Chapter 12: The Long Arms of the Law
Clare found herself postponing the opening of The Cellar. She was still buying things from the locals and arranging them downstairs, and people were asking when it would open, but somehow she didn’t feel ready. She liked being able to lock things in the elevator. She hadn’t brought out the Persian helmet again since the Fourth, and she could lock things in her office, though it didn’t seem as secure, with a window facing the back alley. Could she open the old staircase down to The Cellar? She’d probably run up against regulations for handicapped access, with no elevator, although she could always close The Cellar for business temporarily if she absolutely needed to lock something in the elevator.
But that was not important. She would feel unsettled till she went to Akron and met with Mrs. Ebrahim. Why that should make a difference with The Cellar she couldn’t say (when talking to herself), but it made her feel mentally untidy.
She made a couple of phone calls, and told Clench she was, at last, going up to Akron for a couple of days, to meet the woman.
He was silent for a minute.
“You know, I’d like to go with you.”
“Oh no, I’m not bringing the law in.”
“I wouldn’t be going as the law. No, that’s wrong, I’m always the law. But I’d go along unofficially and not wear my uniform.”
“No, I wouldn’t feel comfortable talking to her with you there, or anyone else. I’m not even bringing Roxy and she wanted to go because she’s always looking for a new story.”
“I could just be around nearby in case of trouble.”
“What trouble?”
“That’s just it. You don’t know.”
“No.”
“Now that you’ve got your permit and all, I suppose you’re going to take one of those little pop guns?”
Clare didn’t answer.
“When are you leaving?”
She didn’t answer again.
“I can find out at the store. Listen, you’ve got brass … uh, brass. I admire that. But if you think you’re only going to be chatting with the widow Ebrahim, I think you’re mistaken. Do you think she won’t tell her kids, and friends, and everyone in the mosque, that you’re going to be there?”
“So? I don’t even have to go to her house. I could ask her to meet me for coffee someplace.”
“Yeah, that might be better.”
“Are you staying at your parents’ house?”
Clare gave an exasperated sigh.
“Yes.”
“Good. You got GPS on your phone?”
“Yes, but I’m hardly likely to get lost going up to Akron.”
“Just make sure it’s on.”
“Let’s sync your GPS to my phone.”
“What!”
“Seriously. I think there’s more going on with this kid and this helmet than you know. I don’t know what it is, but this is not something to play around with. I don’t want you to get yourself into trouble, I just want to be nearby. I won’t interfere with your meeting. And besides, I’m curious myself.”
Clare gave up. She trusted him. Roxy took her boyfriend, Jim Rainbolt, along on various adventures, as a photographer as well as moral support. Clare was used to doing everything alone, and she liked it. But it might be nice to have friend. And, she considered, as a practical matter, Clench as an assistant deputy had access to sources of information that she, and even Roxy, as a reporter, did not.
Clare was beginning to get the idea that Clench wasn’t just a conscientious part-time lawman. He seemed to feel protective of her personally. The idea of that was pleasing, but in practice, she discovered, it could be irritating. And it wasn’t as if they’d had even one date.
Clench drove up to her house Saturday morning and Clare invited him in.
“You want some breakfast?”
“No, thanks, I already ate.”
“Well, I plan on eating lunch at my parents’, and you’re welcome too. I told them you were coming. You can even stay in their guest room.”
“I appreciate that. I’d be glad to have lunch with you, but I’ll find a place to stay.”
“Suit yourself.”
“I’m going to meet Mrs. Ebrahim this afternoon.”
Clare locked up and they got on the road, Clench’s black Ford F-250 following Clare’s silver F-150.
Clare’s parents came out to the driveway to greet them.
“Hello, honey,” her mother said, hugging her. Her dad gave Clench a firm handshake.
“Clench, Nicole and Bill Bower, my parents. Clench Bargo.”
“How are you, Clench?” her father said.
“Fine, nice to meet you both.”
“So, did you have a good drive up here? No rain or anything? Come on in, lunch is ready,” Nicole said, bustling them inside.
Lunch was full of casual chit-chat, but Clare knew that her parents were speculating about Clench.
“So, what brings you up to visit this time?” her mom asked.
“Well, you remember I told you about that helmet I found on trash day, last time I was up here. It’s so unusual and interesting, I just want to talk to the people who threw it out. You know, maybe I’ll find out something about its history, and why they tossed it out. I mean, who would throw away something so neat?”
“You said you thought it was a Persian helmet?” Bill asked.
“Well, going by what I could find on the Internet, yes, I think so.”
“Persia. That’s Iran.”
“Yeah.”
“So maybe they’re Iranians.”
“After I meet them I’ll tell you everything I find out. Actually I’m meeting a Mrs. Ebrahim, at Starbucks.”
“You too, Clench?”
“No-o-o, I’m, uh, I have some other business in Akron. Just thought I’d come along …”
“Not for the ride, since you have your own ride. That an F-250?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Pretty heavy duty.”
“I work on my parents’ farm and need it.”
“Ah! What kind of farming do you do?”
“Corn, some cows. But we’re planting a vineyard now. It won’t be ready for two–three years.”
“Interesting. You’re welcome to stay here tonight. We have a guest room.”
“That’s OK. I don’t want to impose. I’ll get a room. You know, I’ll be coming and going. It’s enough that you invited me to lunch.”
“Well, come back tomorrow for Sunday dinner.”
Clench nodded.
Clare didn’t have to look at her parents to know that while they wouldn’t be so rude as to exchange meaningful glances over the table, they were mentally doing so, and evaluating Clench as a potential mate.
She sighed very quietly.
“You sound tired, honey,” Nicole said.
“Well, the drive tired me out a little.”
“If you want a hotel, Clench,” Bill continued, “the Quaker Inn downtown is nice. Rooms built into the old grain silos, used to be the Quaker Oats factory. But it’s a little pricey. If you get a cheaper place downtown — I suggest you don’t. You have to go back down the highway a few miles to get something tolerable.”
“The Quaker Inn sounds good. Just for one night.”
Bill looked as if he was satisfied that Clench wasn’t crying poor.
“Did you recommend that Clare get that F-150?”
“Oh no. She did that on her own. Coincidence. They’re pretty popular down there.”
“Sure, a reliable truck. Solid.”
After a couple minutes of silence, Bill said, “Clare, did you bring that helmet with you? I’d like to see it.”
“No, sorry, I didn’t.”
“So you’re not planning to give it back to this Iranian woman.”
“No. Actually, she’s not Iranian, she married a man from Iran. But he’s dead.”
“How do you k
now that?”
“Uh, I’ll tell you about it later. But it’s about time I headed out for Starbucks. You know the one not far from here. It’s about halfway between here and her house.”
Clare and Clench walked out together and her parents watched them from the door, wondering what Clench was saying to her. He almost seemed about to put his arms around her, but instead he put on his hat and got in his truck.