Thoroughly 03 - Who Invited the Dead Man? (16 page)

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Authors: Patricia Sprinkle

BOOK: Thoroughly 03 - Who Invited the Dead Man?
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“You did,” I remembered. My heart thundered a rapid
thankGodthankGod
. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” Joe Riddley peered into his ammunition box. “Little Bit, run get me more shells. I’m out. You know the ones I mean?”
“I know the ones you mean, but I’m not getting them. You’ve done all the shooting you’re going to do for one night.” I held on to the door and managed to get it open, but my legs quivered like I was a hundred and fifty. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t get me down the steps. I went down the ramp instead, holding tight to the handrail. By the time I reached the grass I felt stronger, but nowhere near strong enough to haul Joe Riddley to his feet.
“I’m going to have to call Ridd,” I told him, panting.
“Call Maynard. He’s closer. And get this infernal walker out from under me. It’s lumpy.”
I removed the walker and hurried in to dial the familiar number.
Maynard’s voice was slurred with sleep. “ ’Lo?”
“Maynard, Joe Riddley’s gotten himself into the backyard and fallen, and I can’t get him up. I hate to call you, but—” I stopped the way folks are apt to when they need a favor but don’t like to come right out and ask.
“I’ll be right there.” Maynard dropped the phone into its cradle and I saw an upstairs light come on across the watermelon patch. I was grateful he hadn’t demanded, “Was that him doing all that shooting?” Time enough for explanations later. First, I had something else to do.
It’s amazing how embarrassment can strengthen and speed a person’s legs. I managed to hurry in, find a fresh pair of pajama bottoms, and get back outside before I heard Maynard’s car start. “Let’s get these on you, honey. I don’t want Maynard seeing you like this.” I knelt and awkwardly tugged the pajamas over Joe Riddley’s feet and ankles.
For a wonder, he didn’t protest much. Oh, he gave a couple of kicks and grumbles, but he helped me by raising his hips so I could slip the pajamas up. I gave him a smile and smoothed back his hair. “I hear him on the road already.”
He smacked my hand. “I’m not gettin’ my picture made. Don’t fuss.”
I gave an exasperated huff and stood to wave at Maynard, who was out of his car almost before it stopped.
Maynard had come home months before from a good museum job in New York City to help his daddy after Hubert’s heart attack. From the gentle way he raised Joe Riddley and supported him across the grass, I saw he had learned how best to help a feeble man without injuring either the frail body or the delicate dignity.
“Let’s get you back to bed,” he suggested, steering Joe Riddley toward the ramp. “Mac, you could do with a bathrobe and slippers. It’s chilly out here tonight.”
I looked down and was glad our halogen light did make colors funny. At least Maynard couldn’t see how red I’d turned. I’d been so worried about Joe Riddley’s modesty, I’d forgotten my own. There I stood in a flimsy gown without a robe.
Maynard tactfully turned away as I hurried up the steps and toward the stairs. That blasted gun could stay out there until it rusted, as far as I was concerned.
Joe Riddley was starting to snore by the time I got back downstairs. Maynard stood watching him at the door. When he saw me, he motioned me to follow him to the kitchen. “What were you all doing out there at this hour?” he asked softly.
“Didn’t you hear him shooting? He’s got some fool notion about going hunting with Buster this fall, and he was practicing. Woke me up. I’m surprised it didn’t wake you, too.”
“I’ve bought a white noise machine. I can stand New York, but I can’t take the frogs down by Daddy’s pond. I didn’t hear a thing until the phone rang.”
“I hope it didn’t wake Hubert.”
“It didn’t. He doesn’t hear much without his new hearing aids and I took the phone out of his bedroom.” He gave me a worried look. “The way Joe Riddley is these days, you’d better get those guns out of the house.”
“Especially after Hiram—” I stopped, appalled. I had no business talking about Hiram until the sheriff’s office released a formal statement about his death.
Maynard gave a grunt of disgust. “I could shoot that old bugger. He came into the museum Friday afternoon eating a hamburger and got ketchup all over one of our upholstered chairs. I had the dickens of a time getting it out without leaving a stain.” He shook his head at the memory.
I knew Maynard hadn’t shot Hiram—or at least I was pretty sure he hadn’t—but still, I warned him, “Don’t go around saying you could shoot somebody. It can get you in trouble.”
He chuckled. “Spoken like a new judge. But seriously, you need to get rid of those guns.”
I heaved a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know where to take them. Neither Walker nor Ridd has a safe place to keep them, with their children around.”
“Want me to take them to our house? I can put them in one of our spare rooms upstairs. Daddy doesn’t climb steps anymore, so he won’t mess with them.” What he meant was, Hubert wouldn’t be tempted to think he could go out in the woods alone after a squirrel or rabbit, like he used to before he had a bad heart.
“I’d be very grateful,” I admitted.
He got a sudden gleam in his eye. “Any more antiques among them?”
When Maynard first got home, he nearly drove everybody crazy asking for things we used every day and claiming they had “historical value.” He’d slacked off some, but he still kept his eyes and ears open for antiques for that museum.
I owed him, though, for getting him out of bed. “I don’t think so, honey, but you take a look. If there’s something you want for the museum, I’ll see what I can do. Ridd and Walker sure won’t mind. None of us but Joe Riddley has ever cared a thing about guns. It used to be a real sorrow to him that the boys refused to hunt, but he finally accepted it.”
I unlocked the case, and together we gathered all the firearms and took them to his car. Then I went back and got the ammunition as well, then the shotgun in the backyard. “When he gets better, you let me know when you want these back,” he said as he stowed the last one in his trunk.
I shuddered. “I could do without them ever coming back. Particularly the way Joe Riddley is now.”
Maynard leaned over and gave me a hug, the privilege of a boy who’d known me since he was in diapers. “He’s gonna be all right. He’s getting better every day. You maybe can’t see it, because you’re with him all the time. But just now he was perfectly lucid when I was getting him into bed. Thanked me for coming and apologized for hauling me down here at this hour. Said he hates to be a burden on you and other people.”
Tears stung my eyes. “You don’t know how it cheers me to hear you say that. Seems to me like it goes on and on. It helps to get a fresh perspective. You want a cup of coffee or something before you go?”
I offered automatically, but found I really hoped he’d stay. “You got the makings of hot chocolate?” Maynard used to come down on chilly Saturday afternoons when he was a kid and I’d make hot chocolate with marshmallows. I didn’t know at the time that his mother was trying to cut back on his sugar because she thought it made him hyper. Looking back on it, and on how well he’d turned out, seemed to me what made Maynard hyper as a little boy was being fussed over so much.
I made hot chocolate and put three fat marshmallows in each cup. We went out onto the porch and sat rocking gently, listening to night sounds and letting the steam warm our noses. The darkness made me bold. “Tell me something. When do I get to wear my wedding hat? You’ve bought Marybelle’s house and are having it fixed up, you’ve got a good job and a legacy from your uncle, Selena’s got a good job, so what’s holding you back?”
He looked out toward where an owl was calling. “I don’t see my way clear quite yet.”
“You love her, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes!” His thin face broke into that smile that made him so surprisingly handsome.
“So what’s got hold of your suspenders? You can’t live with your daddy forever.”
He twisted his mouth, like he was trying to decide whether to tell me. Finally he drained his cup and held it, turning it around and around in his hands. “I can’t see getting him to move, can you? And he can’t stay out here by himself, but he has a fit if I suggest looking for somebody to live with him.” He stood up before I said another word. “That was good. Thanks.”
I wished I were charitable enough to have Hubert move in, but we couldn’t live with Hubert. Still, I hated to see Maynard and Selena putting off their marriage because of him.
I watched his taillights grow small up the road and found myself thinking,
How blessed a person is who has good neighbors.
As I turned to go in, I saw another set of lights coming down our road.
For a terrifying moment I remembered Ridd’s truck barrel ing down to say his daddy had been shot. But these headlights were lower than Ridd’s truck and not as blinding as Walker’s Infinity. I hurried to the kitchen and latched the screen, wary since I’d inadvertently let in a murderer. With relief I saw a sheriff’s cruiser pull to a stop under the light.
A deputy got out, pausing to take off his hat and smooth back his hair before he shut his door. “You need me to sign a warrant?” I called, unlatching the screen.
“No, ma’am, I brought you something.” He put back on his cap and opened his back door. I heard a raucous shriek. “Sic ’em, boy! Sic ’em!” The yard dogs started a trio on the theme that we didn’t need any parrots. At my ankles, Lulu made it a quartet. I fully agreed, and so, apparently, did Joe. His wings flapped angrily as the deputy reached into the backseat and struggled to grab a parrot who did not want to be grabbed.
Fighting an impulse to slam the door and go back to bed, I padded to the yard in my slippers. “Don’t overexcite him. Give him a minute to get used to you.” Then I turned to the dog pen and yelled, “Quiet, there! Quiet!” like Joe Riddley used to. To my utter amazement, the dogs hushed. Even Lulu subsided after a brief solo.
“You and who else?” the parrot shrieked as the deputy made another grab for his tail. The next minute the man backed out, rubbing the back of one hand with the other.
“Dang bird bit me! Maybe you ought to try, Judge. I don’t know much about birds.”
“I don’t know much about birds, either. Why didn’t you take him to Hector, or back to your office?” I felt as disgruntled as the parrot.
“Hector wouldn’t take it, and we don’t have holding facilities for a bird. Besides, I thought you wanted him.”
“Your nose is going to grow five feet long. Have you fed him?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Wait a minute.” I had no idea what parrots liked to eat. The only thing I’d ever seen Joe eat were bits of Hiram’s hamburgers, buns, fries, and pizza. I ran into the kitchen, grabbed a bun left from the barbeque, and filled a bowl with water. I opened the car door. Joe perched on the steering wheel looking like any minute he’d drive away. No such luck. He gave me a disdainful glare, then turned around to show me his back. “Hungry, Joe?” I asked. “Want some roll?”
He twisted his head this way and that, but didn’t move. As I continued to stand quietly and hold out the bun, though, he turned and hopped onto the seat, then inched my way. I also offered the bowl of water and he ducked his head for a swallow. After he’d had several, he arched his neck and pecked off a bite of bun.
I stood there while he ate bread and water, then held out my arm like I’d seen Hiram do. I was as frightened of his claws as Joe was of me, but when he hopped onto my forearm, they felt like tiny feathers on my skin. I was surprised how light he was. He felt no heavier than an orange.
I nearly dropped him, though, when he side-walked up my arm and climbed onto my shoulder. “Sic ’em, boy!” he called to the dogs, flapping his wings in my face.
They tuned up again. The deputy at least was good for something. He got them quiet.
“I’ll take him in for tonight,” I agreed grumpily, “although how I’ll keep him and Lulu in the same house I don’t know. Could you take her upstairs and shut her in a bedroom until I get Joe settled?”
We went to the kitchen together, and the deputy picked up the beagle without any trouble. He had two of his own from one of her litters. He nuzzled her gently as he took her up the stairs. “There you go, girl. Happy dreams.”
Behind the closed door, Lulu started another aria. I hoped Joe Riddley’s air conditioner was turned on high.
As the deputy clomped back downstairs, Joe started climbing from my shoulder to my head. “No!” I said crossly, but he hopped up and perched in my hair. “If you mess in my new hairdo . . .”
I didn’t complete that sentence any more than I used to with the boys, but as I shook my head crossly, Joe hopped back to my shoulder. “Good boy,” he croaked. “Good boy.”
The deputy took off his hat, smoothed his curls, and replaced his hat. “He says a lot of words.”
“Why don’t you take him home with you? Your kids would love him.”
He grinned. “And my wife would kill me. Good night, now.”
“Well, Joe, I hope you are housebroken,” I muttered as I closed the back door. “If you tear up my house while I’m asleep, I’ll positively kill you.”

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