Dust and Roses

by Wes Brummer

  “The hell I will.” His voice was a growl.

  “Two other patients wear one, and they’re not complaining, so you’re in good company. Bath first, then breakfast.” Sara glanced at Beatrice. “Get his wash basin ready. Patrick, add new water to the pitcher.”

  “No one touches me!” Evans pushed himself to a sitting position. “Get out and take those freaks with you.”

  Patrick retrieved the pitcher, but Beatrice stopped, eyes cast downward. Evans glanced her way. There was a glint in his eye and a lopsided smirk. The ornery coot never smiled. What was he up to?

  Sara slipped an arm around Bea’s shoulders. “Don’t listen to him. He’s trying to get under your skin. Prepare his bath water. Go on.”

  Evans jerked his head around. “Why are you coddling those oddballs? They belong in a sideshow. Are they your trained pets? Have you taught them to dance for their supper?”

  Sara leveled blazing eyes at the spiteful old codger. “You can snipe at me, but leave my friends alone. Any more mean remarks and I’ll leave you here stinking until dinner.”

  “Don’t worry, mother hen,” Evans chortled. “I don’t care about your monkeys. I tried to teach you when you did wrong growing up. And I’m telling you now. Don’t try to get even with me. You think you got me in your pocket, but you’ll learn different.”

  Bea returned with a water-filled basin and set it on the nightstand.

  “Thank you, Bea. Now get the sponge and some soap.”

  Evans eyed the nightstand.

  “We’ll be done before you know it, Mr. Evans.”

  Patrick re-entered, placing the pitcher beside the basin.

  Without warning, Evans shoved up against the headboard, twisted his body, and kicked out. His right foot connected with the nightstand, tipping it sideways. For a long moment, the top-heavy cabinet hung suspended on two legs, and then toppled over as if in slow motion.

  Crash!

  Water splashed against the wall. The ceramic pitcher shattered, and the metal basin rolled in a tight circle, spinning to the floor.

  Evans thumped his fist on the bed, hooting with delight.

  Sara’s hands clenched into a tight fist. Enough was enough. She stepped close and grabbed Evans by the nightshirt, slamming him against the wall. Bewilderment replaced his satisfied leer. She leaned in, her face inches from his. “Good work, Mr. Evans.” Her voice was quiet, conversational, and altogether menacing. “You’ve given us plenty to do.” She motioned to the hand restraints hooked to the bed. “Have you noticed these manacles by your head and the straps near your feet? Twitch one muscle. Make one more remark, and I’ll bind your hands and legs. You are the last person we’ll be tending to until dinnertime. If I remember, I’ll look for the key. But don’t get your hopes up.”

  Evans’ jaw fell slack. Sara grabbed his right hand, pushing his wrist inside the restraint.

  “Do you understand, Mr. Evans?”

  “No! No. Please don’t.” Evans’ voice shook with fear. “I won’t do nothing else.”

  “That’s not good enough. I want to hear a promise.” Sara began closing the manacle on his left hand.

  “I promise! I promise. Stop! I beg of you.” Evans’ voice rose to a trembling wail.

  She gripped his hand a moment longer, glaring at him from six inches away. Then she released her hold.

  Evans collapsed, gasping as he held his left wrist.

  “Thank you. We’ll have you smelling better in no time.”

  Evans remained silent while Sara, Beatrice, and Patrick bathed him and attended to his room. He ate a breakfast of cornmeal mush and stretched out on clean sheets, wearing a fresh nightshirt.

  And a diaper.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  One of the chores Jason helped with since Sara left was the laundry and ironing. That Thursday afternoon, both he and his mother stood over the kitchen table. As his mom sprinkled water over the clothing from a pop bottle, he rolled each item and placed it in a cloth-covered basket.

  Since the fiasco with the cab company, searching for their sister had stopped. He had no idea on how to proceed, and his detective brother had nothing as well, not even with the help of his hack-written pulps. Mom wanted them to present what they had to the police. “Let them take care of it,” she said. “You boys have gone as far as you can.”

  His brother wanted to wait until three o’clock before calling the cops. If he couldn’t come up with a plan by then it was finished. Jason glanced at the wall clock. Two forty-five. Michael better think of something soon.

  “I’m running out of room to work, Jason,” his mother said. “Quit woolgathering and roll those shirts. Or else, you’ll be doing the ironing.”

  “I was just thinking about what we could have done to find Sis.”

  “You and Michael should contact the police. You boys have been putting it off for way too long.”

  “We’ll do it today, I promise.”

  Footsteps thumped down the living room stairs. A few seconds later Michael burst into the kitchen. “Ten minutes left and I got an idea!”

  Katherine McGurk never missed a beat while shaking water from the Nehi bottle. “Michael, you can set up the ironing board in the sewing room and gather some hangers. You need to help your brother.”

  “In just a second, Mom. I have an idea how to find Sara.” Michael stepped to the cupboard drawer, retrieved the telephone book. “We didn’t speak to the right people at the cab company.”

  Jason glanced at him. “Oh yeah? And who would that be?”

  Katherine frowned. “I thought we agreed you boys would let the police take over.”

  Michael picked up the receiver. “We will, Mom—if this doesn’t work. We can have another cab driver get her destination for us. It’d be perfectly safe.” He dialed the number. “Hello, I’d like a cab at 2234 Parker Street. Thank you.” He hung up the receiver.

  Jason rolled a towel and placed it in the basket. “What’s your idea?”

  Michael waved a five-dollar bill. “A big tip for a little information.”

  “So you’re bribing the driver?”

  Michael shrugged. “Call it an investment. Care to ride along?”

  Jason shook his head. “I need to finish with the laundry.”

  Katherine set down the bottle. “The clothes can wait. I’m coming along.”

  Michael frowned. “Mom, we’ll tell you what happened when we get back.”

  She set her jaw in a firm line. “If you boys won’t listen to me, then I’m getting involved.”

  Michael pursed his lips. “The cab driver might chicken out if there’s too many people. Right, Jason?”

  Not necessarily. Jason exhaled. “A mother’s concern could make a difference. It’s your show. You can do the talking.”

  Michael grabbed his cap. “I’m waiting on the front porch. The dispatcher said ten minutes.” He dashed from the kitchen to the front of the house. The screen door slammed a few seconds later.

  Katherine retrieved her sprinkling bottle. “Let’s get these clothes finished before the taxi gets here.”

  “Sure, Mom.” Jason rolled more clothes. Will Michael’s bribe scheme work?

  “Offering money—that sounds…shady. We should be watchful,” Katherine said.

  Jason glanced at his mother. Her words echoed his own thoughts. “Michael can be naïve. I’ll do that. Best to err on the side of caution. At worst, we’d only be out the cost of the cab ride.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Jason and Katherine finished the pre-ironing, Michael called from the front porch. “Cab’s here!” She reached in the closet and donned a pleated green jacket and a Robin Hood style hat tilted at a slight angle. Jason escorted his mother to the cab. Michael ran ahead to the car.

  The cabbie jumped out and opened the back door. That was a good sign. He was a young man with loose-fitting pants patched at the knees. He tipped his newsboy cap as Katherine and Jason entered the vehicle. Michael sat behind the driver.

  The c
abbie slipped behind the wheel. “Where to?”

  “Drive around the neighborhood.” Michael said. “We’re hoping you can get us some information. There’s a nice tip if you can help us. As soon as we strike a deal, we’ll return home.”

  The taxi driver pulled away from the curb, heading east. “What’s the story, Mack?”

  Jason pursed his lip at the cabbie’s flippant attitude. Michael produced his fiver. “We want the names of the drivers who worked last Sunday morning. Keep the Lincoln if you take the job. You get another five when you come up with the names. There’s also a bonus, if you’re interested.”

  The cabbie rubbed his chin. “An easy ten bucks. What’s the bonus?”

  Michael got out a ten. “We’ll double the fee if you can get us an address.”

  The cabbie whistled. “Tell me about the address.”

  “It’s a cab destination. A driver picked up a fare at the Farmland Café downtown, around nine-thirty, last Sunday morning. The passenger was a twenty-three-year old woman. Short brown hair with big curls. We want to know where the cab took her.”

  The cabbie chuckled. “That’s it? Twenty bucks for a ride destination?”

  Katherine bent forward. “What is your name, young man?”

  “Harlan.”

  She touched his shoulder. “Harlan, it’s very important that we get this address. The young woman is my daughter. She’s missing.”

  Enough with the fiddling. “Will you do it?” Jason asked.

  Harlan nodded. “I’ll ask around.”

  “Thank you,” Katherine said. “This means a lot to me.”

  “When I get the address, what should I do?”

  Michael sat up straight. “Come by the house and honk your horn. Day or night.”

  “You got it.” Harlan turned south on Waco Street.

  They needed a time limit. Jason focused on the driver. “How soon can you get us the address?”

  “A day… Two days tops.” He shrugged. “It’s just a matter of finding who worked that shift. That’s not a busy time.”

  “That’ll be swell.” Michael grinned.

  The cabbie turned the vehicle east on Central Avenue. He held up a hand. “Seems like you’re shelling out a lot of lettuce. Aren’t you worried I could give you a bogus address?”

  An internal alarm sounded. Jason leaned forward, hands clenched, but his mother touched his arm. “Would you do that?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am.” The driver hunched a shoulder. “I’m saying it upfront to get it out in the open. The wrong person could try and shade you folks.”

  Jason thumped the inside of the car door. “Michael, don’t listen to this guy. Drop the deal right now.”

  Michael cleared his throat. “You said you’d let me do the talking.”

  “Not if you’re throwing your money away on a shyster.” Jason regretted the words even as he said them.

  Harlan pulled the cab to the curb and stopped. The driver stuck a thumb out the window. “No one calls me a shyster and rides in my cab. Take a hike.”

  Jason paled. “Are you serious?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  Katherine put a hand on the cabbie’s shoulder. “I trust you. And you will have to trust the boys to come through on their end. My older son spoke in haste. Let him apologize.”

  Harlan shot Jason a frosty glare, but spoke to Katherine. “Okay, but put a muzzle on him.”

  Katherine smiled. “Thank you, young man. You should hear the boys at home. It’s a wonder the house is still on its foundation. Apologize Jason.”

  Sometimes a strategic retreat was in order. “I’m sorry for talking out of line.”

  “That’s better.” The cabbie pulled back into traffic.

  Michael settled in his seat. “We have a pretty good idea where the cab took our sister. Your information will confirm our hunch.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “We’ll deal with it,” said Michael.

  Harlan turned the cab north to Parker Street. “I hope I get the answer you want.”

  No one spoke for the rest of the trip.

  A few minutes later, the taxi stopped in front of the McGurk home. Jason walked with his mother back to the house. While she went inside, he stayed on the porch. His brother made the transaction, but it seemed to take longer than necessary.

  Finally, his brother loped to the front door while the taxi drove away.

  “How’d it go?” Jason asked.

  “Pretty well, except he doesn’t like you. He thinks you’re pushy.”

  Jason smirked. “What about the deal? Will he provide everything we want by Saturday?”

  “He said he would, but I had to promise him the full twenty bucks. I did tear the ten dollar bill and gave him half as an incentive to get us the address. It’s my guess we’ll hear from him tomorrow.”

  “Hope so.” Jason sighed. “It’s been five days.” Way too long. He missed his sister. She knew more about everyday stuff than anyone else her age. It must be all that letter reading she did every day. Of course, he ribbed her about being a smarty-brain. It was a brother’s job, after all. And she gave it right back. It was also a brother’s duty to protect his sister. You certainly botched that one. Jason cringed at the sound of Pop’s voice rattling in his head.

  So he had to find her. And if Larry Bigger bruised one curl on her head, then they would have a reckoning.

  “We should have our answers as early as tomorrow,” Michael said.

  “Not quit.” Jason stared off into the night. “There won’t be any answers until we find her.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Sara sat at the dining table staring out the window hoping the Commissioner wouldn’t be late. She glanced at the wind-up clock propped on the table—3:48. Two minutes since the last time she checked. Nearly time for Mr. Krause to arrive for their supper in Joshua.

  Was this a date? It had been a long time since a gentleman called on her. Larry was an escape from her father, but certainly no gentleman. Mr. Krause, on the other hand, was a curiosity. He was courteous and open. Straight-laced, but endearing. And impulsive? He did ask her to supper at the last possible minute. She could have said no. Yet, here she sat, squirming in her seat, about to dive into unknown waters. She hadn’t been this fidgety about a date since high school. That was silly. The evening would be conversation over a meal. Nothing more.

  A dark blue Pontiac, a boxy vehicle of vertical and horizontal lines, pulled into the gravel drive, stopping at the back door. The Commissioner got out, holding a wooden box.

  Sara dashed to the matron’s office. “Mr. Krause is here. He has a package.”

  Mrs. Eisner rose from her chair and stepped to the doorway. “It’s morphine from Dr. Zwiefel’s office. I left word for the Commissioner to bring the supplies with him. We need to start Mrs. Hiebert on her injections as soon as possible.”

  Approaching footsteps came from the kitchen.

  Commissioner Krause appeared around the corner. He tipped his hat with his free hand. “Hello Mrs. Eisner, Miss McGuire. Your cook let me in.” He shifted the shoebox size container, holding it flat. “Here are the medical supplies you asked for.” The Commissioner produced a key. “The doctor wanted you to inspect the contents before I returned to town.”

  She unlocked and opened the box.

  Strapped to the lid in cloth-lined compartments were four vials capped with rubber stoppers. The bottom half of the box contained two glass cylinders with a large opening at one end and a small aperture at the other. Strapped in place were plungers, small rubber stoppers, and a jar containing needles. The matron shut the case, looking satisfied. “This will do.”

  “I’ll let the doctor know.” Wendell Krause turned to Sara. “Are you ready?”

  “All set.” She pulled the fan letter from her apron pocket. “Could we mail this in town?”

  Wendell scratched behind his ear. “Sure. Do you plan on wearing your apron as well?”

  She peered
down at the stained gingham. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Mrs. Eisner bit her lip, her eyes twinkling. “I’ll take your apron, child. It’ll be hanging by your nightstand when you return.”

  “Thank you.”

  They left out the back door. Mr. Krause stepped to the passenger side door and opened it. “Steigen sie ein, Fräulein.”

  Sara suppressed a smile remembering her high school German. “Vielen dank, Herr Krause.”

  They drove to Joshua, stopping at the post office first. Sara ran inside to mail the letter. “When will this be delivered?” she asked the clerk.

  “Evening mail hasn’t gone out yet. So I’d say tomorrow quite likely.” The postal worker dropped the letter in a mailbag. Elated, Sara ambled back to the car.

  Wendell parked in front of an eatery that looked like a farmhouse with a wide front porch and a large window made up of many smaller panes. A white sign with red lettering hung over the front porch awning.

  The Covered Dish

  A group of old-timers sat on the porch, most dozing in rockers. Wendell led Sara inside. A cowbell jangled as the screen door slammed shut behind them.

  Sara took in a breath. Pleasing aromas of fried chicken and peach pie filled the air. The interior walls were knotty pine. Handmade quilts with little price tags hung from the woodwork. A stack of newspapers, The Joshua Sentinel, set by the cash register. The banner headline read, “Commissioners Announce Closure of County Farm.”

  “Let’s find a seat.” Wendell ushered her away from the newspapers. “This place is owned by a Mennonite couple. The food is farm cooking. Nothing fancy.” They sat at a table near the back wall.

  Wendell picked up a sheet of parchment paper and handed it to Sara. “Here’s the menu. I’ve tried everything here. It’s all good.”

  Sara peered at the list. “Savory chicken pie sounds wonderful.”

  “Good choice. I’m for a bierock and a bowl of soup.” He pronounced it as “beer-rock.”

  Sara tilted her head. “I’ve never had that before.”

  “It’s peppered hamburger and cooked cabbage wrapped in a half-moon pastry. You can also get it with sausage. Simple, yet tasty.”