Focus… Gib… focus. Keep your mind on THE PLAN. Pulling open the station’s front door, I call out, “Anybody home?” The only greeting I get back is Skeeter Davis singing out from a radio, so I make my way toward the back room where I know they do all their important business. This is where me and Grampa get our fishing licenses. There’s knotty wood paneling and file cabinets and telephones and Deputy Jimmy Lee Boyd. His head is lying flat on one of two metal desks next to a burger bag from Teeter’s Drive-In. Boy, this is going to be A LOT easier than Clever and me figured on. Let’s see… from what I remember from my western movies, the cell keys should be hanging on a hook right around this…
“Hey,” the deputy pops up saying, a paper clip stuck to his flushed cheek. “Didn’t hear ya come in.”
A few years older than me, with a button nose and the type of sandy hair that always looks like it could use a wash, the deputy is the only child of Miss Loretta, who owns Candy World. She accidentally dropped him into one of her steel melting-chocolate vats when he was a baby, so Jimmy Lee is well known for being sorta dumb. But good with a gun. Almost always wins the target-shooting contest during Cray Ridge Days.
“Well, hey, Jimmy Lee,” I say. “How ya been?”
“Fine as a frog hair,” he says, trying to hide a yawn. “What can I do ya for today, Gib?”
“I… ah…” (Clever and me hadn’t planned this part out. Least I don’t think we did.) "I… um…” There’s a CRAY RIDGE DAYS AUGUST 16-23 FUN FOR EVERYONE poster sitting on the corner of his desk. “I… ah… stopped by to see if you or the sheriff wanted to buy some raffle tickets.”
“Already got mine.” Jimmy Lee squints toward the big black clock on the wall. “Almost one thirty, the sheriff should be back from lunch soon. Maybe he’d like a couple,” he says, peeking into the top of the burger bag with a disappointed grunt. “Sorry to hear about your grampa’s heart givin’ out, by the way. How’s he doin’?”
“On the mend,” I say, my eyes scouring the room. I don’t see a cell key hanging anywheres in plain sight and I don’t have a bunch of time to go looking for it. I need to get over to the hospital to make sure Grampa really is on the mend.
Jimmy Lee says, “Been hot, ain’t it?”
“Sure has.”
“Ya hear ’bout the goin’s-on in Browntown?”
“No, I haven’t,” I lie. The jail key must be in his desk or something. “What happened?”
“There was a fire,” he says, getting all revved up.
“A fire? In Browntown? Why, Jimmy Lee, that’s a front-page story! Would ya mind terribly if I interview you for the Gazette?” I ask, with no intention whatsoever of doing so.
“Why, an interview’d suit me just fine, sugar.”
“Well then, let’s get started.” I sit down across from him, trying to look as professional as can be. “Oh, my goodness, ya know what I just remembered?”
“What?”
“Well, over the years of interviewing important subjects from all walks of life, I’ve found a bitty bite of something sweet helps my subjects to… well… maintain their liveliness. Would ya care for a coupla your mama’s chocolate-covered cherries ’fore we begin? Just happen to have some right here,” I say, gratefully recalling THE PLAN. Clever slipped the pills through a hole she made in the bottom of the candy with a pencil. They’re a mite melty from being in my pocket too long, but Jimmy Lee won’t mind. The boy loves his vittles no matter the form.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he says, lifting the chocolates outta my hand and disappearing them into his mouth.
I hope Clever was right. She figured if Billy has to take one tranquilizing pill to calm himself down, it’ll take at least three of ’em to knock Jimmy Lee’s “lard ass out.” (The Kid’s nimble fingers stole the pills right outta Billy’s pocket.) “How about another?”
“And that fire ain’t all that’s been happenin’ in Browntown,” he says, plucking the chocolate outta my palm. “More goin’ on over there last night than a Ringlin’ Brothers show.”
“Oh, Jimmy Lee,” I chuckle. “You are the funny one.” (Clever also instructed me to give any male I run across during the course of the jailbreak tons of compliments. High praise makes men putty in a girl’s hands.) “Do go on.”
Giving me a know-it-all grin, he says, “Guess who we found in the dump once we got the fire put out?”
“I’m sure little ole me has no idea.”
“Buster Malloy.”
“No!”
“Yup,” he says, swiveling back in his chair, elbows akimbo. “There he was… the next governor of the fine state of Kentucky… lyin’ in the rubble, his body burned blacker than Moses Washington at midnight.” (Mr. Washington is the deacon at First
Ebenezer and is colored in a way that there is no mistaking which side of town he belongs on no matter what time of day.)
“Ya got any idea who murdered him?” I ask, fawning.
“Sure do. Cooter Smith done it. We already got him locked up.” The deputy takes the keys out of his pocket, jangles them in my face, and shoves them back in.
This is NOT going so well. I told Clever we shoulda given him four pills, instead of three. Jimmy Lee doesn’t seem tranquil at all. In fact, he seems darn right perky.
“Got any more of them cherries?” he asks.
“Sorry, I’m clean out.” I got to stall until I can come up with another plan. “My, oh my, a thirst has snuck up on me something bad. Might I trouble you for a cup of that cool water?” I ask, pointing to the cooler over in the corner in a damsel-in-distress kind of way.
“Comin’ right up.” The deputy takes some time to pry himself outta the chair. “If’n this deputyin’ don’t work out, maybe I could get me a job at Top O’ the Mornin.’ Hardy… har… har.” Squatting down in front of the cooler, he says, “Shoot. Looks like we outta cups. Gotta get some from the supply room. Be right back.” And off he goes, maybe… wobbling? Yes! He is definitely looking rubber-legged, but I don’t know how long that’ll last. I gotta hurry. I know where the key is now… but…
According to The Importance of Perception in Meticulous Investigation: Searching the Premises:In the midst of a case, an operator must take every opportunity to uncover any and everything that might help solve the case. You never know when something useful might turn up.
Sitting down behind the desk that’s got a SHERIFF LEROY JOHNSON plaque on it, I pull open the top drawer. All it’s got is some worn-down pictures of women in skimpy nighties, a couple of gnawed pencils, and a ballpoint from Chessy’s Feed and Grain.