Old Enough | Chapter 9

Chapter 9
GAMES

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Sometimes when you stop a story it's hard to start again. Thavis avis ava favact. Also, there's always a new war to keep up with. The marshal says you can blame fascism or terrorism; they're the same. In the beginning it looked like Hezbollah and the Israelis might do their own fighting in Lebanon and Israel. Oh, well.

On Monday when he ran his route, he detoured around Riverside Park. His mother had asked the marshal and the rule was he could detour if he wanted. You don't often see human long bones, she said, and he might need lots of space to get over the shock. Neal wasn't sure how much space he would need but it was way good to have lots. He stopped to pat Rufus and then jumped up and down some. Jumping is exercise plus he was excited. Forget bones -- think about the treat ahead!

Propped against the outside wall of Cabin B were two winter sleds with no runners and a bicycle with no chain. Plastic crates with old magazines were piled by the open door. Lucy Watch came through the door holding a rusty ice skate out in front her by a broken strap like it might bite and with her nose screwed up like she smelled something nasty. "I don't think he'll be needing this anytime soon, do you?" She was talking to Neal but he didn't answer because you don't have to answer a question like that. Lucy Watch is okay. She's a friend of Mariah's. Still, he didn't hang around to see what else she'd throw away although it might have been interesting because even with the junkyard and storage room over the café rented from Neal's mother, Mr. Watch's cabin gets totally full. Actually, the real reason Neal didn't stay to watch Lucy Watch ransack her father-in-law's merchandise inventory was the skate made him sad. It reminded him of the skateboard park that probably won't get built. The marshal says the mayor worries about questions of liability especially when the liability is hers. Questions of liability are questions you do have to answer.

Well, you can't stay sad forever when you're going to have fun. Pete and Jaime were waiting by the Odyssey. Good. They weren't late. Today the marshal was taking the three of them to Sedalia and buying them boards at the Wal-Mart Super Store. Then he was taking them to the skateboard park in Sedalia. Neal, who'd lived there, had never heard of the park. Okay, maybe you don't know everything about a place you lived in. Anyhow, the marshal had explained to their mothers what he wanted to do when they were all together in the Sanchez Store. He said they were good boys, good ballplayers and deserved rewards. You could tell Jaime's mother thought the marshal might be a weirdo but Mrs. Sanchez thanked him for being a nice man and looked at Mrs. Rivera like she should be ashamed. Pete's mother can set people straight fast when she wants to. Later when Neal was supposed to be elsewhere the marshal told his mother it might be best if he had something to take his mind off you-know-what. Bud was invited but couldn't come since he has to harvest hay. "Bud works too hard," said the marshal after the four of them were buckled in and on their way.

Choosing important property is hard. Neal picked a black board with a white streak down the center. Pete went back and forth between a coppery colored board with brown trim and one that was plain dark purple. "I like that purple," he kept saying. Finally he made up his mind and Jaime picked a board that was rainbow colored. All three were standard built and ready to go. That's what you want but to make sure you better check the label underneath because you never know.

It seemed like they stood in line 100 years before the marshal paid and they could load the boards in the truck, drive to the park and get rolling. Then it was fun as anything until Neal skinned his knee on a practice kick fly by. A cup of blood oozed out and it hurt like crazy but he didn't cry.

Wur! There was no first aid kit in the Odyssey. The marshal said that he'd been a fool not to notice and that he'd fix that problem so as to be ready for future accidents. Okay, fine, but Neal meant to ask his mother to buy the kit and here's why. The marshal came back from the Super Store with straight Iodine that burns you like fire and old-fashioned tape bandages that tear your hair out by the roots when you try to peel them off. The marshal wasn't being mean. He just didn't know any better. Neal could have told him except he had to wait in the truck with Pete and Jaime who were no help at all because they were mad and gloomy since they had to go home early. Anyhow, Neal still didn't cry. To try to make everyone happier, the marshal stopped at McDonalds in Marshall for burgers, fries and shakes to go with them. They had lunch in Jim the Wonder Dog's Memorial Park. Jaime had never been to the park. He didn't even know about Jim. Not until Neal told him.

"Jim had a dog's second sight," Neal explained. Then Pete had to draw him with his injured knee next to Jim's statue. He used the marshal's blue pen and orange burger wrap. Neal thought Pete made him look like a stupid Halloween doofus but the marshal liked the drawing. He took it to the van and stored it in the glove box where the first aid kit ought to have been. Okay, maybe Neal was just getting grumpy. This happens when you expect fun and what you get is a serious injury.

"You boys still hungry?" the marshal asked. "When I was young, noon was the main meal. We called it dinner and stuffed ourselves. Then we worked like fools until the evening supper bout."

"That's what Mariah told Aunt Ida," Neal said to the marshal not Jaime; "Mariah says if you're bound and determined to pig out that you'll turn into a blimp unless you're prepared to work out."

Driving home the marshal had to brag on bikes and dis skateboards. He got totally boringus. Neal was embarrassed for him. "Something about a bike, boys, how you move your arms, legs and torso, how you gather together and pull forward. Now, I don't say skateboarding isn't hard."

"You pull with a board," Neal said, "only in a different way. Don't you?" he asked Jaime since Pete was asleep. Jaime didn't know if this was true. Well, Neal gave up; hey, sometimes you have to.

Maybe it just wasn't his day. You never know when it is. Besides, what can you do if it isn't? Anyhow, that afternoon when he was in the shed stomping down cardboard he got a splinter the size of a toothpick in his left foot. Okay, maybe not that big but plenty big! He found his mother in the utility room. She was folding sheets by the big washer and listening to Pete's mother who was sitting in their old lawn chair with her feet on a bench and her arms crossed over her stomach. "I'm not happy about it," she said while Neal's mother kept folding. She didn't mean his splinter because she plucked it out with tweezers that she had in her apron pocket and it didn't hurt one single bit! "You'd think we'd have had better sense. The time is all wrong for us." Mrs. Sanchez groaned and got up and went to the medicine cabinet. She sprayed on the disinfecting bandage that has no tape and is the only kind anybody should ever use. "This was a smart idea," she said, "so it doesn't pull out the hair." Neal pretended to leave but hunkered down in the shadows to watch his mother bring together corners, making a square, another square and another square.

"That's why I divorced the first one, you know," said Mrs. Sanchez, back in the chair with her feet up. "Jerk thought the more, the merrier. Another roll in the clover. Mama to bear over and over."

One thing for sure you can say about weekend road warriors is they are great for emptying your head of what you don't want to remember of certain conversations. Also, it never hurts if your mother is happy. Well, that evening after a very bum day Neal finally had some luck. Warriors in town for the Lion's Club Hog Roast stopped in for a couple of pieces of Aunt Ida's patriotic pie and a couple of beers before heading home to Kansas City. His mother likes warriors from Kansas City, St. Louis, or, hey, New York City. They are never drunk and rowdy and tip well. This year she'd been afraid they'd cancel their trips what with gas costing an arm and a leg so she was totally glad to see and hear their arrival. In the evening, after the last bike had roared off and away, she played Scrabble with the marshal and Mr. Watch. She seldom plays games. Neal was curious. He decided to watch even though Mayor Pride was across the table drinking hot tea and tapping on her laptop. The mayor never plays games. Every minute or so, she'd look up from the screen and glare at the rest of them. Once she spoke but Neal couldn't hear her. Whatever she said made the marshal mad; his fox face screwed up white and tight and his fox eyes flashed harsher and fiercer.

"You're talking business off hours, mayor, and kibitzing. I'll tackle business in the AM just as quick as I can. Kibitzers haven't appealed to me since the country dissed the Poles and Hungarians."

The mayor wore dark purple; her hair was bright red. Neal thought of Ham in the maple trees. Purple and red do weird things to each another. He tried to imagine these colors on his mother.

She was humming softly while she waited. It was Mr. Watch's turn and you can count on him to be slow but Neal's mother doesn't mind if people are slow to do things. The marshal does. Oh, well, he used the time to roll since he never lights up inside, not even in the truck or cabin but likes to be ready in case the need strikes him. He jounced his leg and arranged coffin nails in a neat pile.

"For pity's sake, marshal," said the mayor, "if you insist on killing yourself, why not do it in style?"

"Leave him to it, please, Birdie. More rolling, less smoking." Neal's mother smiled her I mean what I say smile. The mayor wiped the screen with a paper napkin; she pretended to swat a fly.

"Leave the world alone and it'll straighten itself out too, I suppose. Are you completely oblivious to reality, Juanita? While you people play silly word games, I'm drafting the town's report to an astute businessman because that's what Lewis N. Clark is: astute. He pays for results and expects them. In this regard he is fed up with the Township of Milo and County of Salt Lick for lack of cooperation in locating his daughter and for problems in negotiating the Jasper-Fairwell-Sykeston property sale. Unless we find the daughter or someone breaks through to Philomena or Horace Sykeston, we lose the man in this neck of the woods. We lose his money and influence for good."

"Say, mayor, maybe you should consider tackling a new project or take yourself away for good. Come on, Jake, please!" The marshal pocketed the Bugler and papers, jouncing just his right knee.

"Marshal, for once could you exhibit some responsibility? If nothing else, for the sake of novelty."

"Does your tea need hotting up, Birdie?" Neal's mother knows how to interrupt without making people mad. Neal wondered about a new project for the mayor. Hey, what about her tackling the skateboard park in spite of questions of liability? Should he suggest this? Nah! Totally bad idea!

Also, Neal would way rather play Monopoly. At least you have money.

"Would you mind?" Mr. Watch asked a letter. He held the tile right under his nose so only he could see it. Of the three players, he might be slowest but he cares most about the game. You can tell. Neal's mother cares least. She hopped up and went off to the kitchen so he followed her. If you feel like being with your mother and she doesn't say get lost, why not go for it? Mariah stood at the stove with both hands around the worn handle of a wooden spoon. She was stirring something thick and bubbly in the Dutch oven. "Navy beans and ham hock," she said. "By the way, a three-person game is no challenge. The best contest is manno a manno because you have more draws and split the letter pool. I've done the necessary homework here and I know what I'm telling you."

Lifting then lowering the dripping spoon to stir more, Mariah stayed at the stove and acted like she knew it all and maybe she did -- about Scrabble anyway. Cutthroat Scrabble is what she and the marshal play. When they go at it, the game can last days and you're supposed to leave them alone while they play. At least, that's what Mariah says. The marshal doesn't say that. He isn't like that. So far his highest score is 586. Mariah won't tell hers. She says she once had 600 plus in Columbia but can't remember the exact number. Sure! Still, she's probably the only person in the county who can beat the marshal in a serious game one on one. Mariah doesn't play games for fun.

Yesterday after they'd come home from church Neal stuck with his mother because he felt like it even if his sister did ask him to disappear. "You wouldn't think an old sailor with his background would know a word game." Mariah gave up on chasing Neal away. "He says he got the habit when serving on the USS Jason in the 70s since there was nothing else to do on long watches when the real work was done. The guy has an enormous vocabulary. And he's full of sea stories, isn't he?"

Today his sister stopped talking about anything at all. She laid down the spoon and picked up her book. She was reading Wouldn't Take Nothing for My Journey Now because it makes her cry. Okay, why would you read something you know will make you cry? Totally weird! On accident, maybe, but not on purpose. Anyhow, she came back into the café with Neal and their mother only Mariah went straight to the bar with her book. She won't watch the game when Mr. Watch is playing. Mr. Watch poked at the marshal's cigarettes. They weren't in his way but he acted like they were. Then he played "tassels" but only scored 8 points plus the 50-point bonus for using all 7 of his letters. "Hey, I had three durn esses! Hey, I say didn't I?" he asked the last new letter he drew. He held the tile close, squinted, told it he didn't know what to do and then asked if it knew.

"Goodness, Jake, poor pitiful you!" Neal's mother was being funny. Look out! There's nothing funny about Clete Dobbs who just came in the door. "Some folks are born mean," says Aunt Ida. Without asking and still reading, Mariah uncapped a Bud for him. Their mother says she knows how to manage him. Mariah says it's her job. Clete Dobbs took a swig of beer and like a tarantula, slouched over to the table. Neal moved close to his mother where he planned to stand his ground.

"Hoddo, mayor; say, marshal, any news on who you all found?"

"Sheriff's office says probably female. Could be one year, 50 years, older. They're testing in the county laboratory, Jeff City. Missouri River sludge works fast on remains, human or animal."

"So how come your fancy sheriff don't think it's Mr. Lewis N. Clark's little gal whose picture I hear they're set to run again in the Salt Lick paper and who went missing about a year ago, marshal?"

"Already explained that, Clete, not that I owe you an explanation because I don't but listen up. I'll explain again. Last summer Trinity Clark applied for a Missouri State Drivers License giving RR 1, Milo, Missouri as her residence. Last fall she registered an address change to another county. She has proved her date of birth to be legitimate which makes her 21 and no girl as everyone who needs the information has been told. Sheriff Jackson is sure the remains are at least a year old."

"Don't you see you're quibbling over months, marshal? Don't you realize that she might have returned after the address change and met with trouble then?" The mayor had to get in her dig but Neal wasn't surprised at what she had to say. After they'd found the bones and hair, every night when the shadows woke him he thought about Trinity Clark. Then he thought about how she was bigger than Delaney and so probably she would have big bones. He didn't plan to tell anyone about these thoughts. You don't tell all your thoughts or people will say you're not yourself. They'll give you yucky medicine and hire special people to watch you and put you on a vegetable juice diet. Ham Fairwell might have trouble remembering this but Neal knows when to keep quiet.

"I heard that, mayor!" snorted Clete Dobbs. Manno! Why didn't the marshal make Clete Dobbs and the mayor hush up their big fat mouths and leave? He was the town marshal, wasn't he?

"Very interesting, mayor. I'll pass on your remarks but the sheriff's satisfied and that's good enough for me." The marshal looked at Neal's mother. "Think we should rebury the remains with an anonymous stone? Nobody's claiming and it's okay to use a Milo Cemetery plot. Preacher Jones will say a few words and she's talked to the other reverends and pastors which helps a whole lot."

"Reburial seems the kindest thing to do."

"Good, I'll let the sheriff know and notify Timmy the Digger too."

"I suppose the city will pay?" asked the mayor.

"There's an indigent burial fund, mayor," said the marshal; "I figure this is what it's for."

"Yes." The mayor sounded sort of worn out. Well, good! She wore everybody else out. Now she knows how it feels. You can't go on and on forever. People get tired of it. They want you to quit.

Using the "as" in "tassels", Neal's mother made "ax", "xi" and "si" with her "x" doubled twice. The marshal and Mariah use "xi". You need to know lots of little Greek words to play Scrabble. "Will," said his mother as though the mayor wasn't there, as though Clete Dobbs wasn't mean and ugly, as though she hadn't made an awesome play. "I may have seen Trinity as recently as yesterday."

"Did she come here to eat?" quizzed the mayor, her red and purple self perking up and out.

"No, I'd remember that but I've seen her somewhere recently, Will; of that I've no doubt."

"It'll come to you," said the marshal. Using the "ta" in tassels, he made "ut" and "pax", twice doubling his "p". Actually, there are lots of little words to know period and who's for Monopoly?

Mr. Sykeston? Nah! He arrived with an armload of VHS tapes and DVDs. Before they come near you, you notice people like Clete Dobbs and Mr. Sykeston who also headed for Mariah at the bar. She showed him the book that makes her cry and took it with her, using her finger as a bookmark, as she led him to the movie side where he made two stacks of what he carried and began to talk, raising his little round shoulders, wiggling his small head, waving his arms. He didn't hold out his hands with the palms up but he acted like Ham, as though he was upset about something awful he just knew he was going to have to deal with or die. "Like a puppet on its own string," whispered Neal's mother to the marshal. Wur! What did that mean? Anyhow, Neal could have cheered. His mother never complains about anyone and even his mother thought Mr. Sykeston was weird.

Look out! The marshal was staring over his head and giving it away but at his back Neal could feel Clete Dobbs. Maybe he can't feel music but he can feel creepiness. Too late, he remembered that you should have at least one wall at your back and in a tight situation, you should be dead center in the V spot of a corner. Ham Fairwell knows this. You can have your blocks or crème soda or whatever you need with you so long as you are in the V. Well, Neal was not in the V and like he was a baby toy, Clete Dobbs picked him up, set him aside and pulled a chair around and plopped down, boxing him in. Clete Dobbs shoved the marshal's pile of cigarettes towards Mr. Watch. Neal was sure the marshal would take action but Mr. Sykeston limped over with a VHS tape. Mariah came, too, with her unhappy book. Mr. Sykeston passed around the movie and said good evening like he was performing on a stage. The movie was The Tin Drum starring a boy about Neal's age.

"Marshal Will, have you read the Australian mystery writer Arthur W. Upfield? Are you familiar with his creation, Detective Inspector Napoleon Bonaparte, the educated half-aborigine sleuth?"

Clete Dobbs slurped and burped. Neal's mother frowned at him and at Mr. Sykeston. She gave Neal her I'm not sure this is the right place for you look. He acted interested in the Scrabble board. Hey, he couldn't move, could he? He couldn't move but he could smell Mariah's Tabu and Mr. Watch's Old Spice boiled dry in a pan. Gross! You're sunk if you're stuck and bad smells are close!

"Is half-aborigine unacceptable? Have I said something politically incorrect?" asked Mr. Sykeston.

"I'm just watching our direction," Neal's mother said, "like any older woman with a young son."

She wasn't so old and he wasn't so young. Anyhow, why talk about it to weird Mr. Sykeston?

"Good lady, beg pardon. No harm intended. My question is innocent. My reference is to a simple similarity, perhaps of interest to me alone, given my proclivity for encountering laws of chance and mysteries of life in coincidental circumstances governed by strange senses and sensibilities. Like our own Marshal Will, the Down Under sleuth, known as Bony to his friends, by the way and by, rolls his own in batches and poorly. While it's true this detective series has precisely the soft but sure racism and sexism to be expected of writing in the early 1900s about the early 1900s, the simple similarity across centuries does exist. Don't you agree or should I simply cease and desist?"

Silence is louder than noise after someone weird talks a long time and stops unless you're asleep. Dreams are different. Clete Dobbs blurted "hooh!" and gulped Bud. Mr. Watch looked like he'd sold a cord of hardwood for twice what he'd paid. So did Mariah. Neal's mother looked away. The marshal gripped the table edge and looked ready to do something as soon as he knew what the something should be. The game was on hold indefinitely and Neal still didn't want to breathe.

"Here's what I think," the marshal told Mr. Sykeston, "I think you sent me a package, right?"

"Another curious collection of simple similarities, right? Unless you object to oversight. But surely not. Fascinating, your qualities and those of the beleaguered Florentine marshal as well as your responsibilities and those of the law enforcement officials in the nation's capital as represented by the daughter of the sole president claimed by this state. She perseveres to this day, you know, having chosen the east coast over the heart. Marshal, I meant no disrespect by the anonymity. I hoped the recreational fiction might lighten your considerable load for which I have sympathy."

The marshal's knuckles were white as he held onto the table. "Don't need load lightening, thanks. As a favor, could you speak straight?" Now Neal's mother was unhappy; Mariah and Mr. Watch weren't sure what to be; Clete Dobbs swigged Bud and leaned closer; all Neal could do was wait.

Mr. Sykeston isn't the waiting type which was good because when you can't breathe, you need someone to take action even it's only talk. "Listen, my friend," he said to the marshal, "you and I started off on the wrong foot before Tom's death. We need to start over. I'm doing the best I can under tough circumstances. I feel as responsible for the interests of his grandsons as their great-grandmother does, I assure you. At the risk of interrupting an important competition I want you to know this." Mr. Sykeston smiled a little because Scrabble isn't really important. Well, yes it is if you play for money like he and Mariah do. Money is important; if any fact is true, this fact is true.

"If you feel so responsible," said the mayor, "why don't you facilitate the Fairwell property sale to Lewis N. Clark and turn those boys into millionaires?" Then she hacked on Clete Dobbs. "I speak for your employer who has concerns about his daughter. He appreciates your help but watch your alcohol intake and manners." One thing about the mayor is she hacks on everybody, your friends and your enemies. When she hacks on your enemies it's good to have her on your side. She may not be there long but she helps while she is. She turned to face Mr. Sykeston and got nicer. "Lewis N. Clark wants to do a lot for this town and area. Can't we work together? I was hoping, for example, that you might assist in obtaining a release so I could speak for my husband and proceed with the estate settlement to entail. Then I could clear the record and allow the property sale."

"The judge can't act yet, Birdie," said Neal's mother, "and you should get used to the idea."

"I do not need reminding of the obvious, Juanita. Mr. Sykeston, my anticipated petition for guardianship or conservatorship, whichever is determined best, has not been initiated. However, given a crisis, someone must act. Property disposition doesn't cease because a lawyer becomes infirm. I can take this to court, Mr. Sykeston, and get the matter heard. Just you say the word."

"Well, now, mayor, Tom Jasper's probate papers are public record. Seems to me that's all there is to it." Look out! Mr. Watch was getting all huffy and puffy. "Am I right?" he asked a letter or maybe it was one of the blank tiles you can use for any letter. When Mr. Watch takes on the mayor, nobody wins but that doesn't mean they don't have a bang-up fight. You can't help but enjoy watching even if you are being squeezed to death in a place where you can't breathe right.

"Let me put it this way," said Mr. Sykeston; "I won't interfere in the administration of Tom Jasper's estate or the estate settlement." Mr. Watch didn't look like he heard Mr. Sykeston.

The mayor heard. "Fine!" she snapped, "then you and I, sir, are done! There are other fish in other ponds. Lewis N. Clark isn't limited to this backward hamlet." Neal could see her laptop screen with the grid of tiny glowing boxes and graphed lines making up words and sentences. His mother sat down. Great! Now if he could figure out how to escape without her noticing since it had to be way past his bedtime. Oh, well. You can get used to anything; he might get used to the smell.

"You all know, don't you, Mr. Clark will pay big to find his daughter? Right, your honor?" Clete Dobbs was trying for the mayor's good side but talking to Mr. Sykeston. "All Mr. Clark wants is information. You don't have to catch the gal and bring her in. Just tell the mayor where she is."

"Common knowledge," snorted the mayor, "early on we publicized this."

Dwayne Emmett banged through the door and came over to his boss. Diesel fuel's okay by itself. Mixed with boiled Tabu and Old Spice, it's totally sick making. Neal considered slipping under the table and causing himself serious pain. He tested too big for that route so he held his breath again.

"Listen and listen good, Clete," said the marshal. "Sheriff Jackson is your man. You know anything about Trinity Clark, you go straight to him. You want to learn anything about her, you can go straight to him, too. Now, you and Dwayne finish your brews and pack yourselves out of here because if you don't, I'm making a phone call myself to Sheriff Jackson. Got no problem leaving it up to his judgment whether to put you away in Salt Lick for a time or have the sheriff from across the River come and get your sorry selves and throw you in the Noonday County clink. I mean business, boys." The marshal let go of the table and stood. Neal's stomach jerked. But Clete Dobbs and Dwayne Emmett left so you don't have to be tall because what the marshal said worked.

When certain people leave, things are better. They just are. You can count on it. Mr. Watch started to sing Show Me the Way to Go Home. "When you got time, give me five quick pick tickets for tomorrow's Show Me Five evening draw," he told Mariah. She yawned and handed her book to Mr. Sykeston. "Have you heard the cicadas?"she asked. "They're early this year." "Mrs. Bridge calls them locusts," said Mr. Sykeston. "Yes," said Mariah, "and wonders where they go. Don't tell me what Mrs. Bridge says; I know more about movies than you and more than you want to know.

"Had a hunch, bet a bunch," Mr. Watch told the mayor. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained," he told his five dollar bill before he handed it to Mariah. He was in a gambling mood. Gambling is why his other son and daughter-in-law won't have anything to do with him or let him see his grandchildren or them see their grandfather. He buys lottery tickets and plays quarter slots on the boat. Mariah says he doesn't lose that much; Neal's mother says nobody's perfect; the marshal says it's his money and he has a perfect right! Mr. Watch says it helps him to pass the night.

Neal's mother remembered him and the time and walked him to the house. Fireflies flew from dark to light. A fox leaped to munch phosphorous. They crave it, Mariah read in The Wild Mammals of Missouri, a good book for sure. On the gray fox, even Pete can't do a better picture.

Aunt Ida called from her front porch. "You all come join me," she said in a furry, slurry voice. "Come make this poor old sinner feel better. I never should have said that to you, young Neal, about being tone deaf. I've talked to the Lord and that was an evil, evil thing to do. I've prayed hard for his forgiveness and I surely pray for yours." She opened her arms so Neal hugged the blackberries and Evening in Paris. Usually you don't have a choice if relatives want hugs. This is a fact. You can stand there like a rock with your arms stiff at your sides but usually you hug back.

"Talked to the Lord, Aunt Ida? More like talked to the cordial. Still, looks like Neal forgives you. I'll be back in a minute. " His mother followed him upstairs to tuck him in. He's too old but there are times when you have to let mothers do this or they get very unhappy. His mother had enough on her mind to make her sad and gloomy. He wanted her to be smiling when she left his room.

According to Aunt Ida, two people in Milo do not worship and Mr. Noland might have cause but Mariah has none. On Sunday mornings Aunt Ida and Neal's mother go to church and the marshal and Neal tag along willingly. Seriously, on Sunday mornings church seems the smart place to be.

"Agent, I want to talk to your sister alone, a private chat. Can you handle that?"

"Sure." Neal's stomach was full of slugs. He was positive the chat would be about drugs.

"I'm going to catch her after church; your mother knows and understands the need. Agreed?"

"Okay." Hey, what was he supposed to say?

Then he had an hour to decide which was more important: not listening to the marshal talk to his sister or listening so he could help save his sister from drugs. Look out! Did Preacher Jones have "second sight"? Maybe not but it was plain scary when she delivered her sermon on dope and talked about going deaf and blind. You would have thought that she was reading Neal's mind.

She had more time to fill now without Nurse Comfort at the organ. Both Mrs. Bates and Mrs. Culpepper had gotten tired of not playing very well so the box sat silent while the preacher lit into dopedealers and dopedoers good and hard. Methamphetamine busts had been happening more and more often, she told them with her gray eyes blazing at them. In fact, Salt Lick County busts were at a record high. Neal already knew this. Last week's Reader had carried an article on the latest arrests. The family was Baptist but the preacher didn't care. She probably wouldn't have cared if they were First Free Churchers sitting here in her own congregation. She went to work on them and all the other dealers and doers and Neal was sure glad he wasn't one. "County just reflects the state," the marshal said to his mother in a low voice. "Fire and brimstone," said Aunt Ida in her regular voice, "praise the Lord and good riddance." Neal figured the preacher's message was a sign so he listened carefully. He already knew what to watch out for on his daily route: smells, needles, powders, canisters. He did not know what to watch out for in his sister.

Speeding home, he rummaged in the toybox under his dinosaurs. He was taking time-off from Bugle Ann but books make good cover if you're seen. He stationed himself in his favorite spot behind the bar. One great thing about a room with lots of furniture and shelves and counters is mostly you can listen to people and not be seen. If Mariah and the marshal went to the movie side, he'd have to change positioning. But he got lucky; they talked here and he could hear everything.

"Got two things on my mind, Mariah. First, stop smoking marijuana." Neal couldn't bear it. He peeked through the rails. The marshal hadn't even changed his Sunday suit he was in such a hurry to talk to Mariah about drugs. Manno! Why? Did he think it was going to be fun city? He draped his Hong Kong jacket across a barstool and then stood and waited in his white shirt and pressed trousers with his hands behind his back. His legs can't jounce as much when he stands so this was a good move on his part. He looked more like someone you wouldn't mess with if you were smart.

"And just how do you know I'm smoking marijuana?" See. Neal's sister wasn't going to be easy. Mariah doesn't like to be told what to do or to be told what you think she's doing. Too bad for the marshal today was not one of her "bling-bling" days. Oh, well, he looked like he knew how to handle his job although Mariah did, too. She wore a towel over her hair and saggy, soggy sweats. Her hands and arms were wet to the elbows with soapy water. She was cleaning the taps. Their mother says she does this too often but Mariah says she poured beer in a Columbia tavern and found a dead rat wrapped around a happy hour cart's rubber wheel. She says if she's willing to scrub out the taps weekly their mother should be grateful and complain about something real.

"You only get so far from where you are. Haven't forgotten when there were no commercials on public TV, before Nam era vets become old codgers and duffers. I can smell it; that's how I know."

"Whoa! Now, listen to me, law and order man. Don't let your marshalship go to your head. So I blow a little weed! Big deal! You are talking about my one and only vice. If you want to throw me in jail, go for it. Outside of this natural herbal medicine for emotional assistance, I only put good things in my system. No alcohol! And no cigarettes which are far more damaging than doobage!"

Like his way bossy sister, Neal waited to hear what the marshal would say.

"Jeopardizing your mother's business isn't damaging? Okay, your turn to listen. I ought to run you in and next time I will. What you're doing is against the law. Change the law if you can but until you do, obey it. Use your head. Think about the effects on your little brother if you're arrested."

Like the marshal, Neal, who wasn't so little, waited to hear what Mariah would say.

Just in time she said, "okay." Neal had been about to explode. Hiding can be a bummer if you care. "You win," said Mariah, "but I resent your nervy interference in my life. You are no relation."

"Agreed, and I'm glad that's over and done. Second piece of business is a request for your help."

"Swell. Pinch me if I'm imagining this dance. First, you threaten; second, you want assistance."

"I want an opinion. What's the story on Horace Sykeston?"

Mariah laughed. "Are you persecuting that poor little guy? He might mess with exotic plants and send anonymous gifts but he's no druggie and he's certainly no dealer. You suspect him because he's a jumpy little man. You of all people should understand that doesn't mean a thing." She must have begun to move away from the bar. Wur! Her voice got so soft Neal barely could hear her.

"It's the young kids I worry about," she continued, "kids Neal's age. Something was going on last summer. I think it stopped but I'd like a guarantee it won't start again. I'm not talking about your harmless Missourijuana buzz either. What I can't understand is why no one is caught when it's happening. I mean read the Reader. In Salt Lick County alone they bust a meth lab every month. The State of Missouri has a record high of speed busts. It's a serious problem. When will Milo get attention? I've no time for speed. Speed's a killer. So get tough! Get out there and do your stuff."

"Wish it were that easy," said the marshal. "You're right about last year's speed dealing around town. But the sheriff tells me the problem is solved at least temporarily and dealing is way down."

Later that afternoon Neal asked his sister if she wanted to walk down to Mr. Noland's place. She squinted at him but then she said she couldn't think of any reason why she shouldn't enjoy such a nice day. They collected Molly and left Rufus in the pen since it was tick season and he gets tons. They line up behind his ears and grow fat and gray and full of blood until Mr. Watch makes them turn loose by lighting their rear ends on fire. Neal watched the operation once. Once was enough. It really was a nice day. He had his Jonagold. Mariah had her Ozarkia. In the park she did stretch exercises while he threw the Frisbee. He's no way as good as Jaime but Molly put up with him. Also, he and his sister talked about a bunch of stuff, something they don't do as a rule. It was cool.

The museum clock and Mariah sang the eight notes she says are "mi, do, re, fa, fa, re, mi, do". The clock sang five notes by itself. When the Noonday County courthouse was demolished, Mr. Watch salvaged and repaired the clock and gave it to Miss Valjean for the museum. "Adds pizzazz to the town, doesn't it?" asked Neal's sister. Mariah likes pizzazz. She likes to sing with clocks too so why not let her? You might as well let people be happy if they aren't hurting you. It's a snap to do.

They started home and Mariah stopped on the rim around the fish farm. "Wonder what he's up to?" she asked. She's curious about Mr. Noland. Neal thinks she's a little afraid of him. Mr. Noland doesn't have much to do with women. He won't rent movies or buy lottery tickets from Mariah. He won't sell the mayor his caves or his land or Miss Valjean his headdress. Well, that's his business.

The rim is a good place to take a break if you like birds and most people do. Rim birds eat fruit, seeds and bugs. This might sound gross if you like bugs but rim birds are cool especially thrashers who forage in the grass swinging their heads side to side. Bud's mowing partners, the swallows, hunt here with creepers, flickers, mockers, thrashers, woodpeckers. "The mayor would die for his Downey," said Mariah as they walked past Aunt Ida's sweet corn but Neal wasn't listening to her.

The dog fox didn't notice them because he was busy.

"Be quiet!" said Mariah but Neal already was, absolutely and totally.

They stood without moving and stared. On his belly in the grass with his hind legs stretched out, the fox held the treat in place between his front feet with their black stockings. He faced south but looked from east to west and to the north at his back before returning to licking and gnawing.

"So what kind of a bone would he have?" Mariah whispered. "I don't know and I don't want to know," Neal yelled at her. Did he mean to freak his sister and scare the fox? No, but that night the marshal said it was okay to lose it and that he was doing a great job and no one could ask for a better special agent so Neal slept until morning with no dreams of bones and no shadows to box.