Old Enough | Chapter 11

Chapter 11
INFORMATION

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Aunt Ida gave Neal a towel and made him change his wet clothes but she let him change in the Men's Room. When he got back to the kitchen, Mr. Watch was gone and four gooseberry pies were cooling on the counter. Aunt Ida stood over the stove. With her spatula, she stirred stroganoff. Foreign dishes make her nervous. She wanted the marshal and Neal out of there but they didn't go. The meat, mushrooms and onions cooking in butter smelled too good. Also, she wanted Mariah out of there but Mariah stayed parked in her chair with her long claws laced behind her neck. "Let me ask you something, Aunt Ida," she said. "Wouldn't you agree marriage outside of the civil union is a religious ceremony? Your suggestion we legislate religious ceremonies is unconstitutional. Now let me tell you something. Homosexuality, the finest birth control method available, should be encouraged not discouraged." You change your clothes and your minds. Neal and the marshal changed their minds and went. Some people don't like arguments.

"And let me tell you something, Agent Striker," the marshal said but he was talking to Neal and his mother. They'd looked everywhere for her and finally found her on her knees scrubbing the Men's Room floor. Okay, and it wasn't because Neal had made a mess because he hadn't. Somebody has to do this scrub job three times a week and the somebody is usually his mother. She wore a blue scarf over her hair and rubber gloves and smiled up at them like she didn't mind at all. She's like that about yucky jobs. Also, Mariah says the women customers are the real slobs.

"Yes," the marshal said, "let me tell you, agent, and this lovely lady on her knees what's increasingly on my mind and here it is: can't stand her doing what she's doing is the thing." His leg started to go even though he was standing not sitting.

"Work's good," said Neal's mother. Hey, the marshal only wanted her happier.

"Okay, Back to business with the agent then," he said and Neal was glad to hear it. "Before a squirrel hunt with Delaney Fairwell, I want another confab with Jake. If you're in a tight about the past, present or future in Milo, might as well stick to the person with answers. There have been postmasters and postmistresses over the years but whoever manages the town mail knows anything and everything. Got a friend in the job and see no reason not to take advantage of my good luck. Need more information, agent, about Delaney's plans and his present relationship with his great-grandmother and the twins' relationship with Horace Sykeston IV. In the back of my mind are more questions about Mary Comfort's sudden departure. Questions need answers and Jake will have answers or no one will; that's for sure."

"Please let me come," Neal begged and he wasn't ashamed. Pete and Jaime were using money Mariah had paid Pete for his patriotic collage to buy trampoline rides from Iris and no way did Neal want to jump, clap and bounce in their dumb game.

"Don't know why not but probably we should ask your mother if you're free for the afternoon," said the marshal. Okay, the only reason Neal might not be free would be if his mother had something for him to do and whatever it was, he would way rather be on assignment with the marshal. That was all and it wasn't unusual.

"Please let me go," he begged her. If you don't get through to one, try the other.

"Do you mind, honey? Don't let him wear out his welcome. The trouble is he's on the outs with Pete and Jaime and restless. Fortunately, school starts soon." On the outs, okay, but restless? Looking for action, maybe. The Men's Room door was propped open with a Caution, Wet Floor sign. Neal remembered that his sister didn't see herself as a motel maid. What do you bet their mother didn't see herself as a lavatory cleaner? No wonder the marshal wanted her to quit. It all had to do with work. Still, you have to know what you don't want. Okay, you don't have to but Neal did. He did not want to go back and listen to Mariah and Aunt Ida fight; also, he did not want to stay and watch his mother on her hands and knees. He did want to hit the road with the marshal; he did want the two of them to boogie.

"Two months isn't soon," he said. Some facts are valuable. "I learn from the marshal." Even with your mother, you have limits. For one thing, he seriously couldn't help how she saw herself unless he cleaned lavatories for her and cleaning lavatories is not an agent's job. Also, Aunt Ida's salsify rows needed hoeing and someone might think of him if he remained underfoot, not really under her feet but that's what Aunt Ida says. Wur! Actually, it was 62 days before he'd be in third grade. Except for one big problem, this would be all right. Mrs. Culpepper is nice. They found her daughter and her daughter's okay so she's okay too. You probably know what the big problem is. Yep, he'll be back in the same room with Iris.

"Come ahead then, agent," said the marshal, "before it gets too hot."

"Tell Jake I want to put in a silent bid on a singular item in this month end's specialty lot." Mariah stepped around their mother and headed for the divider. She carried glass cleaner and paper towels. She says dirty glass is a dirty sin in the shared visual world. "I'll go $30 for the scarf with the black and white piano keys. Do you know Robert Romano wears an identical scarf in Fast Times at Ridgemont High? No, come to think of it, you probably don't." She stopped polishing, put her hands on her hips and raised her brows high in her head. "Okay?" and she waited.

"Okay," the marshal told her. Manno! Before they hit the road, they got Molly. Then like always the three of them piled into the truck. Neal brought with him the Reader article about bones. He hadn't given up. Written clues are the hardest.

"Before we talk to Jake," the marshal said, "guess we better run by Red's about that fool article and the Pride home and the mayor to set the judge matter to rest."

Neal was pleased they were going to see Mr. Noland about the caves and even the mayor about the judge. Forget Lewis N. Clark, Trinity and the Fairwells, including Delaney, for a while anyway. Forget Horace Sykeston, property rights and fights. Could a murderer hide in the middle cave? And who was walking around the Pride house late at night or early in the morning if it wasn't the judge? Were the mayor and the judge okay? Even without a strange man in the house, could the judge ever be okay while living with the mayor? These are questions you need to ask first hand. This is how you build up your case with information you can understand.

"Sorry about your trouble. Where are your buddies today?" The voice was soft.

"They're jumping on Iris's trampoline" and maybe they'll fall off. Taking a fall so bad they sue her for everything she's got. Not really but sometimes your mind goes wild and you can't control it. No getting away from something else either -- the Kelly yard is where kids like to go. It isn't just the latest thing Iris might be selling. The yard is a big open field. You can use the two maple trees for first and third in baseball and kickball and other games where you run bases. You need to watch out for her dad's goats, not Gay Billy but the others. Some goats like to come up behind you and knock you over on your face but they keep the grass cropped so you don't get to chase them or give them a punch. Anyhow, kids hang out in the yard because of the yard and not because of Iris. Neal can pavure guavaravantavee you this.

The marshal tugged his earring. "Let's drive by," he said. Neal said nothing. What good would it do? Sometimes you know words will be a waste. In front of the Kelly house, the marshal left the engine idling. Iris came right over. Wouldn't you know?

"Very serious error in judgment," she said to the marshal. "My legal load allowance is three kids. I charge a nickel for 20 jumps. It'll take 50 summers before the investment pays for itself. I thought I knew what I was doing. Wrong!" She didn't look at Neal and didn't say anything to him. Hey, he had nothing to say to her for sure. He didn't even want to be there hearing about her latest business venture.

Pete and Jaime waved. They were jumping with the little Culpepper girl from over on Pecan. The Easily twins were next in line. Iris was making her usual killing. She might talk about 50 years to recover her investment but added to her other businesses, she was getting richer. She wore black sweat pants and a T-shirt with a picture on the back of a grizzly. Everyone knows only black bears live in Missouri.

Naturally, the marshal admired her. "Iris, you are one heckuvanentrepreneur."

Don't bother looking up that word in the OED. You might Google it. Anyhow, naturally, Iris saluted and paraded around the truck in her black bear and sweats. "Isn't that right, agent?" the marshal asked and Neal mumbled with his mouth turned sideways until they left her grinning and jingling money in her pockets.

"Truthfully, there are good things about my job with all of my complaining."

Neal watched the road with Molly; there are times you don't want to say anything.

Mr. Noland wasn't home. The marshal wrote a note and left it by the cabin door under a rock with gold flecks and streaks in it. "We go back a ways," he said before he started the engine. "Got a minute?" he asked while Neal buckled himself in.

"Sure." Sometimes people ask if you have a second or a minute. Manno! You hope so. Anyhow, why do they ask for your time? They want you to listen, that's why.

"My hope is, so long as we're taking care of business, to get your ideas on what to do about your mother's situation. You know me, agent. I'm an old snipe who likes to review the layout and I may be bending your ear with what you already have a handle on but here's how I see it. She's the sixth person in 32 years to re-open the old Riverside Hotel. The hotel has historic value if nothing else. It was built in 1894 from stone quarried down south and ferried up River to the site. Used to be the first floor contained the lobby, kitchen, dining facilities and bar. Remember when you and Jake and I toured the two upper floors? Remember what we found up there after we cleared out enough dirt and debris so we could really explore?"

"Sure." Unless accompanied by a grown-up, Neal is not allowed on the second and third floors of Juanita's Travel Stop and doesn't mind this rule of his mother's one bit. Look out! Was the marshal going to ask her to change it? Why? On each of the floors are sixteen little rooms and two big lavatories with marble countertops which are supposed to be worth a lot of money but you wouldn't think so if you saw how grodie they are. Mr. Watch says cleaning old marble is a special art. Spiders live in the stained walls. They dump their garbage in the windowsills and corners. In one of the bathrooms something dumped a dead rat on the shelf. Wherever you go is creepy and smelly and no place to be on an assignment especially by yourself.

"Here's my plan," the marshal said. "With the inner walls down, a corn burning stove installed and the lavatories upgraded, we turn the second floor into an indoor auction area. That way Jake can keep calling in the wintertime and maybe attract more out of town visitors since it's a comfortable place to stay and your mother has the only decent restaurant around. He pays her a percentage every time he holds an auction. She's got a new roof and we've restored the opened up interior to hold banquet size gatherings but the bottom line, buddy, is the need to generate more income. Right now Jake and I have two cabins on a weekly basis. The other three are seldom occupied. I know your mother won't add gas or groceries because of the Sanchez business. Besides, she has enough on her hands with food, drink, lodging, movies, doll and lottery ticket sales. Actually, your mother and Pete Sanchez have the same problem: no dependable out-of-town traffic. Jake's auctions wouldn't mean more work for her but might give satisfaction. So what's your reaction?"

"Sure. Maybe more Milo people will come and eat, too, and have parties." You're always glad to make things better for your mother. At least, you usually are. Also, Neal would be helping the marshal on the upper floors like when they put together Mariah's private space and installed the cabin AC units. He would not be alone.

"Well, now, that's a problem," said the marshal; "how many people live in Milo?"

Numbers are easy to talk about without getting into trouble. Both the marshal and Neal like them. This is a fact. Okay, the official population sign still showed 196. After Mr. Jasper's funeral, they'd replanted the straightened signpost in the hole where it belonged across from the school. Since he'd lived in the country, his dying made no difference but Mrs. Venable's new baby arriving two days after Neal's birthday did. Next year the marshal and Neal might have to change the number. They do every other year if people are born or die unless the dead cancel out the babies and the difference is naught. Maybe the bones cancel out Chelsea Venable but Neal quit thinking this; you can quit thinking it if you don't like a thought.

"197," he said.

"Right," said the marshal, "one born and none dead. Now, let's figure using 200 instead of 197 to make it easier. Say all these folks can afford to eat out and do. We know better but let's continue. 200 people eat at your mother's once a week. We'll say 100 (although it's more like 150) are kids and seniors at half-price. So (100 x $5 = $500) + (100 x $2.50 = $250) = $750. Agent, it doesn't meet the overhead."

"She gets money from movies and Iris's dolls and you and Mr. Watch," Neal said.

"Good thinking but let's keep at it. Agreed, your sister is turning a tidy profit from the movie rental franchise and I'm not about to fault any business arrangement with Iris Kelly. But the cabin income from Jake and me is nothing compared to perks like free dog boarding, laundry, Aunt Ida's generosity with food and drink. Trust me, your beautiful mother is barely keeping her head above water and this old sailor is tired of watching her struggle. I want to marry her, you know, but she won't say yes. Anyhow, if you're okay with the second floor auction idea, I've taken it up with Jake and he's for it so I'll go to her next. Got to keep working for it, huh, Molly? Oh, shoot-patoot, buddy!" The marshal pulled over; he was frowning.

Okay, so Neal was crying; hey, you don't want to hear your mother's drowning.

"She can't help liking her chickens in the coop and eggs in the basket and ducks in a row," he sobbed. The marshal reached around Molly to pat him on the shoulder. He cried a long time while the marshal twisted his foxy face and said he had a big mouth and was an old fool and ought to be shot. This made Neal cry harder. You don't always know why you stop crying. You just do and manno, are you glad! "I'm okay now," he told the marshal and Molly who was poking her cold nose in his face to lick his tears; you can always count on dogs being there for you when you're sad.

"Are you sure? Because I can take you home, rent you a movie and probably get you an extra crème soda this week." Okay, Neal can take or leave movies; he's nuts about crème soda but that doesn't mean he's going home like a crybaby freak.

"I'm fine."

"Did I ever tell you about the time I tapped the Old Man on his behind?"

"No," Neal lied and settled back in the seat to hear it again. The marshal started the truck and turned onto the Highway, heading for the school and giving himself plenty of time. He can take a long time to tell a story but Neal was ready to listen because any story is bound to be better than the one about your mother fighting to breathe. Managing a giant sniff, he lifted Molly's collar to scratch underneath.

"Okay, here goes. It was the winter we had the ice storm that took down Aunt Ida's pecan and walnut trees. Remember? I had just taken on the marshal's job. Didn't yet have you working for me. Had to do all the scouting and patrolling myself. Stretched pretty thin and a little too gung-ho now I look back on it. Not long out of the Navy and still thinking like a snipe. Once a snipe, always a snipe. Don't let anyone tell you different, agent. It was a night in February same week as the storm, a skosh above zero and snowing buckets. To check Red's place, I drove around his property on that unpaved bank above his cabin. Wasn't doing more than 10 miles an hour and I guess that's what saved us. Well, I started to slide and knew if I tried to correct, I'd go right over the edge and through Red's roof so I went with the truck. Suddenly, I was looking past the wipers at a dozen deer, mostly doe and young, crossing the road not 10 feet in front of me. Because of the ice, deer were stepping slowly and carefully and because of the ice, I was skidding towards the deer. And who do you think, bigger than life, was bringing up the dead rear?"

"The Old Man."

"Right, with that tail popped up in the air like a white and tan lady's fan. Had his head turned. Staring directly at me. No mistaking him, can't miss the hole Tom Jasper plugged in his ear. By some miracle, every doe, fawn and yearling got across before the truck began swinging and slithering so as to come to rest broadside. As it did, the left front headlight tapped the Old Man's fanny. He swished that tail and turned his head. Then he took off looking back and if looks could kill, I'd be dead."

"Bud knows his secret drinking place and he's going to show me."

"That's good; Bud's a good guy, isn't he?"

"Yes." Okay, Neal hadn't asked before when he'd listened to this story but hey, you don't ask, you don't learn and you wind up nowhere. "Was the Old Woman there?"

"Didn't see her. Don't think they travel together."

So you have babies together but you don't live together -- not if you're deer.

"Uh-oh," said the marshal, "agent, you wait here. You too, Molly." They were driving slowly through the park now. He pulled over and stopped the truck near the boat launch by the River. Next he unbuckled, got out and lit up. Next he turned in a complete circle, looking all around. Then he walked to the peony bed that Mrs. Hooper had planted for the town when she was able to garden and remembered who she was and what she'd planted and where she'd planted it. Now Bud cares for the peonies out of the goodness of his heart. That's what the marshal says and so does Aunt Ida; she says Bud's a good soul and does way more than his part.

To the west of the bed where the marshal now stood and smoked his coffin nail grew a green feathery patch of what Mariah calls Missouriwanna. She says the plant might wanna but it can't. Really it's hemp left over from the two big world wars and before those wars when hemp was used to make rope instead of dope. Now people spray and try to kill hemp but it comes back. It's okay to make clothes out of hemp if that's what you want to do. You better be able to prove what you're doing if you're making clothes out of hemp but for that, they won't arrest you.

The marshal got back in the truck. "We'll have to get rid of the plant," he said. "But let me ask in case I forget, agent, and please be honest: didn't you have it spotted?"

"Sure."Hey, except for the bones area doesn't Neal patrol every bit?

"But you didn't report it? Now that's a surprise."

"I didn't know I was supposed to report plants that are growing, just needles, pills, baggies with powder, liquids I don't recognize." Neal could feel tears in his throat. "Mariah says nobody will be able to stop native hemp from growing in the wild."

The marshal sort of smiled. "Your sister and I may need to have ourselves yet another chat. Will you tell me the next time and maybe we can avoid that?"

"Yes!"

Believe it or not, Neal was glad to see the mayor. Hey, she takes your mind off other stuff. Also, her new bright orange water gun had serious pump action. He wouldn't have minded taking a look except some things you can forget about and this was one of them. Today she was chasing squirrels instead of cats. Her face was red as fire and her pink hair was flying. You don't ask the mayor if you can look at her gun while she's having a hissy. You stay quiet and you stay in the truck. The mayor pumped and circled the crabapple tree before she charged and turned loose on the birdfeeders hanging from the shaggy limbs. Screwed into the trunk was the squirrel feeder Mr. Watch had traded her for a torn copy of the sheet music to Maple Leaf Rag. He'd told her to give the squirrels corn and they might leave birdseed alone. Well, it's a good thing he'd used the word might because he was dead wrong. The squirrels stretched way out and hung way down. Squirrels are good acrobats and every day all four ears were picked clean of every single grain. Then back to the birdfeeders they would go to munch on sunflower seeds again.

The marshal, who'd been watching with his arms draped over the steering wheel, opened his door. "Like I was saying, there are good things about my job but this task doesn't look to be one of them. You wait, agent, and if a cat or squirrel sashays by, you see to it Molly behaves herself. You hear, girl? Good behavior's the order."

Like directed, Neal listened and looked all about. Sunshine stands out.

"Como se llama, el gato?" "Me llamo el Rayo del Sol y yo soy magnifico!"

Cats and squirrels aren't friendly and Neal saw no cats. Maybe now cats only come into the mayor's yard at night when squirrels are asleep. The birds would be asleep too. Chimney swifts and whippoorwills would be awake but cats don't hunt birds with whiskers, do they? Who knows? Two redbird cocks were pretend-fighting over their orange girlfriend in a red bud tree. Redbirds are pretty. Mariah says to call them cardinals. Why? They are red birds so why not call them that? Why make things harder? It's a true fact that you can do that if you try. Okay, but why?

Look out! The mayor had stopped the marshal on the steps. Was the mayor ever in a good mood? Neal thought the best word to describe her mood just about any day might be foul spelled with a "u" not "w" or else it means chicken. Anyhow, the difference between foul and bad isn't important like the difference between might and would but you should get things straight if you can and you'll be glad you did. In Bugle Ann the water is foul. The foul in a ball game is not quite the same thing. The foul where you smell something totally nasty is good. Well, not good but you know -- that foul is closer in meaning to the mayor's everyday, ordinary mood.

"Judge okay, mayor?" The marshal's voice can surprise you because he's not a big man but his voice can sound like he's 8 foot 4 when he wants it to. He wanted it to. "Lacey Hooper says he saw a man walking around in your house last night, actually early this morning. Says the man was walking, talking, swearing and carrying on something fierce. Truth is Lacey says it looked a lot like the judge. Those are his words. Know it sounds nuts; just telling you what Lacey says he saw and heard."

"Stuff and nonsense," snapped the mayor. "He hasn't recovered from his stroke. Don't I know his condition? My husband confides in me before his physician."

The mayor wore camouflage pants. She aimed at the grass and pulled the trigger. You could see she wanted to get back to her mission but first she needed more ammo. Actually, squirrels probably don't mind getting wet. Even when it's hot, cats mind but squirrels probably don't. Well, the mayor minded them! Hey, the mayor has to mind something. She isn't putting on an act. Thavis avis ava travue favact.

"I don't know what you're doing, marshal, besides pestering me but I warn you pest control in this town remains high on my list of constructive activities. Furthermore, since you're here, I notice the City decal still isn't good enough for you. Why, instead of bothering me with foolish gossip, don't you put that decal on your vehicle? I would like to take pride in my fellow civil servants when I make my rounds and share the information to which the voters are entitled by law and by right. I realize that this is a great deal to ask but I do think that I have the right."

"Dadgum, mayor!" The marshal got in the truck, started the engine and they tore out of there. He sucked in deep and blew out. There were purple patches on his fox face. Maybe he was trying not to swear. Molly scooched closer to Neal and Neal thought about covering his ears. Of course the marshall would still have to pay if he used real swear words but it might be worth it if it kept him from exploding. Anyhow, the mayor is for sure the marshal's Iris. That's for sure who the mayor is.

Neal just thought about covering his ears. He didn't do it. You don't do everything you think about. He did check the mayor's house as they drove away. Behind the drapes across the front window did a dark shape rise? Or was it just the back and forth flashing of redbirds, finches and chickadees playing tricks on his crazy eyes?

The square building steamed in the sun. The ivy hugged the walls and licked the broken handrails along the tipsy boardwalk. The museum windows were clean. The Post Office windows could have used washing but Mr. Watch usually has other work to do. He owns the six town lots to the east so Jake's Junkyard can expand. There he keeps old tires, bedsprings, wringer washing machines, baby carriages, lamp poles, wrecked trucks, cars and tractors, things Neal's mother refuses to store and that he can't auction off right away, maybe never. There he keeps the things that make his daughter-in-law say she wants to run to the woods and stay forever.

The marshal said it might be a long chat. He asked if Neal was up for that.

"Sure." Why would he want to wait in the truck with Molly and her water bowl? In summer the marshal doesn't believe in leaving the engine running with the air conditioner on. In winter he does believe in leaving the engine running with the heater on. He says this makes sense. Well, Neal can't see the difference. Maybe he will some day. Also, on engines, you mostly believe what the marshal has to say.

"I'll do the talking. Have to go easy or Jake gets away from the mainstream of the conversation is the thing." Okay, Neal thought he knew the marshal's meaning.

The ceiling fan squeaked. Even though he doesn't pay for the power, Mr. Watch won't turn on the Post Office air conditioner. He says it costs too much. Aunt Ida says that's a Watch for you, looking out for everybody's thin dime. He was standing straight today and wore a red eyeshade. When he saw them, he nipped around to the boxes and returned with a bundle of mail and one small package. He slipped an elastic band around the bundle and slid it under the bars with a sucker for Neal. On his sorting finger he had a bumpy yellow rubber thimble. "That's the mail for Juanita and her folks. Only one thing for you and you may not want it," he told the marshal. "Say the word and I'll stamp 'return to sender' and make it official."

"Hand it over, Jake."

Mr. Watch gave him another package but this one had Mr. Sykeston's name and address in the top left corner so on the sender you couldn't make a mistake. "Looks like a peace offering," said Mr. Watch. "Go on. Open it." The marshal did and read the writing on the inside of the first page. He showed Neal the book and then handed it back to Mr. Watch. "Government House, a mystery written by Margaret Truman," read Mr. Watch. "So what does a yarn by the daughter of former President Harry S (no period because there was no middle name and you can bet not a lot of folks know that little dickens of a history gem) have to do with the price of beans in Milo? Can you tell me, sir?" He removed the bumpy thimble from his finger, held it up and frowned. "Well, can you?" he asked before he put it down.

"Do me a favor and read the inscription," said the marshal, "and you tell me."

"Dear marshal," read Mr. Watch, "maybe this tale will clarify my intentions in attempting to express my admiration for a special type of bureaucrat that you exemplify." Mr. Watch had trouble with exemplify and he gave it another try.

"Go on," said the marshal impatiently. Neal was glad Mr. Watch was the one to read; you can mess up when you have to read under pressure out loud in a hurry.

"You must have wondered what I was talking about the other night," Mr. Watch continued. "To you the conversation must have appeared particularly bizarre and offay. You see, I fully intended to send you the two books simultaneously and very much hope this follow-up parcel helps atone for the earlier anonymity which, in retrospect, I realize was foolish. Now you have an old marshal's patience tempered by a young cowboy's enthusiasm. May your confusion end and your cases reach conclusion. Sincerely, Horace Sykeston IV. Well, I read it," said Mr. Watch. "What do you want me to say? Tell me that, would you?" Mr. Watch quizzed the thimble for an answer. Then he threw it on the counter.

"What's it all mean?" The foxy eyes jerked. "Help me out. Take a guess. Agent, you too." But, hey, the marshal was on his own; neither Mr. Watch nor Neal had a clue.

"Guess I'll have to read it and see for myself," he moaned. "Haven't gotten around to finishing the other. Not my oysters, if you get my drift. I will say that Florentine marshal makes my job look easy. You suppose he's trying to tell me something, Jake?" The foxy jaw relaxed. The marshal stroked his beard, pulled his earring, wiggled his head. "You're looking fit and happy these days, old pal," he said.

"Feeling it, too," said Mr. Watch. "Haven't felt so good in years. But listen here, Will Lightfoot, you called me out good and proper a bit ago and to my way of thinking you may have had reason at the time. However, turn about is fair play. Young Neal and I have no idea why Horace Sykeston IV mails you mystery books with mystery messages. Ain't up to us! I mean, we might speculate on what is in or on Horace's mind but you are the one who needs to find this out. Am I right, young feller? Ask him if I'm not right," he told the thimble but he didn't pick it up. He just made sure it knew that he meant to keep it in his sight. Anyhow, Neal didn't have to say a word about Mr. Sykeston because the marshal knew Mr. Watch was right.

"Asking too much again," the marshal told Neal. "Wish I'd quit being such a heel?"

"I'm okay." Actually, Neal was. He didn't mind hearing about mystery books. Once you hear your mother's drowning, well, after that, other stuff doesn't bother you as much. Also, Mr. Watch had told an important truth and it was good the marshal understood. Mr. Sykeston was his business. A special agent can't handle everything on his own. Plus, if you're a kid and smart, you leave weird grown-ups alone.

"Let me see if I can quit leaning on the agent and take care of business. Were you here when they found Tom, Jake?" Neal unwrapped the sucker and it didn't break.

"Eyup." Mr. Watch says eyup and ayup. "You and Juanita were in Kansas City buying roofing material, weren't you? A sad thing when he was found. One day managing fine and throwing parties, next day cold and ready for the ground."

Actually, the marshal and his mother had been in Kansas City buying his ball glove but Neal didn't interrupt. Hey, then Mr. Watch might get off the conversation's mainstream like the marshal didn't want. You have to be careful with Mr. Watch especially when he's talking to you instead of things. Suddenly he's somewhere else. You don't know how he got there or why or what more about here he can tell.

"Still, Tom had cancer, Jake, and he was our age, no youngster." It's funny how grown-ups talk about age. They don't say someone is an oldster. Well, once in a while they do but mostly they say someone is no youngster or no kid or no spring chicken. Aunt Ida says that about herself and every single old person she knows. Okay, maybe you say what you aren't instead of what you are the older you grow.

"Shoot, I'm not arguing," said Mr. Watch. "I know Tom was dying and we're all dying but he went too sudden. It didn't appear natural." He scratched his head and pulled an iron gray bin closer. "Did it?" he asked the bin. He began to sort the mail while he talked. The sucker tasted gross but Mr. Watch is awesome sorting mail and talking at the same time. He's like a four-star performer behind bars. Neal squatted in the corner under the wanted posters to observe. He wrapped the sucker back up in its paper and put it in his pocket. He kept very, very quiet.

"And why did Delaney go nuts?" asked Mr. Watch, folding, stamping and stacking.

Okay, Neal could have given the performer a good whacking! Did the marshal want to hear this? He didn't! That was over and done with and Mr. Watch should have known better. Oh, well. When you're a kid and talk goes wrong, you can't always make it right. You need to be an oldster for sure before you take on that fight.

"Doc Oats says it was booze and meth, mostly." Maybe Mr. Watch didn't know he was wrong to keep on and on about Delaney but wrong is wrong, at least it better be. Anyhow, he did keep on and on and they had to listen. "Just 13 and he'd hightail it off to Kansas City and come home, drunk as a lord. You remember, Will. Weren't you all the time driving him back and forth between the juvenile office and court? You'd have thought he'd lock onto the deerfarming, that business being his granddaddy's idea. Shoot, he'd been headed for university schooling in wild animal husbandry or whatever they call it and the town naturally expected him to take over. I don't mean to sound like Birdie but we had a little boom here while Tom was alive. The boy seemed determined to kill the boom and then to finish himself off. Meanwhile, Horace Sykeston IV, with interests clearly at stake all the ways to Sunday, could not or would not do jack-all. To top it all off Philomena Fairwell has never taken kindly to deer farming even though for years it paid for her to live in comfort. Has she?" he asked the gray bin. "It's true Delaney seems well enough now. And he's been working the place. What gets me is how he gave up the animal degree to study jurisprudence. Got to be his great-grandmother's influence."

"Was it her idea to send Mary to Seattle?" Mr. Watch had to stop and breathe. The marshal shot his question in fast. You could see he wanted to guide Mr. Watch down the mainstream and away from the sides without letting him slide right past.

"Oh, I reckon so. Never thought much about it or paid much attention. The Clark gal disappeared about that time. All that hoopla with her daddy kept everyone including me busy. She's what put folks into a spin. Didn't she?" he asked the bin.

The marshal asked about Lewis N. Clark's River Queen.

"Lewis N. Clark is green on the riverboat scene. We'll see and hear what we'll see and hear. Speaking of hearing, don't suppose you've heard more on the daughter?"

"Nope, but like the sheriff says, no reason why I would hear more and no reason why anyone here, there or anywhere should report they've caught her. That girl or woman, and I stress woman, Jake, comes from big money. The sheriff says she's fine and suggests she simply wants nothing to do with her father. As you know for a fact, I'm one who can appreciate that. Turns out because Lewis N. Clark applied pressure, the sheriff has ongoing communications about his daughter with law enforcement officials on the East Coast. He's plenty put out about the trouble but tells me Trinity Clark's okay and if she shows up hurt, he'll be the first to know."

"Strikes me we're fortunate to have Sheriff Van Jackson in our neck of the woods," said Mr. Watch. "You weren't here for his predecessor, were you? I could tell you stories about that sorry so and so. Stories to curl your hair and chill your marrow."

"Need your help here and now, Jake" the marshal said in a rush, "don't have the time." Okay, Mr. Watch might have a bunch of bad stuff to tell about a predecessor but the marshal had business to attend to. "Agent, you want to step outside and check on Molly? Let me ask you something more about Mary, Jake, and you can answer or not. Been bumbling along without the proper information I bet you got."

Manno! When questions are orders, you want to treat them like questions and shout no way instead of okay and see what happens. You want to but you don't. At least Neal doesn't with the marshal and he went outside not as he'd been asked but as he'd been told. Of course, Molly was fine. She had her water and they always crack the windows if it's hot. She didn't even open her eyes when he looked in. Okay, now did anyone ask him or tell him to stay in the truck with the dog? No! He snuck back down the boardwalk. Through the screen door he could hear the talk.

"Philomena let her go, right?"

"That's how I figure, using hindsight. Horace drove them to the airport the same day -- Delaney to fly east for his treatment, Mary to fly west for her whatever."

"Anyone hear from her?"

"Officially no comment but letters come to Philomena; sure they do."

"Well, that's a relief, Jake, I don't mind telling you."

Mr. Watch kept quiet. Maybe he was waiting to see if the marshal wanted him to break more official rules and give more relief. Not that Mr. Watch breaks official rules without serious thinking. He would think hard about each official rule and might decide not to break it and the marshal would have to go elsewhere for relief. Mr. Watch has his own ideas. What about Nurse Comfort? Why did the marshal care? Neal had an idea why but he didn't want to think about it, and savo thavere!

"So she was let go because of money? Is that what you're telling me?"

Forget official rules. Mr. Watch went at this answer fast and furious. Neal could only hear so he might have been talking to things but his talk was meant for the marshal and he had a lot to say. "To begin with," he began, "Mary lost her chief supporter when Tom died. Horace never took to her and Philomena's tight with a dollar. They saw Mary as an unnecessary expense. I figure Philomena paid her a handsome bonus. Expensive times for Philomena! Way I heard, Delaney's tuition for nine months cost 120 times as much as Kemper. Still and all, the school did the trick. He's back, sporting clean jeans, getting high school tutoring, planning on pre-law at Washington University and law at the University of Missouri. You have to hand it to the old lady. She doesn't give up. That said, folks ought to thank the boy for whatever he can do with the deerfarming project. Must be hard! No doubt he has to fight her tooth and nail over every little thing he does in that regard."

"Except for deerfarming, things are good between Delaney and Philomena?"

"As far as I can see. Natural if you think about it. She always wanted him to be a lawyer or politician, didn't she? Listen, why are you so curious about Fairwell history and why today? Come on. You can tell an old friend, can't you?" Paper whacked the counter. Mr. Watch was still sorting mail; mail sorting doesn't end.

"Delaney and I are going squirrel hunting tomorrow. You know the plan. Weren't you there when we set it up?" The marshal was off Nurse Comfort. Hey, Neal was ready. They knew enough about her now to last forever as far as he could see.

"Oh, I was there and now you're here," said Mr. Watch, "so for your ears only, I'll share a brand new complaint about the boy's behavior. Doesn't have to do with drugs or booze or any sinful condition in my opinion. Plain ornery nosiness on the part of bored people; if you and I weren't old buddies, I wouldn't pass it on."

"What about his behavior?" For luck Neal spit three times in the dirt.

"Story is he and some Long Hollow kids been clearing brush without their shirts."

"Ho!" the marshal shouted. "They're taking a dip after working up a legitimate sweat. You know good and well that's all it is. Don't people have better things to worry about than a little harmless skinnydipping? Why aren't they grateful for the boy's improvements and for what he's trying to do? You just can't win, can you?"

"Not to my knowledge in black and white, not until you're far gone and gone far."

"Fortunate you said that; Mariah wants to bid on a special black and white scarf."

"I'll have to talk to her about place, won't I? You be at the café and I'll swing by."

Look out! The chat was over. Neal charged for the truck. Who knows how fast he ran but he got in his seat in time even though where he comes from, listening to people is no crime -- well, maybe sometimes it's just a little, tiny bit of a crime.

He was glad to hit the road. "What's predecessor?" he asked and the truck slowed.

"Predecessor means the one before; Jake meant the sheriff before Sheriff Jackson."

"Oh," so predecessor means over, gone, done, not now and then but the last one.

Neal unwrapped the sucker, changed in color to inky blue with red streaks. He offered Molly a lick. She pulled her head back and pushed it straight down and put her paws over her nose and started to sneeze. She snorted and shook her head and made a huge deal out of it. She jostled the marshal's knee. Molly can be a super rat!

"You shouldn't give a dog sweets, agent; I thought you knew that."

Neal didn't pinch her but he thought about the prospect. Nobody's perfect.