Gathering String

by Mimi Johnson

Her head dropped back as his mouth went to her breast, and she caught her breath, then gasped, “Jack!” In their most intimate moments, she often whispered or cried his name, and he reveled, as what he thought was a shiver of excitement shook her. But then in confusion, he realized she was actually trying to pull away. “Jack!” It wasn’t a cry of passion. Raising his eyes, he saw in the dim light that she was pointing upward. “What … what is that?” It was an alarmed whisper.

  He sat up a little, still holding her tight, not wanting to stop what he was doing, but squinting up into the darkness. He could see something on the rafter almost directly over them. “Oh it’s probably just …” He stopped, realizing it was alive when it moved slightly into the fading light coming from the loft doors, the sunlight striking a weird, red reflection from narrow, tiny eyes. Then it scrambled a few feet further along the beam, and Jack got a good look at its sleek body and long, hairless tail. “OK,” he said it softly, cautiously. “That’s a big … a very big rat.”

  Tess pushed off chest and was onto the wooden ladder before Jack could say another word, yelling, “Get my Nikon!” just before she disappeared. Grabbing the camera, he looked back up, tempted to go after the ugly thing in revenge. But taking another look at the glowing, malevolent eyes watching him insolently, he too made a hasty retreat.

  His feet just hit floor when Tess pulled opened the barn door, then quickly closed it again and turned blindly back, running into him. “Thelma’s out there,” she hissed in a hysterical whisper, looking down at her open shirt.

  “No, she … No way,” he stammered, but Tess nodded furiously and began reaching for the two ends of her bra.

  “She is, Jack, no!” She grabbed for his sleeve, but it was too late. He’d opened the door a crack, and Rover slipped out around him, barking loudly. Having received no answer from her knocking on the front door, Thelma was standing in the yard, looking at the parked Westphal vehicles, wondering where their owners were. As Rover came running, she looked over and waved at Jack calling, “Yoo-hoo.”

  “Ah shit, here she comes,” he shut the door again and turned to his desperate wife, reaching down to try and help her, but causing them both to lose hold of the silky, filmy fabric.

  She brushed his hands away. “Oh great! Now you’re all thumbs.”

  “Well, I’ve never tried to hook one before.”

  “Button up,” Tess flipped the St. Francis medal that peeked from his chest hair, and he turned to his own shirt. “Jesus, I’m trapped between Thelma and a rat.” The closure finally caught as her wild laugh slipped out. They both could hear footsteps and the yipping dog coming closer as Tess fumbled with her shirt.

  “OK,” Jack finished most of his buttons and ran a hand through his hair, coming away with fingers full of straw. “Just stay in here, and I’ll get rid of her.”

  But Tess shook her head. “What if that thing comes down here? I’ll take my chances with Brunhilde.”

  “Stay behind me.” Jack opened the door a tiny bit just as Thelma was reaching for the latch, keeping his bulk between the frame and the weathered door, shielding Tess who had her back turned, and asked cheerfully, “What’s up?”

  Thelma frowned suspiciously. “What are you doing out here? Where’s Tess?”

  Jack shrugged, and jostled, trying to keep Rover from shooting back in around his legs. “I was just, ah, checking things out in here. You know ...” His voice faded vaguely, and he asked, “What brings you way out here?”

  She frowned, trying to peer over his broad shoulders while Rover cried and shimmied at their feet. “Well, I thought I’d at least catch Tess at home. It’s near time to start supper, and I was sure she’d be in the kitchen.” Rover yipped and butted against Jack's legs. “Is someone else in there?” Thelma’s head dodged, trying to get a better look.

  Tess, fully clothed, turned and pushed the door open wider so she could squeeze out. “Just me, Thelma. Jack was helping me with some work.” She held up her camera, with a husky “Thanks, honey,” and a mocking grin, going on toward the house, the dog gamboling around her.

  Jack smiled, watching his wife cross the barnyard, her hair a corona of straw. “Well, I certainly didn’t think I’d interrupt anything at this time of day,” Thelma pursed her lips and looked pointedly at his chest. Jack glanced down to find his shirt was buttoned wrong. Past caring, his rolling laugh made the old woman’s face flush, and she squawked, “You should be glad I bothered to come all the way out here. All hell broke loose this afternoon after you snuck out.”

  Jack stepped out of the barn, and started walking toward Thelma’s car, his head bent as he fixed his shirt. “Really?” his voice was still rich with amusement, “What hell was that?”

  “A summons server stopped at the office.”

  She nodded with satisfaction as Jack’s head snapped up. “A summons? You mean someone with a subpoena? For whom? For what?”

  “It was just a good thing I was there to handle it, that’s all I can say,” she said. “When you feel free to just take off like that, I’m the only one left who …”

  Jack held up his hand to stop her. “Wait, how did you ‘handle’ it?”

  “Well, he was looking for you. And when you weren’t there, he wanted to know where to find you. But of course, you didn't bother to let any of us know where you were going. So I told him, ‘I am the controller for this business and one of the chief operating officers. You can deal with me just as well as you can with Mr. Westphal.’ Well, he saw who was in charge mighty quick, let me tell you.”

  “What did you …”

  “He offered to let me accept the summons for you. Which I did, and …

  “You accepted … You took it?” Jack stammered, and then setting his jaw said sternly, “Give it to me,” holding out his hand.

  “I saved you no end of trouble, since you weren’t where you should be on a work day at 3:30 in the afternoon.” Thelma dug in her purse, coming up with a white envelope with an official seal and handed it to him.

  Jack tore down one side and slid out the document, reading carefully with a deep frown. Then with a sigh, he looked up. “OK, we need to get a few things straight,” he took Thelma’s elbow, propelling her toward her car. “First, you are a bookkeeper.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head, saying emphatically, “Bookkeeper, Thelma, book-keep-er. Next, I am the only operating officer at the Journal, chief or otherwise. Got that? Just me.” He opened the car door for her. Quelled at his severity, she only nodded. “And finally, when someone comes to serve a subpoena on a journalist you always, always,” and Jack leaned down to look hard into her eyes, “always tell him to go away. You say that you don’t know where I am. I don’t care if I’m just down the hall in the can. Hell, I don’t care if I’m sitting right at my desk. If the guy can’t spot me, that’s his problem. So now, you tell me, was it helpful that you accepted this?”

  “I guess not,” she said it quietly. His eyebrows shot up in sarcastic agreement. “Augie Sanderson called for you too …” Jack’s eyes went wide, and he held up one finger. Thelma didn't go on. Without another word, she slid behind the wheel of her enormous Buick. Watching it lumber out the drive, Jack shook his head then went into the house. For a moment he stared at the envelope in his hand. Then, very faintly, the sound of the upstairs shower running came to him. Tossing the envelope onto the kitchen table, he went up the stairs.

  He was sound asleep, flat on his belly, his arms wrapped around a pillow, when Tess slipped back into the room. “Wake up, Romeo,” she leaned down and whispered it tenderly into his ear, at the same time letting the ice-cold beer bottle she carried rest for just an instant on his naked ass. His head jerked up, and he opened one eye at her. “I took Thelma seriously and made dinner.” She was smiling and held out a plate toward him.

  He rolled over with a sigh, and looked at her suspiciously. “You cooked?”

  She nodded. “BLTs. Did you know they make already-fried bacon? All you have to do is microwave it for
a couple seconds.”

  He pushed himself up on his elbows, and she put the plate down on his stomach, placing the beer on the nightstand. Then she crossed the room and picked up her own plate and bottle from the dresser. She was wearing the long, pale yellow silk robe he’d given her for her birthday with nothing underneath.

  He eyed the sandwich. “You made this?” She smiled. “You bought the stuff and put it together?”

  She sighed. “Yes, Jack. I can make toast and spread it with mayonnaise and put on lettuce and bacon.” She paused, and then added, “But the tomato I bought was all green inside, so I didn’t use it.”

  He picked up the top piece of toast and looked at the contents. “So it’s really just a BL, huh?”

  She muttered with a full mouth, “You got laid, and you’re sitting naked in bed with a cold beer. Don’t ask for the moon.” He shrugged and dug in. She wiped her fingers on a napkin and tugged the subpoena envelope from the pocket of her robe. “I found this on the kitchen table. Is Thelma moonlighting as a summons server?”

  He grimaced. “Sort of. She accepted for me.”

  “Oh, smooth move.” Tess sipped her beer. “That old bat is going to help you straight into hell, Westphal, mark my words.”

  He nodded as he swallowed, “I’m beginning to think you’re right.”

  “Hallelujah! Get rid of her.”

  He shook his head. “Can’t do it. She’s been there over 30 years. People in town wouldn’t take it well.”

  “What’s the worst that could happen? The Journal might be picketed by the Martha’s Circle?”

  He laughed. “I’m just trying to hang on to every single hard-won reader, even the ones who are Thelma’s friends. I think I can outlast her until she retires. Hell, I’ll be surprised if she didn’t decide on her way home that’s what she wants to do. I wasn’t gentle when I sent her on her way.”

  “So,” Tess jutted her chin at the subpoena, “what’s it about?”

  “It’s the investigation into the HIPAA violation on that leaked autopsy report on Swede’s father.”

  “Really?” She pulled it out of the torn envelope and took a long look. “Why you?”

  “I imagine they'll talk to everyone interviewed for that profile, ask them if they had access to the report and handed it over. When every known source denies it, they’ll subpoena the reporter.” He took a sip of his beer. “If he doesn’t give up the source, the judge will be confident that the only way to find out who it was, is to hold him in contempt. Looks like your friend Waterman might be twisting in the wind on this one.”

  “Could be.” She looked up from the subpoena. There was an edge in his voice when he’d said “your friend.” “You OK appearing, giving testimony?”

  He shrugged again. “I’d rather that Thel had made the server’s job harder. It means driving down to Des Moines and wasting a lot of time telling them I don’t know anything, so yeah, it’s a pain in the ass. But I’ll walk out of there with no problems. What about good ol' Sam?” Again, she caught the sharpness in his tone, and she looked at him questioningly. “Would he give up the source?”

  She shook her head. “Not if he promised confidentiality. No way. Sam’s nothing if not stubborn.”

  Their eyes met, and Jack’s narrowed. “Tess, why didn't …” and then the alarm beeper on his cell phone went off. “Ah, shit, I almost forgot. I’ve got to get out to Sorenson’s farm.” He explained while he dressed quickly about the story on the fire marshal’s office, and how he could catch many of the volunteer fire chiefs at one gathering. He left the unfinished beer, but grabbed his sandwich to take with him, saying, “This isn’t bad.” Leaning over, he gave her a smacking kiss, and a roguish smile, his hand just grazing the fine silk over her right breast. “Thanks, for everything.”

  He was almost out the bedroom door when she asked softly, “Jack, what were you going to say? Just before the alarm went off?”

  He seemed to think for a second, and then shrugged, “Don’t remember.” He went down the hall.

  Chapter 28

  The night turned cold as spring nights so often do. The absolutely clear sky, that had lured Jack outside in the afternoon, held in none of the sun-generated warmth. By the time he got a chance to talk to the last fire chief, Clinton Delavan from Sheffield, 50 miles to the east, he was tempted to forget the interview and just head for home. He had enough stories from the other chiefs to illustrate the bungling of the fire marshal’s office. Of course, it all had to be substantiated, and he’d have to go to Des Moines to talk with Ralph Miller, which, if the stories he’d heard were true, wasn’t easy to arrange. Miller wasn’t too keen about talking to anybody about anything.

  But as Jack watched Delavan walking toward him, he decided he’d better do the interview after all. It was good of the guy to stick around, and he might be really interesting. Burly, with a thick, black, curly beard, he certainly appeared to be a character.

  “Well now,” Delavan’s voice seemed to come from an echo chamber deep in his chest, “I hear you’re going to do every fire department in the state a public service.”

  “You had problems with Miller’s office too then?” Jack asked flipping to a fresh page in his notebook.

  “A couple over the last few years. To tell you the truth, I never thought much of him when he was just an inspector. How he got to be marshal still beats me.”

  Jack pointed toward his Jeep. “How about if we get out of the cold?”

  They started walking, and Delavan held up a thermos he was carrying. “I brought some coffee. I thought it might get chilly.” He studied Jack’s slower, stiff gait. “You look a little stove-up there, boy.”

  Jack nodded. “Played a little pick-up ball this afternoon.”

  “So you still get out on the court?”

  “Only with some kids in town, and not as often as I should. Guess I’m a little out of shape.”

  Delavan shook his head. “It sure was fun to watch you play.”

  Jack smiled, but didn’t reply, setting his jaw at the ache as he bent to get in behind the wheel.

  With the Jeep’s seat warmers running and the interior light on so he could see to write, Jack took a sip of the steaming coffee and realized it was laced with brandy. At his appreciative nod, Delavan smiled, and settled back. Jack turned on his recorder.

  “Of all the chiefs I talked to tonight, you’re the only one who knows Miller personally,” Jack began, taking one more, good sip and putting the foam cup into a holder.

  “Well, I knew him awhile back. He used to live around Sheffield and was the inspector for our area.”

  “And you’d say he was pretty incompetent even then?”

  “Oh, not so much incompetent as lazy. You know, he was the type that spent more time sitting in the coffee shop instead of his office, shooting the shit with whoever was around, and letting a generous farmer or two pick up his check. To tell you the truth, he was considered pretty much a deadbeat. There were more than a few businesses around that wouldn’t take his personal checks. But when he got around to working, he seemed to know pretty well what he was doing. He’s not a stupid man.”

  “So as an inspector, his work was credible?”

  The older man took a sip of his coffee, thinking about that. “Mostly, yeah. There was one fire though, with a couple of fatalities, that I just didn’t see where he was coming from. Of course, I’m not the expert, he is.”

  Jack leaned back in his seat, trying to stretch his sore legs. “Tell me about that.”

  “It was the Governor’s Corner Store in Sheffield that burned, just before Christmas, right after he was elected the first time. You probably remember it.”

  “Swede’s store? You know, not too long ago Augusta Erickson told me Swede was pleased with Miller’s work on that. In fact, I got the impression that was why Swede tapped him for fire marshal.”

  Delavan shrugged. “I suppose to the Gov’s way of thinking, it was handled real well. It was a nasty situation, and I thoug
ht for sure it would lead to a long, involved court case. In all my years as a fire chief, and that’s been more than 25, I’ve never seen a case settled so quick. I suppose Ralphie-boy saw his chance to make a good impression and hopped to it for a change.”

  Jack’s memory of the fire story was vague. It had happened just a few months after he bought the Journal and a lot of stories he covered then were quickly done while he tried to get his arms around the million other things he’d had to learn. “I need to go look at my clips to refresh my memory on this. Can you fill me in on the details?”

  “We got the call about 9:30 at night. The store had only been empty for a few hours, but when we got there, it was all out of control. I sure haven’t seen many buildings go up like that. I knew right off that something wasn’t right.”

  “Why?”

  Delavan nodded toward the blackened ruins of the barn, a good hundred yards away. “If you’d seen that thing touched off tonight, you’d know. When someone torches a building, and is stupid enough just to throw gasoline all over the place, it leaves its mark. The gas fumes alone carry the flames like blue ghosts. Kind of an explosion on the run. Nothing looks quite like it. They leave scorch marks and so on.”

  “Miller didn't think it was arson?”

  “Oh no, we both agreed on that. It was plain as could be. It was the way Miller decided it happened that just didn’t add up for me. See, the guy that called in the fire said he’d been out in his garage or something, and this kid, Andy Brubaker was his name, he came running down the street, reeking of gas, his eyebrows and hair and clothes all singed, crying that his two friends were trapped inside. And when we finally could get in, we did find their bodies back in a little storage room, dead from smoke inhalation.

  “Well, at the inquest, it came out that Andy had been fired at the store that day, and he and his two buddies snuck in that night to raise a little hell. It was Miller’s theory that the kids set fire to the place, not realizing how fast the gas would go up. When it got away from them, the one kid ran off, while his two friends couldn’t get out.”