Griselda Takes Flight

by Joyce Magnin

  I took Stella's arm. "Whoa, maybe this isn't the right time to speak your mind. And I thought you were ready to forgive him."

  "I am. But he's not getting off scot-free, you know. I'm gonna tell him how I feel and hope he doesn't wake up while I'm saying it and then I'll tell him I forgive his sorry butt. I can say everything I need to say and he won't hear a word. Won't be able to do one thing about it."

  "That is not necessarily true," came a voice from behind.

  I turned. It was Gilda. My heart raced. This might not be too good.

  "What are you saying?" Stella asked. "He can hear me?"

  "They just aren't so sure. The nurses told me to keep talking to him. Something might be sinking in. He isn't deaf. His brain is still alive."

  Stella backed away from the bed. "Oh, my goodness gracious. So he might have heard all that."

  "He might not remember," Gilda said. "He might think he dreamed it. If he ever really wakes up again."

  Gilda, always in a tight skirt, sat in the visitor's chair and crossed her legs. "Seems you got a pretty big bone to pick with him. Course I didn't hear all you had to say. But don't let me stop you. Go on, say your piece."

  Stella moved away from the bed. "I . . . I'm done now. I don't need to say anything more."

  "Suit yourself, sister. So how long you girls stayin', then? If you don't mind me asking."

  "Not long," Stella said. "If fact we should be going."

  I couldn't keep my eyes off Gilda. I wanted to tell her what I heard the other day. And maybe if I wasn't standing there with Stella I would have done just that.

  Gilda pulled an emery board from her purse and started to saw it across her nails. "Go on. Say a proper good-bye to your brother. Sometimes—" and she turned on the crocodile tears, "sometimes I have to sit and find my confidence to look him in the eye—well, more like the eyelids—but you know what I'm sayin'." She snapped gum.

  "It's OK," Stella said. "I already said my good-bye."

  Stella didn't say a word until we reached the Bright's Pond limits. "I'm not sorry for one minute that I told him how I felt. I have more to say, too, and would have if that hussy hadn't walked in. I got stuff on my chest, Griselda. And it ain't fair that just 'cause he's . . . sick that I can't say it."

  "But maybe you should wait. Put your feelings aside until a better time?"

  "Like you did with Agnes? What good did it do you to wait?"

  I drove down the road slowly and pulled up to Stella's house. "I guess it didn't really do me any good, but it wasn't about me—not always."

  Stella looked at me. Tears glistened in her eyes. "But when does it become about you? When is it OK to take care of yourself?"

  I headed straight for Mildred's office with a quick stop at home to go to the bathroom and check on Arthur. Poor guy's been alone a lot, especially since Agnes has been gone. Mildred had left a box on the porch, which I carried inside and placed on the kitchen table. I grabbed a steak knife and cut the tape.

  I pulled a stack of tickets out and examined them. After what happened last year I wanted to make sure all the information was correct.

  Bright's Pond Harvest Dance

  "Git Along Little Dogies"

  Saturday, October 13, 6:30 pm

  The Town Hall

  $3

  "Three dollars? Boris must have raised the price. I hope."

  But all the information was there and spelled correctly. The folks at church on Sunday would get first dibs and then Zeb would put a stack in his café and they'd be available at the bank and the Piggly Wiggly. Ruth would make sure that Vera gets a stack to sell in Shoops.

  All in all, I would say it was shaping up to be a great dance. I refreshed Arthur's water, filled his dry food dish, patted his head, and said, "Sorry, boy. But I have to go see Mildred. Have I got news for her!"

  Arthur purred loudly.

  I decided to leave the truck parked and walk to the town hall. It gave me time to rehearse what I was going to tell her. I didn't want to say anything more than exactly what I heard in case it was just an innocent conversation Gilda was having. When I saw Mildred's police car my palms began to sweat. Maybe it was the western theme for the Harvest Dance rolling through my head but I pictured a gunfight, a shootout at the nursing home. The thought made me chuckle inside. It wasn't hard to imagine Mildred acting the part of Wyatt Earp.

  I pulled open the town hall door, a big solid oak door painted bright crimson red with two large knockers in the shape of eagle's heads.

  And speaking of large knockers, I was met by Ivy Slocum who was on her way out.

  "Ivy," I said, "fancy meeting you here."

  "Griselda. Geez o whiz, you startled me. I guess I got my mind on Mickey Mantle. He slipped his collar and I can't find it anywhere so I had to come down and get him new tags. The vet said they'd replace the rabies tag, but I got to find him before Mildred does."

  "Ah, she won't do anything. She's all hepped up over Gilda Saucer and Cliff Cardwell."

  "Well, I know all that but we had a deal she'd leave him alone as long as he had his collar and tags and nobody complained. But, just this morning that nasty Eugene Shrapnel called and said Mickey Mantle was digging up his yard. I swear the way that man is so concerned about holes in his yard you'd think he buried his wife back there."

  "Ivy!"

  "Well, I bet he even swiped Mickey Mantle's collar just to get him in deep doo-doo with Mildred. Have you seen him?"

  I shook my head. "Not today, but you know he likes to go into the backwoods."

  "Yeah, he's got a girlfriend. I just know that dog is out there making pups."

  "I wouldn't doubt it and say, if he does have a litter, maybe I'll take one."

  "Really? That'd be nice."

  Ivy looked away toward the woods. "Can you help me out? Maybe drive me up to the library?"

  "No, sorry, I have some business I need to attend to."

  "OK, I better get on the lookout before something happens. Thanks anyway."

  I felt bad about saying no. She didn't drive. But I also knew Mickey Mantle would come home. He always did, and right then I needed to see Mildred.

  Mildred was behind her little desk looking through some papers when I knocked on the open door.

  "Griselda," she said looking up. "Come in. I was going to find you later."

  "You were?"

  "Yes. I left you the tickets."

  "Thanks. I found them."

  "Are they to your satisfaction?"

  "Yep. But when did Boris raise the price?"

  "The price?"

  "Yes, it's usually two dollars. Been two dollars for years, and those tickets say three dollars."

  "Ah, nertz, Griselda, I can't keep track of everything around here."

  "Don't worry. Maybe it's about time we raised the price. Folks won't mind. And, I do like the little picture of the lasso in the corner."

  "Oh, good. I took a little license, well the printer did. He stuck it on there. Called it clip art. But that's not what I really wanted to say. I heard back from the other jurisdictions and guess what."

  "They found something?"

  "Nah, nothing. We got bupkes. Cliff's as clean as a whistle. And there is no record of any Gilda Saucer anywhere nearby."

  "In Wilkes and Scranton?"

  "Whole state of Pennsylvania."

  "No kidding. Well maybe another state."

  "I'm doing some digging now."

  "Well, Mildred," I said taking a seat. "I have something to tell you. It's probably nothing but I thought it could be something. You might think it's something."

  "Spill it."

  "I was over at Greenbrier and was fixing to visit Walter after a visit with Agnes, you know, just to check on him. And I saw Gilda in his room again talking on the phone just like before. I'm thinking to the same person."

  Mildred leaned closer across the desk. "Yeah?"

  "And this time I made a point of remembering her words exactly."

  "What did yo
u hear? Now tell me verbatim if you can."

  "I just said that, didn't I? I remembered them, exactly. Anyhoo, I heard her say that she didn't think the big lug—that's what she called Walter—would ever wake up and that we would never see that money. I left right after that. I was too nervous to hang around."

  "Ah, geez, that's not much to go on. She said 'big lug'? You're certain? Not 'Walter'?"

  "Nope. Big lug."

  "Well, now, see the judge is just going to say that she could have been referring to anyone. We need more."

  "But you think it's something, don't you?"

  "Well, sure. It's practically an admission of guilt to me same as before. Gilda Saucer is up to her ruby red lips in crime filth. I can smell it. But we need more information before I can call in the big guns. Right now all we got is suspicions. We need evidence. Cold, hard evidence."

  "Well how in the world are we gonna get that?"

  "I'm gonna stake out her residence, and you should keep an ear out at Greenbrier and around town—especially at The Full Moon. Report anything suspicious, no matter how trivial it might sound."

  "Yes, ma'am. Gee, I feel kind of like a deputy."

  Mildred let go a strange chuckle. "Now don't go letting it go to your head. I can't deputize you. This is just between you and me."

  "Gotcha."

  "And, oh, about that pilot fella. I hear you two have been hitting it off up in the big blue yonder."

  "I've gone for a ride with him a couple of times."

  "Good. Keep going and get him talking. He'll slip pretty soon. He'll let the cat out of the bag."

  "You sure?"

  "They always do. Most criminals want to get caught. It's something deep in their subconscious minds that feels guilty, unless of course he's a sociopath, which means he doesn't have a conscience."

  "Just keep your eyes and ears open. Now I need to get out on patrol. Eugene Shrapnel called about Ivy's dog."

  "I heard. Why don't you just leave the dog alone and arrest Eugene for being such a nuisance?"

  "Crime is crime, and that dog is as guilty as they come."

  She patted her gun at her side. Placed her hat on her head and offered me a two-fingered salute, which I returned and immediately felt stupid.

  "We'll nab the no-goodniks," she said. "It's all about patience and timing. And you could, of course, always ask Agnes to pray that Walter wakes up and spills the beans."

  21

  My feelings of urgency gone, I headed back home and saw Ivy running down the street. She held Mickey Mantle's collar and leash in her hand.

  "Griselda! Griselda!"

  "What happened? Are you OK?" I rushed to her side. "Did something happen to Mickey Mantle?"

  Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  She blubbered and nodded furiously. "Oh, dear me. It's . . . it's . . . awful. I found him. In the woods. He was just lying there all in a heap with his leg stuck in one of them old, rusty bear traps they got out there. I thought he might be dead. I saw so much blood."

  "Where is he?"

  "I could only carry him as far as the library, couldn't get the trap off his leg. The dern fool thing dragged behind us and got so heavy I couldn't—" She gasped for a breath. "And then I came running looking for you or Studebaker."

  "Let's go."

  We jumped into my truck and found Mickey Mantle. He was still breathing but barely. I winced when I saw the trap gripping his leg like the jaws of a shark. "Help me get him in the back. The vet in Shoops will take real good care of him."

  The dog whimpered with a whimper that came from somewhere deep inside when we lifted him. I had never seen an animal that was in so much obvious pain. I thought he might have even been crying. He looked at Ivy with both hope and pain in his eyes.

  "Why did this have to happen to Mickey Mantle?" Ivy cried. "He wasn't out there looking to hurt anyone."

  "No reason, Ivy. Some of those traps have been there for years. Mickey Mantle just happened upon one, probably hidden under leaves. But don't worry. Dr. Fish will take care of him."

  Ivy sat with him in the truck bed. He was sprawled out across her lap, the trap chains dangling onto the metal floor, his leg bleeding. She had wrapped her jacket around him trying to keep him warm but he shivered and writhed with pain. How could he ever understand what was happening?

  I drove as fast as I could and thought how insignificant missing loot from a train robbery really was when your best friend was dying. I wheeled into the parking lot and ran to the back of the truck. Ivy continued to sob.

  "You stay with Mickey Mantle. I'll get help."

  I dashed into the clinic.

  "Help. My dog, my friend's dog is stuck in a trap. A bear trap."

  A man and woman behind the desk dropped what they were doing and ran outside with me. The man pulled a stethoscope out of his lab coat pocket and listened to the dog's chest.

  "Come on," he said, "let's get him inside. What happened?"

  "I don't know for sure," Ivy cried. "I found him. Like this. In the woods. Trapped."

  They lifted Mickey Mantle onto a long, silver table. The assistant examined him closer. He put his finger inside Mickey Mantle's lip and pressed on the gum a little. "Three seconds," he said. "He hasn't lost too much blood."

  "Oh, my goodness," Ivy said with a sniffle. "You can tell that just by pushing on his mouth? He sure looks to be bleeding a lot to me." She swiped tears away from her eyes. "I—I thought for sure he was bleedin' to death."

  "I checked his CRT, Capillary Refill Time. It's like when you press on your hand and the spot turns white and then red when you take your finger off. If it takes less than five seconds for the dogs skin to return to red then that's good. Not too much blood loss."

  "Imagine telling all that from his gums," Ivy said.

  "Start him on an IV and get Dr. Fish in here. She'll need to operate immediately."

  Dr. Fish, a small, petite woman with long blonde hair and glasses rushed into the exam room. "Oh dear," she said. "This is bad. It looks like he's been trapped for a while. I'll do everything I can but I'm afraid he'll lose that leg."

  Ivy swallowed, hard. "His . . . his leg? But he needs it. Can't you just sew him up? Reattach all the cords and stuff?"

  "It's in pretty bad shape," Dr. Fish said. She looked into Ivy's eyes and then patted her hand. "We need to get him to the operating room."

  Ivy nodded and wiped tears from her now red face.

  Dr. Fish stopped and turned back. Ivy's eyes grew hopeful. "Yes, Doctor?"

  "I was just thinking that since he'll be under anesthesia I could go ahead and neuter him. Won't take much to—"

  Ivy jumped to her feet. "Neuter him! You mean take off his leg and his—"

  "I only thought—" Dr. Fish said.

  "No. It's too much. The dog at least needs his manhood."

  "OK," Dr. Fish said. "I understand. Try not to worry."

  "I am so sorry, Ivy," I said. "I should have helped you find Mickey Mantle. Turns out my business could have waited."

  She patted my knee. "Don't fret about it, Griselda." Tears poured down her cheeks. She blew into a pink handkerchief. "He'll be fine. He'll be f . . . fine." She sobbed.

  About an hour and half later Dr. Fish emerged from behind a door. She smiled. A good sign. "He'll be fine." Then she took Ivy's hands in hers and looked into her eyes. "I had to amputate his leg. It was badly mangled."

  Ivy gasped and wretched. She grabbed the doctor's hands. "Really? There was no—"

  "No," Dr. Fish said. "I had no choice."

  "Well, he's alive," Ivy said. "And that's most important. Can I go see him?"

  "Not just yet. He needs to recover. Soon though."

  "How soon?" I asked.

  "Can you come back this evening, after dinner? That would be a good time."

  Ivy nodded. "OK. But, you'll call me if anything—"

  "Certainly. But really. He's going to be OK."

  About half way home Ivy finally spoke. "Don't know what
it will be like having a three-legged dog."

  "Just the same as a four-legged I would think."

  "I don't know. I threw out a table once on account of it only had three legs. Darn thing wouldn't stand up unless I propped it against something, and even then it wasn't sturdy. I can't figure how I'll keep Mickey Mantle propped up."

  "Mickey Mantle is not a table. He'll get used to it real fast. You'll see. He'll learn to balance on three legs as well as four."

  "I hope you're right."

  "So you think he was going to visit his girlfriend when he got caught in the trap?" I asked.

  "I sure do. I expect to see puppies soon."

  I dropped Ivy at her front door making certain first that she'd be OK. "Now you sure you're all right?"

  "I am, Griselda. I need to get a load off for a bit. Make a cup of tea."

  "I'll be back after supper. We'll go visit Mickey Mantle."

  The Full Moon was packed when I arrived. There was even a waiting line for meatloaf. But Dot took my hand and led me through the small crowd to the counter. "Go on, Griselda, take a seat. You look worn out."

  "I am. I just got back from Shoops. Took Ivy's dog there. He got caught in one those bear traps out in the backwoods."

  Dot gasped along with half a dozen other people. "Is he all right? Geez, even old Al Capone knew better than to get stuck in a trap."

  I nodded my head. "He will be OK, but the vet had to amputate his leg." Another round of gasps filled the café. And that was when nasty Eugene Shrapnel spoke up.

  "Serves him right. Dog's supposed to be chained."

  No one said a word but a gravy-filled biscuit flew from the back of the café and smacked Eugene on the shoulder. Eugene was a mean old curmudgeon who hated dogs and people. We were kind of used to him. I turned instinctively when I saw the airborne biscuit. Eugene wiped his shoulder with his napkin, tossed it in his plate, and left as applause filled the restaurant.