on the shaky side, Shirley. I hope you ain’t just trying to convince you
rself of that.”
“Nash, if there’s anything I can do to help get you through this… just ask.”
“Kind of you to say, Miss Shirley. As a matter of fact, there is something. Could you… it’d help a lot if you’d find a way to come and spend some time with me.”
“Oh, Nash…” said Shirley. “I’d like to. Believe me, I really would but I think we should keep our distance for now. Just for a while.”
“All right, then,” said Nash. “We wait.”
Chapter 19
A Town Accused of Murder
Sunday morning, December 21, a bulky Purity Post lay on Shirley’s kitchen table bound tightly by a thick rubber band. Grits simmering on the stove would soon be done. Fat soaked into a paper towel beneath three strips of bacon. Two slices of pan-fried toast already lay on her plate. Shirley poured half a glass of orange juice, stirred the grits and placed a pat of butter near the toast. When the grits were done, she scraped them into a small, single serving size bowl.
Seated at the table, Shirley watched the butter melt onto the creamy grits and took a bite of crisp toast. The clock chimed 8 am. She hoped to hear the phone ring and find Nash’s voice on the other end, excited about the story on the front page of the Post. Glancing at the phone, she took another bite of toast and then looked at the bundle of paper that could change the course of many lives.
As desperately as her mind reached for the newspaper, Shirley couldn’t bring herself to open it. Not yet. Not without first knowing what she would do next, if the kidnapping story she concocted wasn’t the headline splashed across this Sunday morning’s front page.
She ate slowly. A spoonful of grits. A nibble of bacon. A bite of toast. A sip of orange juice. She glanced at the phone again. Ring. Just ring. Her thoughts urged. Ring. Time ticked off the wall clock. Slowly. Loudly. And more slowly. If her hunch was wrong and the story wasn’t Purity’s morning news, finding the tree where the Indian had been hung would be the last chance to save Lizzie from becoming another victim of the blood feud.