As I slipped along the outer edge of the lawn toward the heavily planted area that hid the tool shed and the potting shed, Japanese lanterns hanging from the trees begin to twinkle all across the yard. Dusk had crept upon us and, instead of subduing the merriment, the fall of darkness seemed to increase it. And the crowd had increased as well. I began to despair of ever finding either Etta Mae or Poochie until we were all three rounded up and shackled together.
“Hey! Miss Julia!”
I turned to see Etta Mae wiggling her way through the crowd, a big frown on her face but not much on the rest of her. Sundresses must’ve been the fashion choice for this event, for she had on the skimpiest one yet. Tight and short and black, her dress and what it revealed had eyes following her as she made her way to me. One thing, though, her dress had straps, but they were so tiny and thin that I would’ve never depended on them for heavy-duty work. Regardless of her dress, though, I was relieved of half my burden of worry to see her.
“Oh, Etta Mae,” I said with relief. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Have you seen Poochie?”
“No, but I’ve seen Arthur Kessler.” Her face darkened and her eyes squinched up, glinting with fire. “From a distance, which is where he better stay. I’m watching him like a hawk, and if he even looks at Granny, I’m gonna have his hide. You know what he did?”
“Yes, I do. But I didn’t know you did.”
“Granny told me. She said he drove out to see her this morning and tried to talk her into selling the farm. Can you believe that? And after I told him to leave her alone. When I picked her up for the party, she was so upset she could hardly talk, her hands were just shaking. He told her she was too old to keep the place up, and it was already so run down it wasn’t worth anything. He said it was dangerous for her to be living alone and she’d be better off in a rest home. And, on top of that, he offered her a hundred thousand dollars and I know it’s worth more than that.”
“Really! I can’t believe he’d be so crass.” I paused and thought about it. “Well, yes, I can, too. But listen, Etta Mae, that’s not all he’s done. He’s gone back on his word after telling me plain as day that the town could have that statue. Now he’s claiming that it’s been stolen and he’s reported it to the police.”
Etta Mae’s eyes bugged out. “You don’t mean it!”
“I do, indeed. I just saw him and he is livid. We’ve got to find Poochie and get that thing hidden. And warn him not to say a word. Lord, Etta Mae, I don’t want to be arrested for theft. Well, for anything, really. You think we ought to give it back?”
“No way!” Etta Mae said with an emphatic shake of her head. “You know he won’t take care of it. He’ll destroy it just to prove he can do whatever he wants. And to keep us from having it, which he’ll do since he thinks we’re thieves.”
“My feeling exactly. So what should we do?”
“I’ll tell you what I’d like to do.” Etta Mae laughed a little, but there was little humor in it. “I’d like to do what Granny did. She took a broom to him and ran him off. And I,” she declared with a great heave of her bosom, “I am ready to take him down.”
“First things first, Etta Mae,” I said, trying to divert all that ferocity into more productive avenues now that we were in agreement to keep the statue out of Mr. Kessler’s destructive hands. “We have to find Poochie, take possession of the statue and get it hidden. And keep it hidden for as long as it takes, which is as long as Arthur’s in town. One of these days, he’ll be gone and we can bring it out. Then Poochie can take credit for saving it. But we have to find him first.”
“He should’ve been here by now, though I guess it’s a good thing he hasn’t already come prancing in carrying that statue. With Mr. Kessler on the warpath, there’d be you-know-what to pay.” She stretched up on her tiptoes to scan the crowd for Poochie. “He won’t just not show up. He’s counting on that new truck.”
“New used, Etta Mae. Let’s not give him any ideas. But what’ll we do if he doesn’t come?”
She twisted her mouth, giving it some thought. “I guess I’m more concerned with what we’ll do if he does. I mean, where’re we going to hide it tonight?”
“I’m thinking Mildred’s potting shed. It’s off the beaten path and she doesn’t use it anymore. Come on, I’ll show you.” I took her arm and led her onto a narrow, winding path behind a row of hemlocks that lined the far edge of Mildred’s lawn. We eased farther away from the festivities and into the dark. Brushing aside honeysuckle tendrils and making one last turn, we emerged onto a small clearing. Right in front of us was a miniature house almost covered with ivy. Carriage lamps, flickering with gaslight, were on each side of the door.
“Mildred doesn’t do much potting,” I whispered. “She had this built when she first joined the garden club, then sort of lost interest in dirt.”
“It’s so cute,” Etta Mae said. “It looks like a dollhouse.”
“Well, cute or not, let’s just hope it’s not locked. And not stacked full of manure and fertilizer, either.”
The sounds of revelry had diminished behind us, muffled by the dense growth we’d pushed through. The little house was so secluded that I felt I had to whisper, even though the party seemed far away. It was the perfect place to hide Lady Justice until her final destination could be determined. And that, as long as Arthur was around, could be a long time coming.
“Try the door, Etta Mae,” I said, looking around to be sure we were alone. “I’ll keep a lookout.”
She walked over and turned the doorknob, giving the door a push. It opened about an inch and stuck. “It’s open, but it won’t open. All the way, I mean.”
I joined her and leaned my shoulder against the door. “At least it’s not locked. Let’s push together.”
Well, we got it open, but it wasn’t easy, reassuring me that the shed was not often used. There was just enough light for us to make out the work benches along two walls with old pots and the occasional garden implement scattered on them. And sure enough, under the benches were bags of foul-smelling organic material stored for future use.
“This is perfect, Etta Mae,” I said. “We can lay her on those bags under the bench, and nobody’ll be the wiser. If Poochie ever shows up. Maybe we’d better go look for him again.”
Etta Mae followed me outside, saying, “I want to check on Granny, too, though I guess I ought to be more worried about Mr. Kessler. No telling what she’ll do if he mentions selling again.”
“Surely he has more sense than to accost her here. Let’s take a few more minutes to look for Poochie. I can’t rest until that statue is out of his hands and hidden away. And it has to be done tonight, because I can’t have him showing up at my house tomorrow and dumping it on me.”
As we looked for the return path, she said, “Now tell me again why we’re doing this?”
“Why, Etta Mae, all three of us are in danger of going to jail. According to Arthur, we’re thieves. I don’t want an arrest on my record, or on yours, either, and he’s furious enough to push it as far as he can. He’d take great pleasure in seeing whoever has the statue behind bars. And I’ve just been elected president of the Lila Mae Harding Sunday School. Can you imagine?” I paused as a shudder ran across my shoulders at the thought. “And you wouldn’t believe the uproar it would cause if Sam and Lillian and Hazel Marie knew what I’d been up to. And Lloyd, too, to say nothing of Mr. Pickens. Just think about it. Climbing up to the highest point in Abbot County and being shot at comes close to being the most unlikely thing I’ve ever done. If it got out, I’d be bandied around town as having lost all sense of decorum and perspective. Besides,” I went on, “I sort of promised Sam I’d never endanger life and limb again, which as you know I went right ahead and did, and, according to that Indian giver, Arthur Kessler, I’ve become a thief in the process.”
“Oh,” she said, ducking under a branch. Then she came to a halt. “Wait, I have an idea. Why don’t we walk toward Jefferson Street before we go back to the party and see if Poochie’s truck is there?”
I immediately swerved to the right and took off down a wider path, wondering why I hadn’t thought of it myself. “We should’ve done this in the first place. There’s a gate in Mildred’s brick wall somewhere down here. It’s where Robert has supplies unloaded.”
We found the gate and slipped through it onto the sidewalk behind the house, seeing lines of guest cars parked on both sides of the street just as they were on Polk. Once we were free of the bushes and trees in the yard, I could see more clearly by the streetlights at each end of the block and a few house lights across the street.
“Walk down that way, Etta Mae,” I said, “and see if you see his truck. I’ll go this way and we’ll meet on the other side of the street.”
She nodded and left. I set off, too, grateful for the tall brick wall at the back of Mildred’s property. No one at the soiree would be able to see me. Nonetheless, I hurried past, looking intently for a listing and rusted-out pickup that was Lady Justice’s temporary chariot.
Crossing the street at the corner and heading for the middle of the block, I saw Etta Mae running toward me. “He’s here,” she panted as we met. “He parked down at the end on a yellow line. He got the instructions wrong and thought he was supposed to wait in the truck.” She grinned. “He says he’s about to starve to death, smelling that barbecue and not being able to have any.”
“Well, he can hold his horses a while longer,” I said, striking off with her. “We could’ve already been through with it if he’d done what he was told.”
And wouldn’t you know, there he was, grinning as he leaned against the side of his truck, waiting for us. No telling who had seen him, either, since he’d parked directly under a streetlight.
“I was about to give up on you,” he said, pushing himself upright. “And go on and get myself some of that barbecue.”
“We were waiting on you,” I said sharply, “but never mind that now. Let’s get the statue out and under cover as quickly as we can. Poochie, you get up in the bed and hand her down.”
He hopped up and spent some nerve-racking time fiddling with something. When my patience had about worn thin, he lifted the statue and slid it over the tailgate. Etta Mae and I grabbed hold and brought her down, completely wrapped in the drop cloth.
“My word,” I said, marveling at Poochie’s sense of modesty. “I didn’t expect her to be in a shroud, but that’s very sensitive of you, Poochie. Are you sure she’s in this thing?”
“That’s her, all right. You meet anybody, they won’t know what you got.”
Yes, I thought, they’ll just think we’re moving a body, but I said, “Come on, Etta Mae, grab your end and let’s get going. Poochie, you can go on and eat, but not a word to anybody, you hear? I’ll get with you on Monday to look at trucks.”
“Oh, I’ll jus’ go on with you,” he said with that inane smile. “I ain’t in that big of a hurry.”
“Well, listen, Poochie, there’s been a change of plans. At first we were going to let you take all the credit for saving the statue since it was all your doing from start to finish.”
“It was?”
“Yes, I mean, no, but we wanted you to be the hero. But now we have a big problem. Mr. Kessler is saying that we stole the statue, but he doesn’t know it was us. So we not only have to hide this thing, we can’t let anyone know that we know anything about it. You understand?”
“Sure,” he said around what appeared to be an uncomprehending smile. “Just make out like I don’t know nothing.”
“That’s it, exactly. Now let’s get this thing hidden.”
Looking both ways and seeing no one, I lifted the head end of the statue and pulled Etta Mae across Jefferson and through the gate into the yard, Poochie right behind us. Ducking under some hemlock branches and noting how dark it was along the path, I hurried toward the potting shed.
As I rounded a curve in the path, entering the small clearing in front of the shed, I saw the flare of a match or the flash of some kind of light inside. I came to an abrupt halt.
Etta Mae didn’t and Lady Justice almost shot through my grasp.
“Hold up, Etta Mae,” I whispered. “There’s somebody in the shed.” I crouched down and felt her do the same.
“Who is it?” she whispered back.
“I don’t know. Two people, I think.”
Poochie duckwalked up close. “I bet it’s somebody doin’ what they ought not be doin’,” he said with a soft laugh.
The last thing I wanted was to come up on a pair of secret lovers. What other people do is no business of mine, except now that we were so close, it would be interesting to know who they were.
“Sh-h-h, let’s get out of sight.” I began to creep toward a clump of boxwoods near the shed, drawing the statue and Etta Mae along with me. “Maybe they’ll leave in a few minutes.”
They didn’t. They kept talking and, as we huddled together beside the shed, Etta Mae started flipping the statue over. Before I knew it, she had the four of us—me, Poochie, herself and Lady Justice—covered with the heavy drop cloth.
“Camouflage,” she whispered.
Lord, it was hot under there, and smelly, too. No telling where that canvas had been, or Poochie, either. Then, glancing sharply at Etta Mae, even though I couldn’t see her, my mouth opened in surprise. I recognized one of the voices.
Arthur Kessler was laying down the law to somebody, although his voice was hushed and I could only pick up a few words. “…you responsible,” he said. “You brought me in, and now I need…for the next payment…minimum down to demolish…”
Another voice, pleading, almost whining, whispered back, “It wasn’t me…. He brought me in, too.”
“I don’t care. What do you think’s…that pile of bricks? You get Stroud back here any way you can, or I’m going to…”
“But, Arthur…”
I clamped my hand over my mouth to muffle a gasp. It was Horace Allen who was doing the pleading. And being threatened, too. Their footsteps shuffled on the floor of the shed and more whispered words drifted out as they headed for the open door.
I clamped down on Etta Mae’s arm and scrooched lower under the drop cloth.
The whispering men stepped outside and stopped. I could’ve reached out and touched one of them. But I didn’t. I tried to make myself smaller, sensing the tension between them.
“Listen, Arthur,” Horace said, barely above a whisper, “he’s got the money. Mine, too, remember, and nobody knows where he is, much less me. How am I supposed to find him?”
“You get this and you get it good,” Arthur Kessler said. “I’ve put the last cent I’m putting into this venture, and as far as I’m concerned what’s left of the courthouse can just sit there. The county can repossess it. I didn’t sign on to be investigated by the FBI. I’m getting out.” I heard him move away, then, as if turning back, he said, “And one more thing. Nobody knows that you and Stroud were backing me, and it better stay that way. So you keep your mouth shut.”
“But, Arthur, it’s me that’ll be left holding the bag. If you leave and they don’t find Stroud, what’ll I do?”
“That’s your problem. The whole town’s crazy, anyway.”
“Wait. Wait, don’t leave,” Horace said, trying to whisper but not quite making it. “What’re you going to do?”
There was a moment of silence when it seemed that Mr. Kessler wasn’t going to answer. Then he said with an immoderate tone of self-assurance. “First, I’m getting some investors I can trust, not that it’s any of your business. Then I’m putting in a golf course on some county property I’ve found. You and Stroud can take care of yourselves.”
Etta Mae’s hand dug into my shoulder so tightly that I almost yelped. “Granny’s farm!” she hissed.
We heard the swish of branches as one or the other of them strode off toward the soiree. I heard Horace’s voice recede as he followed, pleading, “But, Arthur,” one more time, but I could find no compassion in my heart for him. I flung off the canvas camouflage and rose from our hiding place, filled with an outrage like I’d never felt before. My strategy had worked, all right—Arthur was fed up with the town and was scrapping plans for a high-rise—but a lot of good it was doing me. There he went, blithely walking away from the mess he’d created on Main Street. He would be gone, as I’d wanted, but so was our historic courthouse. It was a bitter pill to swallow, and I was nearly choking on it. But my outrage was nothing like Etta Mae’s. I could sense the fury building up in her as she sprang to her feet and started after them.
“Wait, Etta Mae,” I said, stumbling after her. “Let’s hide this thing first, then we’ll get him. He won’t get away.”
She barely slowed down. “You better believe he won’t.”
I took off down the path behind her, calling back over my shoulder, “Take care of the statue, Poochie.” My heart was pounding as I slipped between the bushes that crowded the path, anxious to catch Etta Mae before she publicly flew into Arthur Kessler. He’d wanted to see the natives in their natural habitat, but, believe me, when one of our natives gets up a head of steam, he’d see a lot more than he wanted. Just read the police reports in the Abbotsville Times.