Flour Day will Come, page 6
Jose stared at Billy and saw a man he trusted, respected, and loved. He took a deep, calming breath. “Oh… I’m sorry, Billy. You do pay me plenty. I had no right to say what I did.”
Billy put a caring hand on Jose’s shoulder. “You’re like a son to me, boy… and sometimes a son just runs off at the mouth because he ain’t got enough sense not to. Now you know what you mean to me, so don’t go beating yourself over the head with a stick.” Billy offered Jose a warm smile. “You best get on home and tell Momma and Papa to stay inside for tonight. They ain’t no telling where Old Phil is.”
Jose tossed a worried eye at the back door. “Uh… maybe you should walk with me back to the house, huh, Billy? I mean, it is getting plenty dark outside.”
Billy rubbed his chin and thought for a second. Would Old Phil really try to harm Jose in the dark? Probably not. Phil was most likely hiding out someplace, settling down for the night. Still, Jose was mighty upset and looked like he needed a friend.
“Sure, son, let me get my hunting rifle.” Billy looked at Rita. “You best come along with me. Zach, you best stay in the farmhouse with Rhonda.” With those words Billy hurried out of the kitchen and returned carrying his famous hunting rifle that folks called “Dead Aim.”
“Uh… Billy?” Rhonda grinned.
“Yeah?”
“You might want to put on some clothes.” Rhonda giggled.
Billy glanced down at the old robe he was wearing, blushed, tossed Zach the hunting rifle, and scooted out of the kitchen. Rita giggled to herself. “Oh Billy,” she said, as she finished tending to the broken window. She then focused on Rhonda and Zach. “I think that should—” she began to say but was interrupted by the ringing of the brown telephone hanging beside the refrigerator. “I better answer the call,” she said, grabbing the phone and saying hello. “Oh, hello, Brad.”
“Hello,” Brad said through gritted teeth. “How are my two… celebrities doing tonight?”
“Celebrities? Rita asked in a confused voice. She tossed Rhonda a strange eye. Rhonda shrugged.
“Yes, celebrities,” Brad continued, snapping a pencil in half with his left hand. He plopped down behind his desk like an angry bear who had missed a tasty trout. “The phone lines have died down just enough for me to call you. I figured you were at Billy’s….” Brad closed his eyes and took three deep breaths.
“Brad, I don’t understand. Why do you sound so mad?” Rita demanded.
“Why am I so mad?” Brad asked. “Oh, could it be that everyone in Clovedale Falls believes you and your sister—this is Rita, right? You don’t have as much as southern drawl as Rhonda….”
“This is Rita. Now what is—”
“Well, Rita,” Brad continued, not caring that he interrupted her, “everyone in Clovedale Falls believes you and your sister killed Trapper!”
“What?” Rita exclaimed. “Mr. Granson… the exterminator?”
“Sophia Cunningham saw the body of Tom Denmore get hauled out of your bakery today,” Brad told Rita, forcing his ice into his lava voice. “That woman called Wilma Norris and told her that the body was no other than Trapper. And because I can’t get in touch with Trapper—because no one can get in touch with Trapper—and because his truck was found deserted way out of town….” Brad raised his hand and hit his desk. “The man is missing!”
Rita bit down on her lower lip and winced. “Mrs. Cunningham… Wilma Norris… the two busiest gossips in Clovedale Falls… yikes.”
“Yikes is right,” Brad confirmed. “The mayor has been flooded with calls and has called an emergency town meeting tonight. I’m due at this meeting in about half an hour. Be there—and bring your sister—before the entire town comes after you with torches and pitchforks.”
“Oh, this is silly,” Rita complained. “Brad, I… all you have to do is tell the mayor the truth, for crying out loud.”
“Well, I would tell everyone the truth but there’s been a little mix-up at the hospital.” Brad resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall.
“Mix-up?” Rita asked and then gulped. “Uh… Brad, what kind of mix-up?” Rhonda studied her sister’s face, let out a miserable moan, stood up, and walked over to the phone. Rita quickly held out the phone just enough to let Rhonda hear Brad.
“Mrs. Sylvia Casserson died at the nursing home early this morning. Her family made arrangements for the ninety-eight-year-old woman’s body to be transferred to North Carolina for burial.” Brad grabbed a cup of coffee and took some down. “Well, the funeral home in North Carolina sent a man to get the body today… but guess what happened?”
“Don’t tell me.” Rita groaned.
“Some stupid kid at the hospital released Tom Denmore’s body to the funeral home by mistake!” Brad yelled. “How does a funeral home mistake a dead fat man for a frail old woman? I mean… I… are people that stupid!” Brad yelled loud enough that Rita and Rhonda both backed away from the phone.
“Well… the funeral home will most likely return the body,” Rita said, trying to calm Brad down.
“Oh sure,” Brad nodded, “easy as pie, right? Sure… unless the funeral van carrying the body was involved in an accident.”
“An accident?” Rita gulped.
“An accident!” Brad yelled. “The funeral van burned to a crisp… with the body of Tom Denmore inside! The state of North Carolina… the family of Mrs. Casserson… I didn’t even find out about this until twenty minutes ago!”
Rita looked at Rhonda. Rhonda rubbed her eyes and then made a someone just needs to shoot us face. “Brad—”
“Dr. Downing wasn’t able to make a solid identification of the body,” Brad continued. “He was forced to rush into surgery and take out a ruptured appendix. The guys up in North Carolina are going to have to do a dental record check to make sure the burned body is Tom Denmore.” Brad squeezed his eyes closed. “Do you know how this will sound to the mayor… to the city council… to the residents of Clovedale Falls? They’ll think I’m insane—and they already think you and Rhonda are killers!”
“Brad—” Rita tried to cut in.
“And that’s not the best part,” Brad barked. “The ambulance driver who drove Denmore’s body to the hospital told a nurse that the man had eaten poison cupcakes… cupcakes from your bakery, by the way. This nurse then called her sister, who called a friend, who called a friend… and so on… until eventually news reached Mrs. Cunningham.”
“Yikes,” Rita groaned.
“Now the entire town believes you and Rhonda poisoned Trapper to death,” Brad finished and then banged his head down onto his desk. “I have no body… Trapper is missing… a crazy man is running loose….”
“Brad… uh… we did find Tom Denmore’s wallet and—”
“I know, Rita… I know.” Brad stopped banging his head and went for his coffee. “Rita, you and Rhonda are still new to Clovedale Falls—”
“We’re settling—”
“After you’ve lived in Clovedale ten years then you can say you’re settled in,” Brad informed Rita. “You don’t know everyone in town. Not the way I do.” Brad took down some coffee and sighed. “No matter what I say at the meeting tonight, unless Trapper walks in alive and breathing, people are going to continue believing you and Rhonda killed the man. People will believe that I’m covering for you because we’re cops. I think it’s best if you and Rhonda get into town… now.”
“Yeah… sure… okay,” Rita told Brad, feeling a painful headache arriving. “Give us half an hour.”
“Don’t be late,” Brad ordered and ended the call.
Rita hung up the phone and rubbed her tired eyes. “Looks like we’re two wanted killers, sis.”
“What?” Zach said. He stood up and walked over to Rhonda, passing a confused Jose. “What is this all about?”
Before Rita could explain, Billy came hurrying back into the kitchen wearing his baseball cap, overalls, and work boots. “I’m all set and—” he began to say but stopped when he saw Rita’s face. “Uh… step on a skunk?” he asked.
“If it were only that simple,” Rita sighed and carefully explained the situation. When she finished Billy and Jose burst out laughing. “It’s not funny!” Rita snapped.
“Sure enough is!” Billy howled and slapped his leg. “Folks think you two ladies killed old Trapper! Oh, if Daddy was standing in this kitchen, he’d be rolling all over the floor!”
Rhonda wrinkled her nose. “Maybe it is a little… funny?” she suggested. “I mean… we have a crazy man on the loose, a dead man who died from eating our cupcakes, two bodies mixed up, a missing exterminator….” Rhonda felt a grin touch her lips. Why not? The situation was too bizarre and funny to stick her mind to a board plastered with “serious” lectures. “And poor Jose has been assaulted with seven… peaches,” she pointed out and then broke out laughing.
Rita tried to appear upset but then looked at Jose’s shirt and then at Billy’s bandaged forehead… and then struggled to imagine how Brad was going to explain the situation to the likes of Sophia Cunningham and Wilma Norris. But what really melted her defenses was the sight of Phil Whinnel jumping up and down like Ernest T. Bass—the man, as Barney Fife would say, was a nut.
“Okay… a little funny,” Rita laughed and then rubbed her forehead. “Henry is going to shut us down, Mr. Whinnel is still loose, Brad is angrier than a wet hornet, people think we killed Mr. Granson. I suppose Edna will get a kick out of this when she returns home.”
Billy grabbed his stomach. “Oh, what a night this is going to be. Whew… I haven’t laughed so hard since… this morning.” Billy fetched his hunting rifle and yanked open the back door. “Come on, Jose, let’s get you—” he began to say but was stopped when a rock came flying out of the darkness and smacked him right in the head. Poor Billy… yep… he sure saw stars again… and then it was lights out.
“Billy!” Rita yelled. “Jose, close the back door!” Jose slammed the back door closed and locked it just as a barrage of rocks came flying through the broken kitchen window, tearing down the brown tablecloth Rita had hung up.
Zach, having had enough of this even though he had just arrived, snatched Billy’s hunting rifle off the kitchen floor and began to run for the back door. “I’ll get that guy!”
“No!” Rhonda yelled and grabbed Zach’s arm. “Zach, he’s… he’s harmless.”
“Harmless?” Zach nodded down at Billy’s unconscious body. The poor guy was lying on the floor with a silly grin on his face. “That’s not harmless, Rhonda.”
“Well… let’s be thankful that Billy has a hard head,” Rhonda said.
“Gonna dance all night… chickens and ice cream… feathers and ice… gonna dance…!” Phil yelled. He flung a few more rocks through the kitchen window and then danced off behind Billy’s barn like a schoolboy going to fetch some candy.
Rita watched Phil escape under the bright full moon and then sighed. “This man is a… a… nut,” she said and then rushed to Billy and began examining the man’s head.
Billy’s eyes fluttered open. “Mommy?” he asked and then dropped back into dreamland.
Rhonda bent down beside Rita. “Should we get Billy to the hospital?”
Rita didn’t know. Before she could answer Rhonda, she heard every window in her SUV start shattering. The night was young and Phil Whinnel was just getting warmed up.
Brad checked his watch. “Where are they?” he mumbled to himself, standing outside a small, brick building sitting on a manicured green yard full of beautiful flowers that were surviving the intense heat with the help of a powerful sprinkler system. And wouldn’t you know it, as Brad checked his watch the sprinkler system turned on and let him have it.
“Hey… what!” Brad roared and jumped out of the way of the spraying water. “That’s it!” he yelled. He charged into the building and was greeted by a Mayor Ollie Markerton, a very angry seventy-two-year-old man who was anxious to start the town meeting. “I know, Mayor,” Brad fussed. “The Knight sisters are running late.”
Mayor Markerton stared at Brad through a set of thick glasses. “Arrest them.”
“I can’t arrest the Knight sisters, Mayor,” Brad objected and threw his eyes around a small foyer that reminded him of an elementary school hallway. “Rita and Rhonda Knight didn’t kill Trapper, for crying out loud. Trapper is… he’ll show up sooner or later.”
“This Tom Denmore person you told me about is dead. That’s enough for me,” Mayor Markerton said and pointed a bony finger at Brad. “Those two girls have been nothing but trouble,” he continued, sounding like an old, broken record while playing the part of a griping old man one would see in an old black-and-white movie. “I have a room full of scared citizens that are demanding action, Brad. Is that clear?”
Brad shoved his hands down into the pockets of his police uniform. Oh, how he had a sour taste for Mayor Markerton. It wasn’t that the old man was bad—deep down, the old fart was a pretty decent soul. Ollie Markerton was simply a man who didn’t think matters through—and never stopped chewing on a grudge either. He blamed Rita and Rhonda Knight for all the troubles Clovedale Falls had faced since they moved into town, and he wanted the two ladies gone—ASAP! Yes, Ollie Markerton preferred a nice, quiet town and didn’t appreciate the boat being rocked by two mischievous women like Rita and Rhonda Knight.
“Mayor, there is no proof that Rita or Rhonda Knight killed Tom Denmore. If I arrested them, they would have every legal ground to sue this town for every penny it owns.”
Mayor Markerton grabbed the red and white polka-dotted bow tie he was wearing and squeezed it with a shocked hand. “No… no… we don’t want that,” he quickly backtracked. “No lawsuits….”
Brad watched as sweat began to pour off Mayor Markerton’s bald head. “Mayor, the Knight sisters are retired cops. Good cops. I know you and I are both at our wits’ end, but we can’t take our anger out on two innocent women,” he explained. “I’m sure they have a perfectly good—”
Before Brad could finish his sentence, Rita and Rhonda burst through the set of wooden double doors and entered the foyer. “Sorry we’re late. Believe it or not, my SUV came under attack,” Rita explained and struggled to catch her breath. “Billy’s truck… Zach’s car too. Had to drive Billy’s tractor all the way into town.”
Mayor Markerton watched Rita and Rhonda struggling to catch their breath. “Ladies, I—”
“Tractor ran out of gas a mile down the road. We ran the rest of the way,” Rhonda cut Mayor Markerton off. “Whew… sorry we’re late.”
“Nearly an hour late,” Mayor Markerton huffed and stormed off into the meeting room.
“Phil Whinnel… crippled our transportation,” Rita explained to Brad. “He knocked Billy out cold with a rock. Poor Jose barely managed to get us to the tractor while Zach managed to draw Phil’s fire away from us.”
“I don’t think that crazy old coot followed us into town,” Rhonda added, sweating up a storm. “It’s hotter than butt out there tonight.”
“Sis,” Rita begged. “Language… remember?”
“Hey, that old coot hit me square in the butt with a rock. I don’t have time to watch my language,” Rhonda fussed, rubbing her backside and making a painful face. “That old coot can throw.”
Brad folded his arms. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because we know you’d send an army out to Billy’s farm,” Rhonda explained. “Listen, Wyatt Earp, we don’t want any harm to come to Phil Whinnel. Rita and I believe the man is innocent.”
“Rhonda and I believe Phil Whinnel killed the chicken thief in self-defense,” Rita emphasized as she struggled to cool down. “We also believe he didn’t escape from Tennessee.”
“Then how is the man here?” Brad asked.
“Well,” Rhonda jumped in, wiping sweat off her forehead and then rubbing her chin. “Rita and I aren’t sure… yet. But what we are sure of is that Phil Whinnel isn’t a killer. There’s no way that old guy killed two young, healthy guards.”
“Rhonda and I are tossing a bright light onto Tom Denmore, Brad,” Rita said in a calm but stern voice. “That awful doctor we spoke to made it clear that Tom Denmore and Phil Whinnel were enemies. So why was Tom Denmore in Clovedale Falls?”
“Also, Phil Whinnel, in our opinion, couldn’t have made it to Clovedale Falls—at least not on foot—in the time allotted to him,” Rhonda told Brad. “It’s possible for a healthy person who runs marathons, but for a man Phil Whinnel’s age… no.”
“Rhonda and I want to take a look at Tom Denmore’s car again,” Rita explained.
“The car—”
“May hold a hidden clue, Brad,” Rita pointed out and then eyed the double doors leading into the meeting room. “We better get in there.”
Brad glanced at the closed doors and let out a painful breath. “Yeah, we better get in there,” he agreed. He walked Rita and Rhonda into a crowded room lined with wooden walls and brown carpet, leading them up onto a knee-high wooden stage holding a line of empty brown-cushioned chairs sitting behind a wooden lectern. Mayor Markerton, who was standing behind the lectern looking like a sour stray dog, shot Rita and Rhonda a glare as they sat down next to Brad.
“Killers!” Wilma Norris yelled from the front row of the meeting room, sitting proudly beside Sophia Cunningham and holding a basket full of green yarn in her lap. Why fall behind on her knitting just because Trapper was dead?
“You tell them, Wilma!” Mrs. Cunningham nodded, pointed at Rita and Rhonda, and yelled, “Oh, the shame!” Every other person in the room—mostly old ladies and old men who had nothing better to do than falsely accuse two women of murder—began to echo Mrs. Cunningham’s statement.
“Settle down, settle down,” Mayor Markerton demanded and hit the lectern with a wooden gavel. “We still live in America and a person is still… innocent… until proven guilty,” he said and threw a sour eye at Rita and Rhonda. “Chief Bluestone, will you please address our fine citizens?”
Brad sighed, stood up, and approached the pulpit. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “Mrs. Cunningham was right in stating a murder has taken place.” Everyone sitting before Brad let out shocked whispers, as though they only now truly believed what they had been saying all day. Brad held up his hand. “A man named Tom Denmore was found dead in the bakery Rita and Rhonda Knight own.”
