Mrs. Tree and Junebug Take a Nap

The next day was a Thursday and Ned knew that was Sid Topp’s day off, so he asked Sid to help him retrieve the books from Harry’s cabin. The Tip Topp diner was gossip central in Chanceville, but Ned had never known Sid to talk about any of his customers to other customers. When he told Sid what they were going to be doing and that he and Mrs. Tree thought it best to keep their mission quiet for a while, Sid agreed.

“Yeah, no need to give some of those blabbermouths anything else to chew on,” said Sid.

“You got that right,” said Ned. Sid saw a wheelbarrow and several cardboard boxes in the back of Ned's pickup and asked why they needed them.

“You’ll see why when we get to the cabin,” Ned replied.

“Okay,” replied Sid looking skeptical. He couldn’t imagine that Harry had enough belongings to fill a even one box.

When they pulled up, Ned had an uneasy feeling. The crows were gathered at the top of the old sycamore cawing loudly to each other and possibly to the two men. Ned signaled to Sid to be quiet as they walked up to the cabin’s front door, which was slightly ajar. Ned was sure he had closed it firmly. He slowly opened the door as it creaked loudly on its rusty hinges, alerting anyone inside to their presence. The crows revved up a decibel or ten. Ned and Sid stepped inside, but no one greeted them except the mice. The two men went immediately into the sleeping room.

Damn it all to hell,” said Ned as he saw that the drawers had all been pulled out and were empty.

“Ned, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse before, even when Tarsal Henley was yanking your chain,” said Sid scratching his head.

Ned and Sid hightailed it over to Mrs. Tree’s to tell her about the missing books and make sure that she had not had any problems during the night. Ned was worried about all of the noise the crows had been making every time he walked up to the cabin. When they pulled into Mrs. Tree’s drive, nothing looked out of the ordinary, but that didn’t help to alleviate Ned’s uneasiness. Sid was picking up some strange vibes, too.

“That cabin kind of gave me the creeps. Those crows were trying to tell us something. I’m sure of it. When we went inside, it felt like someone was watching us. I’m still feeling that way,” Sid told Ned.

“I know what you mean,” replied Ned. “Something’s going on or those books wouldn’t be missing. Speaking of missing. I wonder why Junebug didn’t come running out to greet us?”

“That is strange. Sometimes if Mrs. Tree is under the weather, I’ll bring out a plate from the diner for her dinner. Junebug always comes out to make sure I’m supposed to be there,” said Sid.

“You check the barn, Sid. I’ll go and check on Mrs. Tree,” said Ned.

‘Righto,” said Sid.

Sid headed for the barn calling out for Junebug. Ned walked up to Mrs. Tree’s back door and started to knock, but he could see the door was ajar. There were marks around the lock as if it had been forced open. He stepped on into the kitchen and called out to Mrs. Tree. No answer. All was quiet except for the grandfather clock ticking in the living room.

“Mrs. Tree?” Ned called again. No answer.

He went down the hall checking doors until he found her bedroom.  Mrs. Tree was still in bed, unheard of at nine o’clock in the morning for this farmer’s widow. She seemed to be sleeping soundly and was snoring lightly. He didn’t want to scare her, so he said her name again and gently patted her shoulder. Mrs. Tree slowly opened her eyes. He noticed a pungent odor in the room and started looking to see where it was coming from and noticed the corner of a white handkerchief sticking out from under the bed. When he leaned over to pick it up, he didn’t have to hold it too close to recognize that smell. Years ago, Old Doc Ivory had to pull an abscessed tooth and used chloroform on him to put him out. Ned had never forgotten that sickening smell.

“This explains why Mrs. Tree is still asleep in the middle of the morning,” Ned said, as he held out the smelly hanky toward toward Sid as he came into the room. 

"Junebug is snoring away in the barn, " said Sid. "I'd better go back out and see if I can rouse her." 

“Good  take that thing outside would you, Sid?” said Ned, handing him the handkerchief. “Would you mind making some coffee when you come back in? We need to get this lady to wake up and I don’t want to leave her alone.”

“Sure will,” said Sid. “After I’ve checked on Junebug and washed my hands real good.”

Ned opened Mrs. Tree’s bedroom window to get some fresh air in there. Then he went in the bathroom and got a cold cloth to use on her forehead. He might have to call Old Doc Trueblood if he couldn’t bring her around soon.

Ned returned with the cold damp cloth and wiped Mrs. Tree’s face with it. She opening her eyes and looked questioningly at Ned.

“What’s going on? What are you doing here?” she asked, her eyes looking pretty cloudy.

About that time Sid came in with a cup of instant coffee for the old lady. “Here you go, Mrs. Tree, maybe this will perk you up a bit,” he said as he set the mug on her nightstand. “Sweet and milky, Tip Topp Diner style, just the way you like it.”

Ned helped her to sit up in the bed propping her back with her pillows against the headboard.

“Do you have any recollection about last night?” Ned asked her.

“No. What has happened to me? Did I have a stroke?” she asked.

“Noo,” said Ned. “It looks like you and Junebug were chloroformed last night.”

“Junebug!” cried Mrs. Tree. Sid leaned over and patted her hand, “She’s fine. I brought her in the kitchen. She had a good long drink of water. Now, don't you worry, she’s coming around nicely.”

“Why would anyone chloroform me and my Junebug?”

“Well, someone took all of the books out of the cabin. I had Sid check under your guest bed and the papers that you hid in your box of photographs are gone also,” said Ned.

“That is were you put them, right?” asked Sid.

“Oh, yes. Just laid them right on top. Are my photos still there? she asked.

“Seem to be. I’ll fetch the box and you can take a look, Sid answered.

“I wouldn’t do that yet,” Ned cautioned, as he got up to leave the room. “Sheriff Orange will probably want to come out here to take a look around. We need to find out what is going on. I’m going to call him now.”

“Good idea,” said Sid. “Meantime, why don’t you come into town and stay with me and the missus until we figure out what is going on around here?”

“Good, Lord. I’m not lettin’ anyone scare me out of my own home,” she said. "And, besides, I can't leave Junebug." 

“Not up for debate,” Ned told her when he came back in the room. “The phone was dead; I went outside and found the phone line cut. You get dressed as soon as you feel like it. We’re taking you into town and paying a visit to Doc Trueblood and then on to see Sheriff Orange.”

“Yes, and I’ll call Tippy from the doc’s office to let her know you’ll be staying with us,” said Sid, holding up his hand to fend off any protest from Mrs. Tree.

“And I’ll take Junebug home with me,” said Ned. “She’ll feel at home on the farm.”

They loaded a still groggy Junebug into the back of the pickup and Sid rode in the back with her so she wouldn’t be scared. They dropped her off at the farm and briefly filled Gardenia in about the latest events.

“Now, don’t say a word, Honey Bunch, said,” Ned, already knowing he was wasting his breath. 

Sid winked at Mrs. Terry. They both knew full well that, even with a gun to her head, Gardenia Cochran would have a hard time keeping her mouth shut, and since Ned had only given her a couple of facts, they also knew that she was quite capable of filling in the blanks where she felt it was needed.

Ned and Burl Find Some Clues

Mrs. Tree said she thought it was best for now if just the two of them went. She promised to let everyone know if they found anything interesting.

“Sounds good to me,” said Ned as he shoveled in another mouthful of mashed potatoes.

And that’s how they discovered some clues about High Horse Harry.

Ned picked Mrs. Tree up at her house after they finished lunch. It was a good thing he had running boards on his truck or he might never have gotten that tiny lady up in the cab of his truck. They bumped along an old logging road for about a mile. Tarsal parked in a clearing in front of the cabin and helped Mrs. Tree get down from the cab. It was a sunny day, but the tall oak trees around it heavily shaded the cabin so Ned retrieved a couple of flashlights from his toolbox.

What Ned didn't notice was a dark Ford sedan following him almost all the way to Mrs. Tree’s. The stranger parked about a mile past her property and walked through the woods following them at a safe distance.

“I know High Horse Harry is gone, but it still doesn’t feel right entering this cabin,” remarked Mrs. Tree.

“I know what you mean,” said Ned. “ It feels kind of spooky here. Those crows are having a fit about something.”

Mrs. Tree didn’t seem to notice the crows, but Ned always paid attention to their calls. It was never idle chatter. As Mrs. Tree went ahead, Ned stood stock-still, looked around and listened for other sounds besides the raucous cawing. Nothing.

“Probably warning each other about a hawk or something,” he said as he caught up to Mrs. Tree. They entered a surprisingly clean and tidy cabin. It was apparent by the spareness of the cabin that High Horse Harry owned very little, which would make their search easier, but probably not too fruitful.

It hadn’t taken long for the mice to move in. As soon as Ned and Mrs. Tree walked in,  mice scattered everywhere.

“I’ll look high and you look low,” said Ned. Mrs. Tree nodded and they began their search in silence.

They looked in all the usual places, in the one cabinet in the kitchen, under the nasty old mattress, and the tall and surprisingly solid chest of drawers in the sleeping room. The chest of drawers did not contain clothes; every drawer was filled with books. As Ned and Mrs. Tree took a few books out to sample Harry’s reading tastes they were surprised to discover he apparently loved great works of literature, if, indeed, these were his books. His copy of War and Peace was filled with marginalia. They found the works of Voltaire, Dumas, and Descartes in the original French. In those volumes, the marginalia were in French.

“I guess there was way more to Harry than met the eye,” said Ned scratching his chin.

“It would be a shame to let the mice get to these wonderful books,” Mrs. Tree replied.“I’d be happy to store them, if you want to load them in your truck and take them to my house.”

“Good idea. I’ll come back tomorrow with some help and a wheel barrow and we’ll bring them to your house,” said Ned.

“Okay, but pick someone who’s not a gossip. It doesn’t feel right to have nosey nellies snooping around in here,” she said as Ned nodded in agreement.

They went back into the kitchen to have one more look around. Mrs. Tree even lifted the handles on the old wood cook stove. They were just about ready to give up when Mrs. Tree decided to check the ash pan under the stove. At first glance it looked like just a thick layer of ash, but she wanted to be sure. She went outside and got a stick so she wouldn’t have to touch the ash as she moved it around. The stick hit something solid.

She called Ned from the sleeping room. “Look at this,” she said as she carefully lifted an ash-covered envelope from the pan.

“Lay it on the table,” said Ned.

He pulled a rag from his hip pocket and carefully removed the contents of the envelope. They took the pages from the packet of papers and lay then out on the rickety old table. They looked like legal documents. They decided to take the papers back to Mrs. Tree’s where they could look at them more comfortably and in better light. As they headed to the truck, they heard a rustle and saw a shadow move around the corner of the cabin. Ned ran around the corner to check it out, but found no one there.

When they pulled into Mrs. Tree’s driveway her mutt Junebug came running out of the barn barking and yipping at Ned’s truck.

“She’s a great watchdog. She always lets me know when someone's around. She’ll stop barking when she sees you. It’s your truck she doesn’t recognize,” said Mrs. Tree. Sure enough, as soon as Ned stepped out of his truck Junebug came running up, wagging her tail.

While Ned was laying out the papers on Mrs. Tree’s dining room table, she made coffee and sliced up some pineapple upside down cake for them to nibble on. There were two people named in the documents: Porter Pander and Joshua Moot. It appeared they had entered into a business partnership producing a product named Quacks, which neither Ned nor Mrs. Tree had ever heard of.

“It looks like this one here is something about a law suit,” said Ned holding up a yellowed page.

“It’s hard to make out, but it looks like the name Bertram Benedict Bunnington, Attorney, or some such. They sat and discussed the possibilities of what these papers could mean over their cake and coffee. Ned sure did love Mrs. Tree’s pineapple upside down cake.

"I’d best be on my way. I’ve got to go back into town and stop by Steele’s Hardware Store. I don’t want to get into trouble for being late. It’s not good to get on the bad side of Gardenia. She might be named after a fragrant flower, but she can be as prickly as a cactus,” said Ned

“What should we do with these papers?” asked Mrs. Tree stifling a yawn. She had missed her afternoon nap and even the coffee wasn’t perking her up. It had been a big day for her.

“Boy, that’s a good question,” said Ned taking his cap off and scratching his head. “Why don’t you keep them until we have more time to read all of this legal mumbo jumbo and decide if there’s someone else who should know about this.”

“Sounds good. I’ll put them in my box of photographs I keep under the bed in the spare room,” she replied.

“Great. When I come back for the books tomorrow we’ll decide what our next step is going to be,” said Ned.

“Nighty, night,” said Mrs. Tree.

Ned didn’t notice the tall figure lurking in the shadows as he headed to his truck.

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.

Hal and Tammy's Honeymoon. Sweet Suite

In another part of Chanceville Tammy Hendricks, wife of Hal Hendricks, owner of Hendricks Funeral Parlor and Wax Museum was so dissatisfied with her life that at age twenty-five, she was thinking of running away from home. Maybe she had that seven-year itch, that she had heard about.  Hal was ten years older than her. He was so old fashioned that he looked and acted more like fifty than forty. She couldn’t picture him as a little boy. He was one of those people who seemed to be born old. It wasn’t as if he were a bad man. He was kind and provided for her well. Hal didn’t believe women should work outside the home. She was just so bored out of her skull that she felt like screaming along with chiming of the courthouse clock every hour on the hour.

Her father had left Tammy and her mother when Tammy was only two. She had no memory of him. Her mother died when Tammy was 18. Hal was very sweet to her when she made her mother’s funeral arrangements. She was alone in the world and after the funeral he helped her to settle her mother’s affairs, what little there was to be settled. He spent a lot of time with her, holding her when she cried. Tammy told him she didn’t know what she would do without him. And she meant it. She was vulnerable and he knew it. A few months after her mother’s death, he offered to marry her and take care of her the rest of her life. In her fragile, naive state she agreed. She was only thinking of security and not what actually went on between a husband and wife.

They had a simple civil ceremony and went to Chicago on the train for their honeymoon. Tammy had never been out of Chanceville and Hal seemed like a man of the world to her. He had been to many funeral director conventions in the Windy City so he knew his way around. They took a cab to the Drake Hotel. Tammy was overwhelmed by the grandeur of it. When she saw the room with the beautiful big bed, it started to dawn on her that they would be occupying the same bed in a few hours.

“Shall we freshen up and get ready for dinner?” asked Hal. “I’ve made reservations in the best restaurant in the hotel.”

“There’s more than one?” she asked.

“Oh, my dear. There are several restaurants and private clubs. We will dine well tonight,” Hal answered. “And in the morning, I suggest room service for breakfast,” he said as a big smile appeared on his face.

Tammy wondered why he was looking at her that way. What was so amusing about room service? A sudden shiver went through her body. And like so many other important signals in her life, she chose to ignore it.

Tammy had no idea what most of the items on the menu were so Hal ordered for her. He was enjoying his role as mentor and didn’t make her feel like a hick. She was relieved he didn’t order anything exotic for her. Hal asked her if she liked chicken and when she said yes, he ordered something call cocoa van for both of them. She didn’t think chicken and cocoa sounded like much of a combination, but she would have to trust him as she did in most things. To her great relief, it turned out to be chicken and vegetables, she could manage that. He ordered wine with dinner. Tammy had never had wine before.

“I think there’s something wrong with this, Hal,” she said. “It tastes sour.”

“It’s not sour, it’s dry,” Hal said.

This puzzled her and she stuck her finger in the glass to test its “dryness”. This only served to endear her to him even more.

“Sorry. Dry means not sweet,” he said without judgment. Tammy didn’t see much point to a drink that wasn’t sweet, but she kept that to herself. She would have been happy with a Coca-Cola. It was clear to her that Hal was trying to make the evening really special.

Hal ordered Baked Alaska for dessert.

“What is Baked Alaska?” she asked him.

“Well, it’s basically baked ice cream,” he said as her blue eyes opened wide.

“Come on. Stop teasing me,” she said. “I’m no cook, (to Hal’s everlasting dismay, this was true) but even I know you can’t bake ice cream. Sounds like we’ll have to drink it.”

Hal just smiled.

It was at this point that they brought out the most beautiful thing Tammy had ever seen. The church ladies’ merengue could never hold a candle to this artfully sculpted delight.

Oh, Hal. This tastes as luscious as it looks,” she said, almost forgetting to swallow that first bite before speaking. Hal couldn’t have been more pleased.

When they had finished their coffee, Hal suggested they return to their room. Tammy was thinking that she wasn’t ready for the evening to end. Hal was thinking that the evening was just beginning.

Hal opened the door to their suite, carried her over the threshold, and placed her gently on the chaise lounge. He put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door and flipped the locks firmly. Then he went to the phone and ordered breakfast from room service for 8 a.m. without consulting her about what she would like to eat or what time. Hal thought she seemed to like it when he took charge.

While Hal was in the bathroom, Tammy was looking in her suitcase to see what he had packed for her. He had insisted on buying her all new clothes for their honeymoon. The first item she pulled out was a pale pink peignoir set. She held it up to the light. She could see the chandelier through it. She started to tremble. Just then, Hal emerged from the bathroom dressed in pajamas over which he wore a maroon silk dressing gown. Tammy had only seen men wear dressing gowns in movies. Her idea of Hal from Chanceville, Indiana didn’t fit with the sight she was seeing now. She started to giggle nervously. She was glad the dressing gown wasn’t monogrammed, or she would have been rolling on the floor by now. This was all just too much. Tammy realized too late, that it probably wasn’t good to laugh at your husband as he prepared for their wedding night.

“What is so funny?” he asked.

“Sorry, I’m just nervous. You look handsome,” she said looking at the floor.

“Oh,” he said, unconvinced. “Why don’t you go in the bathroom and get changed?

Tammy draped the peignoir set over her arm and took her toiletries bag into the bathroom with her. The big tub in the bath and the wonderful smelling bath salts made her decide to take a long, a very long hot bath. Meanwhile, Hal kept tapping on the door, checking on her and pacing on the expensive carpet impatiently. When she finally emerged from the bath, Hal was the one who started laughing and shaking his head.

“Oh, Tammy. How dear you are to me,” he said.

When Tammy had put on the flimsy peignoir set, she felt so exposed that she put the thick terrycloth robe provided by the hotel over the flimsy ensemble.

Hal had ordered champagne while Tammy was in the bath. He was hoping this would settle her nerves, he was willing to be patient, but hoped he wouldn’t have to be.

When he popped the cork on the champagne, Tammy jumped straight into the air. She definitely needs her nerves calmed, he thought. Hal poured them each a glass, handed hers to her and gently led her over to the bed.

“To my beautiful wife and many years of married bliss,” he said as they clinked their glasses.

She took a hesitant sip and decided she liked the bubbly sweetness. (Hal had learned his lesson and ordered a sweet Spumante.) After Tammy had finished her first glass, he took it from her; he didn’t want to take advantage. He sat it on the night table and gently began to ease that blasted heavy robe off her shoulders. Tammy was feeling warm and friendly and didn’t resist. Hal took off his dressing gown and they sat down on the edge of the bed together. Things progressed nicely until Tammy got to thinking about all of the dead people Hal had touched and she suddenly had her own case of rigor mortis. Well, at least that would feel familiar to him.