Connecticut Light and Power, and a suspicious-looking hoodlum dumping toxic waste in the marsh who was, in fact, a marine biologist with the Department of Environmental Protection. Still, Miss Barker wasn’t a bad person, just lonely and scared. And she missed nothing that went on out on her street.
It took the old girl a while to get to the door. She didn’t move verywell, which was why Des hadn’t tried pressing a kitten on her—she was too likely to trip over it and fall. She was a slender, frail thing with Q-Tip hair, partial to pastel-colored pantsuits. Today she was pretty in pink. The scent of Miss Barker’s heavy, fruity perfume wafted out of the doorway with her. She wore so much of it that Des got lightheaded if she went inside the house.
“Sure, it’s those darned kids,” she responded promptly after Des had explained the purpose of her visit. “They all come tearing around that corner too fast. Especially at night. I hear their tires screeching when I’m lying here in my bed. I’m afraid of what’ll happen, dear, I don’t mind saying. One of those fool boys is going to smash right into the side of my bedroom some night. The explosion will kill me dead in my bed. Incinerate me sure as I’m standing—”
“This would have happened within the past hour, Miss Barker,” Des said, trying to rein her in.
“We ought to have a speed bump out there to slow those boys down, but do you think they listen to me at town hall? I’ve only been paying property taxes here since 1946, never missed a single payment.”
“Miss Barker, did you hear any screeching tires within the past hour?”
“Why, yes, right in the middle of
All My Children,
which I don’t know why I still watch. Loyalty, I guess. Not a very popular virtue anymore, is it?”
“Did you see what type of vehicle it was?”
“I absolutely did
not see
anyone,” Miss Barker said with a sudden flash of indignation. “So, naturally, I would not have the slightest idea what type of vehicle it was. How could I?”
Des peered at her in surprise. This was a lady who always butted in, never out. Why the dumb act? First Nema Acar, now her. What was this? “Well, did it sound more like a car or a truck?”
“More like a car,” she replied after a moment’s hesitation. “The pickups have those huge tires now with the big treads that make so much noise. Why do they
need
such huge tires? My daddy drove a truck his whole life, never a single accident, and his tires were justnormal, proper tires.” Miss Barker paused, her pale pink tongue flicking across her thin, dry lips. “But I really couldn’t say
anything
for sure.”
Des didn’t press her any further. Just thanked Miss Barker for her time and started back toward her cruiser, puzzled and frustrated. So much so that she could feel the beginnings of a deep blue funkadelic haze coming over her.
My job is pointless and stupid. My entire existence is pointless and stupid. I am wasting my life.
She knew the real reason why she was feeling this way. Sure she did. But knowing why didn’t make her feel one bit better.
She got back in her ride and cranked up the air conditioner and sat there glowering through her windshield at the huge old sycamore that grew in Miss Barker’s front yard. It was so splendid and lovely that it actually seemed to be mocking her with its presence. Either that or she was going totally nutso. She lunged for her cell phone and called her short-relief man. Whenever she needed a save, she reached out for him. As his phone rang, Des sat there wondering what would happen to her if Mitch Berger were not in her life right now. She would go right down the drain, that’s what.
But he must never know this—he thinks I’m the one who has it all together.
His phone machine answered. She waited, waited, waited for the beep and said, “Hi, it’s me.”
And he picked up. “I’m here,” he said hurriedly. “I’ve just been getting a gazillion calls from the media
It took the old girl a while to get to the door. She didn’t move verywell, which was why Des hadn’t tried pressing a kitten on her—she was too likely to trip over it and fall. She was a slender, frail thing with Q-Tip hair, partial to pastel-colored pantsuits. Today she was pretty in pink. The scent of Miss Barker’s heavy, fruity perfume wafted out of the doorway with her. She wore so much of it that Des got lightheaded if she went inside the house.
“Sure, it’s those darned kids,” she responded promptly after Des had explained the purpose of her visit. “They all come tearing around that corner too fast. Especially at night. I hear their tires screeching when I’m lying here in my bed. I’m afraid of what’ll happen, dear, I don’t mind saying. One of those fool boys is going to smash right into the side of my bedroom some night. The explosion will kill me dead in my bed. Incinerate me sure as I’m standing—”
“This would have happened within the past hour, Miss Barker,” Des said, trying to rein her in.
“We ought to have a speed bump out there to slow those boys down, but do you think they listen to me at town hall? I’ve only been paying property taxes here since 1946, never missed a single payment.”
“Miss Barker, did you hear any screeching tires within the past hour?”
“Why, yes, right in the middle of
All My Children,
which I don’t know why I still watch. Loyalty, I guess. Not a very popular virtue anymore, is it?”
“Did you see what type of vehicle it was?”
“I absolutely did
not see
anyone,” Miss Barker said with a sudden flash of indignation. “So, naturally, I would not have the slightest idea what type of vehicle it was. How could I?”
Des peered at her in surprise. This was a lady who always butted in, never out. Why the dumb act? First Nema Acar, now her. What was this? “Well, did it sound more like a car or a truck?”
“More like a car,” she replied after a moment’s hesitation. “The pickups have those huge tires now with the big treads that make so much noise. Why do they
need
such huge tires? My daddy drove a truck his whole life, never a single accident, and his tires were justnormal, proper tires.” Miss Barker paused, her pale pink tongue flicking across her thin, dry lips. “But I really couldn’t say
anything
for sure.”
Des didn’t press her any further. Just thanked Miss Barker for her time and started back toward her cruiser, puzzled and frustrated. So much so that she could feel the beginnings of a deep blue funkadelic haze coming over her.
My job is pointless and stupid. My entire existence is pointless and stupid. I am wasting my life.
She knew the real reason why she was feeling this way. Sure she did. But knowing why didn’t make her feel one bit better.
She got back in her ride and cranked up the air conditioner and sat there glowering through her windshield at the huge old sycamore that grew in Miss Barker’s front yard. It was so splendid and lovely that it actually seemed to be mocking her with its presence. Either that or she was going totally nutso. She lunged for her cell phone and called her short-relief man. Whenever she needed a save, she reached out for him. As his phone rang, Des sat there wondering what would happen to her if Mitch Berger were not in her life right now. She would go right down the drain, that’s what.
But he must never know this—he thinks I’m the one who has it all together.
His phone machine answered. She waited, waited, waited for the beep and said, “Hi, it’s me.”
And he picked up. “I’m here,” he said hurriedly. “I’ve just been getting a gazillion calls from the media
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