The Poisoned Pen. E. Joan Sims
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in return. “Please put a slice of ham inside, thank you, Mother,” I sighed, deciding there would be hell to pay later if I didn’t act at least a little civilized now. I got some hell, anyway.
“I’ve been telling Bethlehem about your daring rescue of little Nell Jane, Paisley. Do you have anything to add to the story before you change into something more appropriate for your photograph?”
Beth had me pose under the magnolia, on top of the old well, and finally, on the white wrought iron bench in my moon garden. The last picture was a favor for me. My beautiful, newly landscaped moon garden with it’s heirloom white roses and all white flowers was a private place, and not for prying eyes.
With Mother out of the way, Beth loosened up and we actually had a rather pleasant conversation—especially pleasant for me because she had read and enjoyed all of Leonard’s books.
“He’s such a devil, that man! He frightens me—and yet, thrills me at the same time!” she confided in a voice full of barely suppressed excitement. “You have such a command of the English language, Paisley. You’re a veritable magician of the imagination, truly a conjurer….”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, stopping her from digging any deeper into her mental thesaurus.
A faint blushed stained her plain cheeks, making her briefly more attractive. “Sorry,” she mumbled apologetically, “I do tend to go on when I wax enthusiastic.”
I felt instantly contrite. For some strange reason, I was beginning to like this young woman, and not just because she admired me.
“How’s your own book coming along?” I asked, biting my tongue so I wouldn’t say more than I intended.
Two hours later, I stood by her car holding four pounds of tattered manuscript bound together by several thick rubber bands and waiting impatiently for her to leave.
“Oh, Paisley! You don’t know how much this means to me—to have you, a true word smith—a laudable literary lion—reading, nay critiquing, my puny efforts!”
I sighed deeply, trying to maintain the semblance of a smile. My warm feelings for Bethlehem Davis were rapidly turning tepid. “Don’t expect feedback any time soon,” I warned her sourly. “I’m….”
“I know! I know!” she cried gaily. “Busy, busy, busy! But just being able to think that you are the temporary caretaker of my tome gives me such a thrill! You’ll never know how much I appreciate this.” She pointed to the first page of fully packed, single-spaced sentences. “I do hope it isn’t too hard on your eyes. We poor aspiring young novelists have to save on paper, you know.”
“And printer ink, too, I noticed,” I added dryly.
She smiled and blew me a kiss as she turned her little yellow Volkswagen bug around in the drive and headed out to the highway. I had started up the walk when I heard her slam on the brakes and back up rapidly, scattering gravel in her wake.
“Paisley!” she called.
“Oh, God! What now?” I muttered, turning around with a forced smile.
She leaned out of the car window, an earnest inquiring look on her face. “I almost forgot to ask you,” she called out. “Did that little girl say anything to you about a strange man in the woods?”
I walked back to her car so I wouldn’t have to yell. “What man?” I asked.
“I went out to the Bradley’s house last night to get an interview for the paper. Mrs. Bradley wouldn’t let me talk to her daughter; but she told me that Nell Jane said a big man with a black beard and one eye chased her into the woods. I just wondered if the child said anything like that to you.”
I tried to keep the surprise from showing on my face, but apparently didn’t succeed.
“I was astounded, too,” Beth agreed. “But the mother was very insistent—and angry that the authorities weren’t taking the child’s story seriously. She threatened to call the FBI if Chief Joiner didn’t investigate more thoroughly!”
“Can I give you an answer off the record, Beth?”
“Well…I’m not supposed to suppress the news.”
“This isn’t news,” I sighed.
“Okay, then. Just this once—for you—I promise!” she said, raising her hand and then crossing her heart with her fingers. “Cross my heart, and hope to….”
“Yeah, yeah,” I interrupted. I still didn’t trust her enough to protect my privacy, so I chose my words very carefully. “It was dark, and the little girl was terrified. Crawling out of that thicket and finding half the town and every squad car in the county must have scared her even more. She probably felt she had to place the blame for causing so much trouble on someone other than herself—when the truth is—she probably got lost chasing a rabbit into the brush. I find it hard to believe her story.”
“Me, too!” declared Beth. “But her mother sure is running with it. I feel sorry for that child when the truth comes out. Mrs. Bradley seems to be a ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’ type of parent.”
“Is there a Mr. Bradley,” I asked curiously.
“Instead of answering, she quickly consulted the old-fashioned bracelet watch on her right wrist. “Must be off,” she announced abruptly. “Thanks a bunch, Paisley!”
I watched her head down the drive and turn into the highway; almost wishing she would come back so I could ask some questions of my own.
“What’s in that package, Mom?” asked Cassie with a sly smile as I opened the screened door to the back porch. “Don’t tell me the redoubtable Miss Bethlehem Davis finally convinced you to read her masterpiece?”
I threw the hefty packet in the corner—and watched in dismay as the rubber bands popped and the manuscript exploded into a small mushroom-shaped cloud.
“Good job!” observed Cassie. “I hope for your sake the pages were numbered, Mom.”
“Oh, my God! Surely she had the good sense…thank heavens!” I swore in relief as I picked up a handful of pages and looked them over. “What a mess!”
“Are you really going to read it?”
I sat down at table and started sorting out the pages. “I guess so, I promised—even though I had no choice, thanks to Mother.”
“Thanking me, dear?” asked Mother, as she joined us. “Whatever for? Not that there aren’t many things for which you should show your appreciation.”
“Well,” I said with a wicked grin, “then perhaps I should begin by letting you have first go at Bethlehem’s manuscript ”
“That’s lovely of you, Paisley. I think I just might take you up on that.”
“You will?”
“Why, of course! Miss Davis is quite an interesting young woman. She could use some guidance in her style of dress, but she’s headed in the right direction. At least she has the good sense to eschew jeans in favor of a skirt. Yes, I think our Miss Davis has possibilities. I would definitely like to explore the world of her imagination. After all, I do so enjoy her articles in the Gazette. Her chef d’oeuvre could prove very enlightening.”
“Well, here then!” I declared petulantly, plopping the hodge-podge of pages down in front of her.
“Where are you going, dear?” called Mother, as I slammed the porch door and headed for the carriage house.
“The Dairy Queen!” I shouted over my shoulder. “What’s it to ya’?” I muttered angrily under my breath.
Chapter Six
The Dairy Queen out on Highway 62 was Rowan Spring’s favorite fast food eatery—the truth is—it was the only fast food joint in town. When I arrived at half past noon I saw