Stiffs and Swine (2 page)

When he had asked her about her atypical behavior, Murphy had brushed him off and claimed he was exaggerating the situation. However, since they had returned to Quincy’s Gap, her demeanor had remained crotchety at best. James was worried that she was keeping something from him, but Murphy had insisted that he was overreacting and being paranoid. Still, they had not spent the night together since their botched holiday weekend, and that said a lot to him about Murphy’s sudden desire for space.

“Yoo-hoo!” Lucy waved her hand at James, forcing him back to the present moment. “Planet Earth calling. You ready to land your rocket and answer my question?”

James started. “Yes,” he answered, more tersely than he intended. “Murphy came for the last few days. It’s just that things didn’t turn out as I had hoped they would.”

A glimmer appeared in Lucy’s blue eyes. “That’s too bad,” she said without a trace of sincerity, and then her expression grew cloudy. “Guess things rarely end up how we hope they will.”

The pair fell silent, and just as James searched for an excuse to continue abusing the change machine, Lucy suddenly seemed to remember something. Digging through a pile of papers, empty plastic soda bottles, and other assorted trash, she pulled out an envelope. After examining the return address, she brushed some crumbs from the business-sized envelope and held it out for James to see. “Have you gotten a letter from the Hudsonville Chamber of Commerce?”

“I haven’t gone through all of my mail yet. Why, should I be expecting one?”

“Yep, but since you haven’t read it, I wanna watch your face while you do! Here.” She passed the letter to him. “Apparently we’re celebrities now. Well, at least in Hudsonville anyhow.”

“Hudsonville?” James asked. “Where is that?”

“Way south off of I-81. Close to the North Carolina border. I hear it hosts the region’s biggest barbecue festival.” Lucy smiled mischievously. “But don’t let me spoil the surprise. Read on.”

James briefly examined the town seal, which showed a drawing of an anxious-looking Native American handing a suckling pig to a complacent pilgrim. Pine trees grew in abundance on a hillside behind the two figures and the text incorporated 1885
was written in block letters above the tallest tree. The letter read:

Dear Ms. Hanover,

First of all, congratulations on becoming a deputy for the Shenandoah County Sheriff’s Department. I am confident that the citizens of Quincy’s Gap and its environs will benefit from your past experience in apprehending criminals.

The officers here at the Hudsonville Chamber of Commerce have followed the endeavors of you and your friends in our local newspaper, the
Hudsonville Herald
. We are very impressed by the fact that your group ensured the capture of several extremely dangerous felons. For the most part, media has granted the credit for each of these arrests exclusively to members of the law enforcement. We have friends in Quincy’s Gap, however, and know the whole story, as do most of the fine citizens of our county. The
Herald
has run a very popular series on your supper club.

In short, you and your friends are celebrities here in Hudsonville, and we would be honored if your group would consider spending the week with us at our forty-seventh annual Hudsonville Hog Festival as guest judges. We would like you to judge the Queen Sow Contest as well as award the cash prize and trophy to the winner of the Blueberry Pie-Eating Contest.

Of course, the town of Hudsonville will gladly pay for your lodgings at our town’s nationally rated bed and breakfast, and our local sponsors will provide you with plenty of free meals and merchandise during your stay.

The festival begins in two weeks and, while we apologize for the short notice, we truly hope that you will join us for this fun, family-oriented, and finger-licking-good festival.

If you have any questions, feel free to call me anytime.

A Mr. R. C. Richter signed the letter. Several titles, including President of the Hudsonville Chamber of Commerce, as well as four different telephone numbers were listed below his name.

“Is this for real?” James folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope.

Lucy nodded. “Sure is. The word is, their
original
celebrity judge cancelled at the last minute, so they’re scramblin’ to find a replacement.”

“They must be desperate if all they can come up with is the Flab Five!” James laughed and then stopped smiling. “You know, we’re going to need a different name, considering how incredibly
not
flabby you are.”

Lucy shrugged, ignoring James’s last comment. “Come on, James. We’re celebrities, too. I think Murphy’s coverage of our activities has given us press in more papers than just the
Star
and the
Hudsonville Herald
. We’re big news in these parts. The deputies on our bowling team tease me about us being household names all the time.”

James blinked in surprise. “Are you on the team? I thought
Deputy
Keith Donovan was adamant about keeping it an all-male endeavor.” James grimaced as he spoke Keith’s name. He and Donovan hadn’t gotten along since high school.

“I’m not
on
the team.” Lucy frowned. “I just go to the games. That jerk Donovan hands out all the duty assignments, and he’s given me desk jobs whenever he can, while he and Glenn handle all the larceny and A&B cases. The most exciting thing I’ve done all summer was transfer someone from jail to the courthouse!”

“A&B?” James inquired, hoping to keep Lucy from sulking.

“Assault and battery.” Lucy’s radio crackled. A dispatcher announced a stream of unintelligible code, and Lucy sat up in her seat and reached for the keys, her eyes twinkling. “Gotta go, James. We’ve got a case of possession of a firearm by a convicted felon. See you at Gillian’s tomorrow night.”

Gillian, owner of the Yuppie Puppy dog salon as well as Pet Palaces—custom-made homes for pampered pooches, felines, and birds—had prepared a creamy tuna casserole loaded with cheese, green peas, and fried onions for the supper club meeting. She had layered the surface of the casserole with cheese crackers, which had been baked to a golden crust.

Lindy Perez, high school art teacher at Blue Ridge High, had brought a tossed salad, while mail carrier Bennett Marshall had purchased a peach pie from the local bakery, the Sweet Tooth. Lucy arrived with a basket brimming with fresh blackberries in case her friends preferred a lower calorie dessert to peach pie, and James had followed one of Milla’s easier recipes and had thrown together a cucumber, tomato, and dill salad.

“So, did everyone get the same letter from Hudsonville?” Lindy asked, helping herself to greens.

Gillian poured her friends glasses of chilled mint tea. “
I
for one cannot imagine surrounding myself by meat for four days! It would be inconceivable for me to be stuck there, visualizing how many pigs, chickens, cows, and who knows what other animals have given up their spirits for such an inhumane contest.”

“Woman, this is barbecue!” Bennett threw his hands into the air. “What do you think cavemen were doing back in the day? They weren’t planting organic soybeans or huntin’ for tofu. This festival is about food the way it’s meant to be.” Bennett’s dark eyes gleamed. “Racks of beef ribs wrapped in foil, cooking over a slow-burnin’ fire—yessir! Peel back the foil and brush on a thick layer of spicy sauce and then rip the butter-soft meat off the bone with your teeth. Hmmm. Yes, ma’am. That’s the way man was meant to eat!”

James took a bite of the tuna casserole, which had the consistency of lumpy pudding, and silently agreed with Bennett. “We don’t have to judge the food, Gillian, so you don’t have to eat any meat. And just think: whichever pig we choose as the queen of the Hudsonville Hog Festival gets to live out the rest of her days at a local farm. Some lady keeps every winning queen sow. The school kids take field trips to go see all those sows living high on the …” He didn’t finish his absurd sentence. “Anyway, I thought the fact that she’d be spared from the ax would be right up your alley.”

“How do you know all this, James?” Lucy inquired.

“I went to the Hog Fest website.” James reached for the salt and pepper and sprinkled a generous amount of both on the remains of his casserole. “I think being a guest judge would be fun. Besides, we’ve seen each other so little lately that it would be a good way to reconnect.” He jerked his finger at Lucy. “And since Lucy here has turned into Deputy Skinny, we could use our time together to come up with a new name for our supper club.”

Bennett stopped pushing food around on his plate and clapped Lindy on the back. “I agree. Okay, that’s two of us who wanna go, Lindy. Think you can tear yourself away from that handsome principal of yours and head south for a little trip with your friends?”

Lindy blushed. “Luis and I haven’t been together
that
much, though he’s taken me out to enough late dinners that I’ve gained back a dress size.” Frowning, she crossed her arms across her chest. “Besides, y’all have been just as busy as I have. Why, we’ve only gotten together once since Lucy’s become a deputy. And I’ve missed you all,” she said, thumping the table, “so I’m in.” She turned to Lucy. “How about you? Will Sheriff Huckabee let you off for a few days?”

Lucy helped herself to a few blackberries. “I think so. Their big bowling tournament is the week before Hog Fest and I’ve got to pull double shifts so that a bunch of the boys can practice. They’re going to owe me some time off.”

Gillian pulled at a strand of orange hair, which had been recently streaked with strands of bright blonde. “Oh! Am I the only one who
feels
this won’t be a
valuable
bonding experience?” She pouted. “I really don’t think this trip will serve a
higher
purpose.”

James put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “They’re having dog agility trials, Gillian. The festival won’t entirely be about barbecue. It actually might be the perfect place to distribute your Pet Palace brochures. If these folks can spend ten thousand bucks on a grill, they can ante up for a custom doghouse for their fancy RVs. You should have seen the photos of some of those campers on the Hog Fest website.”

Even though Gillian was best known in Quincy’s Gap for behaving and dressing like a middle-aged hippie, she was also a shrewd and successful businesswoman. She digested James’s suggestion for a moment and then nodded. “I could expand our line to include doggie travel homes,” she mused and then gazed at her friends. “Fine, I’ll go, but I’m bringing incense and healing candles for my hotel room. I don’t want the
aura
of animal flesh to
pollute
my living space in Hudsonville.”

“Then you’d better get your own room,” Lindy interjected. “No offense, Gillian, but patchouli just isn’t one of my favorite scents.”

“All right, my friends and fellow pig pickers,” Bennett said happily, raising his glass of tea in a toast. “I’m ready for cold beer, a plate piled high with pulled pork, and a whole mess of hush puppies!”

“We’re going to have to start another diet as soon as we get back,” Lindy sighed and then cut herself a generous slice of peach pie.

At the library
the next day, James was busy completing the weekend’s hold requests. After reviewing the requests sent in via e-mail as well as those written on index cards, he printed the patrons’ names in block letters on sheets of paper and wrapped the paper around the requested books with rubber bands. The books were then arranged by patrons’ last names behind the circulation desk.

James liked to begin every week fulfilling this task. He liked the orderliness of it, but he also enjoyed having the books ready and waiting for his patrons to collect. Week after week, there seemed to be more and more requests. Sometimes it was merely the addition of one name, but with every new request and each new library card printed and laminated, James’s heart swelled with pride.

Even now, as he gazed at a group of mothers reading aloud to their young children in the Reading Corner, he thought about how the number of library patrons of all ages had grown since he had reluctantly accepted the position of head librarian a few years back. Even though most of the townsfolk still called him Professor Henry out of respect for his former position as an English professor at William & Mary, James wouldn’t trade his current vocation for anything.

James finished the requests and then spent a moment observing the Fitzgerald twins, Francis and Scott. The twentysomething brothers were busy conducting a seminar in the library’s new Technology Corner, which was yet another satisfying improvement that James and his devoted staff had brought about. The twins, unaware that their boss was watching them with something akin to paternal fondness, were absorbed in instructing a group of elderly patrons on the nuances of the Internet. Suddenly, one of the old women let out a bloodcurdling shriek.

“What’s wrong, Mrs. Hastings?” Scott asked, going quickly to the woman’s side.

Speechless, her wrinkled lips agape, the woman pointed a trembling finger at the computer screen.

“I typed in Pussycat Girls!” the woman finally squawked once she could catch her breath. “My granddaughter talks about their music all the time and I wanted to see what they looked like.” She put a hand over her heart and filled her lungs with air. “But sweet Lord!
These
girls are stark naked!”

Both of the male patrons flanking Mrs. Hastings craned their necks in order to stare at the nude and gyrating bodies of two young women that had appeared on the screen. The name of the website, which bore a similar title to that of the pop band, was illuminated in electric pink letters and surrounded by pornographic images and videos.

“Sorry about that,” Scott said, his cheeks ablaze in embarrassment as he returned the screen to the library home page. “I believe they’re called The Pussycat
Dolls
, Mrs. Hastings,” he murmured close to her ear.

“Hey!” one of the old men protested as the sexy women disappeared. “I didn’t get a chance to look.” He cast an imploring look at Mrs. Hastings. “What’d you type, Doris?”

Mrs. Hastings shrugged. “I put in p-u-s—”

“Okay, folks!” Scott raised his voice above his customary whisper and ran an agitated hand through his unruly hair. “Let’s move ahead and we’ll show you how to find news and weather reports.”

“Oh goodie. Weather!” One of the patrons clapped. “I hear we’re gonna have record-breakin’ heat for the next few weeks.”

“Well, then, I’m not goin’ outside,” another replied, cackling. “I’m gonna buy a computer and
surf
’round for those cutie-pie
dolls
Doris found.”

Once the brothers had successfully redirected the attention of their small class, Francis pulled his brother aside. He pushed his thick glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. “Someone’s been messing with our filters again,” he said, concerned.

“I think it’s those high school kids who have been coming in here every Friday. Things are always out of whack with the computers after they leave.”

Francis frowned. “And they never check out any books. Mrs. Waxman says they just mess up all the magazines and make a lot of noise. I’ve felt bad leaving her to deal with them alone. I know she’s a battle-axe and can hold her own, but she shouldn’t have to play maid to a bunch of rude kids.”

“You’re right. And battle-axe or not, she’s not getting any younger. Guess we should tell Professor Henry what’s been going on,” Scott suggested. “He’ll know what to do.”

As the twins wrapped up their seminar, Wendell Singer entered the library. The retired school-bus driver was the library’s sole bookmobile operator. He was a whiz with engines and had kept the aged bookmobile, which he had fondly named Lena Horne after the jazz sensation, up and running at minimal cost. Lena was greatly prized by many patrons throughout Shenandoah County as she and Wendell brought library materials to day care centers and hospitals, nursing homes, to the jail, and to rural patrons who preferred not to leave their farms during busy harvest times. Lena also provided services for the handicapped, the housebound, and homeschool families. Unfortunately, the stress of traveling up and down mountain roads had taken their toll on the fifteen-year-old bookmobile. Wendell had repeatedly warned James that it wouldn’t be too long before his beloved Lena would have to be put to rest. She was already operating on what Wendell referred to as “duct tape and a prayer.”

When James saw Wendell’s solemn face that Monday morning, he feared that Lena’s end had finally arrived. He was right.

“What happened, Wendell?”

The older man removed his Stihl baseball hat and scratched the bald spot in the middle of his head. “She’s done broke down again, Professor.” He worried the hat in his hands. “I don’t think anyone’s gonna bring her back from this one. She’s finally crossed over to the other side, sir.”

James placed a comforting hand on Wendell’s shoulder. “You know you don’t need to call me ‘sir.’ Come on back with me.” He led Wendell into the break room. “Let me get you a cup of coffee and a slice of banana bread. Mrs. Hastings baked it for us just this morning.”

After he had served the dependable driver a piece of the rich, moist bread, James peered out the window in search of the bookmobile.

“You won’t find her out thata way,” Wendell said, chewing. “She’s sittin’ like a dead duck in the lot of one of them tourist view spots on Skyline Drive. Transmission’s shot, and I done think her timin’ belt’s given up the ghost, too.” He barely glanced at James as he mumbled morosely. “She’s gonna have to get towed outta there, sir. Ain’t no way she’s movin’ on her own steam.”

James sat down opposite Wendell and sighed. “It’s that bad?”

Wendell nodded. With a trembling voice he said, “She’s given this county her best. Got nothin’ left in her to give. We’ve done taken it all.”

Afraid that Wendell might begin to cry, James poured the older man another cup of coffee. “We don’t have the budget for a new bookmobile,” James stated matter-of-factly. “I sure wish we did, but that Technology Corner emptied our coffers pretty thoroughly. I’m not sure what we’ll do without Lena.”

“Well,” Wendell stood and carried his cup to the sink, “it’s gonna take more than winnin’ the Halloween float contest to get this here library a new bookmobile.” He put his hat back on and pulled the rim down low on his brow. “I’ll have Lena towed to my place. I’ve already got two ole buses there so she’ll have some company.” He stood and gave James an imploring look. “We’ve got to find ourselves some new wheels, Professor. I gotta have a job and, ’sides me, there’s a whole mess of folks that’s gonna have to go without books, and they ain’t gonna like that none.”

“No, they won’t,” James replied ruefully. “After all, a life without books is an unfulfilled one at best.”

“Huh?” Wendell stared in confusion.

James walked him to the door. “I was just agreeing with you, Wendell. I’ll find a temporary vehicle for you to use until I can figure out a more permanent solution. You need your job and people need their library materials. I’ll figure something out.”

“This here’s why I didn’t ever wanna to be the boss of nothin’,” Wendell said sympathetically. “Too many headaches. I’ll drive whatever you git me to drive, Professor. Shoot, it could be an ice cream truck and I’ll bring folks books with it. Good huntin’, sir.”

“Thanks.” James sighed again and watched Wendell exit the library.

He returned to his chair behind the circulation desk and began to mull over how he could get his hands on the funds to replace the bookmobile. He knew from previous research that the cost of a new bookmobile would require a minimum of $150,000. James planned on holding another lucrative Spring Fling to benefit the library come May, but his patrons dependent on the bookmobile couldn’t wait nine months for service to resume.

Where on earth am I going to get that much money?
he thought, and he stared at the image of Lena on the library’s homepage.
Why did you have to leave us now, Lena?

“Professor,” Scott broke into James’s grim musings, “Francis and I are concerned about the activities going on here on Friday evenings.”

“It’s the high school kids,” Francis chimed in. “I think we might need to stay later so we can help Mrs. Waxman keep an eye on them.”

James reflected on the unusualness of having a bevy of high schoolers in the library on a Friday evening during summer vacation. “Mrs. Waxman told me that every week there have been more and more teenagers hanging out here. But why? Is it the computers?”

“That’s what we thought at first,” Scott answered. “They do fill up all the seats in the Tech Corner as soon as they can, but mostly they just sit around reading magazines.”

“The thing is,” Francis said hesitantly, “I was a bit late leaving work last week, so I got a taste of what’s going on and I think they’re up to no good. There’s this one kid, Harris—he’s always been into fantasy novels. But now, whenever I try to talk to him about the newest Steven Erikson or Jim Butcher books, he acts like he doesn’t care. It’s totally weird.”

“Some people grow out of certain genres though, bro,” Scott tried to comfort Francis.

“Not this kid. You look inside any of his school notebooks and you’ll see drawings of all kinds of fantasy characters, from wizards to trolls to beautiful fairies. For some reason, Harris has begun to hide his interest in books when he comes here on Friday. I only see his artwork when he’s here during the week, studying by himself.”

“Some things about high school never change,” James muttered. “Is Harris trying to impress one of the other kids?”

Scott and Francis exchanged looks. “I’d say it’s a rising senior named Martin Trotman,” Scott said. “They all seem to gather around him when he comes in, but we don’t know why. And honestly,” he admitted with a doleful expression, “we haven’t stuck around to find out. Though we will now!” he added fervently.

Francis nodded. “Yeah, Scott’s right. We usually just head straight to Blockbuster before all the good stuff gets checked out, but we’ve heard enough about this crew
from Mrs. Waxman to know that there’s no way Martin is here to check out books. According to her, he’s got a foul mouth and more piercings than the whole High Hills Harley Gang put together.”

“And half the brain cells,” Scott chortled.

“Why don’t you two take this Friday off?” James suggested. “I’m going to miss the following Thursday and Friday to be a guest judge at the Hudsonville Hog Festival, so I’ll work alongside Mrs. Waxman this time and see what these kids are getting into. Have you changed the computer passwords recently?”

“Just a few days ago, Professor,” Scott replied. “If they can break through our firewalls, they’re smarter than we thought.”