But harmony doesn’t stick, no matter how sweet. Life goes up, around, and down. All good things come to an end, my mean grandmother used to say, and she always seemed happy to be right about that, like maybe you get points for thinking happiness is stupid.
Joe Brewer showed up late one afternoon, and I knew from his face that he was not happy: a wrinkle between his eyebrows, his smile strained. Before coming inside he gave Bunny a peanut butter dog treat, something he’d taken to keeping in his pocket, which is probably the reason Bunny chased his tail whenever Joe Brewer pulled up in front of the house.
As Bunny munched, Mr. Brewer said to all of us, “We need to talk about the trial.”
He seemed worried. Eleanor invited him inside, where he spread his papers on the table. He showed us a witness list that he had received from the prosecutor, that’s the lawyer on the other side, the one trying to put Mother in prison.
“There’s Jerry Smith, the owner of the Okay Corral. He testified at Carl’s trial and that is the place where the robbery took place. I don’t believe that he can say anything about Barbara’s involvement in the crime. You’re sure, Barbara, that you had no idea that Carl was planning to rob the place and that you stayed in or near the car the entire time?”
“She did,” I blurted out. “She didn’t know anything. She didn’t do anything.”
“Barbara?” Joe Brewer repeated, wanting her to answer for herself. “Did you do anything that could be construed as helping Carl commit this crime? Anything at all?”
Mother squinted, looking up into her head for the memory of that night. She told him that I walked Bunny out in the bushes, using her panty hose as a leash, and she had stayed in the car until the shooting started. “I had no idea that Carl would do such a fool thing,” she said.
“Okay, good,” Joe Brewer said, and read the next name from the list. “Gus Luna. Who is Gus Luna?”
My stomach twisted with guilt. I hadn’t told Joe Brewer about Gus the gunman. If only ignoring unpleasantries could make them disappear, we’d all be better off.
Mother sighed and said, “Carl was a tumbleweed. He picked up friends everywhere. We met Gus Luna at the campsite.”
“And he worked in a doughnut shop, best doughnut cutter in Arkansas,” I added. “He gave us a box of doughnuts.”
Joe Brewer asked, “What is he doing on the witness list?”
“I don’t know,” Mother said. “He’s just a man and they had some business in Hot Springs. Ruby Clyde and I went sightseeing.”
“He didn’t travel with you?” Joe Brewer asked. “He wasn’t at the Okay Corral?”
“No,” we both said, but I knew Gus would be trouble.
“I have to know everything before trial…” Joe Brewer dragged his fingers across his forehead. “Surprises in the courtroom can kill you.”
So I took a deep breath and confessed that it was Gus Luna who had gotten that gun for the Catfish and that we had used it to steal Bunny from the IQ Zoo.
Joe Brewer drew his lips into a tight little knot and finally said, “So that explains the next name. It’s the owner of the IQ Zoo in Hot Springs, Arkansas.”
“That man! He was torturing Bunny…” Bunny backed up and grunted in disgust. The Circus God from the IQ Zoo was a horrid memory.
But Joe Brewer raised his hand to stop both of us. “We will sort this out later. Right now we have a bigger problem.”
We all waited. I thought the problems he had just described were plenty big.
He took a long breath and said slowly, “Carl is also on the witness list.”
What? The Catfish again.
“But he’s already gone to prison,” Eleanor cried. “What could he possibly say?”
Mother shook her head and said, “Carl always has plenty to say.”
Joe Brewer explained that he had already brought a motion before the court to prevent Carl from testifying. But the judge had denied the motion and Joe Brewer did not like that. He sensed the judge would be leaning against us during the trial. Jurors looked to the judge for guidance, every little smirk and smile could influence them. And what’s worse, Joe Brewer explained, the Catfish had made a plea bargain, which meant that if he testified against my mother, his fifteen-year prison sentence would be reduced by five years.
“That’s not fair!” I shouted. “He’d betray Mother for a crummy five years.” I’d thought the Catfish was gone from our lives for good, but here he came worse than before. Would we never be free of him?
“Happens all the time,” Joe Brewer said. “The prosecutor would rather send two people to jail than one. It makes them look good. And if that means reducing one sentence, then so be it. Everybody knows it, and nobody cares.”
“Is all lost?” Mother asked.
Joe Brewer looked straight into her eyes and said, “I can’t lie to you. This is bad. If they believe him, then it would be direct evidence. But all is never lost.”