by Dana Taylor
"Liar! Daughter of Perdition.” His wild eyes scanned the room. “There! There are some of the symbols that keep her power."
He crossed to the Chinese herb section with the Yin/Yang labels and pulled the plastic bottles of capsules off the shelves, stomping them with his feet. Christina made mewling, gasping sounds as Val dragged her behind the juice bar.
Jason looked over at me as he advanced toward Jeremiah. “Call 911."
At that point Jeremiah began to fully vent his rage by toppling an entire display shelf over, blocking Jason's approach. Jeremiah's expression appeared completely demented as he charged full tilt in my direction, intent on beating the evil out of me.
His hands lifted, ready to grab my throat. “Resist the devil and he will flee from you. You must renounce him!"
He was barely two feet away when Jason threw himself in a good old-fashioned football tackle and brought Jeremiah down. Jeremiah roared, viciously kicking and punching. Jason grunted and groaned, fighting back, but without the unrepressed anger to fuel him. He was trying to contain Jeremiah, not murder him.
"For God's sake, Perse, call 911!” Jason yelled, as they rolled over broken glass.
Instead, I ran to the struggling pair and hovered above them until I could get a good lick in. Jeremiah had Jason pinned on the floor about to pummel his face. I lifted the notebook still clutched in my arms over my head and came down as hard as my 130 pounds could deliver.
Wham! The sound of the binder hitting Jeremiah's skull reverberated throughout the room.
The internal clasp of the binder gave way and hundreds of pages spilled over the frozen pair. Jeremiah looked up at me with unfocused surprise, breaking his grip. That gave Jason the opening to get off one solid punch and it was all over.
Jeremiah Ross lay unconscious amid Chinese herbs, broken glass, and the fluttering pages of the Peeler Pork prospectus.
Jason studied me from his prone position with an expression that said, “Another fine mess you've gotten me into, Ollie,” or something along those lines.
A light flashed and I turned to see Curt, the photographer from the Peeler Proclamation, shooting a roll of film. Someone must have tipped him off about the commotion and he'd come running across the street to check it out.
Jason got to his feet as I shoved Curt out the door. “Get out of here Curt. I'm not in the mood."
"Gosh, Perse, you keeping giving me great stuff. And some people say nothing ever goes on in a small town. Tell me what happened."
Jason moved menacingly toward him. “Out."
By then the police, an ambulance and fire truck showed up, sirens blaring, lights flashing. Somebody from the street had called 911. Valerie ran after Curt to give him all the juicy details as Christina dithered around telling anybody who'd listen how frightened she'd been.
I grabbed a whiskbroom and brushed glass shards off Jason's clothes. Blood trickled from cuts on his hands and face.
After Jeremiah was carried into the ambulance, the paramedics insisted on treating Jason, even though he was trying to pull a typical macho man routine.
"It's just a few cuts. I'll be fine."
"Don't be a dope.” I swatted his shoulder. “Let them patch you up. You may have glass splinters."
Christina looked squeamish as she put her hand on his arm. “Please, Jason, go with them. You know how I hate the sight of blood."
He sighed and went off with the medics. She turned to me smiling with a wink. “You see, you just have to know how to handle him.” She waggled her hips out the door.
I gave my statement to the police officer. I told him I wouldn't cooperate with prosecuting Jeremiah, though they could press charges without my help. I'd incited a revolution in his home. He didn't need any more trouble from me. Besides, I didn't want to give the witch story more exposure.
Downtown customers and local business owners had converged in the street to catch the action. Val's recitation of the incident gathered a large crowd and she dramatically re-enacted the event until Jason hauled her off and locked Christina and her in his Lexus.
After a while, everyone drifted away. Interestingly enough, no one came in to see if I was all right. Nobody wanted to be associated with the witch. Now that the excitement was over, my hands were shaking. A gush of tears threatened to burst forth.
Should I have interfered in the Ross situation? Self-doubt hammered me.
I was putting the closed sign on the window when Jason came back in. He had Band-Aids on his cheek and his hands.
He searched my eyes. “How are you doing?"
I tried to smile. “Oh, fine. You know, just another day at the office."
He gathered me into his arms and I buried my face in his shirt and let a couple of tears seep down my cheek. “I hate it when they call me a witch.” My hand tapped his chest in frustration. “I'm a healer, not a witch."
"You're a lightning rod for trouble, is what you are.” He wiped my tears away with his thumbs.
I touched the bandage on his cheek. “You're a real live hero. I think he might have really hurt me if you hadn't been here."
He hugged me tight. “Well, thank God I was here."
We stood silently for a moment, transferring peace to each other in our embrace. We parted but he held me lightly by my upper arms.
"I've got to go. The natives will be getting restless in the car. Have you seen my mother?"
Ruth! I'd forgotten all about her. We walked to the backroom, but she wasn't there. Oh, great, searching for a confused old lady was going to end a really swell day. We opened the door to the massage room and there she was-curled up on the padded massage table, sound asleep, issuing a gentle snore.
Crashing shelves, fisticuffs and sirens-she'd slept through it all.
* * * *
I picked up the scattered pages of the prospectus and organized them as best I could. The rest of the mess would keep until the next day. I needed to get to the hospital and check on Isaac.
Rachel sat alone in the ER waiting room, tear tracks streaking down her cheeks. Her face lightened to see a friendly face.
"Oh, Perse, I should have taken your advice and gotten him to a doctor sooner. His appendix burst. He's in surgery right now."
We waited together for a couple of hours. She told me about the awful scene at her home when she'd accompanied Isaac into the ambulance. The last she'd seen of Jeremiah, he'd been standing in the middle of the unpaved road shouting at her. I gave her a condensed version of Jeremiah's rampage and assured her I'd bail him out of jail if necessary. It probably was a good thing to have him cooling down in the city's ancient slammer for the moment.
After what seemed an ice age, Doc Furneau emerged to tell us Isaac was in recovery and doing well. As always, the doc wasn't happy to see me, but forced himself to be civil. He probably partially blamed me for Isaac's long delay going to the doctor. I was such a bad influence.
Rachel and I quietly entered Isaac's room. He appeared so fragile in the wide, white hospital bed, just a little lump of humanity. Matted brown hair clung to his pale forehead. But his breathing was even. Rachel gently touched his arm and wept at the sight of the IV tubes taped to his small, bony hand.
"He's going to be fine,” I said. “That's the important thing. You did what you had to do."
Rachel nodded. She snuffled, rose, and wrapped me in an unexpected hug. “Thank you. God bless you."
"Better be careful. I'm the Devil's Daughter."
Rachel smiled with liquid brown eyes. “No, you're not. You're an angel."
* * * *
Feeling better about my interfering ways but decidedly hungry, I headed to the Dew Drop Inn for a hot meal. I hauled in the Peeler Pork prospectus to begin my open-minded examination.
Brad Beasley, my anti-pig co-worker, hailed me over to his booth. “Whatchya got there, Perse?"
I shrugged off my coat and slipped into the seat across from him. “It's the Peeler Pork Prospectus. I've been accused of being closed-minded about the
project, so I've promised to read this whole thing."
Brad whistled low. “That will take you a week of Sundays."
Gazing at the thick notebook I had to agree, a most daunting task lay before me. I ordered a pot of coffee, thick and strong.
Brad pulled the book toward him. “Maybe two heads are better than one. With all the publicity Charlene and her crew have been spreading, I've been wondering if maybe it's not such a bad thing after all. Let's split this up and see if we can make some sense of it."
"Thanks, Brad. You're a real pal.” I dug in my purse and found a couple of highlighters. The two hog detectives went to work.
After a bowl of stew, avoiding the meat, but giving into a slice of apple pie, I was ready to discuss what we'd been reading. “What do you think?"
Brad's sandy hair fell in his face, reminding me of one of his golden retrievers. “From an economic standpoint it makes a lot of sense. It'll mean construction jobs and then permanent jobs to the tune of an annual 1.4 million dollar payroll. That will all trickle into the community, including my dog grooming shop and your health food store."
I nodded. “Yes. I've been so concerned about the pollution that comes with hog farms-the terrible odor and ground water contamination. But now that I'm looking at it, I see Peeler Pork is proposing a whole new method of dealing with all that.” I flipped half-way through the tome. “There's a guy from Tulsa who has invented a holding tank for the waste products that converts it into odorless, sterilized solids that can be sold as fertilizer. The waste lagoons would only be a temporary back up."
Brad sipped his coffee and swiped my last bite of apple pie. “Pollution won't be a problem and the city stands to make a lot of revenue. So, what's the problem?"
Indeed, what was the problem? I'd been so focused on all the negatives associated with hog farming in general; I hadn't been listening to what the proponents had to say.
I'd let my personal animosity toward Charlene and Brent color my thinking. I'd long ago assumed that anything associated with Charlene had to be bad. Obviously, I'd never forgiven her for the school yard taunts. But, they had nothing to do with this hog farm proposal.
Jason was right. I was emotional, impulsive and in this case, downright irrational. Not yet willing to admit defeat, I pleaded exhaustion and departed the café for home.
Later, lying in bed with fat Orion hogging the pillow, my mind went round and round. Pros and cons. Right and wrong. The good guys vs. the bad guys. But, of course, we'd all acted badly.
About three a.m. I threw in the towel. I had to face it-the City of Peeler would be better off with the hog farm.
Oh, what a humiliating proposition. I was going to have to tell the world that my nemesis, Charlene Foster, was right.
Chapter Twelve
-
At the store the next morning, Mavis wasn't happy when I told her I was going to support the hog farm.
"Are you a rat leaving a sinking ship or is it just because you've been sleeping with the Man?"
A shot of embarrassment went through me. “What makes you think I've been sleeping with him?"
She put her hands on her hips and waggled her head. “Do I look stupid or something?"
I bowed my head. “It was only once."
"Well, for someone's who's lived like a nun since she came back to town, once is a lot."
"Mavis, this has nothing to do with my personal relationship with Jason. I poured over the prospectus and I have to say the project has a lot of merit."
I proceeded to lay out all the reasons why Peeler Pork would be beneficial. Then we got personal.
"Look, I know that it still means a hog farm adjoining your property and you don't like it."
"Damn right.” She crossed her arms.
"Well, what if I negotiate some things to your advantage? Right now you have a lot of open pastureland. How about you plant that land with feed for the pigs? And let's say I get them to commit to a profitable price for your feed even if the current price of feed is low? And all the free fertilizer you can use. It could be a win, win situation for you, too."
Her face scrunched up. “I still don't like it, but I'll talk to Charles about it."
"Fair enough."
Charles saw dollar signs and began heartily supporting his proposed new neighbor.
I called Jason's office and worked my way through several staff people to his personal secretary. It was amazing how my name caught their attention.
"I'd like to make an appointment with Mr. Brooks."
"Mr. Brooks is very busy. He probably can't work you in until next week. May I have your name?"
"Persephone Jones."
"The Persephone Jones?"
"Well now, how many people would be stuck with a name like that?"
"Just a minute."
I finally was buzzed through to the Man himself.
"Perse?"
"Yes ... I'd like to come to your office and talk to you."
He cleared his throat. “Sure. How about tomorrow at 11:30? We can go out to lunch."
"Sounds great,” I said, wondering if they served crow at the restaurant he had in mind.
* * * *
I pondered wearing the dress-for-success suit languishing in the back of my closet, but then opted for the real me, choosing a comfortable flowing dress with a floral pattern. Tamed curls cascaded around my shoulders.
I parked Lizzie in a seven-story garage in downtown Oklahoma City. Jason's office on the 24th floor of a sleek high-rise overlooked the changing character of the city, old brick buildings mingled with modern steel and glass structures.
Holding a gift bag, I stepped from the elevator into the office lobby. A rich blend of marble, mahogany, and money dazzled my eyes. Fantastic floral arrangements adorned polished tables, while offset lighting enhanced expensive paintings on the walls.
Feeling completely out of my element, I fought the urge to turn tail and run. Instead, I announced myself to the perky receptionist.
Being a notorious celebrity of sorts, I received surreptitious glances from all the bustling staff members as I walked toward Jason's office. His secretary announced me and I entered the inner sanctum, feeling like a truant child called into the principal's office.
He glanced up from his massive desk framed by a large window. His expression betrayed no emotion. A lawyer's poker face. Rich, powerful executive furniture and burgundy leather chairs dominated the room. A fifty-gallon saltwater aquarium took up an entire wall. Brightly colored fish darted in a rocky underwater world.
I circled the room, taking everything in. He followed me with his eyes, but didn't say anything.
I finally broke the silence. “I wanted to see the lion in his lair."
He grunted. “Some days it feels more like the rat in his cage.” His expression softened as he roved my figure. “You look nice."
He stood, moved around his desk, and encircled me with his arms. “To what do I owe this pleasure?"
I stared into his wonderful eyes, whiffed in his fabulous smell. “I've come to negotiate the terms of my surrender. I've also brought you a present."
I freed myself from his arms and placed my gift bag in his hands.
He examined it. “What's this?"
Smiling, I sat down. “A bit of whimsy."
He took the other guest chair and pulled out his present, a piggy cookie jar that had “Peeler Pork” painted on the belly. He cocked one eyebrow and gave a little grin, then opened the lid and released the aroma of home baked chocolate chip cookies into the room. Taking a bite out of the top cookie, he sat back in the chair and sighed.
"Mmm. You make the best. So, what are your terms?"
We discussed aspects of the hog farm deal and concerns I still had about fulfilling all the promises of the prospectus. He went along with my compensation to Mavis and Charles. It was decided I would take out an ad in the Peeler Proclamation supporting the hog farm.
A feeling of relief washed over me. We'd fought a good batt
le and lost with dignity. Well, sort of.
He glanced at his watch. “We have reservations at the Carousel. I hope you're hungry.” He took my arm and guided me out the door.
The Carousel resided on the sixtieth floor of the Sooner Bank Building. A revolving dining area moved in a slow circle surrounded by a panorama of glass. Diners inched their way around to enjoy an ever-changing view of the city. Quite a contrast from the Dew Drop Inn coffee shop in Peeler.
My lunch was an elegant Caribbean salad complete with fresh pineapple and cilantro. Too bad I couldn't really enjoy it, because I knew what I had to say.
He finished telling me about a judge who'd gone off his nut one day and started acting like the character in Alice in Wonderland proclaiming, “Off with his head!” as each felon faced sentencing.
"Jason, I came to talk to you about something else ... I've decided I need to move away from Peeler."
He put his hand over mine. “Perse, all of this will blow over."
Looking down at my salad, I continued, “It isn't that. I've gotten dissatisfied. I want more in my life than running the store, attending church functions, feeding my cat and seeing you when you can fit me into your schedule.” I leveled my gaze at him. “You've made me want more and I know you can't give it to me. Before you, I didn't mind being alone, but now I'm lonely. I've been hiding out in Peeler, but you've made me realize I can love somebody again. I need to go somewhere to meet more people, find a place that really accepts me, a person who will love me in return."
"Perse, I like being with you. You are beautiful, caring. Impulsive, yes. Never boring. I want you in my life."
I shook my head. “You want a bit on the side. Peeler is not the type of town where we can have a discreet affair. I'll not only be the town witch, but the town trollop. Besides, I need somebody who needs me. As you've said, you don't need anybody."
Jason's expression turned stony, a vein throbbed at his temple. “I'm not as cold as all that. You know I've been working at getting things organized, the new house, dealing with Val, and my mother, now Christina landing on my doorstep. I like to think of you as a retreat from all the stress. Only lately you've been greatly adding to the stress."