Under Arrest

Kristy is faced with arrest in a remote town with no way out of the accusation or the town

Though she knew exactly where her mobile phone was in her purse, she fished around for as long as was decently possible in the forlorn hope that an idea might come during the delay. No idea came but, as she reluctantly lifted it out, it rang. The sheriff came round to take it from her as she answered it.

 “I don’t know why, dear, but I just got the urge to ring you. Are you alright,” asked her mother. “Joseph and I have had a lovely three days …”

“Aah, mom, I’m not alright and I need help,” Kristy said quickly. “I’m in a town named Called. Yes, it’s called Called. And I found a dead girl in a toilet and I’m a suspect. Get the police or a lawyer or the ambulance out here �" anything …”

The sheriff snatched her mobile from her hand. “That, ma’am, was not a good idea at all!”

“I’m sorry officer but, well, what was I to do?” asked Kristy with the best innocent smile she could manage. “What would you have done in my position, officer?”

“I, ma’am, am an officer of the law,” he said with ice in his voice, as if that explanation was enough.

“Yes I know, sheriff, and what would have done in my position?” asked Kristy, evenly. He stood and looked at her and she tried to discern his mood �" angry, thinking, insulted, amused, incensed �" but he was unreadable. Neither sound nor mood came from him. A shiver went up her spine and a silence you could lean on stood between them. “Okay, officer, I may have disobeyed your request but it did not seem reasonable at the time …”

“It was not a request. It was an order,” he said, interrupting her as the chill factor deepened.

“Right. An order that wasn’t reasonable,” she said quickly, really, really keen to move on and out of this dusty, creepy little town. Forever. “What would you have me do now, then?”

“I’m considering my options, ma’am,” said the sheriff. She couldn’t tell whether he was thinking very, very slowly or if a rage was building up inside him … or both. It occurred to Kristy, from some distant and dusty corner of her mind, that this man was not used to being overruled or disobeyed. Perhaps he was used to standing all over everyone else’s apples, just whenever he pleased. No one ever tried to stop him. And now some damned gynawhatchamacallit in fancy city clothes tries to cross him. He may not have been thinking this at all but it’s what Kristy’s mind came up with and exposed and defenceless are what she felt at these thoughts. ‘Tread carefully, very carefully, Kristy girl,’ her mind cautioned her.

“Brrpp, brrpp, brrpp,” screamed her phone through the naked silence. It flew from the sheriff’s shocked hand, turned haphazard cartwheels and she snapped it from the air. Action mode. No consequences. No doubts. Just act. Do job. Phone rang. Press button. Listen in.

“Oh hello dear,” said her mother, softly worried. “You seemed upset. Are you alright? Is there anything I can do?” Kristy had forgotten, as she often did, her mother was not her, not the decisive problem-solver. Her mother’s world extended to the edges of her family and her neighbourhood, with lacy curtains, fluffy slippers and a kindly word for everyone. A cup of tea and a slice of her sponge cake were her remedies for all the problems of the world. Kristy imagined her mom’s only emergencies had been slightly burnt pecan pie and dog poop on the lawn. Her mother was the antithesis of her, the perfect balance for her son, Josh, and not the person she needed right now.

“Mom, put Josh on, please,” asked Kristy, praying to the god she didn’t believe in for some decisiveness here.

“But darling, you seemed so upset …”

“Mother, now! Get Josh on this phone, right now!” demanded Kristy. She’d never spoken to her mother like this before though she’d been sorely tempted on a weekly basis.

“Oh, right …”

“Hi mom,” said Josh cheerfully.

“Hi love, now I need you to do some serious, grown-up’s work, like a man,” said Kristy, imagining Josh standing taller and squaring his shoulders.

“Yes mom, what?” asked Josh.

“I’m in a small town called Called. Yes, that’s it’s name �" Called. We need police and ambulance here and call our lawyer, Mr Hart, and ask him to call me,” explained Kristy.

“Yes mom, I can find it on Google and tell them where to go,” said Josh. “I’ll do it now and grandma can make a cup of tea.”

“Oh Josh, you’re brilliant,” said Kristy, feeling weepy with relief. “See you soon, love and I’ll keep in touch. Love ya.” She snapped her phone shut and dropped it into her purse.

“Now just hold on there, ma’am …” the sheriff started to say.

“No, you hold on, mister,” said Kristy, standing to her full height and looking down on the florid man. “I’m getting a drink and you’re getting up to the scene and I’ll be there soon. Now get to it.” She strode out the door, her high heels making little puffs of dust as she walked. Stuff the direction of the horse, she thought, time to saddle up and get it turned in my direction. She could have murdered a couple of slugs of bourbon, right now, but that would have to wait. Get hydrated, get some nutrition, get the sheriff moving and get the hell out of here. She stormed into the store, fit to kick the arse of any hillbilly who got in her way. George came to the counter and she felt like he hadn’t taken his eyes off her cleavage, even while she was out of the store. She stepped back, suddenly unsure of herself and, as she did, she gasped as a vivid picture lit up in her brain. She turned, fled to the door, looked out and there was that same vivid picture: an overweight, grinning sheriff with her car keys dangling from his plump finger.

She felt cold and helpless, like a trapped bear who knows just what the hunter’s going to do next, with his gun. Except she didn’t know what her hunter was going to do next. She turned away and saw George grinning too. Was he stupid, simple, friendly or conniving? She couldn’t tell. Fine. She’d do what she could, right now, and leave the rest to later.

“Two bottles of water, please George,” she said, steadying her voice as best she could.

“There’s only one left, ma’am, but you can have that,” said George, placing it on the counter.

“Only one? Gosh, George, you’re going to need a whole lot more of that here soon,” said Kristy as she fished the money out of her purse.

“Need more, ma’am?” asked George, his grin disappearing.

“Yup, George, lots more,” said Kristy as she discovered that talking steadied her voice and her nerves. “There’s going to be thirsty hordes in here over the next week or so.”

“Hordes?” asked George, wiping dampness from his bald pate.

“Yup, hordes. Crowds of people in this wee town, George,” said Kristy with as much confidence as she could muster. “Police, ambulances, reporters, lawyers. You name it, they’ll be here, George.”

“Reporters?” asked George, grasping onto one of her words �" perhaps the most fearful one.

“Reporters, George, and you’ll all be famous in Called. Television, newspapers, magazines,” said Kristy, relishing the picture her mind was coming up with. “That sheriff of yours has picked the wrong person to rile up, I can tell you!” She wandered off round the store, enjoying the relative coolness and needing a space to think about her next move.

“Not plannin’ on sneakin’ out, are we?” asked the sheriff, his face a few inches from hers.

She jumped round and dropped her bottle of water. His stealth surprised and scared her. She bent to retrieve the water as the smirking sheriff started to jingle keys in his pocket. Probably her keys. She wasn’t often, if ever, lost for words and action but she was now.

“So what now, Chuck?” she asked as a kaleidoscope of ideas flashed through her mind �" kick him in the crutch, hit him with the water bottle, collapse to the floor and groan in pain, scream, cry, fall to her knees and beg for mercy. Despite the excitement of causing a scene, there was nothing to do but give over to the still, quiet voice inside. Nothing would bring her peace, she knew, but the voice she had learned, however reluctantly, to trust.

“I’d like to be addressed as sheriff,” said Chuck, eventually, his face becoming serious.

“Well, what you like and what you get just might be different things, Chuck,” said Kristy, hoping to stall any action while she let the crazy ideas slide from her mind; while she let the anger and frustration go and her mind returned to peace.

Her phone sounded momentarily. A text.

The front door flew open, spilling light into the store. Kristy spun around to see the old man from the toilet enter, huffing and puffing, fit to bust his foofoo valve.

“Hey, mister, there a sheriff in this ‘ere town?” he asked, running his hand through his white hair as he stared at George. “I just seen a murder … well, my wife did and the woman was fetchin’ to come back an she didn’t an it’s probably her as did it an my wife’s having a fit an we’s just stoppin’ by on our way through …”

“Hey, hey mister. Slow down, slow down,” said George, coming round to the front of the counter.

“You stay right here, ma’am,” said the sheriff to Kristy, quietly, menacingly. “No funny business. No walking off and sneakin’ out behind me, huh!” The sheriff took one last look at Kristy, turned and sauntered over to George and the old man. Kristy realised his feet made very little sound on the old, wooden floor. So where had he learned that trick? She wondered. He marched over to the old man and introduced himself.

“Ah, thank God, a sheriff,” said the old man. “Name’s Cletus. Cletus Marchant.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr Marchant,” said the sheriff, looking back at Kristy furtively. “Now, can you tell us what happened?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Cletus, looking less alarmed, more relieved, now. “Well, we’s just from Memphis, Arkansas, visitin’ our daughter …”

“Right,” said the sheriff. “So you’re passing through and you stop in this town. And then?”

“Ah, yes, we stop in at the conveniences. It’s a long drive from in Durango, Colorado, and our bladders aren’t what they used to be,” said Cletus, smiling shyly. “Well, we’s parking the car and this ‘ere girl comes out of the convenience.”

“A girl?” asked the sheriff, with his back now to Kristy, blocking the old man’s view of her. “Not a woman? You know, a business-type woman?”

“No, not a business woman, sir,” said Cletus, looking a mite confused. “More a young lady. A country girl, I’d say. Mighta’ had red hair. Not sure.”

“Red hair,” said the sheriff as he exchanged looks with George.

“Well, she came outa’ there, all normal like, it seemed. So, when we got out the car I helped my wife to the doorway an’ she went in and I went my way,” said Cletus, sounding choked up. “Sorry officer, just me heart trouble …”

“Look, Cletus, take a seat here,” said George, reaching over and grabbing a stool from the other side of the counter.

As Cletus told his story, with the sheriff and George prompting and calming him, alternatively, Kristy took her phone out. It was a text from Joshua: No town in US called called.

She texted back: Ask yr father to do triangulation on my phone. I’ll keep it on

Joshua texted back: K

Now, when you have two thoughts that want to go different ways, things can get messy, Kristy realised. She saw a prime opportunity for sneaking out and she also had a sharp yearning to hear what the others were talking about. As she looked at the sheriff, looking every which way, she could see that each of his feet wanted to go different ways too �" one to stop and get details from Cletus and the other to keep a closer eye on Kristy. Well, that’s what she guessed, anyway.

She needed her car keys. Check. The sheriff had her car keys. Check. If she went near the sheriff, he’d probably hand-cuff her and lock her up. Check. Something was going wrong between the sheriff and the other two, whatever it was. Check. It seemed to be about her, the way they were looking her way, anxiously. Check. A dead woman had come alive so something was fishy, very fishy. Check.

She happened to glance down at an unopened carton of soap powder boxes and saw an address: George Smit General Store, 23 High Street, Beaverville, Oklahoma. Yee hah!

She texted Joshua: I in beaverville, not called. Hurry wth help

Joshua texted back: K

As she mused, momentarily, on the brevity of youthful communication, a voice floated into her head from far away … a voice that told her to be still, that all was okay. She looked around and could only see the three, still deep in conversation. She hardly heard the words above the clamour of her screeching brain: You’re going mad. You’re hearing voices. They lock people up for this …

“Aah, shut up the lot of you!” she yelled and then stopped in embarrassment as she saw the other three stopped and stared at her. “Oh, sorry, I just need some quiet to think.”

“Yeah, well you think in quiet, there, and don’t go scootin’ off, see,” said the sheriff with a smile, a plastic smile. “We haven’t done with you yet.”

“Right, sorry,” said Kristy softly as she looked back down at the carton of soap powder boxes. As she did, a pencil of light sneaked up behind her and ran over her shoe and up the box. It widened a little. From that small rip in the darkness came a whisper … several whispers. Kristy turned her head to see a woman’s head peering in furtively, at the bottom of the back door. Aha, a back door! One did exist! And it would probably be out of sight to the other three on account of the L-shaped store.

The sheriff was taking notes in his pad on the counter while the old man talked and George supervised.

Kristy shuffled backwards as quietly as she could, towards her light of freedom. The men were still engrossed in their business. As she reached the door it opened just enough for her to squeeze through. She spun, stepped out onto the step and crashed to the dust with a gasp. The step had rotted long ago. She scrambled up, her eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight, dust sticking to the blood on her left knee and elbow, to see a woman standing there, staring.

“I’m sorry, miss, I thought you’d see the gap,” said the woman with concern as she wrung her hands on her apron. “Are you hurt, miss?” The woman’s black hair was tied tightly back, under a scarf, and she wore no makeup. She could have passed for a Menonite.

“I’m still alive,” said Kristy, forcing a friendly smile to her face.

“Come with me, miss,” said the woman. “There’s no good that lurks in there.”

Kristy realised they were in a car-park behind several stores and, through the trees on the other side, a row of wooden houses. She followed the woman quickly between cars and pickups, trying to stay on tip toes to stop her heels clacking on the blacktop. They stopped at the wooden fence, just before the trees and Kristy looked back as the woman unlatched the gate. The back door of the general store opened and the sheriff plopped out onto the ground with a surprised howl. The two women smiled at each other �" a conspiratorial sisterhood �" and they slipped through the gate, Kristy shutting it as quietly as she could. She looked through the slats of the gate to see the sheriff get up, dust himself off, shake his head and then trot around to the front of the store. She followed the woman along a winding path between white-barked trees, up to the stoop of one of the houses.

“Hi ya, Jessie,” said the woman to a neighbour who was just leaving her house.

“Hi Maureen, another visitor?” asked Jessie, stopping, looking concerned. “You need any help?”

“Don’t need any help but you can come in if you like,” said Maureen, gently pushing Kristy inside. Both women followed her in, Jessie puffing a little. Like Maureen, Jessie wore no makeup and her long, thick hair was covered by a scarf. Unlike Maureen, she was a large, solid woman with an impressive bust �" the sparrow and the bear, thought Kristy as they bustled around the expansive and homely kitchen, getting a chair out for her and brewing up some tea.

She relaxed into the company of these generous women, these mothers. She fished in her bag, hanging on the back of the wooden chair and texted Joshua and her ex-husband with the same message: safer now but still stuck here. Tell dad to come great story

Joshua texted back immediately: K

As she dropped it back into her bag it beeped again. Probably her ex-husband replying. She went to get the phone out again when Jessie stopped her.

“Oh dear, you shouldn’t have done that,” said Jessie, smiling as she put cups and plates on the table.

“What did I do wrong?” asked Kristy, wondering just how genuine Jessie’s smile was.

“Telling the world about us,” said Jessie as Maureen came back into the room with a bowl of water, cloths and plasters.

“You’ve been telling the world?” asked Maureen, looking worried. “Oh dear, miss, you shouldn’t have done that.”

“Well, the world knows already and is on its way,” said Kristy as the feeling of comfort amongst these mothers slithered away. “I was just telling my son I was now safer with you.”

“You didn’t let out our names, did you?” asked Maureen, her motherliness slipping a little.

“No, but the reporters will soon be talking to you.”

“Mmm,” said Maureen as and placed the first aid things on the table. “Best do it our way, miss. Not invite the world in,” she said as she knelt down to dab the dust and blood off Kristy’s knee.

“Too late for that now,” said Kristy, conflicted between the motherly care of these women and the feeling of ice in her bones. “There’s ambulances, police and reporters on their way here, now, as we speak.”

“Oh, Chuck won’t like that,” said Jessie, passing behind Kristy’s chair and sitting across the table from her. “That happened once before, the world coming in and interfering, and it doesn’t work out well. Not well at all.”

“Look, are you trying to scare me or something?” asked Kristy, her hackles beginning to rise. It’s damned hard being nasty or aggressive to someone acting so sweet to you but she was sure as heck tempted right now. She prayed to that god she didn’t believe in for some patience but the prayer didn’t seem to be working. She opened her clenched fists and placed them gently on her thighs to bring calmness, as that green-eyed Bill had taught her. It helped. A little. “What doesn’t work out well? Was someone hurt? Has this happened before? Has it happened often before?” she asked, giving up on calmness as a weaving snake of intrigue slithered in between her shoulder blades. She shivered.

“Here, miss, let me clean up that elbow and we can explain things for you,” said Maureen, standing up as she finished with Kristy’s knee.

“Explain things?” asked Kristy as another realisation smacked her right across the forehead. “He’s got you all under some kind of control, hasn’t he?” Kristy stood and backed away from the table and saw a mobile �" her mobile �" on the table in front of Jessie. “Hey, that’s mine! Give it back!”

“No dear,” said Jessie as she hugged the phone to her ample bosom. “As we said, best to do it our way, dear. Now, sit down, Maureen will tend to your injuries, you can have a nice cup of tea and some pecan pie and we’ll explain how it goes.”

“But the sheriff …”

“The sheriff doesn’t know you’re here but it’s a small town,” said Jessie, pouring tea into the three cups.

“He’ll know where I am?” asked Kristy, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, miss, he will. Most likely sooner than later,” said Maureen. “Now, take a seat and I’ll clean up that elbow. Don’t want it getting infected, miss.”

“Yeah,” said Kristy as if tasting a lemon.

“Now, take a seat, get yourself cleaned up and we’ll explain how it all goes round here. What you ought to be doing. Okay?” said Jessie, playing with Kristy’s phone.

“Right,” said Kristy, realising she had little choice, with her car and phone both out of reach. Her shoulders felt heavy and her stomach knotted as she slumped into the chair. Why were all the horses walking in the wrong direction today? Then she remembered what that green-eyed reporter had said about oughtism.