The Persian Pickle Club (13 page)

“I don’t think he did it at all, but I’ve got a pretty good idea who did do it.”

“Who?” I gasped.

“It’s a secret. If I told you, you’ll tell somebody.” Instead of looking at me, Rita held up her right hand, the fingers spread wide, and examined her nails, which were freshly polished.

I turned my head away without a word and started the car. Rita had no call to insult me. I could keep a secret as well as anybody. Shoot, I could keep a secret from Grover if I had to. I knew I could even keep one from Rita.

We didn’t talk as I drove Rita back to the Ritter place. I suppose I was pouting while she was thinking about whoever killed Ben Crook. Neither of us opened our mouths until we came to the edge of Forest Ann’s farm, and Rita grabbed my arm. “Isn’t that Dr. Sipes’s car parked there? I’d like to talk to him.”

I laughed. “Of course not. It isn’t five o’clock yet.”

Rita turned to me with a puzzled look on her face. “What does the time have to do with it?”

I wished I hadn’t been so quick. “Nothing.”

“Oh, come on, Queenie. What do you mean about five o’clock?” Rita still held the broken feather in her hand, and she reached over and touched the tip of it to my cheek. “Tell me.”

I shrugged.

“Queenie Bean, are you saying that Doc Sipes calls on Forest Ann every evening at five o’clock?” Rita patted her lips with the feather. She sure was smart at figuring out things—maybe not Ben Crook’s murder, but other things.

“Not every day. After all, he’s got sick people to see to.”

“Well, I think that’s kind of romantic, even at their age. We’ve had one birth and two funerals since I came here. Maybe next we’ll have a wedding.”

“No such a thing! Doc Sipes is married—” I stopped myself too late. I might just as well have dug a big hole and jumped into it.

Rita leaned back in the seat and giggled. “In Harveyville, Kansas, no less. Well, I’ll be damned. This town’s getting to be a regular Tobacco Road.”

I didn’t understand. “This is the Auburn Road.”

“Oh, Queenie.” Rita laughed again, as if I’d said something funny. “Maybe we ought to pay Forest Ann a friendly visit. We could say we were driving by and just stopped to chat. People around here are always stopping by without an invitation, whether you want them to or not.”

“Forest Ann and Doc Sipes isn’t something we interfere with. We pretend it’s not going on,” I said. “She’s a member of the Persian Pickle Club, so we stand by her, even if we don’t approve, which I’m not saying we do or don’t. Forest Ann deserves a little kindness, and so does Doc. Mrs. Sipes is meaner than Ma Barker, and Doc is a saint … just a saint. Nobody could blame him for taking up with Forest Ann.”

I stepped on the gas just in case Rita was serious about stopping, but I wasn’t fast enough. She leaned over and tooted the horn, and Doc stuck his head out from the porch and waved for us to turn in.

“Darn it. I guess we’re calling on Forest Ann, after all,” I muttered.

“We’re not spying on them,” Rita said. “This is kind of like a professional call. I want to ask Doc about Ben Crook’s body. He’s the coronor, isn’t he?”

“The what?”

“You know, the man who cuts up the bodies to find out what people died of.”

I shuddered. “I’d rather pick cotton.”

Rita laughed, and although I was down on her for saying I couldn’t keep a secret and then for honking at Dr. Sipes, when I heard the pretty sound that her voice made, I thought how much I liked her, after all. I loved Ruby, but being with her was like looking into a mirror. Ruby and I did things exactly alike, and sometimes I knew what she was going to say before she did. Rita was a surprise, and she made life interesting. Rita was what she would have called a real “live wire,” and it was exciting to be around her.

When I turned off the motor, I saw Forest Ann in the shade of the porch, next to Dr. Sipes. She moved away from him as we came up. She didn’t look glad to see us, and I tried to think of a way to let her know I wasn’t the one who’d honked.

Dr. Sipes nodded as we got out of the car. Rita already had out her notepad and the pencil I’d given her. She only glanced at Forest Ann before she turned to Doc with the smile she’d used on the others she’d interviewed that day.

Before she could ask a single question, however, Doc said, “I’m glad you girls came along. I’d just stopped to tell Forest Ann about Tyrone.”

I’d walked up next to the porch, and when I turned to Forest Ann to see what he meant, I saw tears on her cheeks.

“Doc thinks Tyrone’s got the polio.” Forest Ann sobbed.

“Oh no!” I said.

“Just like the President?” Rita asked.

“Albert told me just now. He left Tyrone only ten minutes ago.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Dr. Sipes. Dr. Albert Sipes,” Forest Ann said. I’d never thought about a doctor having a first name.

“It might not be polio. I don’t know what it is for sure, so I’m not going to quarantine him just yet.” Doc knew how hard a quarantine was on people. When her middle girl was quarantined with scarlet fever, Ada June said she thought she’d go crazy with no one to comfort her. Some people wouldn’t even talk to her on the telephone, and when the Persian Pickles came with their cakes and potato salads, they had to leave them on a stump outside the house and yell at Ada June at the top of their lungs to come and get them.

“It might be just one of those sicknesses Tyrone gets this time of year,” Doc said, glancing at Forest Ann. What he meant was that Tyrone always took to his bed at harvesttime. Doc removed his hat and used the back of his hand to rub the sweat off his forehead.

“Tyrone’s never been a well person,” Forest Ann said. Since he was her brother, Forest Ann had to defend him, but the rest of us knew Tyrone wasn’t as sickly as he was lazy.

“I stopped to tell Forest Ann because Velma’s off some-wheres,” Doc said. “Nettie’s taking care of him by herself. Tyrone’s not an easy man to deal with in a sickbed.”

“Or anyplace else,” I muttered, and Doc turned away so Forest Ann wouldn’t see him smile.

“We’ll all help,” I told him. “I’ll go home and call Opalina and Ceres and Ada June. Rita can let the Ritters know. We’ll have to make do without Ella and Mrs. Judd.” I tried to remember what I had at home that I could take over for the Burgetts’ supper.

“Ella would want to help,” Rita said suddenly, and Forest Ann and I looked at each other.

“She’s right,” Forest Ann said. “Ella’d never forgive us if somebody was in need and she didn’t know about it. Helping Nettie will take her mind off her own troubles.”

“It’s just the ticket for her,” Rita said. She looked pleased.

I was pleased, as well. Rita was thinking like a Pickle. Then I wondered if her real reason for the suggestion was she wanted another chance to question Ella. “Come on, Rita. Let’s get going.”

We were out on the highway by the time Rita remembered she had a pencil in her hand. “Oh, damn it! I forgot to ask Doc about Ben Crook.” I thought that was about the only thing Rita had done right that day.

So there we all were at the Burgett place, just like we’d been at the Ritters’ when Rita had the baby and at Opalina’s after Ella’s husband was dug up. It seemed as if we’d had more sorrow this year than sewing.

Tyrone was in bed in the parlor, which was where we gathered when Nettie was the hostess of Persian Pickle. With the lights turned off and the shades pulled down, it was the coolest room in the house, much nicer than the hot kitchen, where we sat. The parlor door was closed, but we heard Tyrone thrashing around in there. Every few minutes, he cussed from the pain or from feeling sorry for himself. Who knew which? He’d yell for Nettie to come in there, and when she did, he’d yell at her to get out.

“The only smart thing Tyrone ever did was marry Nettie. I wouldn’t walk across the front porch for Tyrone Burgett, but there’s not much a body wouldn’t do for Nettie,” Mrs. Judd said, taking the waxed paper from around her perfection salad, which sat on one of the Haviland plates she used at Pickle. “It’s a pity we don’t have a pesthouse anymore. That’s the place for Tyrone.” Nettie was in the parlor with Tyrone, but Mrs. Judd might have said that even if Nettie had been in the room. I was sure she’d have said it if Tyrone was there, especially after the dustup they’d had over Hiawatha moving to Harveyville.

Ella was right behind Mrs. Judd, the color back in her face. Helping people perked her up. She carried a mason jar filled with purple asters, set them down in the dry sink, and then dipped water out of a bucket into the jar.

“Tyrone doesn’t care about flowers. They’re for Nettie,” Mrs. Judd explained. “We stopped at Ella’s place on the way so she could pick them.”

Tyrone let out a swearword, and Opalina frowned. “There’s no need for him to blaspheme the Lord. Nettie ought to smack him when he talks like that. A good smack’d help his disposition.”

“This is one time I wish Foster Olive would show up. We could send him right in to see Tyrone. It would serve both those men right,” Ceres said. Even Ceres, who got along with everybody, found little to like about Tyrone Burgett.

Nettie came into the kitchen, looking tired and sweaty and smelling like a sickroom. She was startled to see that so many of the Pickles were there. Tears came to her eyes as she smiled at each one of us and glanced at the food we’d set out. The perfection salad sat in the place of honor in the center of the table, the celery and carrots sparkling like five-and-dime jewels, and when I moved aside, a beam of sunshine shot through the window, causing the clear gelatin to shimmer. It was so pretty that Nettie drew in her breath, then threw her arms around Mrs. Judd. “Oh, Septima, I never saw a thing as lovely as that.”

Mrs. Judd looked surprised and a little embarrassed at the compliment as she patted Nettie’s back. I’d never seen anybody hug Mrs. Judd before.

Just then, the screen squeaked, and the Ritter women came in. Mrs. Judd pulled away from Nettie, to nod at Mrs. Ritter and Agnes T. Ritter. When she came to Rita, she looked her in the eye but didn’t nod or say hello. Rita met her stare and swallowed a couple of times. She was uncomfortable, and so was I as I wondered if Mrs. Judd was about to start something. Instead, she blew out her breath and said, “It’s good you came, Rita. We always help one another.” If Mrs. Judd was going to have words with Rita, it wouldn’t be in Nettie’s kitchen in front of the other Pickles.

We visited as we set out food and made coffee. Agnes T. Ritter drew water from the pump outside. Opalina built up the fire in the cookstove to heat the water, and she and Ceres washed the dishes that were sitting in the sink. Forest Ann fed the chickens for Nettie while I carried out the garbage pail for the pigs. When we’d finished what there was to do, Mrs. Judd took charge and shooed out most of the Persian Pickles. She told Forest Ann to go home and rest, since she and Nettie would be taking turns sitting up with Tyrone. Velma, too, “if she got home,” Mrs. Judd said, then corrected herself—“when she gets home.” The rest of us sighed with relief, since we didn’t want to tend Tyrone in a sickroom.

“Queenie, you and Rita stay till Forest Ann gets back. You’re young, and you’ll cheer Nettie,” Mrs. Judd said, taking Ella’s arm and steering her out the door.

Rita and I sat in the kitchen for a long time, making small talk, until Tyrone at last went to sleep and Nettie came out of the parlor, fanning herself with her hand. Tyrone couldn’t have looked any worse than Nettie did.

“I’m taking you out on the porch to cool off,” I said, putting my hand in Nettie’s. I led her outside, being careful not to let the screen door bang and wake up Tyrone. Nettie and Rita sat down on the glider while I found a place on the top step of the porch. For a few minutes, we sat there, listening to the friendly squeak of the glider as we moved back and forth.

Tyrone made a noise, and Nettie rose and went to the door and listened, but it was just a sound in his sleep, so she sat down again and put her head in her hands.

“You’ve had your share of troubles, Nettie,” I told her.

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it, Queenie,” she replied. Nettie might have said something more, but Rita put her hand on Nettie’s arm to show she cared, and Nettie looked up in surprise, as if she’d forgotten Rita was there. Instead of continuing, Nettie squeezed Rita’s hand and said, “I wonder where Forest Ann’s got to.” She didn’t mention Velma.