No Second Wind (The Sheriff Chick Charleston Mysteries Book 3) Page 12

  I walked toward home before midnight, stopping only for a moment at the Bar Star, where Studebaker told me two carloads of hunters had gone out after wolves.

  Before I reached home I heard the wild voices again, sounding hoarse and hungry in the dark well of the night. In passing, I saw that Mr. Willsie’s window had been boarded up. I noticed, without much interest, that a good many porch and inside lights still burned, though the hour was late for working people. My thoughts were of Anita.

  The lights at home were on, too, and Mother was still up. I greeted her and said, “Long past bedtime.”

  “Did you hear the wolves? Listen.”

  “Howling doesn’t hurt anybody.”

  “Don’t you realize that people are frightened, mothers especially?”

  “They’re overdoing it.”

  “They’re escorting their children to school and meeting them when classes are over. Think of that. Being scared that wolves will make off with a little one. I’ve had several calls today, and what can I tell them?”

  “To keep cool, I guess.”

  “It won’t do any good to say that.”

  “Tell them the sheriff’s office is aware, that we’re looking into things, that we’re prepared to take action.”

  “All right,” Mother said, “but that won’t comfort them much.”

  No, I thought on the edge of sleep. No sure comfort there for anxious mothers. But the alarm had no basis, no sound one. Wolves didn’t prey on humans. I kept telling myself that. I went to sleep with the voices of wolves. Not sound asleep, though. I kept hearing the cries, real or imagined. The badge of office didn’t guarantee peace of mind.

  15

  Dawn was just creeping into the sky when the telephone rang. My watch said seven-thirty. I grabbed the phone, hoping it hadn’t disturbed Mother. Tim Reagan was on the line.

  “Jase,” he said, “damn early, I know, but could you and me talk?”

  “Now? Is it something important?”

  “To me it is.”

  “I’ll throw on some clothes and meet you at the office.”

  “Well.” There was uncertainty in his voice.

  “Why not?”

  “Could be I’m making something of nothing much. And I don’t like to be laughed at.”

  “I won’t laugh.”

  “I know. That’s why I called you. But what about the others?”

  “Meaning the sheriff?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tim, he won’t belittle you. I know he won’t.”

  “I was hoping for just you and me, for now, anyhow.”

  “He’ll have to know in time, if it’s anything at all. And he’s your friend, too. Believe me.”

  “I guess all right.”

  “See you in twenty minutes,” I told him.

  I rang Charleston then. He said he’d be on hand.

  I hustled into yesterday’s clothes and slipped out of the house, thankful that Mother wasn’t stirring.

  Tim and I arrived at the office a little ahead of Charleston. Mrs. Vail returned our greetings but didn’t ask questions. She didn’t have time to. The phone kept ringing. To each caller she was replying, “The sheriff’s office understands and sympathizes. The whole staff is on the alert. So, we are informed, are the city police. Mr. Charleston thinks the danger is not as great as imagined, and he is advising people to keep calm. To make sure the children are safe, he has told Deputy Tad Frazier to tour the streets, morning and afternoon, when classes are about to begin and when school lets out. Please call us again if you have real reason to.”

  That was quite a message, but apparently it didn’t satisfy one caller, for Mrs. Vail added, “No indeed, he is not minimizing the danger or trying to gloss over it. Yes. We will investigate every report.”

  There was a brief interval between calls, and she said, “My God, Jase! My God! They never quit ringing.” Her face showed a flicker of uncertainty. “To tell the truth, I’m half-scared myself.”

  The sheriff’s arrival saved me an answer.

  We took off our coats in the inner office and sat down. Reagan looked drawn and uneasy, for want of sleep and fear of ridicule, I supposed.

  Charleston asked, “Well, Tim? Something we can do for you?” He wore his easy smile.

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  I interrupted with, “We’re here to listen, Tim, not to make fun of whatever it is.”

  Charleston nodded to my words, and we waited.

  Then Reagan said, “My boys are getting the wind up.”

  Again we waited.

  “You see, I’m kind of in charge. I’m paid a little extra to keep the gang together, and I don’t know if I can.”

  “How so?” Charleston asked.

  “There was that shooting at the Chicken Shack and Pudge Eaton dead. That’s just one thing.”

  We could hear the buzz and the voice at the switchboard. “Jingle bells,” Charleston said shortly and added, “And the other thing? Wolves, I suppose.”

  Reagan ignored the question to follow his own line of thought. “That brick that got throwed through some office window. We get the blame for that, but I’ve had my eyes and ears open, and I don’t believe for a minute that one of us did it.”

  Charleston said, “I have my own doubts. Go on.”

  “This goddamn cold never gives up. We’re housebound pretty much, except for the Chicken Shack. You got no idea how much propane we’re burning or how much electric juice.”

  Charleston’s head moved in agreement. “I can guess. And they call this a cold snap! What else is on your mind?”

  “Then there’s the town itself. Jesus, Sheriff, we ain’t lepers, but that’s how we’re treated, not by everyone but enough. The only friendly ones are those we buy from, and that’s a shitty reason.”

  I said, “It sure is.”

  “We came here to work. We was promised jobs almost right away. And here we are, bunched up and alone, and nothing to do but think about paychecks we haven’t got and going broke all the time or almost. It’s hard on family life. Sometimes I think I can understand that wop, Coletti. That’s not exactly true. I beat him up last night.”

  Charleston leaned forward. “Is that what you came to tell us?”

  “Naw. That’s nothing. He got to bad-mouthing Marie, who I’ve knowed since she was a little girl. I gave him a belt for you, too, Jase.”

  “I’m sure he deserved it,” Charleston said. “Now where were we?”

  Reagan answered, “I was working around to wolves, howling every night, seems like, after we turn off the TV. I don’t know wolves. I never seen one. But I’ve read some Jack London and so know something. Us men figure we can take care of ourselves, but the women, they don’t want to be left alone. The kids, I mean the danger to ’em, worries the hell out of ’em. It’s what you would call tough titty.”

  Reagan paused, studying our faces as if to find understanding there.

  “But that’s not all, is it, Tim,” Charleston asked. “What more’s eating on you?”

  “I’ve already told you how we feel. Outcasts. That’s what we are. And we’re just simple workin’ people, here to do a job. The rights and wrongs of mining ain’t ours to say.”

  Charleston said, “No. I understand. I’m against strip mining myself, but this office is here to protect all citizens, to see to their rights. There we’re on your side. You realize that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Maybe you can tell us now what really brought you here?”

  “That’s where you might laugh, but here goes, laugh or no laugh. It was last night, ’way late, and there was barking and howling and snapping and fighting in back of the trailers. Wolves was there, a lot of them, twenty at least. I know. I looked out, best I could, and them that weren’t fighting just sat around, their tongues out. I opened the door for a better look.”

  I put the next question. “Can you tell a wolf from an Alsatian?”


  “How’s that?”

  “From what is called a German police dog. There’s some of them around. They can be taken for wolves.”

  “I don’t know, but these were wolves, along with some dogs, too. And there we were, and not a damn firearm along the whole row. I went outside once, and that was enough. Don’t think I scare easy, either.”

  He studied us, maybe suspecting amusement, then went on. “I had a ball bat, and I took it with me, and Jesus! There was a brute there that stood better than ass-high to a basketball player. He made for me, and with one bite with them jaws, he could have snapped off my leg. I ducked inside and slammed the door in his face. You believe me?”

  I said, “I believe you.”

  “Now, more’n ever, my boys want to pack up and get out.”

  “Did you hear anything, see anything, before you went to bed?” Charleston asked him.

  “You don’t hear anything with the TV blasting away. Everybody’s got a set. Everybody listens.”

  “Yes,” Charleston said and made a face. I had heard him say once that TV was the worst drug ever visited on the American people.

  “Did we see anything?” Reagan went on. “You don’t get much of a rear view from a camper or trailer, not with any of them. And what can you make out if you look from a lighted room into the dark? Not much, even if you turn off the light.”

  “Tim,” Charleston asked him, “has anyone on the row got a bitch dog? It might have come in heat.”

  “The only she dog I know of belongs to Clancy, and she’s been what you call spaded.”

  Charleston rose from his chair, saying, “Let’s have a look.”

  We put our heavy clothes back on, went out and got into one of the officer’s cars. The sun showed its frosty face now. I knew better than to expect any heat from it. Bright morning, skies clear, sun shining, and no heat in the world.

  We took the trail in back of the string of temporary settlement. It wasn’t so much a trail as a winding of frozen ruts, churned in better weather by delivery trucks. We stopped in the rear of Reagan’s mobile home. There were four or five town dogs close around, sniffing and cocking their legs at tires and steps and spare bushes. It was no use to look for paw prints, not on that stone-hard ground, or for tire marks, either, though Charleston did.

  Rising, he said, “There’s a bitch in heat around here. I would bet on that.”

  Reagan asked, “Where is she then?”

  “That’s the question.”

  Mrs. Reagan must have heard us, for she came from the trailer, buttoning up a coat. She was young but looked stooped and had an air of defeat and resentment. She asked Tim, “Any bright ideas?”

  “No. Better go back in. You’ll get cold.”

  She said, not so much to Tim as to the world, “I don’t know why we stay here. What’s the use? Just to spend the time keeping warm and then be scared by a bunch of wolves?”

  “Now, honey.”

  Charleston took it upon himself to bolster her spirits. “I’m Sheriff Charleston. I wouldn’t be too depressed or alarmed, Mrs. Reagan. I can guarantee that wolves won’t hurt you. Remember, if you’re frightened or troubled, we’re within easy reach.”

  “Oh, sure,” she answered, moving back to the door, “And while you’re about it, would you mind changing the weather?”

  Tim shook his head while he followed her progress. He muttered, “Can’t blame her.”

  “We don’t,” Charleston told him. “Now, Tim, we can’t do anything here now, but we’ll learn the truth of this business. And would you make doubly sure there are no she dogs in season along the row?”

  “I already know, but, sure, I’ll check.” He looked at the ground, as if disliking what he had to say next. “Sheriff, if it comes down to it, I wonder if you’d talk to the boys, like to me, telling them you’ll stand up for their rights?”

  “Whenever you say, Tim.”

  We left him standing there, a man puzzled and burdened by job and circumstances.

  On the way to the office I asked, “Mr. Charleston, do you suppose I could have tonight off?”

  He cast me a glance, grinning. “Doolittle recommends her highly.”

  “Ike’s got good judgment but kind of a loose mouth.”

  His grin grew wider. “Good judgment deserves an audience.” He turned back to his driving. “You’ll need a car.”

  “I’m pretty sure I can borrow one.”

  “Nonsense.” We were turning into the parking lot. “Take the car that stalled on you. Take it now. You’ve earned a free ride.”

  “Thank you. I better leave it hooked up to the juice until later.”

  “No need to. It’s got an extra-strength battery and a new generator in it.”

  I said thanks again as we braked to a halt.

  Charleston’s parting words were, “I don’t want to catch sight of you until tomorrow.”

  Going home, I pulled in at the Bar Star. It was a bad hour for business—ten-thirty—and Bob Studebaker was alone, wiping glasses.

  “I just wanted to ask if you’d seen any wolves,” I said.

  “Not me. I leave that to the hunters. They charge out every night now, maybe two carloads of them, and they see plenty of wolves but can’t seem to hit one. Tricky, those wolves are, just shadows and glimpses, you might say, and you can’t get a good bead on a glimpse. I hear, though, that Chuck Cleaver shot one. Got the hide to prove it. But let the boys go out and waste ammunition. All right with me. Hell, they buy whiskey.”

  “Is your dog a wolfhound, a hunter?”

  “I never asked him.”

  “I just wondered. You let him out at night?”

  “Yeah, and last night he was mighty late getting in. Had to wake me up, barking.” A quick glint came into his eyes. “Why you askin’?”

  “No special reason. I thought I saw him last night.”

  “He ain’t done anything then?”

  “Nothing I know of.”

  Nothing, I thought as I returned to the car, nothing except scare the pants off Tim Reagan. You didn’t greet a dog like Gunnar with a ball bat, not if you meant to stay healthy.

  I was shaved, showered, dressed, fed and ready to go before seven o’clock that night. It puzzled me a little, on leaving the house, to see a car parked behind mine, its lights on dim. I walked toward it.

  The driver’s door opened, and Ike Doolittle got out, a paper bag in his hand. “This might come in handy,” he said, smiling as he handed the bag to me.

  “What is it?”

  “What it is is a bottle. Take it along.”

  “That’s crazy. A bottle to give to a girl!” I had a box of candy in the car.

  “Grandpa likes a hot toddy.” He put a friendly hand on my arm.

  “I don’t get it.”

  “You maybe will, Jase.” His eyes looked up into mine, reminding me that he was a small man, a fact I kept forgetting. “Old men like him like their whiskey but don’t get a hell of a lot out of it. It doesn’t fire ’em up. It puts them to sleep.”

  “That sounds like you want me to drug him.”

  “A medium-size dose will do it, and it’s you that will want to see that he gets it. Without a toddy he’ll rattle around as long as you stay. He’s not what Shakespeare would call a mewler and puker but next door to it. He’s a maunderer and a cricket, mind and body, here, there and everywhere, and once in a while he’ll remember to tell you to keep your mitts off his daughter. Believe me, I know.”

  “You seem to know a damn lot.”

  “Don’t be touchy, Jase. No cause for it.” The smile had gone from his face. “She’s a prize girl, that girl, and I’m betting that custom will not stale her infinite variety. But she’s a sight too young for me, Jase, and I never tried to bridge that gap, not once.”

  “Any more classical references?”

  “Sure. ‘The friends thou hast and their adoption tried …’” He looked up at me earnestly, and all at once I felt humble and grateful. I told him I was sorry and
shook his hand.

  It struck me, driving alone, that I was getting a lot of friendly help in my dating. A night off. Charleston and the car. Ike and the bottle. So what? Inside I was smiling.

  The heater began to warm up the car. The night was bright with starshine. The dirt-and-gravel road smoothed out under my wheels. Away and away the land spread and rolled, frozen now but not dead, never dead. Fifteen miles to go or thereabouts. I would arrive in good time. Slow up! No need to hurry.

  Once I had half-loved a waitress named Jessie Lou, a good girl who had started selling her body in the desperate hope of piling up enough money to pay for secretarial training. I had been able to help her out of that jam, and now she had a good job far away. It wasn’t unpleasant to think of her. Time and distance gentled remembrance and made old affections remote. I shook hands with her, said good-bye, and drove on toward Anita.

  I was a trifle surprised to come upon the Dutton house and its outbuildings so soon. I had no memory of hurrying. With the bag and the box of candy in hand I stepped to the house. There was no need to knock. Anita had reached the door before me. She cried out, “Well, Jase! Come in.”

  I handed her the packages, saying, “One’s kind of funny, I guess.”

  She laid the presents on a stand table, took my things and hung them on a peg.

  Grandpa and Omar were seated at the kitchen table. They looked up, and Omar said, “Hello, Mr. Beard.”

  “You remember Jason Beard, Grandfather,” Anita said. “Jase, step closer so that he can see you better.”

  The old man stared at me with blank eyes. “Beard, you say? Beard?” One hand scratched at the table.

  “Good evening, Mr. Dutton,” I said. “I met you the other night.” His eyes still were blank.

  “You ought to have on your glasses, Grandfather.”

  “Glasses? Don’t need ’em. Glasses? I can see as far as the next man.”

  Anita shrugged slightly, giving up. “For close vision.”

  “What did you say your name was?” the old man asked. “Oh, I remember. Beard. That’s it. Wolf hunter, aren’t you?”

  “Not really. No.”

  Omar got up and shook my hand, as if just remembering to do so. To Grandpa he said, “He’s the man got me my job with you.”