Runny03 - Loose Lips (37 page)

T
reasure.” Juts praised the old license plate Nickel found in the creek behind Cora’s house. It was a scorching-hot day. “Let’s get this paint off. There’s black paint all over this thing.”

“Nineteen forty-one.” Nickel proudly pronounced the date.

“You’re good with numbers, Nicky.” Juts handed the license plate to the child, who held it under the pump while she pushed down the handle. In a few seconds the water gushed out, splashing Nicky, who giggled.

Juts took the dripping license plate from her hand and wiped it clean with an old rag. Cora always left a pile of rags by the pump.

“Momma, what’d you accomplish on your day off?” Juts asked Cora.

“Picked a peck of peas.” Cora winked in Nickel’s direction. “With help.” As they walked back toward the sky-blue house on the hill, Cora added, “Rillma helped, too. She dropped by for a sit-down.”

Juts stiffened. “Oh.”

Cora wiped her hands on her apron. “Relax, honey.”

“It’s confusing. It will confuse—” Juts inclined her head in Nickel’s direction.

“You’re the one confused.”

“I am not!” Juts threw the license plate down.

Nickel picked it up, wiped the dust with her hand, and watched her mother.

“We all got to live together, Julia.”

“She’s mine.”

“Blood is blood.”

“Don’t you say that to me.”

“Don’t you sass me, Juts, I am still your mother.”

Juts flung herself down on the porch step. Cora faced her daughter, but the sun, low and still bright, was in Julia’s eyes so she shielded them with her right hand.

“A child’s not a toy, Juts, you can’t have her all to yourself.”

“She’s mine!”

“She’s herself is what she is, just like you were yourself. Let things be. Let people be. If not, it makes for trouble. If not now—later.”

“Trouble?” Juts sounded incredulous. “Trouble is everyone telling me how to be a mother. You say one thing. Louise says another. Jesus.”

“Every mother hears that. I heard it from mine. Let it go in one ear and out the other.”

Juts stared at Nickel, observing both of them. “Nicky, go wash your hands, then we’re going home.”

“No.”

“Do as I say.”

“No.”

Juts jumped up, grabbed Nickel, and swatted her bottom. “Go sit in the car. Right now.”

Nickel, license plate in hand, retreated to the car.

“Mother, she defies me. Maybe she wouldn’t defy me if she were really my own.”

“Makes no matter—and she is your own.”

“Then why is everyone pointing out to me that she’s not? I am not her real mother.”

“I’m not saying any such thing, and I am
your
mother. Who you gonna listen to?”

“You’re right—I’m so tired, Momma.”

“Well, stop worrying so much. That’ll rest you.”

Later, when Chessy came home, Nickel ran up to him with the license plate. He told her that it was quite a find and he helped her tack it up on the front of her red wooden toybox.

The night was muggy. Chester sat down to listen to the radio. Juts busied herself in the kitchen, reorganizing her dish towels.

“Come on out here. I get lonesome for you.”

Loaded with dish towels, she sat down next to him on the sofa. “They look like Switzer cheese.” She poked a finger through a hole in the towel. “I can fix them.” She noticed he had a far-off gaze. “Are you listening?”

“I’m sorry, honey. I had a thought?” His voice rose uncertainly on the last word.

“Jeez, I’d better call Popeye Huffstetler so we can get it in tomorrow’s paper.”

“Be right back.” He tiptoed upstairs, followed by Yoyo. He jotted down the four numbers on the license plate. Then he bent over Nickel and kissed her on the cheek. Next he dialed Harper Wheeler. “Hey, buddy.”

“Chessy, what’s doing?” the sheriff said.

“Nothing. Will you do me a favor?”

“Depends.”

“Nickel fished a painted license plate out of the creek up at Cora’s. It’s a 1941, Maryland numbers nine three one three. Can you find out who that belonged to?”

“Yeah. Might take a day or two.”

“I’ve got a hunch about this—don’t know why, but—well, I’ll tell you once you find out.”

“Sure ’nuff. Give my regards to the missus.”

“Will do.”

Juts had turned down the radio so she could listen. When he joined her she asked, “What’s your hunch?”

“It’s the damnedest thing, honey, but I feel like that license plate’s got something to do with Noe’s fire. Fannie Jump said she couldn’t see the license plate on the car, it was painted over.”

M
aizie’s piano recitals, for she had given many of them in her home state, were all successful. Musical talent proved insufficient for success in New York City. Her trip there was brutally brief. There were thousands like her flocking to the Hanging Gardens of Neon, each one bursting with talent. Nor did these hopefuls lack ambition. But an odd spark, something unteachable, separated the stars from the merely gifted.

This realization struck Maizie with the force of a bullet. She woefully gave up and boarded the next train to Runnymede. Within four hours, she stepped out onto the familiar siding, the faint smell of creosote hovering over the tracks, the stale-water smell from the steam. She thanked the porter for her suitcase and lugged it into the station.

It was as though she had never been in the Runnymede station before. The scrubbed floors, worn thin as half-moons at the doorjambs, the iron grating over the ticket windows, the public water fountain on the side wall between the ladies’ and men’s rooms—everything seemed smaller to her. She felt smaller, too.

She hadn’t called her mother or father. No one knew of her dismal arrival.

Her head throbbed. She crept through the main room, pushing open the front door. No welcoming car awaited her, no chatter from Patience Horney, who worked her hot-pretzel stand the early-morning and the evening shifts. The afternoons Patience went home to sleep.

Luscious tiger lilies, blooming late this year, blanketed the bank opposite the parking lot. The
clickety-clack
of the departing train took her dreams with it. Maizie Trumbull, all of twenty-one, felt a failure as she trudged up the alleyway to the
Clarion
building. Her heavy suitcase dragged the ground. The
bumpety-bump
further dispirited her. She thought about calling a cab but didn’t have the money. Of course, she knew every cab driver in Runnymede. All she had to do was ride up to her mother’s door and borrow the cash. But she couldn’t bring herself to admit she was flat broke.

She was so overwhelmed by what she thought she had lost, that she had no time to realize what she had found. A limitation can be as valuable as a victory if one learns how to use it. And Runnymede teemed with life, with music and drama at its own pace. Every hamlet, town, village, and city moved at a special pace, exhibited a personality. Maizie belonged here. She’d found her heart’s home.

At that precise moment she took no solace in it. She sat down on her suitcase and had a good cry. Then she removed her clothing and ran around the
Clarion
parking lot. She gobbled like a turkey until Harper Wheeler rolled up in his squad car, summoned by Walter Falkenroth. Harper made her put her clothes
on. He’d turn his back, she’d take them off again. Finally, he handcuffed her, half undressed, to the inside of the car door. She couldn’t do much with one hand. All she could do was unbutton her blouse. She did manage to throw her shoes at him.

She screeched the whole way to Louise’s door. Harper called ahead. To be safe he also called Pearlie in case she turned violent. He didn’t want to hit a woman.

By the time he rolled into the driveway, Juts and Chessy awaited. Louise had called her sister, who in turn had called her own husband.

Maizie opened the door and swung her bare feet out. She shouted, “I’m home, you goddamned sons of bitches. I’m home and I hate everybody.” She started taking off her clothes again.

Louise hurried over to restrain her. Maizie, with her free hand, slapped her squarely in the face.

“Don’t you hit your mother.” Juts grabbed her right hand as Harper unlocked the handcuffs.

“Maizie.” A shocked Pearlie put his arms around his daughter’s waist as she twisted and screamed.

Chester grabbed her arms. His reward was that she bit him.

“Louise”—Harper’s voice was oddly tender—“I’ll get Doc Horning over here right away.”

Her face bone-white, Louise mutely nodded as Harper picked up his handheld transmitter. “Car Twelve, Car Twelve. Esther, find Dr. Horning. Now. Ten-four.” He waited. “Doc, Harper. Can you get to Louise Trumbull’s right away? Maizie’s hard up. Better bring something to help her out. Speed. Don’t worry about a ticket.” He reached back into the car and hung up the hand-sized black transmitter on a small hook under the dash.

“I’m never going to mass again,” Maizie announced, a note of triumph in her voice.

“Let’s get her inside.” Harper picked up Maizie’s feet because she’d dropped to the ground.

Doc Horning arrived as the men were carrying her through
the front door. They held her tight while he knocked her out with a sedative. She screamed bloody murder when that hypodermic needle hit her. They carried her to the sofa. The drug worked quickly.

Louise was shaking so hard that Juts put her arms around her.

“Has she ever behaved like this before?” the doctor asked, his rimless spectacles sliding down his nose.

“No,” Pearlie answered while Louise shook her head.

“No rebellious period? Hanging out with the wrong sort?”

“Back talk, but nothing more. Mary was the difficult one.” Louise allowed Julia to walk her over to a chair. She also made no mention of the fire incident at the convent school but, of course, Doc Horning knew. Hard to keep something like that quiet over the years.

“Well, takes ’em this way sometimes. You make sure she takes these pills for the next two days.” He handed Louise a small vial. “Bring her in to me Thursday if she’s cooperative and I’ll run a few tests on her. If she’s not cooperative, with your permission, I’ll take her over to Dr. Lamont in Hagerstown.”

Both parents nodded.

“What’s wrong with her?” Juts stuck right by Louise.

He folded his hands together and flicked them inward, cracking his knuckles, although he hadn’t intended to do that. “I don’t know. My hunch is she’s in good health, just got a little confused. The mind can shut down like a machine on overload—you know how some things will shut down before they break? She’ll most likely be fine. I suggest you don’t prod her. Don’t ask her questions. Just let her sleep and if she screams at you, ignore it. You know where to find me.”

“Thank you,” Pearlie and Louise said in unison.

Chester walked Harper out to the squad car as Pearlie accompanied Dr. Horning.

“Chester, you’re bound to hear talk. Maizie took her clothes off and ran buck naked around the parking lot at the
Clarion.
Walter Falkenroth’s the one who called me. I leave it to you to inform Louise. May be less embarrassing coming from you.”

“You think she’s flipped her lid?”

“I don’t know. The longer I live, the less I know and the more see.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling.” Chester ran his hand over his brow, an unconscious gesture of worry.

“Oh, almost forgot. Heard from Baltimore. That old license plate? It was a company vehicle for Rife Canning. I rode on over there and asked Teresa to check through company files, which she did.” He paused. “She said that was the plate for a 1938 Ford. She didn’t recall the vehicle but there was a record for it.”

“That was that?”

“As far as she was concerned. Not as far as I’m concerned. No one reported a car or a truck stolen back then. I can’t imagine Napoleon or Julius Rife taking kindly to losing a vehicle like that. Tell you what I’m going to do, Chessy. I’m going fishing tomorrow. Want to come along?”

A
light drizzle created perfect circles in the deep creek. Harper, Chessy, Pearlie, and Noe dragged fishnets. Chessy had Nickel with him since Julia was needed by Louise. Maizie behaved under sedation, but as the drugs wore off she’d begin to gobble like a turkey again. She did keep her clothes on because Louise took a
switch to her. Mary, working at the Bon-Ton these days, promised to help after work.