the pants off one nosy guest. Looking around quickly to be sure nobody was watching, I put my mouth close to the edge of the screen and called softly, “Hiram?” I waited for him to open one eye, give me a wink, and let out a guffaw they could hear in Macon. Seeing Charlie’s expression, I explained, “Just checking.”
“You’re crazy. Any fool can see he’s dead.”
He was right. Death has a smooth, finished-with-life look nobody can fake.
Nobody could fake the signals my stomach was giving, either. I needed fresh air badly.
Clarinda bustled out of the kitchen already talking. “That child tells me—” What she read in my expression alarmed her. “You havin’ a spell?” she asked softly.
I shook my head and gestured toward the corn on the floor, but she’d already noticed the shifted screen. “Who’s been moving that? Folks know better’n to look back there.” She turned a formidable frown on Charlie. Working for a magistrate all these years, Clarinda has lost any fear of officers of the law.
As she reached over to straighten the screen, he hissed, “Don’t touch that!”
But she’d already seen Hiram through the crack and transferred her anger to him. “What you doin’ back there, playin’ the fool?” I tried to shush her, but she wasn’t paying me one speck of attention. Clarinda tends to get a mite testy when she’s got two hundred people to feed.
I grabbed her plump arm. “He’s been shot,” I whispered.
“Shot?” She whispered, too, but loudly, shocked wide eyes roving back to the crack. “You mean, he’s dead ?”
Several people looked our way. A couple of curious guests started drifting over. I shooed them away like late-summer flies. “Chief Muggins is making fun of all the junk mail in my corner.”
“You know better than that,” one man warned him with a playful shake of his forefinger. “Mac’ll kill anybody who looks behind those screens.”
At the moment, I could have done without that particular joke.
But the second man came closer, teasing, “What you got back there? Gonna let us peek?”
One of the reasons I value Clarinda is her common sense. “I’m gonna kill the first person to track buttered corn over my carpet.” She glared at my guests, arms akimbo. They gave her apologetic smiles and retreated. She bent and started picking up corn.
“I don’t want Joe Riddley to know,” I pleaded with Charlie.
“Absolutely not,” Clarinda agreed without standing. She reached over and twitched the screen back to its former position before he could stop her. “Just leave him be ’til folks go home. He’s not goin’ nowhere.”
“I can’t—” Charlie began.
“You leave him be ’til folks go home.” She stood with two fistfuls of corn and spoke in a loud, reassuring voice. “I think we can get the grease out of the carpet, Miss MacLaren, but don’t let nobody walk on it ’til I get back. And you go on outside,” she added to Charlie as she headed for the kitchen. If Hollywood ever steals her from me, Clarinda is sure to win an Oscar.
Chief Muggins, however, tightened his grip on my arm and warned, “Don’t you move. I’ll be back in a minute.” Before I could protest, he was worming his way through the crowd toward Sheriff Gibbons.
9
Sheriff Bailey “Buster” Gibbons and Joe Riddley met in kindergarten. Buster’s one of our best friends, but law officers don’t look like friends when you’ve got an unexplained corpse in the corner.
I was actually nervous as Buster sauntered my way. He looked like a bloodhound, but those sad eyes and hanging jowls went with the brain of a fine law officer. He asked as he reached me, Charlie at his elbow, “Something the matter, Judge?” In public and even in our offices, Joe Riddley and I always called Buster “Sheriff” and he always called us “Judge.”
Before I could speak, Chief Muggins jumped in, pitching his voice to a low growl. “She’s concealing a body
“You’re crazy. Any fool can see he’s dead.”
He was right. Death has a smooth, finished-with-life look nobody can fake.
Nobody could fake the signals my stomach was giving, either. I needed fresh air badly.
Clarinda bustled out of the kitchen already talking. “That child tells me—” What she read in my expression alarmed her. “You havin’ a spell?” she asked softly.
I shook my head and gestured toward the corn on the floor, but she’d already noticed the shifted screen. “Who’s been moving that? Folks know better’n to look back there.” She turned a formidable frown on Charlie. Working for a magistrate all these years, Clarinda has lost any fear of officers of the law.
As she reached over to straighten the screen, he hissed, “Don’t touch that!”
But she’d already seen Hiram through the crack and transferred her anger to him. “What you doin’ back there, playin’ the fool?” I tried to shush her, but she wasn’t paying me one speck of attention. Clarinda tends to get a mite testy when she’s got two hundred people to feed.
I grabbed her plump arm. “He’s been shot,” I whispered.
“Shot?” She whispered, too, but loudly, shocked wide eyes roving back to the crack. “You mean, he’s dead ?”
Several people looked our way. A couple of curious guests started drifting over. I shooed them away like late-summer flies. “Chief Muggins is making fun of all the junk mail in my corner.”
“You know better than that,” one man warned him with a playful shake of his forefinger. “Mac’ll kill anybody who looks behind those screens.”
At the moment, I could have done without that particular joke.
But the second man came closer, teasing, “What you got back there? Gonna let us peek?”
One of the reasons I value Clarinda is her common sense. “I’m gonna kill the first person to track buttered corn over my carpet.” She glared at my guests, arms akimbo. They gave her apologetic smiles and retreated. She bent and started picking up corn.
“I don’t want Joe Riddley to know,” I pleaded with Charlie.
“Absolutely not,” Clarinda agreed without standing. She reached over and twitched the screen back to its former position before he could stop her. “Just leave him be ’til folks go home. He’s not goin’ nowhere.”
“I can’t—” Charlie began.
“You leave him be ’til folks go home.” She stood with two fistfuls of corn and spoke in a loud, reassuring voice. “I think we can get the grease out of the carpet, Miss MacLaren, but don’t let nobody walk on it ’til I get back. And you go on outside,” she added to Charlie as she headed for the kitchen. If Hollywood ever steals her from me, Clarinda is sure to win an Oscar.
Chief Muggins, however, tightened his grip on my arm and warned, “Don’t you move. I’ll be back in a minute.” Before I could protest, he was worming his way through the crowd toward Sheriff Gibbons.
9
Sheriff Bailey “Buster” Gibbons and Joe Riddley met in kindergarten. Buster’s one of our best friends, but law officers don’t look like friends when you’ve got an unexplained corpse in the corner.
I was actually nervous as Buster sauntered my way. He looked like a bloodhound, but those sad eyes and hanging jowls went with the brain of a fine law officer. He asked as he reached me, Charlie at his elbow, “Something the matter, Judge?” In public and even in our offices, Joe Riddley and I always called Buster “Sheriff” and he always called us “Judge.”
Before I could speak, Chief Muggins jumped in, pitching his voice to a low growl. “She’s concealing a body
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