"It's okay," he said, putting his hands on my shoulders. "It's not your fault."
I tried to get my voice down, but I couldn't, and I could barely see him through my watery eyes. "It's everybody's fault. Ruby Bee admitted she'd heard something, but she put it out of her mind. After I talked to you this morning, I called Lissie's fourth-grade teacher from last year. She stammered around, and finally said she'd wondered about the possibility but didn't want to get involved in something like that. Something like that!"
I broke free and started down the road again. He let me go for a minute but eventually caught up with me and we sat on a mossy log until long past dusk.
"Georgie McMay, if you don't stop that, I'm going to tan your hide," Estelle said, even though it was an empty threat because he probably outweighed her. "You, too, Ray. We are not going to hit each other with catsup and mustard bottles. Fix your hamburgers and sit down nicely."
When Georgie hesitated, Earl Boy Nookim took the opportunity to curl his foot around Georgie's ankle and bring him facedown on the floor. Enoch leapt on Earl Boy's back and, with the enraged roar of the Hulk (Enoch was a great fan of the green machine), did his best to throttle his victim. Georgie rolled over and grabbed Earl Boy's foot. He regretted it almost immediately when the wrestlers crashed down on him, and he expressed his displeasure both verbally and with an attack on Earl Boy's hair.
Ruby Bee put her hands on her hips and tried the voice that usually broke up barroom brawls. "I am not about to have this sort of thing going on in this bar and grill. Y'all either settle down or I'll settle you down myself."
"Who wants more chips?" Estelle trilled.
Lissie, Jackie, and Martin raised their hands. There wasn't any point in saying anything, because the din from the barroom floor would have drowned out a bulldozer.
In the back booth, Saralee gazed pensively across the tabletop at Hammet. "You are mighty mysterious," she said, twirling a yellow braid around her finger.
"I ain't neither."
"Yes, you are."
"Ain't."
"Are too!"
By the time Ruby Bee brought the wedges of pie to the back booth, the occupants were on their feet, pushing, shoving, and yelling at each other. She noted there was no serious damage being done, and returned to the bar at the very moment a man in a khaki jumpsuit and a baseball cap came in.
"Private party," she said wearily.
"I just came by to give you the tournament schedule," he said. He handed her a piece of paper, noticed the brawl still in progress, winced, and said, "The other team was disqualified, naturally. We can't have seventeen-year-olds in the intermediate league, not even ones repeating sixth grade for the fifth time, or fifth for the sixth. Your team has its first game Saturday morning. I…ah, I look forward to seeing you and your players at the ballpark." He left, quickly.
"Lookee here," Ruby Bee said loudly, "the Ruby Bee's Flamingos are the champions of Maggody! Ain't that something? We're gonna play in a real tournament this week."
"And won't Arly be excited when she hears this," Estelle murmured.
Ruby Bee hesitated as a whole lot of things went through her mind. However, she told herself coolly, she could handle Arly. "Let's celebrate with ice cream!"
Lamont finally gave up and stopped, mostly because he was panting so hard that he was afraid he'd have a heart attack in the middle of the woods. Some of the tar had been left on tree trunks and logs submerged in dry leaves. Most of the white feathers on his back were gone, although he was unaware of it and therefore equally unaware of the Hanselish trail he'd left all the way up the side of the ridge.
He sat down on a stump and listened for the sound of someone crashing through the leaves in pursuit. It was hard to think, what with the roar in his head and the black blotches rotating before his eyes, and he finally conceded as much. He attempted to run his fingers through his silver hair, but the result was not good. The sudden crackle of leaves behind a dense clump of scrub firs was not good, either. He wiped his hand on the side of the stump, cursed the barbarians who'd done this to him, and struggled to his feet.
Jim Bob charged into the clearing. "I'm going to cut off your balls and feed them to the squirrels," he said in way of greeting. "One at a time. Then I'm going to cut off your-"
"Hey, Jim Bob, I thought we were partners," Lamont said. He held out his hand but shrewdly began to edge around the stump. "We can work this out. I'll call the loan officer, at home if I have to, and tell him we'll be there bright and early Monday morning to finish the paperwork."
He had the stump between them now. He would have preferred a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire, but he figured the stump was better than nothing, since Jim Bob had the look of a pissed-off pit bull. "What's more," he said magnanimously, "we can work out a deal for you to buy me out. You'll be the sole owner of Jim Bob's SuperSaver Buy 4 Less."
Jim Bob advanced. "You're some fine sumbitch, ain't you?"
"Now listen here, you don't have any reason to carry on like a school-yard bully," Lamont said. Each time Jim Bob sidled around the stump, he followed suit. "We can work it out."
"Some fine sumbitch, using me and sweet Cherri Lucinda like you did. We're gonna work it out right here and right now."
What neither of them noticed was the entrance to the burrow beneath the stump. It was small but cozy and had been excavated for the sole intent of protection. The Mephitis mephitis (Mustelidae), being a nocturnal creature, was frightened by the loud voices and commotion outside its burrow. It twitched its nose and warily turned its tapered snout toward the opening.
"You keep away from me!" Lamont said shrilly.
A foot kicked the stump, sending its occupant into deep-seated panic. In order to protect itself, it scurried out and took a hard look at the two combatants, who were staggering around the stump, swinging wildly at each other, grunting and cursing, and sending up explosions of dusty leaves.
The Mephitis mephitis (also called polecat or zorrino, or sometimes wood pussy) felt no kinship with this distorted version of itself. It turned around, lifted its tail, and spewed out a fine yellow mist that enveloped the two in a noxious haze. It then stalked away to find a few grubs for an early supper. Jim Bob pushed Lamont away, but it was too late to escape. His eyes burned and his throat felt like someone had poured boiling water down it. His lungs threatened to shut down then and there. His words were barely audible, even in the sudden silence. "Aw, shit."
Joan Hess
Joan Hess is the author of both the Claire Malloy and the Maggody mystery series. She is a winner of the American Mystery Award, a member of Sisters in Crime, and a former president of the American Crime Writers League. She lives in Fayetteville, Arkansas.
