A small figure with stringy black hair was squatting three inches from the television screen. Several soda cans were on their sides, as was a box of crackers. He jerked up in alarm at my voice, then smiled broadly and said, "Howdy, Arly."
"Hammet?"
"Yeah, it's me. How be ya, Arly? Sure is god-awful good to see ya again."
I came into the room and sank down on the sofa, wondering if the truck had indeed clipped me and I hadn't noticed. "Hammet?" I repeated.
He regarded me soberly through small, unblinking, Buchanon-tinted eyes. "You having a conniption or sumpun? You look whiter'n a dead cow in the moonlight."
"How did you get here?"
"It was real easy. First the social lady called over where I been staying all this time and sez you wants me to visit. I does okay there, mostly, but my stepma said she thought that'd be a right fine idea and had me on the curb when those ladies drove up in a big ol' station wagon. You look mighty funny, Arly. Is your belly achin'?"
"No, Hammet," I said weakly, "I'm a little surprised to see you, that's all. There's something screwy going on here. You said a social worker called your stepmother and said I wanted you to visit?"
"Sure were kind of you. It gits kinda wild sometimes. I got this halfass brother what sez he's the biggest so I got to mind him, but that's a crock of shit and we get to hittin' and kickin'. Then this snot-nosed sister starts grabbin' on his hair, and he commences to bawlin', and then my stepma gits all het up." He gave me an appraising look. "Ain't easy by any means."
I caught myself grinning just a little bit. "No, I imagine not. So your stepmother agreed and had you all ready when the ladies drove up. Anyone you recognized?" I don't know why I even bothered to ask; I really don't.
"That lady what cooked for us'n and t'other one what hung around all the time," he explained eloquently.
"That's what I thought."
"They was real nice, Arly. They got me stuff to eat and drink in the car, and then they said all about how I could play baseball like those fellows on television. I was aimin' to watch 'em while I waited for you, but I reckon they's at home today."
I closed my eyes and tried not to sigh too loudly. "Oh, they're real nice ladies, Hammet. Real nice. Food, drink, and a promise that you could play baseball."
His smile faded. "Mebbe, they said, lest mebbe. They said nobody was gonna get to play if'n they didn't find someone to coach the team. I ain't ever played baseball, but I think I might like it better'n sorghum on corn bread for supper."
A lot of images went through my mind at that moment. My favorite involved Ruby Bee's staked-out body, sorghum, and an advancing line of big black ants. Hammet, for the uninformed, was one of Robin Buchanon's five illegitimate children. Robin had been murdered while hunting ginseng on Cotter's Ridge. He and I had gotten to be buddies (in our own way) during the subsequent investigation and I'd really become fond of him (in my own way). I'd been downright misty when the social worker took him to his pa's home, but it clearly wasn't possible to insert a small, untamed boy into my lifestyle. We both had realized it wouldn't have worked. However, I'd nurtured a flicker of guilt that was now a full-fledged forest fire.
"Is you okay?" he asked, watching me anxiously.
"I'm fine and I'm glad you're here to visit. Tell you what let's do, Hammet. Let's go down to where the real nice ladies are and have a chat. You can have a piece of pie with ice cream on it."
Hammet bounced up and hooked his thumbs through the straps of his faded but clean overalls. "And see if'n I git to play baseball?"
I nodded grimly and hoped he couldn't see the steam roiling out of my ears. As we walked down the highway to Ruby Bee's, Hammet regaled me with the highlights of fistfights in his new home and I tried to decide what I was going to say to the real nice ladies. Hammet's vocabulary had mellowed greatly since he'd come down from the cabin, and I certainly didn't want to remind him of his innate talent for four-letter words and quaint colloquialisms, most of which concerned farm animals and improbable sexual activities.
There was a CLOSED sign on the door of the bar and grill, but we marched in with no difficulty. The barroom was uninhabited. I told Hammet to pick out a stool, then went around the bar and into the kitchen, where I saw one real nice lady crawling alongside the baseboard and the other watching her. Neither looked especially thrilled to see me.
Ruby Bee got to her feet. "I told you I was closed so's I could tackle these darn ants."
"So you did," I said politely. "I went to my apartment for lunch, just as you suggested."
Estelle and Ruby Bee swapped looks. At last, Estelle cleared her throat and said, "Hammet's lookin' fine, isn't he? It's astounding how much he's grown in the last year. With clean hair and decent clothes, he looks right smart, doesn't he?"
"Right smart," Ruby Bee said when I failed to respond. "He did so well in school that he's going into fifth this fall. He should be in sixth, but he was ignorant as they come when he started last year. Couldn't even count, his new ma told me. Can you imagine not knowing how to count?"
"I'm counting to ten right now," I said, "but it may not be sufficient. I may have to count to a hundred, or a thousand, or even a million. Did it occur to you to consult me before you invited a guest to stay at my apartment? What if I'd planned a trip or simply preferred to be alone? What if-" I stopped as the door opened behind me and Hammet came into the kitchen.
"Sumpun smells right tasty," he said, sucking in the noxious odor with the style of a seasoned connoisseur.
Ruby Bee put down the box of ant poison and scurried over to him. "I was just telling Arly here how well you've been doing at school. She's real proud of you, I bet. How about some pie?"
We all trooped back to the barroom and Hammet accepted a piece of peach pie, and with an encouraging word from me, a scoop of ice cream on top. I declined the same, mostly because I was so pissed, I wouldn't have accepted a bushel basket of ten dollar bills from the woman. She could have offered to hang the moon for me, and I'd have suggested an extremely uncomfortable place to do it. Without hesitation.
"So which one of you is head coach?" I said when I could trust myself.
Ruby Bee held up her hands. "I don't know anything about baseball…not one blessed thing."
"Neither do I," Estelle added quickly. "Why, I got more confused than a preacher in paradise when I tried to think what they call the players."
I gave them an evil smile. "I'll dash right into Farberville to the Book Depot and buy you a book that'll explain everything."
"Now, honey," Ruby Bee said, "you know I'm too old to teach a gang of children how to throw baseballs and swing bats." She leaned over the bar and put her mouth close to my ear. "Don't forget I'm fifty-two years old. You wouldn't want me to have a heart attack on the field. You'd feel guilty the rest of your life."
I raised my eyebrows and my voice. "Fifty-two, my foot! You're fifty-five if you're a day, and a heart attack's a damn sight cleaner than matricide-which is an appealing alternative at the moment."
"I cannot believe my ears!" Estelle gasped. "Your own mother! Imagine saying such things to your own mother. You young folks have no respect for your elders."
"Can it," I said. "If you've lined up nine players, and I'm assuming Hammet's visit has numerical significance, then you've got eight sets of parents. Surely one of the fathers is a closet jock who'd like to live out his fantasies on the field."
Ruby Bee opened the drawer below the cash register and took out a much-creased piece of paper. "Don't go jumping to conclusions, young lady. For starters, discounting Hammet, we've got six families. Now Saralee is staying at the Lambertinos', and Larry Joe is already coaching the SuperSavers. Joyce has her hands full with the little ones, so there's no way she can coach."