Pie Town - Lynne Hinton [8]
“Fedora Snow is on the phone and wants to know if you arrested Mr. Whitsett.”
Roger shook his head and blew out a long breath. “Tell Ms. Snow that her neighbor has promised not to walk around naked outside and that I saw no reason for an arrest.” Without thinking, he reached for his shirt pocket. Having a cigarette at this time in the morning was typical for the sheriff. He chewed hard on his gum.
“She threatened to contact the state police” came the squeaky reply.
“Well, tell her she’s more than welcome to notify other authorities, but also inform her that she needs to quit calling the police for non-emergencies and that it’s not the state officers who are keeping her phone connected.”
There was silence from the other end.
“You really want me to say all that?” Loretta asked.
Roger sighed. “Loretta, I don’t care what you tell her, just don’t call me again with her messages.”
“Okay, over and out, Sheriff.”
Roger returned the mouthpiece to the receiver and looked up at his ex-wife’s front porch. He shook his head. It was filled with flowerpots overflowing with marigolds and petunias, red hot pokers and peppermint. There were jars of water with stems and pieces of green plants and plastic containers of black soil, probably embedded with seeds for the garden she would never grow.
He got out of the car and walked around to the rear of the house and came back pulling a water hose behind him. He turned on the sprayer and watered every pot except for the couple in the corner near the door filled with the plants and flowers already dead. He dropped his head in a kind of funeral prayer.
He knew Malene loved to try to grow things—she got that from her daddy—and every year she spent a week’s pay buying annuals and perennials from a nursery down in Socorro, trying to add a little color around her house, trying to start a garden in pots on her porch, and every year she killed everything because she always forgot or didn’t have time to water.
He finished spraying the plants and pulled the hose around the side of the house. When he returned to the front porch, he began pruning, pulling off some of the leaves withering on the bluebells and marigolds. He hated to see any plants or flowers suffer, and he figured that once again, for another summer, it would be up to him if Malene was going to keep anything alive and growing.
“Hey, Grandpa, you come to arrest me?” Alex was in his wheelchair just inside the screened front door.
“That’s exactly why I’m here. I’m arresting you and your grandmother for the murder of all of these flowers.” He threw the dead leaves in the yard and wiped his hands on the front of his pants. “I thought you were going to make sure she watered them this year,” he added as he pulled open the door. He leaned in and gave his grandson a hug.
“She always forgets and leaves the hose where I can’t reach it,” the little boy explained, sitting up in his seat to receive the greeting. He handed his grandfather a can of soda and then leaned back and put his electric wheelchair in reverse. “Besides, she knows you’ll take care of them.”
Roger took the soda, walked in, wiped the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief, and then stuck it in his back pocket. Even though it was still early, it was hot in Pie Town. “Frieda in the kitchen?” he asked, glancing around the corner.
“She’s cleaning up my bedroom,” Alex replied. “I was late getting up this morning,” he added.
Roger nodded. “Thank you for this.” He opened the soda, smiled, and then took a sip, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I heard you had a bad time last night again.”
Alex moved his chair forward and then in reverse and then forward again until he was directly across from the sofa in the front room. He shrugged. “It’s just my legs again,” he replied. “But I feel better now.”
Roger walked into the den behind him and sat down on the sofa. “You are the trooper,” he said.
“And you are the sheriff,