When the city fella come back, I was sittin’ on the front porch of the post office with my feet up on the railin’, doin’ my best Deputy Redneck imitation. I could see right off why Nina’d made him for a stranger. Only lawyers, insurance salesmen, an’ undertakers wear suits in town on weekdays. ’Fore he noticed me, he stopped to stare at Nina’s sign. She posted it after she caught a couple of local geniuses tryin’a set fire to a nest of baby garter snakes. Nina’s no more partial to snakes than the next person, but she’s smart enough to know snakes eat rats an’ mice an’ usually don’t bother people unless they’re messed with.
The man give his head a little shake—like he was tryin’a wake hisself up—then looked at me. He pointed at the sign an’ said, “What’s that about?”
I told him the story. By the time I’d done, I could see him lookin’ for snakes outta the corners of his eyes.
“You mean they keep snakes to control vermin?”
I shrugged. “Cheaper’n Decon, an’ you don’t have to clean up dead critters.”
“That’s crazy!”
“You didn’t come all this way to criticize our extermination methods.”
He pulled hisself together an’ said, “I’m a private detective. I—”
“No foolin’? You got a license an’ everythin’?”
“I have a license …”
He went to reach somethin’ outta his inside pocket, an’ I said, “Hold it!” He froze. “You got a gun in there?”
He gave a little sigh an’ said, “No, just a wallet.”
I give him a nod an’ he pulled it out an’ took out his license. John Peter, I read off it. “What brings you to West Wheeling, Mr. Peter?”
“I’m looking for Roger Devon.” The way he said it rhymed with heaven.
“The missionary fella?”
“Yes. He’s been missing a month. His parents are frantic. They’ve hired me to find him.”
“How old’d this Devon be?”
“Twenty-six.”
“Last time I looked ain’t no law says a twenty-six-year-old fella has to account for his whereabouts to his folks.”
“He’s a devoted son. And it’s quite out of character for him to let a whole month go by without contacting them, at least to let them know he’ll be away.”
“Ah-hunh. How come nobody’s filed a missin’ person report on this guy? Or checked the local hospital or jail?” I didn’t add, Or the coroner, but it occurred to me.
“That’s what I’m here to do. I thought I would check to see if he’s having his mail forwarded, but I ran into a little opposition from your …”
“Postmistress?”
“Ah, yes.”
“Yeah. Well, if you want that information, you’re gonna have to go to court an’ convince a judge he’s really missin’ an’ you’re workin’ for who you said.”
“Oh, please. Who else would I be working for?”
I shrugged. “He might be a protected witness, an’ you might be workin’ for the mob.”
“I think you’ve been watching too much TV, Sheriff.”
I didn’t dignify that crack with a answer.
Peter said, “How do I go about filing a missing person report?”
“Consider it filed.”
“And where do I go to get a court order?”
I pointed out the town hall an’ axed him where’d he be stayin’.
“Have you a Motel Six around here?”
“’Bout halfway back to the highway.”
“I’ll stay there.” He started to walk away.
“One more thing, Mr. Peter.” He stopped. “Any snakes you might encounter anywhere in Boone County other’n the post office premises are the property of the department of conservation. Leave them be, too.”
He just walked away, shakin’ his head. I went inside to tell Nina she’d had a reprieve.