Ned and Burl, Chanceville's Newest Detectives

BBB had been found in a burnt up car parked next to the woods near the cabin where High Horse Harry lived. The registration in the glove compartment had not burned up. His name was Bertram Benedict Bunnington.

Now Sheriff Yesper Orange may not have seemed like the sharpest knife in the drawer. That was a clever ruse. His hooded eyes with its wrinkled lids, like a turtle’s, didn’t miss a trick. When he was scooping up what remained of Harry, he noticed some sort of medal. He would have to check that out later. For now, Harry’s remains were safe and Yesper could sift through the ashes for clues when all the fuss died down.

Of course, the Blind Poodle Sisters couldn’t see him, but a few days after High Horse Harry died, a stranger had been walking past their house several times a day. Was he watching them or High Horse Harry? A few days after Harry went up in smoke, the stranger approached Nanette and Babette when they left the house without their maid, Poppy. He had a quiet conversation with them as they walked along.

“Hello, Lovely Ladies,” he said.

“Oo, I like your voice,” said Babette. “Who might you be?”

“I’m the man who would like to ask  a favor,” said the stranger.

“What kind of favor?” asked Nanette giggling into her hand.

“I’d like permission to erect a life-size carousel horse in your front yard in honor of High Horse Harry,” he told them.

“Did you know him?” asked the sisters in unison.

“Let’s just say I’m an admirer of his,” answered the stranger.

“Will it have lots of color?” asked Babette?

“Of course, that’s the beauty of carousel horses,” he answered.

“Deal,” said the sisters in unison again. “Just make sure there's lots of color.” The twins had such vivid memories of color and surrounded themselves with as much color as they possibly could, the brighter, the better. Even though they couldn't see it, it made them smile to think of all the color in the world. 

“Much obliged, ladies,” said the stranger. “I promise; you won’t be sorry you agreed to this.”

“One more thing,” said the stranger. “If I find out that you mentioned this conversation to anyone, and believe me, I will know, you will not get a colorful horse and we will never meet again.” The ladies only nodded in agreement.

With that the stranger took first Babette's and then Nanette’s right hand and kissed it, his fingers lingering a moment on the twins matching opal and diamond rings, a gift from their father on their sixteenth birthdays. The sisters continued down the street twittering into their freshly kissed hands, not caring a fig about the carousel horse, but really hoping they would meet the stranger again and hear his melodious voice once more.

The folks of Chanceville couldn’t talk about anything else but the shocking demise of High Horse Harry. Sid Topp had to order extra coffee because so many people hung around at the diner long after they’d finished their meals to dissect, so to speak, not only what happened to Harry, but also, who he actually might be.

Geraldine Nurse, town librarian, supposed he might be an army deserter hiding behind that beard, long hair and cowboy hat that seemed like a good disguise to her.

Hubert Patterson reckoned that Harry might be his long lost Uncle George who had run away with the circus 30 years ago. Clearly, Hubert had forgotten his Uncle George was only about 5’6” tall and had curly red hair and he would be about a hundred years old by now.

“The last time I remember hearing Harry rant was a couple of weeks ago,” said Mr. Williams, The Younger. “He was going on about crossing a buzzard with a butterfly. His new creature would look much more beautiful than a dirty old buzzard as it pulled out the guts of some possum lying on the side of the road.”

“Well, I say, Harry was just a crazy old buzzard himself and not too pretty to look at,” said Hubert, as he not too daintily slurped his coffee from a saucer.

Maxine Crabtree, Zealous Hospital Volunteer announced loudly that Harry paid the ultimate price for being an unrepentant sinner. Although, when pressed by the patrons of the diner she could not say exactly what Harry’s sins might have been.

“I don’t rightly know. He just had the look of a sinner about him,” said Mrs. Crabtree defensively. Everyone in the diner knew that Mrs. Crabtree believed the whole town was teeming with sinners.

By now, Sid Topp had heard all he ever wanted to hear about High Horse Harry. Sid wasn’t an unfeeling man; he did feel sorry for poor old Harry. But enough was enough. When the good people of Chanceville started chewing on a bone, they wouldn’t let go. Besides, if he had to keep filling up all of the “bottomless” coffee cups, Harry’s death could turn into a losing proposition here at the Tip Topp.

Fern Oldhat, who loved a good fugitive from justice story, reckoned High Horse Harry was a Nazi war criminal who never made it to South America.

“I still can’t believe it. I guess I ought to count my blessings that I wasn’t hit also, ” said Tarsal Henley. He had thrown out the clothes he was wearing the day the lightning hit Harry, but no matter how many times he showered, he thought he could still smell that stench.

“I’m sure Harry wasn’t too thrilled about it either,” said Sid Topp as he poured Tarsal another cup of coffee.

“ I wonder what Sheriff Orange did with the ashes?” asked Hal Hendricks, owner of Hendricks Funeral Parlor and Wax Museum, having a vested interest in the remains of the people of Chanceville.

“I saw him sweep them up in a bucket, “ said Charlie Towne, the train stationmaster.

“You’ll have to ask him what he did with them after that,” said Sid.

“That I will,” answered Hal as he perused the menu, looking for something new on a menu that never changed.

“It’s just too weird,” said Tarsal as he headed out the door.

A few minutes later, Ned Cochran and Mrs. Burl Tree entered the diner and took a seat at the counter. Everyone was glad that Tarsal had left before Ned arrived. They’d had enough drama lately.

“How you doing, Mrs. Tree?” asked Ned.

“Not too bad, thanks,” she replied. “Still in shock like everyone else, I spose.”

“True. Harry came here as a mystery and left here in another one,” replied Ned.

“Sure would be interesting if we could find out who High Horse Harry really was and where he came from,” said Ned. “I guess we’ll never know.”

“We might be able to find out something,” said Mrs. Tree as every head turned toward her.

“What do you mean?” asked Sid as he served Ned and Mrs. Tree the meatloaf special.

“Maybe we could go have a look in his cabin. I haven’t been in there since he moved in,” said Mrs. Tree. “Would you consider taking me over there, Ned?”

“Of course,” he answered quickly. “When would you like to go?”

“How about after we finish eating? It’s too far back in the woods for me to walk, but I think we can get there in your truck,” she said.

Cora Jean the gum-popping snappy-talking waitress at the diner said, “Hey, I finish my shift in half an hour, how ‘bout if I go with you guys?”

To Ned’s relief, Sid reminded Cora Jean that she had promised to work an extra shift that day because Jenetta Joyner the other waitress at the Tip Topp  had told Sid she was having her bicuspidor removed this afternoon. Ned didn’t think he could stand listening to Cora Jean’s gum popping the rest of the day.

High Horse Harry

For about a year High Horse Harry had stood, rain, or shine, six days a week at the corner of Main Street and Main Avenue, in front of the blind Poodle sisters’ house, shouting to the world his thoughts on everything. No one knew what his name really was or where he came from. He simply appeared one day and began yelling. Shortly after he appeared, someone had dubbed him High Horse Harry and the name stuck.

Harry never talked to anyone or answered any questions. He stood and shouted at the world for two hours every morning and then disappeared back into the woods to an abandoned cabin that sat at the back of old Mrs. Burl Tree’s property. It was so old; even she couldn’t remember anything about it. Mrs. Tree let Harry stay there. He was harmless and it was kind of nice to know that someone was around since her husband had died two years ago.

The cabin had no running water and probably never had electricity; even so, Harry always appeared fairly clean. He looked to be over six feet tall. He wore bib overalls that were always a little too short, a plaid shirt, a greasy looking cowboy hat and a woolen poncho in bad weather. His dark hair and beard were long, but not unkempt. If you got close enough to look, which few people did, you could see piercing green eyes under shaggy black eyebrows.

Most days people tolerated or just plain ignored Harry, but today was not going to be one of those days because Tarsal Henley was nearing the corner of Main Street and Main Avenue. Now Tarsal had never been known for his patience or tolerance and today was no exception. He usually managed to avoid that particular corner, but he woke up spoiling for a fight and High Horse Harry seemed like a good place to start.

“Never plant an elm tree near a maple,” yelled Harry. “They are sworn enemies and will uproot each other given half a chance.”

“You’re an idiot, High Horse Harry,” said Tarsal in a vain attempt to out yell Harry.

“And about as bright as those morons who think dogs have souls. You’d better get the hell out of here cause I’m getting real close to slugging you.”

“So what you need to do is plant an oak between the maple and the elm because acorns are known far and wide as peacekeepers,” said Harry. “ There will be no warring tree shenanigans in their presence.”

“Did you hear me, Harry? Did you HEAR me?” screamed Tarsal.

“Some folks think it’s the dogwood that is the peacekeeper, but they’d be wrong. Dogwoods stir up as much trouble as elms and maples, they’re just sneakier about it so people don’t catch on.”

With that last statement Tarsal had had about all he could take and he was raring back his fist when the clock on the courthouse struck twelve. Harry’s quitting time. He stepped down from the rickety old crate that served as his soapbox and walked away from Tarsal and headed for the woods. That was when Tarsal jumped on Harry’s crate and smashed it to smithereens.

Tarsal headed straight for the Tip Topp diner where Mrs. Tree happened to be having lunch. Everybody was complaining about everything. The whole town had been cranky since that dang feud over dog’s souls had caused the church to split. Mrs. Tree, who was normally a patient person, was starting to feel a little on the snappish side herself.

Sid Topp was behind the counter as usual. As soon as he saw Tarsal Henley come in the door, he could tell Tarsal was fired up even more than usual, which was considerable.

“Anything besides coffee today, Tarsal?” asked Sid as he sat a mug of strong black coffee in front of Tarsal, who flopped down on the stool with a thud.

“High Horse Harry is getting on my last nerves. I’ve a good mind to run him out of town,” said Tarsal between coffee slurps.

“Oh, shut up, Tarsal Henley. You big blowhard,” said Mrs. Tree.

Every head in the diner snapped to attention. For a few seconds, it seemed as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room. A chorus of throats cleared and everyone became very interested in their eggs. Sid looked at Mrs. Tree and mouthed, Thank you. The majority of the citizens of Chanceville had wanted to tell Tarsal Henley to shut up for years now.

For once in his life, Tarsal has the good sense to zip it. He knew that if he talked back to sweet old Mrs. Tree, that he might be the one run out of town instead of High Horse Harry. But, typical Tarsal style, he couldn’t leave without making some sort of statement. He slammed his mug down sloshing coffee everywhere, stood up, threw his money at Sid, and stomped out. It was then that everyone burst out laughing.

About a week later a shellacked wooden box appeared at the corner of Main Street and Main Avenue. On each side was painted a beautiful carousel horse. A crowd was gathering to examine the box and take bets on whether High Horse Harry would actually stand on this work of art. And stand, he did. Harry walked right to it, stepped up, and stood on the box as if it were the same old rickety crate he had used all those months.

Two weeks later, High Horse Harry was standing on his corner shouting about the evils of marshmallows. The sky was a menacing color of purple and people were passing by at an even faster pace than usual, scurrying to get out of the impending storm. No one noticed that Harry had moved on to a new topic.

“Rabbits are the spawn of the devil,” yelled Harry. “Their slimy little noses twitch out Morse Code messages from Satan. Yesterday, a little white rabbit told me the devil is holding Abraham Lincoln hostage.”

He said this just as the rain hit and a loud clap of thunder rattled the windows of the Poodle house. It was about that time that Tarsal Henley was scurrying by. Zap! A bolt of lightening hit the metal beads on the band of High Horse Harry’s cowboy hat. Poof! Harry was gone. All that was left were the smoldering remains of the wooden box.

The rain stopped as suddenly as it had come. As a crowd began to gather, Tarsal was still standing there. He appeared to be dumbstruck, but everyone knew that wouldn’t last long. The blind Poodle sisters hurried down their sidewalk to find out what all the commotion was about. They were waving their white canes around, hitting Tarsal on the shins, causing him to come out of his stupor.

“What the heck?” said Tarsal as he blinked in an attempt to focus his eyes.

“Is that you Tarsal Henley? You smell like a wood stove,” said Babette or was it Annette Poodle? Before Tarsal could answer, the sisters’ maid, Poppy, came out to herd the sisters back in before Tarsal started fighting with them. The news about what happened to Harry spread quickly and everyone wanted to stand around and gawk at the smoldering pile of ashes.

Finally, Sheriff Yesper Orange came along and dispersed the crowd. He had brought along a shovel and bucket and scooped up the remains of the box and what was left of High Horse Harry. Sheriff Orange borrowed a garden hose and a broom from the Poodle sisters and with Poppy’s help they got the sidewalk cleaned off.

The Sheriff took the bucket of ashes back to his office and placed them in a shoebox. He taped it up with duct tape, wrote HHH on it, and locked it in the office safe. He would soon place an identical box labeled BBB. Before long he would have to decide what to do about tracking down Harry’s true identity.

Tammy and Peggy Measure Up

The newlyweds spent another two days in Chicago, sight seeing by day, long leisurely dinners in the evening, and quiet lovemaking at night. Hal was gentle and patient with Tammy. He never made the connection that it was his profession that caused Tammy’s reticence in bed, he assumed it was his age. Tammy loved Hal for many reasons, but even with her previous non-existent experience, Hal seemed a little unimaginative in that department. But it was mainly the dead who seemed to follow him everywhere that she couldn’t get past. She was careful with his feelings and would never tell him that it was his work that put her off. Because, really, what could he do about it? 

They settled into their quiet new life upon returning to Chanceville. Tammy, who had been raised by a very superstitious mother and grandmother, was always on edge in their home/funeral home. It didn't feel like she and Hal lived there alone. It seemed the dead not only followed Hal, they followed her. The whole place was filled with spirits and chatter. Even when she played Hal’s stuffy old classical music loudly, it still didn’t drown out the ghostly conversations.

Hal was always busy with work and his community activities so Tammy started spending more and more time in the Wax Museum. The wax figures were so poorly rendered that they weren’t life-like enough to be creepy to her, closer to comically misshapen. If you put a Nazi uniform on Charlie Chaplin, you suddenly had Adolf Hitler. Which, theoretically, doubled their inventory; all they had to do with most of them was change their costumes. Hal had proudly told her that the wax museum had been his mother’s life work. Tammy didn’t believe that the oddities of the figures were from lack of talent, but a reflection of her mother-in-law’s worldview. Fuzzy at best.

Hal’s mother, Peggy Hendricks, was currently residing at the Sally Forth Home for the Elderly and Infirm. Owned and run by former exotic dancer, Sally Forth. Hal and Tammy visited her every Sunday after church. They used to take her out for a meal, but Peggy kept trying to go back to the kitchen at the Tip Topp diner, thinking she should be cooking Sunday dinner. They began stopping by the diner on the way and brought chicken dinners for the three of them.

“I don’t think I got a very good do on the mashed potatoes. They seem a little runny,” said Peggy with a mouthful.

Tammy reached over with her napkin and tenderly wiped the old lady’s chin. She reminded Peggy of her own grandmother, chin hairs and all. She wondered if she could tactfully offer to help the old lady with some personal grooming. 

“No, Mother,” said Hal. “The meal is perfect, especially the potatoes. Thanks for making them; you know they’re my favorite.”

Mrs. Hendricks smiled a wide baked bean smile at the two of them.

Tammy visited her mother-in-law a couple of days a week. If the old lady was having a good day, Tammy would sign her out and take her back to the Wax Museum. The two of them would putter around in amiable silence as they fussed with the figures. Peggy showed Tammy how to delicately clean the surface of the wax figures without damaging their skin color, which mostly seemed to be tinged with green, giving them all a slightly bilious look.

If Peggy were having a very good day, they would stop at Prissy Paulson’s Try to Measure Up Fabric Shop and buy material to fashion new outfits for some of the wax figures more tattered ensembles. Tammy’s Grandmother Vera had taught her how to sew. She was a firm taskmaster, so everything Tammy sewed was expertly done.

“Now Tammy, always thread your needle from right to left for even hand stitching. If you thread left to right, it will look like the cat sewed it,” said Grandmother Vera. Tammy was never quite sure where her grandmother got these ideas, but she certainly would never have been so rude as to question her beloved grandmother. 

She had what, to Tammy, seemed like a million of these superstitious rules for every facet of life. Tammy didn’t like to think she was superstitious herself, but she found that she automatically tried to stem the tide of bad luck and observed rituals that brought good luck to her and those she loved.

One day when Tammy went to pick up Peggy at the Sally Forth Home for the Elderly and Infirm, Peggy seemed really excited to see her.

Before Tammy even got a chance to greet her, Peggy said, “It’s time we spruced up Mrs. Clark, Pioneer Woman. Peggy alternately called Pioneer Woman, Mrs. Clark or Mrs. Lewis. Can we go to the Measure Up Fabric Shop and get some new fabric? I know exactly what I want.”

“Of course, Mother Hendricks. That sounds like fun,” said Tammy.

Peggy already had her jacket on and was in such a hurry to get out the door that she almost knocked Tammy down. As Tammy turned laughing, she, and Peggy tried to get through the door at the same time. They simultaneously snapped their fingers first on the right, then on the left to ward off evil doorway twins, saying be gone Evil Doorway Twins! This time they both burst out laughing, surprised that they knew the same superstition.

When they arrived at the Measure Up, Prissy Paulson greeted them warmly asking what she could do for them on this fine day.

“We want to spruce up our pioneer woman, Mrs. Lewis," said Peggy. 

Prissy looked at Tammy and winked. Tammy suppressed

 a giggle. It was one of Chanceville’s worst kept secrets that Mrs. Clark/Lewis resembled Mae West, Dance Hall Girl, much more than a hardscrabble, worn out Pioneer Woman.

“We have some new feed sack prints that I think would be just the thing,” said Prissy as she led them to the back of the store.

“That sounds perfect,” said Peggy and Tammy simultaneously.

“Jinx, you owe me a Coke,” said Tammy and Peggy.

Peggy picked out a soft pink and green flowered print for Mrs. Clark/Lewis’ dress and some bright blue sequined rickrack for the trim around the provocatively scooped neckline. Perfect, thought Tammy.

Tammy treated to lunch at the The Tip Topp Diner where she managed to keep Peggy out of the kitchen for once. Then they headed back to the Wax Museum to begin what could possibly be the finest effort of their partnership to date.