Death Puppet Page 6

  “I’m sorry about you getting fired, ma’am.”

  She hadn’t heard them approach. But she turned and flared, “Will you for chrissakes stop trying to ma’am me to death?” Both of them stood by the tailgate, the blond one and his friend Eddie with the curly hair.

  “Me too,” said Eddie, squinting against the light and air-blown dust. “I’m sorry too. Jobs are probably pretty hard to come by, around here.”

  This sincerity took her by surprise. “Ah,” she sighed, drawing a deep breath. “I was just standing here coming around to the notion that it didn’t feel so bad after all. In fact I was getting to like the idea. Anyway,” she shrugged, “I’ve spent too many years in that old beanery.”

  From beyond the cafe building came the rush of a pneumatic starter cranking over a diesel engine.

  “Besides,” she laughed, “getting fired is a damn sight better than getting killed.”

  “Probably so,” Eddie observed.

  An old Mack tractor pulled onto the highway, going south, pulling a flatbed trailer loaded with wooden bins mounded up with dusty red apples. The tractor’s air horn sounded two or three times and Jake’s meaty fist came out of the cab holding a single finger aloft, followed by his voice, lost to the sound of the gear changes.

  Eddie turned to look.

  “What’s he saying?” the blond asked.

  “I think he’s profaning your mother,” Eddie said.

  “My mother? What’s the matter with your mother?”

  “I don’t know.” Eddie shrugged and turned around. “But since he’s a mother too, I’d say he’s making an informed choice.”

  Mattie smiled. “Isn’t the woman inside you a mother yet?”

  Blondie smiled, too. “Not yet.”

  She laughed. He had a nice smile. When was the last time she had laughed in conversation? Oh, she remembered. Last night, or rather, this morning, about three o’clock. But talk with Tucker Harris was different than talking with these two. The flow of talk with Tucker was pleasant enough, but it always had some kind of weird undertow to it, which she, come to think about it, had chalked up to the sexual tension between them. But his laughter was distracted or something.…

  There was a lull in the conversation while her mind ran along this trail, but no one seemed to mind. The two hippies seemed to have plenty of time, and moreover seemed to enjoy just standing around outside, exchanging pleasantries over the tailgate of a pickup truck.

  Now Jedediah, she found herself thinking, laughing with Jedediah is another fandango altogether. He’s much too serious, and always will be; his laughter is more a function of his manners than the fact that somebody said something that amused him. Quit giggling so much, Mattie. I’m serious, let’s get married before we—

  “Ask her,” Eddie said.

  “Ask me what?” she smiled at Eddie. Then she shifted her eyes to the blond. “What’s your name?” she said.

  The blond gazed at her with his cool blue eyes. “Scott,” he said. “Scott Michaels.”

  “I’m Eddie,” the other one said. “Eddie Mertz.”

  “Mattie Brooke,” she said.

  They all shook hands.

  Pause.

  “Ask her,” Eddie said.

  Scott tugged his left earlobe with the fingers of the opposite hand, exchanging a glance with Eddie as he did so. “Uh, well,” he began, “we’re up here looking for a friend of mine.”

  “Yes? Where from?”

  “San Francisco.”

  Mattie smiled. “So that explains it.”

  Scott looked nonplussed. “Explains what?”

  “How different you dudes look.”

  “Hey,” Eddie squinted. “Somebody’s got to do it.”

  Mattie laughed. “The way I hear, where you guys come from everybody’s doing it.”

  Eddie nodded enthusiastically. “What a town, what a town.”

  Mattie laughed and shook her head.

  “Anyway,” Scott said, “his name’s Jedediah Dowd. Would you know him?”

  “Jedediah Dowd? Are you kidding? Sure I know him.”

  “Oh,” Scott said smoothly, exchanging a glance with Eddie.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  “No,” Scott said, shaking his head, “not at all. I guess it’s just a… compelling coincidence that the only person who seems to want to talk to us in this burg happens to also know our old friend, Jedediah.”

  Eddie smiled contentedly. “Small world,” he said.

  “You’re not kidding,” Mattie agreed suspiciously. “Around here everybody knows everybody. Anybody would be able to say they knew Jedediah, although not that many folks are sure where he lives. He hardly ever comes into Dip, and doesn’t say much when he does. He only comes here—” She stopped.

  Pause.

  Scott and Eddie looked at each other. “Something wrong?” Eddie asked.

  “No,” Mattie frowned. “Not wrong, really, it’s just that…”

  “Hey,” Eddie said, holding up the palms of his hands, to show they were empty of all intentions or ulterior motives, “you don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to…”

  “No, it’s not that,” she said, “it’s just that… I mean when I say I know Jedediah Dowd I… He…”

  “You mean you don’t know him?” Scott asked.

  “Quite the contrary, Scott,” she shook her head. “Do you remember when I threw the coffeepot at Mordecai?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you know why I threw it?”

  “No idea.”

  “He said something about your condition,” Eddie said thoughtfully.

  “Right,” Mattie said. “Mordecai knew I was a little hung over this morning,” no use exaggerating, she thought, “but he also thinks I might be pregnant by your friend, Jedediah Dowd.” She looked Eddie straight in the eye, but avoided looking at Scott.

  Now why in hell did I tell them that?

  Scott whistled. “This is getting good.”

  Mattie pursed her lips to avoid smiling, but still avoided Scott’s eye. If he caught her eye she’d blush, she could feel it.

  Eddie said, “Well, I’ll be damned. Then I guess you do know our friend Jedediah.”

  “No, no,” she shook her head. “Don’t you get it?” she said earnestly. “Jedediah won’t sleep with me! See? I’ve been willing to go to bed with him for months, but he says he won’t do it until we’re married! That’s why I threw the damn coffeepot—”

  Scott and Eddie glanced at each other uncertainly.

  Dammit, she thought, when her mouth finally stopped. Get a grip on yourself; what are you doing? You don’t even know these guys and already you’re making up stories. What’s the matter? Life not interesting enough the way it is? O.K. Why not tell them about the fish? Bullshit. Forget it. You’re further over the edge than you thought you were, Mattie Brooke, go right straight home and wash your mouth out with bourbon and branch you mean bag balm, and your mind with Henry Miller you mean Mary Baker Eddy maybe Wendell Berry how about Mari Sandoz—.

  Eddie took off his little round-rimmed glasses and pulled a big pink calico handkerchief out of the back pocket opposite the one that had the book in it. Mattie caught herself wondering if anybody had ever called him Mary Baker Eddie Mertz. Probably not.

  “Hm,” he said, holding his spectacles up and studying the sky through a lens.

  “Hm,” agreed Scott.

  “Hm?” Mattie frowned.

  “Mm-hm,” Eddie said. He selected an unsullied corner of his kerchief and wiped his glasses with it.

  Scott tugged his ear thoughtfully.

  “What’s up,” Mattie said. “This looks like the monkey house at the zoo.”

  “Well,” Eddie said, “to tell you the truth, that just doesn’t sound like the Jed Dowd I used to know, not at all. Sound that way to you, Scotty?”

  Scott shook his head and jerked a thumb at Eddie. “He’s never laid eyes on Jed Dowd in his life.”

  Unpertur
bed, Eddie wrapped his glasses around his face again and blew his nose on the handkerchief. “Ma’am,” he drawled heavily, buffing the end of his nose with sudden energy, “if I wuz this here Jedediah Dowd, I’d jump on yore bones when asked to. Maybe not before, but not too gosh-darn long after, neither.” He replaced the kerchief in its pocket and smiled hopefully “With both feet. Regularly. You could set your quartz crystal by it.”

  “Heh,” Mattie said uncertainly, “you would. Well, the truth is,” she added, “he does. It’s a miracle I’m not a grandmother.”

  “Ahm,” Scott said, pulling at his earlobe again and shooting a stern glance at his partner, “I think what Eddie said was supposed to be some kind of compliment. And what you said,” he looked primly at Mattie, “isn’t really any of our business.”

  What’s this? Mattie thought, appraising Scott anew, jealous already?

  “Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am,” Eddie said immediately. He ignored her exasperated frown at the apology. Instead, a look of concern replaced the caricature of lasciviousness on his face. “I was just kidding.” He nodded his head. “Actually,” he continued sheepishly, “I’ve never jumped on anybody’s ossifications. I think I’m too shy. I mean without being invited, first. Not that I’m promiscuous. I mean, oh, shucks. The truth is, not only am I shy, but I’m queer, too. Gay, that is. A fag.”

  He looked down, stirred the dust with a sneaker, looked up. “You’re really pretty, though,” he added, blushing.

  Mattie’s cheeks turned quite pink at this utterly backhanded compliment, and she looked at Scott. Scott was grinning. “This is shy?” she said. Scott laughed. “Bashful, is more like it.”

  “Actually, I only suspect I’m gay,” Eddie said.

  Mattie looked shocked Chamber-of-Commerce. “Are you thinking about coming out in Dip, Washington?”

  Scott laughed. Eddie glanced nervously at their surroundings and affected a look of horror. “Oh no, no. But I’m willing to be talked out of that suburban prejudice,” he added hastily, returning his glance to her. “I-I mean, I’m not really sure, I mean,” he clasped her hand between the two of his and implored, staring earnestly into her eyes, “will you help me to decide?” Mattie jerked her hand free, laughing.

  “Maybe we can return the favor this lady did us this morning,” Scott observed, “and talk Jedediah out of something.”

  “Hey, hey,” said Eddie, “wait a minute. Gay is one thing, but celibacy is something else. Celibacy is sacred.” He clenched his fist. His aspect became fierce. “A thing of the spirit.” Then his expression softened. “Gosh, you’re pretty, ma’am,” he smiled. “Jedediah’s crazy. Or lucky.”

  Mattie couldn’t stop smiling at this little fellow. “You’re kinda cute yourself,” she said, “kind of like a puppy that’s pecked its way out of a turkey egg.”

  “Wha—? Well, hey, thanks.” Eddie wagged his eyebrows toward Scott and said, “Hey, dad, can I have the keys to the Chevy? I got a girl here who thinks I’m some kinda bestial anomaly.” He clasped one of Mattie’s hands between both of his. “Whaddya say we ditch blondie here and go mushrooming on Vancouver Island and make up meaningless alliterative metaphysical conundrums alllll day…? Say yes. Please? Clinch my happiness!”

  “Tell him to stop,” Mattie said, laughing, “laughter is bad for my condition.”

  Eddie released her hand and clasped his own, prayerfully. “I implore you…”

  “Is Jedediah the only boyfriend you got?” Scott asked, genuinely puzzled.

  Mattie looked at Scott. Oh no, she thought, nobody but nobody finds out about Tucker Harris. Motor-mouth is keeping that one to herself. She smiled sweetly. “The only one.”

  “Man,” Eddie muttered, looking around. “I didn’t see any fags when we drove through town, did you?”

  “No,” Scott agreed, smiling right into Mattie’s eyes, “but the joint is crawling with liars.”

  “Oh,” said Eddie, laying the back of his wrist over his forehead and closing his eyes. “Mendacity…”

  “But listen, Mattie,” Scott continued, “would you mind telling us how to get in touch with Jedediah? We know he doesn’t have a phone. We’d like to hook up with him and drink a beer. We’ve been on the road three days, now…?”

  “Scott’s mighty parched,” Eddie smiled. “Actually,” he added politely, “you’d be welcome to come with us, since he’s your friend too. I mean,” he spread his hands, “he doesn’t mind just looking at you, does he?”

  Her first inclination was to refuse the invitation. It was not that she doubted their sincerity or intentions—she now trusted these two strangers, glib as they were. She’d always trusted glib people, she thought of them as emotionally wounded, and therefore beyond deliberate subterfuge, as well as sympathetic; but she considered that it might be just a little too hard upon the heels of her wild night with Tucker to be seeing Jedediah right away, today. Jedediah was an insensitive jerk, but might be sensitive enough to notice some, er, irregularity—not to say elation—in her demeanor.

  Well, wait a minute, she thought to herself. It’s not like you’re limping, or anything.

  What’s more, Jed had stood her up two nights ago with no explanation. Which, one might make a case, directly set her up to accept Tucker Harris’ unexpected invitation the following afternoon, which had turned into last night. So Jed had dug his own grave. So there.

  Besides, I got fired. I can tell him I feel so good because I just got fired. Getting fired’s like getting fucked, isn’t it? And these two guys here, Scott and Eddie, if they’re really old buddies Jedediah might not even notice I’m on his place. How typical. But they are a breath of fresh air. A few hours and a few beers with these boys couldn’t help but do me some good.

  As she spoke the wind picked up and a tall dust devil made its way across the parking lot, picking up leaves and small pieces of paper and Styrofoam as it moved. It spiraled upward as it crossed the highway and dispersed against the gray monolith of the grain elevator. A car went by going north, decelerating as it slid past the center of town—the elevator—accelerating as its driver noticed the full sheet of plywood with the girls’ championship basketball scores, five years old, faded yellow on peeling black, the grain of the veneer showing through, that marked the far edge of town, not two hundred yards from where the elevator stood. It was the first vehicle to pass since Jake Macbee had pulled his rig onto the highway.

  “Tell you what,” she decided. “Jedediah’s spread is about forty, forty-five miles from here, which is thirty or so miles past mine. You can follow me all the way out there, or we can leave my pickup at my place and I can go the rest of the way with you. Jedediah can take me home later,” she said forlornly, mocking Eddie’s attitude by holding the back of her hand to her forehead, “if he wants to.”

  Scott tried to frown. “Damn,” he said. “Is it really that hopeless?”

  She thought about it. Two men in two days? Naughty naughty. She smiled. “A girl never loses hope.”

  Eddie shook his head eagerly. “That Jedediah never did have much sense.”

  Scott looked at him. But he let his smile fade, and said nothing.

  Chapter Six

  WHEN MATTIE DROVE INTO THE YARD AT HER PLACE, THE FIRST thing she saw was Lize Gallagher’s jeep parked next to the kitchen door. Oh boy, she thought, somebody else to piss off. She waved Scott and Eddie on in as she walked ahead toward the kitchen.

  The jeep was topless and dated from World War II. Its windshield was laid down flat over the hood, and the barrel of a shotgun poked over the side behind the seat. As she approached, a bird dog stood up in the back of it and shook himself. His long ears alternately slapped the top of his head and the underside of his chin. They sounded like someone whipping eggs for rellenos.

  “Hello, old Joe,” Mattie said.

  The dog yawned and wagged his tail.

  Somebody cares, she thought, and stopped to scratch Chief Joseph behind his ears. He leaned into her hand. Though he was a valued and ta
lented bird dog, he had none of the high-strung qualities usually associated with such an animal. Lize didn’t keep him in a cement and wire dog run fifty weeks a year, either. On the contrary, he went with her everywhere. But he never hunted unless Lize told him to hunt. Mattie had seen a grouse and its eight or nine chicks string across Lize’s corral not fifty feet from where Joe lay on the porch with his head up, panting slightly, his natural air conditioner at Moderate Cool, watching them through half-closed eyes, unconcerned. You could leave fresh, killed game around him, too, and he wouldn’t touch it. As if to confirm this, she noticed a grouse stretched over the passenger seat, dead as Broadway.

  Chief Joseph woofed once, softly, as Scott and Eddie climbed out of their dusty Chevy.

  “It’s O.K., Joe, they’re friendly.”

  “They’re men,” said a gravelly voice from behind the screen door. “Keep an eye on the bastards.”

  Chief Joseph turned a circle and lay down on an old pair of camouflage pants. A fat green shotgun shell rolled away from his foot, then rolled back and nestled against his balls.

  “Hi,” Mattie said, walking out of the bright sunlight into the cool shadows of the kitchen. She brushed past Lize, who stood in the door squinting at Scott and Eddie, talking and looking around as they walked toward the house.

  “Mornin’, sunshine,” Lize said. “Bringin’ ’em home two at a time now, huh? Hopin’ they’ll add up to one?”