“See you tomorrow. Gotta run some errands,” I tell Doc and Loretta at three o’clock, then thread my way through the people, dogs, and cats in the waiting room. My heart’s kicking like a just-shorn sheep. Junie was right this morning about visiting that damn sheriff, but it’s still scary to do.
The whole way over to the sheriff’s office in Blaylock, I’m nervous as a June bug come the first of July. This town’s the county seat and a heck of a lot bigger than Bucktown. Big difference I can see is stoplights. Bucktown’s got none, so when folks visit, they don’t know how to stop and go, never mind what to do with the yellow light.
I drive around the municipal building and park. A handwritten sign on the door says to go around front, and my stomach sinks to my toes. You never know who’s driving by, and this whole county’s nosier than Satan searching for sin.
I put my head down and walk around the building real fast, then tug open the heavy glass door. A lady with those half-glasses perched on her nose is at a wooden desk, beating her computer keys something ferocious. Her fingers in midair, she doesn’t look at me. “What can I do for you?”
I fiddle with a couple of threads attached inside my jeans pocket. “I need to speak with Sheriff Fletcher, please.” I'll be real polite first.
A shadow of a smile passes over her face. “You’re in luck; he just walked in. What’s your name?”
“Violette Sinclair.”
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to give you a minute of his time. What’s this regarding?”
“Uh, it’s private—if that’s okay.”
She stares at me, less friendly than before, but gets up, knocks on a door that says Sheriff Boyd Fletcher, and walks in.
I take time to eyeball the place. On a bulletin board behind the lady’s desk is a tacked-up group of creepy-looking people with the title: Missouri’s Ten Most Wanted. The creepiest is a guy with dead eyes named Rucker Hicks, wanted for arson and dogfighting. That may be something to tell Doc. Hearing a door open, I turn around, my body all quaky.
The secretary scoots out of his office, and the sheriff follows behind her. “Well, hello, young lady. What brings you for a visit?” Sheriff Fletcher, black hair slicked back, lean and rangy in his perfectly pressed tan uniform, is all smiles. When he offers to shake my hand, I see he’s wearing a giant Bucktown High School ring.
I swallow too hard. “Would you mind if we went somewhere private, Sheriff?”
A flicker passes across his light blue eyes, then is gone. “How’s about we talk in my office? That private enough for you?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nods toward the door, and I’m amazed my legs hold me up.
The sheriff’s desk is like the receptionist’s, only bigger and a lot messier. The scent of cigars hangs heavy in the air, which is strange, because I’m pretty sure you can’t smoke in a public building anymore.
Stepping around his desk, Sheriff Fletcher covers some papers with a yellow folder. If you ask me, there’s nothing to hide. He’s stalling, thinking about why I’m here, and I’m thinking he already knows why I’m here. “Have a seat and talk to me,” he says, pointing to one of the heavy wooden chairs facing the desk.
I sit down sort of awkward-like and glance at my hands. They’re rough from using so much water at work. My nails are broken, and there are dirt stains underneath that won’t come out. I tuck them between the backs of my legs and the wooden seat. “I’ve come about Dale Woodbine.”
Sheriff Fletcher drums his fingers lightly on his desk and sunlight from the window makes the huge red stone in his ring sparkle. “Meaning?” His voice is different, guarded.
“Meaning he’s threatened to do me harm twice, and to kill me and my mama once, then said he’d… hurt my little sister if I spoke to you.” The words tumble out too fast; my face is hot, and my body’s all wobbly.
“Dale?” he asks, like he’s surprised Dale would even say a cuss word. “Why would he do any of that to your family? Who is your family?”
A slight tic twitches above my right eye. “Sheriff, I’m being real respectful, but you know who my family is. The Sinclairs? We’re born and bred in these parts for near two hundred years.”
He glances away. “Oh, yes. I seem to remember the name. Well, Miss… Sinclair.” He steeples his fingers on his desk the way I hate. “Problem is there’s nothing I can do. You see, there has to be more than a threat. Otherwise, it’s your word against his. Anyone hear him make these… so-called threats?”
“No, sir. He always does it when no one’s around but me.” The second I say those words, I know they’re a mistake.
He opens the steeple and places his hands palms up on the desk.
“Well, then, like I stated, it’s a he said, she said kind of thing, and, without evidence, your story won’t fly.” Pushing back his chair, he stands up and offers his hand again. I stand and shake it but don’t want to. “Miss Sinclair, I thank you for stopping by and introducing yourself. Always glad to meet a fellow citizen. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
He walks around his desk, then stops and puts a finger to his lips. “You know. About Dale. Sure, he’s got himself into some mischief, time to time. But he’s the kind of fellow who’d do anything for you. All you have to do is ask.”
My breath catches in my throat, and I try hard not to cough. “Really?”
“And, uh, Miss Sinclair, at this time he’s hurting bad because his mama just passed on. He was real close to her, being the baby and all. Why, after the doctors said there was nothing left to do, he even brought in some Ozark healers to help, but it was too late, or else they were no good. It’d be best if we all give him a little time.”
Oh, my God! Was Mama one of them? Did she promise Dale to heal his mama and fail? I try to concentrate on the sheriff, but the conversation at Shine-A-Mite with Junior about broken promises has taken over my brain. I force myself to concentrate on Sheriff Fletcher. “Thank you for listening to me. I’ll be going now,” I say in a voice as polite as peach pie. I’m not willing to burn any bridges, even with this lily-livered crook of a lawman.
Stamping into the house, I’m still steamed about talking with the sheriff this afternoon. I’m scared as hell too.
“Where you been?” Mama says in a snappish voice.
“Nowhere. Just a little late from work’s all.”
“That’s not what I hear tell. Dewlene Jessop spotted you going in the sheriff’s office in Blaylock. She called just to let me know.” Mama puts the stink-eye real hard on me. “What you playing at, girl? Don’t go lying, or you’ll find yourself without a roof over your head.”
I make my eyes all squinty and wonder in a vague way how Mama likes some of her own medicine. “You gave me no choice. When somebody threatens three members of a family, you have to do something. End of story.” I leave her in the front room with her secrets and her Bible. I need to see my sister.
Jessie’s sprawled all over her bed, talking so fast it could make you dizzy. Piles of her clothes are heaped on the floor even though she has her own chifforobe like I do. Stepping over them, I say, “Can we talk a minute?”
She clamps a hand hard over her phone and pitches me a filthy glance. “You got eyes to see I’m in the middle of an important conversation. You’re just gonna have to wait until me and Jewel’s done.” Working her jaws, she blows a huge bubble, pops it like a pink punctuation mark, and goes back to the phone.
The front porch is always a lot friendlier than inside, so I wander out and sit on the top step, where the scent of rich soil greets my nose and calms me down. A soft breeze is blowing in from the west, and I’d give most anything to ride it to a place far away from here; maybe St. Louis, or Indianapolis, or Cincinnati, where somebody waits to love me and share my life.
Locusts are already singing on the evening air. The loneliest sound I’ve ever heard, they always remind me school’s around the corner. One more year, and I’m out of here for good. Only thing I’ll miss about this awful place is Junie’s friendship; seeing him most every day and counting on him for the only kindness in my life.
After about fifteen minutes, Jessie wanders outside and sits down next to me. “Now, what the hell couldn’t wait a bit of time.”
“More threats of Dale Woodbine hurting you real bad, that’s what.”
It gets her attention.
Jessie has herself a steady bubble gum rhythm going, like her mouth’s fixing to jump rope. She blows a champion-sized bubble, then sucks it in with a backwards swooshing sound. “Like I told you before, I don’t buy any of this yarn you’re putting to me. Dale—whoever he is—wouldn’t go gunnin’ after you on account of our Mama couldn’t cure his mama. I agree with Junior on that one. Old-timey stuff’s what it is, pure and simple. And your Sheriff Fletcher story doesn’t make a lick of sense. He wouldn’t stick his nose in something this… little. I mean, what’s in it for him? You know good as I do that’s not how he operates.”
“Yeah, I thought of that, too. But what if Dale and the sheriff are in cahoots about something to do with us, and they stick together for that reason?”
Jess picks a sliver of popped bubble gum off her lip. “Maybe. Only maybe.”
“Well, what he really said was for me not to go to the law or he’d…you know.”
“Okay, so you and Dale got… gay issues, Vi. And where Mama’s concerned, it could be about anything, living here her whole life; you know, pissing off people. She can do that real good. Well, I’m not gay. I love guys.”
“Yeah, too much.”
“Oh, get real. You know what I mean.”
But she actually gives me a big old smile, and I consider it a gift.