by Mary Morony
“Come on, sugar, let me see. I think you’re going to be all right,” Daddy said. He pulled a fresh handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped the dust and gravel from the tiny wound. After mopping her face and coaxing her into blowing her nose, he puckered his lips. “Can I kiss it and make it all better?” he asked.
Helen nodded with a little smile.
Leaning over, he hesitated for just a second to tease her, and then quickly kissed the knee. “Gordy,” he said with a funny edge to his voice, “take your sisters home and tell your mother to come down here. And be quick about it.”
“Yes sir!” Gordy said. He puffed himself up with pride as he assumed his newly bestowed responsibilities. I rolled my eyes. Helen took a step gingerly on her injured leg. Like a sheep dog, Gordy began herding us up the driveway.
Because I never wanted to be outdone, I ran ahead of my brother and sister. “Wait!” Gordy yelled after me. “He told me to tell her. Sallee, wait!” He tried to move Helen into a faster gait. Then he just grabbed her by the hand and started dragging her.
I burst through the front door, banging it against the mahogany card table on the adjacent wall. The blue and white Chinese vase perched on the table was rocking back and forth as my mother’s eyes widened from shock to anger. “Sallee, what on earth?” She hurried over to steady the vase before it toppled over. “Young lady—”
“Daddy wants you!” I broke in breathlessly.
Just then Gordy repeated my entrance, nearly smacking my mother in the face with the door as he and Helen plowed into the front hall. My mother stood in stunned silence, holding the vase as Gordy, in between great gasps for air, attempted to relay our father’s message. Bending over with his hands on his knees, he managed to get out, “Flat tires.”
“A whole bunch of nails,” I interjected, “in the tires.”
Gordy shot me a scathing look. “Daddy wants you to come now. He’s with the car out on the road near the end of the drive.”
“He sounded really serious,” I added, interrupting Gordy.
Ethel must have heard all the commotion. She came out to the hall and exchanged a worried look with my mother. Then she took Helen, who had started crying again, by the hand. “Come on you two,” she said over her shoulder as she patted Helen’s back as she led her to the kitchen. “Miz Ginny, don’ be goin’ out wit’out yo’ coat, it’s cold out there. I’ll git it fo’ ya.” She dropped Helen’s hand and bustled to the coat closet. “Sallee! Gordy! You two git in this kitchen!”
Ten minutes later my mother was back in the house scurrying to the phone. I heard her ask for a police car and then give our address. “New nails,” she said, “like someone scattered them in the gravel. Yes, my husband will meet you.”
That afternoon, as my mother was reading the Daily Progress, she shook and rattled the newspaper, then refolded it to the editorial page. She got up and fixed herself a drink. That was pretty unusual since Daddy hadn’t gotten home. When he finally arrived, my mother didn’t even let him get all the way in the door before saying, “Joe, look, there were two more today. That makes eight in the last month.”
“Hello to you, too,” he said as he breezed past her. He took off his coat and dropped it on the nearest chair. “Drinking already? Did you make one for me? I could really use it. God, what a day!” he sighed.
“Here, look at the editorial page,” my mother said, dropping the paper onto the seat of his favorite chair. “I’ll get you one.” She left the room. My father sat down, glared at the television for a moment, and then picked up the paper.
Gordy and I could see that whatever my father was reading wasn’t improving his mood one bit. We turned the TV off and sat quietly, hoping we might find out what was in the paper before we were dismissed. My mother returned with his drink.
“What in the hell is wrong with people?” he sighed. “Jesus, you would think I’d suggested we burn all the churches and build strip joints in the ashes! It’s a shopping center…just a shopping center.” My mother sat on the edge of the love seat and watched him read. “Robbing old ladies of their land!” he ranted. “Who writes this stuff?”
He stood, slammed the paper against his knee, and stormed from the room. My mother followed. I jumped up and peeked down the hall. I could see him bent over, dialing the phone. He straightened. After a moment he began to yell into the receiver. My mother put her hand on his shoulder, but Daddy kept yelling.
A few weeks later, just before Thanksgiving, the day was cold and wet; the kind that Ethel says “gits in yo’ bones.” Gordy and I had our noses pressed to the window. We watched Lance thrashing up the kitchen steps, slobber flying every which way. Daddy had found him wandering in circles in the backyard. Now he was behind Lance, driving him toward the kitchen porch.
“Ethel!” he called. “Ethel! Open the door!”
Ethel scurried out and swung open the screen door. She pressed herself against the stair rail, trying her best to stay out of Lance’s way. His big head swung toward her as he passed, and he growled, showing his teeth. Spit and foam flew all over her.
Ethel let the door clap shut and latched it. Daddy herded Lance into a corner of the porch with his arms spread, holding trash can lids like shields. “You go on into the kitchen,” he told Ethel. “I’m coming right behind you.” Just then Lance lunged at Daddy, teeth bared. Ethel leaped in the air and landed in the kitchen, a good five feet from where she’d taken off. It was a sight to behold. Daddy scrambled in after her, slamming the door behind him. The door shuddered as the big dog threw himself against it with all his weight.
“Lord, Mista Joe, you thank he got the rabies?” Ethel asked. “Po’ thang don’ even know us.”
Daddy rubbed his jaw, looking concerned. “I don’t think so. He must’ve eaten something. I’ll call the vet. He can take a look.” The spectacle of Lance gone mad kept all of us riveted to the kitchen window. The vet showed up quickly, like it was an emergency, but he didn’t venture out on the porch.
As the vet and Daddy stared through the screen door, puzzling over the possible causes of Lance’s madness, the vet suddenly changed the subject. “I hear tell you’re the one building that shopping center over yonder,” he said, gesturing with his head toward the stove. “I was thinking I might open up an office there. Do I talk to you ‘bout that?”
“I’ll give you my rental agent’s number before you leave,” Daddy said, his voice a little edgy. “Right now I’d like it if you’d check out my dog.”
“Dog’s in bad shape. Nothing I can do for ‘em,” the vet said. “Gonna have to put him down. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was poisoned. Symptoms look like it—dehydration, delirium. I’ll take a closer look, but like I say, probably poison. Could be antifreeze; plenty of that around.”
“Poison!” Gordy and I chorused.
Daddy glared at us, indicating that we had better be quiet or get the hell out of there. “Who’d do such a thing?” he asked.
“Coulda just gotten into some. Ya let him run loose?” the vet asked. “People aren’t real careful about how they dispose of the stuff.” He hemmed a little. “Course, that shopping center of yers has a good many people riled up. But you know that, don’t you?”
“I knew there was an element that didn’t approve,” Daddy said as he placed his hands on our heads and pointed us to the door. With a little push and another glare, he indicated we should go. We scurried from the room.
“Poison! Who would do such a mean thing?” Gordy blubbered. He gave the door a good kick on his way out. “Son of a bitch,” he said.
“You better shut up,” I warned. “If Ethel…”
“You shut up,” he roared then stomped up the stairs and out of sight.
I could hear my father and the vet talking. “To poison someone’s dog, though…” Daddy said.
“I’m not saying it was on purpose,” the vet said. “I’m just saying it wouldn’t be the first time some lowlife took his rage out on a dog.”
“Can’t y
ou look at him? Do something?” Daddy said. Then he muttered, “Jesus, it’s just a goddamn shopping center.”
I heard a big crash out on the porch. I ran to see. I heard Gordy coming down the steps, taking two at a time.
Poor Lance had flung himself against a big metal locker Ethel used to store cleaning supplies. It had come clanging down on top of him, pinning him. The vet hustled out on the porch, but came right back in.
“He’s dead,” he said. “Crushed his skull. I can send his body down to Richmond for an autopsy, if you want. That’ll tell us whether it was antifreeze or something else. It’s against the law to poison a dog, if that’s what happened here.”
Daddy raked his hand through his hair and then stood real still. “I guess it can’t hurt to find out,” he said.
“Mind if I use your phone, then? Gotta call the sheriff.”
“No, go ahead. It’s down the hall.”
Two mysteries! The shock of Lance’s death and the unexplained flat tires on Daddy’s car battled for dominance inside my head. I hardly knew what to think. I nudged Gordy in the ribs with my elbow and indicated with my head that we should go somewhere else. “Ya’ll git on outta here now,” Ethel spoke up. “Ya don’ need to be seein’ all dis. Go on, now.” Daddy patted each of us on the head as we left the kitchen.
“I don’t want you two to worry,” he said. “Nobody is going to hurt you. Promise.”
The thought of being in danger hadn’t occurred to me, but there was one thing I knew—when a grown-up told you not to worry, you had better start. We ran up to the third floor and flopped down on Gordy’s bed.
“What do you think?” I asked. “Poor ol’ Lance. Gosh. What a horrible, low-down thing to do.” Now that the excitement was subsiding, I began to feel queasy. I thought about Lance’s crushed head and how the vet was taking his body away, and that I would never get to pet him again. Suddenly, tears sprang to my eyes and I buried my head in Gordy’s mattress and cried. Gordy’s eyes were already raw and he was hurting even worse than I was, but his big brother impulses seemed to take over. He started patting me on the back.
“There, there,” he said. After a while I dried my eyes and went in search of Helen and Stuart to tell them the story. Finding neither, I returned to Gordy’s room expecting to see him bawling again. But he surprised me. Once he got the crying out of the way, he got mad; snarling dog mad.
“I’m finding out who did this,” he declared. I don’t believe I had ever heard Gordy make a declaration before. That had always been my field. “You gonna help?”
“What can I do? Or you? What are you gonna do about it? Go out and arrest somebody?”
“I dunno. It was bad enough that somebody dumped nails in our driveway, but ya can’t just let someone kill your dog. Ya gotta do somethin’. I think the same person that dumped the nails killed Lance.”
“Why would someone do that? Kill our dog and dump nails in our driveway? It doesn’t make any sense,” I said. Gordy shrugged his shoulders.
Daddy read Sherlock Holmes mysteries to us whenever he got the chance, so we mulled over our mysteries, wondering what Holmes and Watson might do. And I had my extensive knowledge of Nancy Drew’s most intimate thoughts on mystery solving at my disposal. I noticed cars pulling into the driveway. “Whoa, Gordy, there’s Stuart and a police car outside.”
His eyes got big as dinner plates. “Let’s go check it out,” he said.
We crept down the stairs, peering over the banister from the second floor. We could see Daddy holding Stuart, who was crying, while the sheriff’s deputy stood in the doorway shifting nervously from foot to foot. After removing his hat, the deputy stepped into the house, and adjusted the gun belt around his ample belly. I tingled with the excitement of seeing a real live gun for the first time; and in my own house, no less. Gordy poked me and pointed. “Yeah, neat huh?” I whispered back.
Stuart, still weeping, started for the kitchen, then turned and ran past us on the steps. “Lance is dead,” Gordy whispered. Stuart didn’t stop. She headed straight to her room and slammed the door after her. I could hear her sobbing. Gordy and I looked at each other, but the scene below had captured our imagination.
Daddy and Big-and-Beefy, the deputy, disappeared from view. Gordy and I inched our way down, step-by-step. We were careful not to make the slightest noise until we reached the spot on the stairs where we could see into the kitchen. We peeped through the rails that separated us from the action. The door leading to the porch was open. It was an awful sight. Ol’ Lance lay splayed out on the floor right at the sill. I tried not to look, but couldn’t help it. Once I did, I started sniffling again. Gordy shot me a warning look, but I could tell he was on the verge of tears, too. The locker that killed Lance had been pushed out of the way. We couldn’t hear what was being said. The deputy and Daddy picked up the body then carried it through the porch and down the stairs. Ethel followed a safe distance behind, wringing her hands in a dishtowel.
We decided to seize the opportunity, so we tore down the stairs. Since the deputy came in the front door, we figured his car must be parked out front. We scurried to the back door, pulled it open slightly, and squeezed through it. Once outside—enthusiasm unbounded—we ran around the corner to position ourselves in a spot that would give us a clear view of the unfolding drama. The trick of good detecting is not to be detected. Ethel, half hidden in the bush herself, shushed us as we plowed into her. “Cain’ hear what they sayin’. Hush!”
The deputy grabbed Lance’s body by two legs and tossed it into the trunk of his car like it was some litter he’d found on the road. Then he stood with his hand on the trunk hood, his back to us. We couldn’t hear a word. Daddy and the deputy looked off down the drive as if they thought that was where the poisoner had come from. Every once in a while one or the other would indicate a direction with his hand. Gordy turned to me and whispered, “What ya think? Maybe it was that old lady that lives on the corner. They’re pointing that way. Ya think? Or those guys in that car.”
“That ol’ lady ain’t poisoned nobody’s dog,” Ethel said. Gordy and I shot each other amazed glances. We had not counted on a coconspirator. We immediately plied Ethel with questions. “I thank it’s that mean ol’ man down next to the doc’s house,” she volunteered. “Ya’ll know the one I mean?” Neither of us did. “Lives ‘round the corner over behind Mattie Bruce’s people.” I detected some impatience in her voice. Then she said, “What guys in what car?”
“Mr. Gentry? No, he didn’t do it,” Gordy said. “I cut through his yard all the time. He’s as nice as can be.” I couldn’t tell if he was purposely avoiding Ethel’s question. If so, he was brilliant because it worked.
“Wha’ ya’ll doin’ down there? Ya’ll ain’t s’pose ta be crossin’ no streets. I better not catch you doin’ that again. G’on git on outta here. I got work ta do.”
“Look,” Gordy said pointing, “maybe Mr. Dabney did it. He’s watching Daddy but he looks like he doesn’t want us to…”
“Don’ lemme catch ya anywhere near that man, ya hear me?” She glared at Gordy then me. Ethel’s vehemence took, us off guard and scared both us a little.
“Yes, ma’am.” We said in unison.
We wandered away toward the swings. “Phew, she sure got mad about that,” Gordy muttered. Walking aimlessly, but for Ethel’s benefit feigning otherwise, we kicked at clumps of wet leaves as we discussed our next move.
“She’s gonna be watching us like a hawk now. Why’d you have to mention that car? And Mr. Dabney.”
“I got us out of it, so quit griping. Let’s go over there and see if we find anything.”
“Ethel just said not to.”
“Do you wanna find out who killed Lance or not?”
“Well I…”
“Gord-eee, Sal-leee, git in this house afore ya’ll catch yo’ death o’ cold,” Ethel called.
“I don’t want to go back in there,” I moaned. “Out here I at least feel like…well, I don’t have to t
hink about what happened to Lance.”
“What?” He looked at me like I had two heads.
I groped to explain myself. “I mean the adventure and mystery…Oh, never mind. You’re so stupid you wouldn’t get it even if I could…” Then the tears started and there was no holding them back. With both of us crying, we bid Ethel’s command.
As our search for clues to the mysteries continued, we routinely crept about the house honing our detecting skills. If we had learned one thing growing up with our parents it was that you never knew what adults weren’t telling you. The days following Lance’s death were wet, cold, and dreary, matching our moods. So snooping around the neighborhood was out of the question. Since I was stuck inside, I did the only thing I could do: I tried my best to spy on my parents and Ethel, even though I’d promised my mother I wouldn’t. Thinking I was so clever, I positioned myself in the broom closet one wet afternoon to see if I could pick up any information. Ethel hummed her way to the kitchen, and I quickly closed the door then perched on the vacuum cleaner.
She turned on the water and started a new hymn, one I had never heard before. I pushed the door open a crack to see what she was up to. She sat at the kitchen sink polishing silver. Ethel picked up a fork and rubbed it hard with silver polish, then placed it in the sink half full of water and picked up another one. This is just great, I thought. I’m gonna be stuck here while she polishes silver. How am I gonna get outta here? I had almost decided on a story I could tell when I heard someone move. Right next to the crack in the door was Daddy. He was so close, I could smell his woodsy-soap, tinged with blood and body heat.. Holding my breath, I sat stock-still. Daddy stood in the doorway watching Ethel. He leaned up against the frame, resting his head on his raised arm. His knuckles on his right hand were scrapped and bloody. He just stood there watching for a long time. Every so often he’d sigh. I could tell Ethel didn’t know he was there. She was singing softly to herself. The door to my hideaway was cracked and I didn’t want to close it for fear of being detected. As good as I was becoming at making up stories for why I was in strange places, I didn’t get the feeling that anyone would be too happy finding me in that closet. Ethel hummed and then stopped. She picked up another fork, started to hum, and then stopped again. No one said a word. My breath roared in and out as I tried to control it. She looked up sharp, right at me. I was sure she saw me looking at her. Then she said, “Lord, Mista Joe, ya scared me! I didn’t hear ya come in. You feelin’ all right? Ya look ‘bout low as a snake belly. Lord, Mista Joe what you done ta yo hand?”