19
The next morning, Truman woke up sore and feeling pretty sorry for himself. He told Sook he was in no mood for school. Instead, he curled up in bed with Queenie.
Good ol’ Sook. She brought him cups of his favorite chicory-flavored coffee, even though Jenny always scolded her for it: “You keep feeding him that and he’ll never get any taller!”
Sook may have had a headful of thinning gray hair but she acted like a child around Truman. She listened to every word about his encounter with Boss and how he’d managed to escape. As usual, he embellished the truth. In his version, Queenie grabbed the brute’s leg while he used his judo techniques and head-ramming maneuver to outwit the monster.
“Now you’re just lying, Truman!” she said.
“I swear it, Sook. Isn’t that right, Queenie?” Queenie barked yes.
Sook brought him leftovers from early breakfast, as he called it. Sook and Little Bit’s elaborate breakfasts were a wonder any time of day: ham and eggs, pancakes, and pork chops (when times were good) or sowbelly with crowder peas, catfish, or squirrel (when times were bad), along with the usual grits and gravy, butter beans, sweet corn, collards, jam and biscuits, and boiled okra. Truman liked to tilt his head back and let the slimy vegetable slide down his throat.
“Now let’s see if ol’ Sook can fix that cap of yours. But I still don’t understand why it has two bills instead of one,” she said as she wandered off.
Truman was starting to feel better when he heard a knock on his window. It was Nelle, waving a copy of another Sherlock Holmes mystery, The Adventure of the Stockbroker’s Clerk.
He opened the window and was surprised by the crisp autumn air. “Brrr. And why aren’t you in school, missy?” asked Truman, delighted to see his friend.
She coughed in an exaggerated way. “Why, I’m sick, Tru, ain’t it obvious?”
She crawled in through the window and snuggled up with Truman. They made for a perfect pair of misfits—he too refined to play with the boys; she too much of a tomboy to get along with the girls. And that was okay.
They spent the morning reading the book and drinking coffee. They considered new suspects and eliminated them, like Black John White (who slept in his clothes because he sleepwalked at night and had a habit of doing things he couldn’t remember. But they decided he was too much of a nice guy to steal) and Ed the egg man (who’d never had a kind word from Principal York despite years of delivering eggs to the school. But he had too much to lose to do something so petty). Even Callie was considered, because Truman knew she kept a list of students she disliked (he was on it), and there was a possibility that she might want to set one or two of them up to get them expelled. But Jenny would have locked Callie in the attic if she’d toyed with such a harebrained idea.
When they finished discussing everyone in town, and produced no new suspects, Truman took another approach.
“I know what we need to do. We need to go to the drugstore and talk to Mr. Yarborough.”
“You think he knows something?” she asked.
“People go to the soda fountain to gossip all the time. I’ll bet he knows something. Maybe even who broke into his store!”
They didn’t wait for Big Boy to get out of school. Nelle knew from experience that the truant officer usually gave up by noon—after that, it was safe to be seen outdoors. They decided to pay a social call on Mr. Yarborough to straighten out a few facts. The plan was to just sit there and chat away, enjoying an ice-cold Catawba Flip or a fluffy Cherry Dope at the soda fountain. Then, using their wiles and charms, they’d get Mr. Yarborough to reveal some crucial bits of information that would solve the case.
That plan was quickly scuttled, though. It turned out that Mr. Yarborough wasn’t even there. Instead, his soda jerk, redheaded Ralph, stood behind the counter setting up decorations for Halloween. “What’ll it be, boys?” He winked at Nelle, who sneered back.
Ralph was just an employee and none too bright, so there was no use wasting a lot of time on him. Still, he was worth a short chat. “Two cherry Cokes, straight up,” said Truman.
“When’s Mr. Yarborough coming back?” asked Nelle.
“Oh, he’s away till Tuesday. There’s a pharmacists’ convention down in Mobile,” said Ralph as he served up the drinks.
It was a slow afternoon, as most days had been of late, due to so many folks having recently lost their jobs. The place was empty except for them.
Truman tried to make small talk. “That was too bad about the break-in. Thieves have no manners these days,” said Truman, fiddling with a paper jack-o’-lantern on the counter.
“Wasn’t no thieves,” said Ralph, looking around the empty store.
Truman sucked down half his drink until he winced—brain freeze. “No? Maybe it was some poor, hungry family? Sook is always taking leftovers out into the forest where lots of folks are rooting around for turtles or squirrels for dinner. It’s a downright shame, I say.”
Ralph spat into a glass and rubbed a spot clean. “Or maybe it was just some wild teenagers looking to have some fun, get some free candy.” He stared directly at Truman, having experienced his fake-epileptic-seizures-for-candy scheme in the past.
Truman stared into his empty glass.
“What about the cameo brooch? That must have been worth a lot of money. Maybe some poor soul stole it to feed their kids?” said Nelle.
“That old thing?” he scoffed. “Probably just a piece of costume jewelry that Mr. Yarborough kept in the glass case ’cause it looked nice. I doubt it was worth two bits. It was probably just some kids, like I said.”
Nelle nodded. “You know who did it, then?” she asked, as innocent as could be.
Ralph placed the glass on the shelf. “Know one of ’em.”
Truman whispered to Nelle, “What did I tell you? More than one.” He turned back to redheaded Ralph. “Sooo . . . who was it?” Truman squeaked.
Ralph grinned. “Why, I can’t really say, kid. You’d have to talk to the sheriff about that.”
“The sheriff? So someone was arrested?” he said, excited.
Ralph shook his head. “Didn’t say that neither.” He snickered. “More like . . . grounded.”
“Huh?” said Nelle. “That don’t make sense.”
Truman put two and two together. “I see . . . well, thanks for your time, Ralph. Come on, Nelle.” He tugged on her overalls, pulling her away from the counter.
“But I haven’t finished my drink—”
He yanked and she went with him, taking a last slurp of her drink. But right before they stepped outside, Truman whipped around and pointed at Ralph’s surprised face. “Quick—what do you know about the notorious snake gang?”
Ralph blinked and stared right back at Truman. After a good five seconds passed, redheaded Ralph shook his head. “Kid, you’re too young for that action. Pit’s no place for you two. Now git.”
He walked out from behind the counter and straight at Truman. This time, it was Nelle who pulled Truman away. Ralph glared at them as they escaped into the street. When they hid around the corner, Nelle was a little unsettled by what had happened. Truman, however, was rather pleased with himself.
“Did you see that? We got to him,” he said.
“Truman, this is getting too weird. I wanna play a different game. How ’bout you be the cowboy this time—”
“What’sa matter? You scared—”
Before Truman could finish the sentence, Nelle swung him around and pinned him to the side of the building. Truman’s toes were barely touching the ground.
“You calling me chicken, you little pipsqueak?” She glared into his face.
Truman knew when to back off. “I didn’t mean nothing, Nelle. Honest.”
She saw him turning pale and let him go.
Truman took a few breaths and straightened his collar. “You know you’re onto something when you start to get to them. Did you see the look in Ralph’s eyes? I wonder what the pit is. Maybe a snake pit?”
“I’m tired of all this snake talk. I don’t like ’em,” said Nelle. “I got bit by a cottonmouth once when I went swimming in Little River.”
“Really?” said Truman. “I heard they can’t bite you while they’re swimming.”
Nelle scowled. “Ask A.C. I had to go to the hospital and everything.”
“Okay, okay, no more snakes for now. But we still have another clue to deal with.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Not what, who,” he said. “The sheriff’s son, Elliot. That’s who Ralph was talking about! I never did like him. Or his dogs.”
“Now, hold on a minute, Truman. Isn’t Elliot the one that chased you down that time and locked you in the icehouse till you almost froze? You think he done it? How do you figure him?” said Nelle.
Truman shook off the memory. “It’s elementary, my dear Watson.”
Nelle threw up her hands. “What are you saying, Tru?”
He smiled. “I’m saying, who gets grounded by the sheriff? Only his son, Elliot, that’s who.”
Nelle slowly nodded in agreement. “Do you mean what I think you mean?”
Truman suddenly looked worried. “Yes. We have to go talk to the sheriff.”