The Walnuts

  Danielle gave her a menacing look and Heather returned it with a snotty smirk.

  “John Helms. Is that your real name, sir?” the other officer asked.

  “Yes, Helms. That is me.”

  “We can add giving false identity to the charges,” said Officer Daniels.

  “That’s a bunch of crap, pig!” yelled Heather.

  “Shut . . . up!” Danielle said sternly, grabbing Heather’s arm. “Officers, let’s go back up to the house. We can get this straightened out.”

  Officer Daniels was about to react to Heather’s comment, but the other officer calmed him down. “You’ve got two teenage girls, so don’t look so shocked,” he said.

  *

  “The cops got John!” Heather shouted, running in the door.

  “For what?” Jed asked.

  “They want to charge him with being drunk and disorderly,” she said, out of breath. “And they want to know who he is? I guess he gave them a phony name.”

  “He’s drunk!” said Martha. “I told you he’d be trouble.”

  “Yeah, duuuh, that’s why they want to take him in for being drunk and disorderly!”

  “I knew that guy was trouble,” Martha repeated. “He’s probably wanted in thirty states and fifteen countries.”

  The two officers stood at the door.

  “Do you know this gentleman?” asked Officer Daniels. “He was talking really weird, sounding strange, and he has a lot of makeup on. I think there might be something wrong with him.”

  Jed stepped up. “Officer, look, it’s our fault. You see, John is a cousin, and I don’t think he is used to drinking. He’s just kind of a simple soul from the country.”

  “The makeup?” questioned Officer Daniels.

  “My daughter and granddaughter did that,” confirmed Jed. “We were all just having fun. The poor guy just drank too much, and he went outside to get some fresh air is all. Did he do anything wrong?”

  “Drunk and disorderly in public, and he gave us a false identity.” Officer Daniels smiled with satisfaction.

  “Oh, that? He’s studying a foreign language,” Jed said, “but he was on private property. I think you overstepped your bounds here, officer,” Jed said, looking for the officer’s name tag. “Why did you stop in the first place?”

  “We got a call about a dead clown lying by the road, so we investigated and found this.” Officer Daniels pointed to John, who was just outside the door, propped up against Danielle. “And he was ‘outside’ the gate, on public land.”

  “A matter of inches, I would think,” stated Jed

  Officer Daniels was looking over Jed’s shoulder into the house. Jed turned quickly, and there was the Countess. She had returned with a large, black travel bag and was stuffing food into it as fast as she could.

  “Sir, is she taking all your food?”

  “Goddamn it!” Jeb yelled. “Ricky? . . . Ricky! . . . Where the hell is that S.O.B? Heather, find Ricky and get “her” out of here . . . Now!” Jed turned back to the cop. “Um . . . ah . . . sorry, officer. My damn son brought her. She’s from some foreign country, a Contessa or something like that.”

  “Is she with him?” Officer Daniels asked, pointing to John.

  “No, but I can see how you might, ‘make the assumption’,” Jed said deadpan.

  “Are you sure everything is all right? There is still the problem of who this guy is.”

  “I told you he’s a cousin.”

  “And what is his name, for the record?” Officer Daniels opened his notebook.

  “Ah . . .” Jed hesitated.

  “It’s John, Grandpa,” said Heather.

  “Yeah, John Holms,” added Martha.

  “His license says Helms,” Officer Daniels said suspiciously.

  “Holms, Helms, whatever! What hell difference does it make? Where the hell is Ricky?” Jed hollered.

  “What was the funny language he was speaking?” asked Officer Daniels.

  “It was probably that foreign language I mentioned,” stated Jed. “He travels a lot.”

  “It didn’t sound like a foreign language to me.”

  “And what did it sound like to you?”

  “I don’t know? Ahm . . . maybe a code of some kind, something like that.” Officer Daniels was still watching the Countess collect the food. “You say she’s a foreigner too? Who is she? Does she have ID?”

  “I don’t know, you ask her,” said Jed. “What kind of picture is developing in your head, a spy ring maybe?”

  “Sir,” Officer Daniels said sternly, “I am just doing my job, and I would appreciate your cooperation.” He shouted over Jed’s shoulder at the Countess. “Ma’am, can I see some identification?”

  “I am Countess Slatvana of Moldavia, and there is much starving in my country,” she replied with the thick Russian accent.

  “I see, but do you have any identification?” asked Officer Daniels, reaching for his radio.

  “I am Countess, and I am helping for my people. That’s what real Countess does,” she said, still filling her bag.

  Officer Daniels backed away from the door and started talking furiously on his radio. “There’s something strange going on out here, I tell you.”

  A voice came back from the radio. “What about the dead clown?”

  “Turns out he’s a foreign guy called Space John. Talks in a really weird language, wears lots of makeup.”

  “You said he was a foreigner?”

  “That’s what he claims.”

  “Do you think that might explain the different language?”

  “Maybe, but it was more than different, I ah . . . I can’t explain.”

  “Could be space talk, huh?” There was a snicker on the other end, then a pause. “Daniels, you know, you could be on to something.”

  “That’s not all. There’s a Contessa, or something like that, collecting food in a big, black bag, and she’s a foreigner too.”

  “Any space gibberish out of her?”

  Officer Daniels just looked at the radio, scowling.

  After a moment, whoever was poking fun at Officer Daniels said, “Daniels, you need to mellow out, seriously.”

  “But—”

  “You know those rich, ranch people out there. They’re probably bored and this is their way of having fun—at your expense, I might add.”

  “Yeah, but this might ‘be’ something,” he pleaded.

  “Daniels, six months ago, we had a horse walking down the road in boots, remember?”

  “That was someone’s idea of a joke, but I’m—”

  “You want to take this one serious, you write up the report.”

  “I’d walk away from this one if I was you,” added Jed.

  Aunt Edna tugged at Officer Daniels’ sleeve from behind. “There’s a naked woman attacking my husband!”

  “What’s that? Somebody is being assaulted?” Officer Daniels said quickly, excited to have something concrete to act on.

  “Right there.” Edna pointed to a black car parked at the side of the house. “Dick thought he saw someone in our car and went to investigate. There’s a naked woman inside, and she’s crazy.”

  “Oh no, Gigi!” Danielle shouted, heading toward the car right behind the officer. “You got in the wrong car, you dumb broad!”

  Officer Daniels reached the car first, his gun drawn. He pointed his gun and flashlight at the car and yanked the door open.

  “Freeze!”

  Inside the car was Gigi, top bare, trying desperately to free her bra, which was tangled in the seat lever, and Dick, who was trying to grab one of her breasts as it swung freely.

  “Get away from me, you old coot!” screamed Gigi.

  Officer Daniels stood transfixed when he realized that, again, he was dealing with crazy people, and no real crime.

  “You’re all nuts!” he shouted and turned to leave.

  “That is no way to talk to the people who pay your salary, young man!” Martha shouted back.

&nb
sp; “Christ, what a moron! He thought he’d uncovered a KGB cell,” said Jed, watching the cops stomp back to their car. “You’re all damn lucky it turned out the way it did because I wasn’t going to bail these psychos out. I can tell you that much.”

  “Geez, Madeline, I’m so sorry about this. We didn’t mean to ruin your party,” Martha said.

  “Oh, Martha, don’t worry. It’s all right,” said Madeline. She turned to the Countess. With a sympathetic tone she said, “If you’re taking the food to help someone, dear, it’s okay.”

  “They’re leaving,” announced Heather, watching the cops get in their car, the flashing lights going off.

  The door to the back patio slid open and Ricky walked into the house.

  “Where the hell have you been?” shouted Martha. “No, let me guess . . . out smoking pot as usual. You and your sister always pull this.”

  “Pull what?” asked Ricky.

  “Mother, he split because there were cops here,” said Danielle, “and don’t blame anything on me.”

  “Your lady friend,” Jed gestured to the Countess, who was half dragging, half carrying her bag toward the door, “is leaving with all the food.”

  Ricky laughed. “Ah, it’s no big deal. So she’s a little cuckoo?”

  “What?” shouted Jed. “Just a little! There was a cop here thinking she was a goddamn spy! If they’d taken her away, it would have been your problem.”

  “What problem? They left.”

  “Yeah, you laugh,” said Jed. “Yeah, you too.” He turned to Danielle.

  “Oh, Dad,” said Danielle, “don’t be so dramatic. And as if we’re the only ones that associate with crazy people. What about my second wedding?”

  “That wasn’t my fault.”

  “Ah huh, they were your friends.”

  “That was different,” Jed said quietly.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Well,” said Martha, cornering John behind the door, “what the hell do you have to say for yourself, Space John?”

  “I am absolutely determined to never drink alcohol again,” he said weakly.

  “That would be smart, considering how much trouble you caused. You ought to be ashamed of yourself! And somebody who has never drank before? I’ve never heard of that one! Everyone, and I mean everyone, has tried it at least once.”

  “I am included now,” he pointed out.

  “You think you’re a ‘smart-ass’, don’t you?” Martha snarled at him, hands on her hips. “Well, you really looked like a ‘dumb-ass’ tonight because you came close to getting hauled off to jail. You claim you’re fairly new to the English language, which I think is BS, but if you are, ‘idiot’ is a new word you should certainly understand.”

  “Mother, he was drunk and it was my fault. He wasn’t responsible for his actions,” said Danielle.

  “Bullshit! A person is always responsible for their actions.” Martha turned back to John. “Well, now that you’ve heard how big a fool you were, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  “I guess I am a little relieved that, maybe, I was not responsible for my actions.” John shrugged. “I am not sure what really happened, but I suppose I did make a real idiot of myself and I apologize.”

  Martha looked at John for a moment, then walked over to him and pressed one of her palms tight to his forehead and said, “May the forthcoming hangover be sufficient to pay for the crime.”

  Chapter 6

  John awoke earlier than everyone else and was outside admiring the Walnut Ranch. Rancho de Los Retardos was spectacular in the morning sun. A big lake started as a round, sweeping pond fifty feet from the front of the house down among large, leafy trees. Four bright-colored ducks swam close to shore. The shimmering surface stretched three hundred feet toward a large fountain and the entrance gate. More big trees stood between the far end of the lake and the curving driveway leading to the main house. The lake narrowed as it curved around the side of the house and ended far back on the property. The house was effectively closed in by water on three sides.

  John had found a book on local plants and taken it outside. He was sitting on the porch on the lake side of the house. He was comparing the plants in the book with the ones scattered all around. He had just matched up a Bougainvillea from the book with the thick, brilliant green and red plant that grew along the side of the house at the end of the porch.

  Heather came out, the first of the family to be up and around.

  She grinned at John. “How’s the head this morning? Going bong, bong, and bong?”

  “It hurts a little,” he admitted.

  Heather looked at John. “I’ll get you some aspirin.”

  “Is the family angry about last night?” asked John.

  “Nah, they live for that kind of thing.”

  “Your Grandmother looked quite angry.”

  “Oh, you just got the look, ‘The Walnut Glare.’ Every Walnut has their own version.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “It’s a warning. If a Walnut doesn’t want to continue with something, or intimidate, they give you the look, ‘The Glare.’”

  *

  Heather invited him to walk around the lake with her. A trio of dogs followed them—a scrawny, black, wire-haired dog first in line right behind John. The dog kept getting closer and closer, wanting to inspect him.

  “Shoo, Bozo!” commanded Heather as she flicked her hand at the mangy dog.

  “It is all right, I like the animals.”

  “The animals here are just as cuckoo as the people. Watch this!”

  Heather stopped and turned to the black dog.

  “Dance, Bozo . . . Dance, Bozo!” she shouted. The black dog immediately started spinning around, going faster and faster as Heather repeated, “Dance, Bozo,” until he lost his balance and tumbled off. Heather was laughing hysterically. “I told you!”

  “What about the other two?” John asked.

  “The one with the beautiful eyes,” she said, pointing to an Australian shepherd with one gold eye and one silver-gray, “that’s Angel. She’s not too sure of people. My grandparents got her from the shelter, and she was really abused. It took them a long time to get her to let them get close. She put her hand out and the dog slowly came, finally allowing Heather to rub her nose. “She won’t let anyone she doesn’t know get near her.”

  “Did someone hurt you, pretty thing?” John said, putting his hand out. The shepherd hesitated for a moment. John made a soft sound deep in his throat and Angel’s ears shot up. Then she came right up to him. He patted her head as she wagged her tail vigorously.

  “Wow, that doesn’t happen often,” said Heather.

  “What about this other guy here?” he asked, pointing at the last dog, a big, mean-looking animal. It had the same colors as Angel but much shorter, darker hair.

  “Oh, that’s Paco, he’s Angel’s son. She was pregnant when they got her and she wouldn’t let anyone near her while she was delivering. Paco was stillborn and Grandpa finally managed to get him away from Angel and he gave this tiny little dog CPR and it worked. Paco’s retarded, though. Every time there’s thunder or the hunters fire their guns over there”—Heather pointed to the open desert next to the ranch—“he busts all the screens in the house. He literally runs right through them. He’s a dippity dog.”

  Paco was eyeing John and pacing back-and-forth fifteen feet away. John pursed his lips and made some strange sounds. Paco’s ears shot up. He seemed to be listening. All of a sudden, Paco stopped pacing and walked directly up to John, sat down at his feet, and offered his right paw.

  “I don’t believe this,” Heather said, looking at John.

  *

  They had returned from their walk and were sitting on the porch when Martha appeared at the door.

  “I don’t know who made the biggest fool of themselves last night—you or that idiot Ricky brought,” barked Martha, a tea cup in her hand.

  “I am sorry if I caused you any distress,” said John fir
mly, “but I was unaware of the consequences of drinking substances I am unaccustomed to.”

  “I heard all that garbage last night, and if you think being proper is going to get you off the hook, you’re sadly mistaken,” said Martha. “God you’re a weird duck. Where the hell did you say you came from?”

  “Grandma, leave him alone,” Heather said. “I think it’s cute. He’s so innocent, and Paco likes him.”

  “Innocent my ass! He’s a bullshitter. I know bullshit when I see it, . . . and Paco doesn’t like anyone, except Jed. Where’s that asshole, Ricky, and his girlfriend?”

  Danielle walked onto the porch. “Yes, Mother, you can certainly identify with bullshit. By the way, the crazy countess is gone. I can’t find her anywhere, and Ricky’s missing too.”

  “He’s in the guest cottage,” said Heather, “and the Claw slept on the old mattress in the corner of the garage.”

  Madeline walked around from the side of the house and came onto the porch.

  “Oh, Madeline,” said Martha, “I’m so embarrassed about last night.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Martha.” Madeline sat down. “It made for an interesting party. Harold is still laughing. You guys are always telling us about Ricky and his crazy women. When Harold heard Ricky was going to bring a lady friend, he was looking forward to it, and he wasn’t disappointed.” She looked at John and stuck her thumb in his direction. “And he was a real bonus.”

  “Look, Jed and I will make up for all the stuff she took,” said Martha, “but I have no idea how we could compensate you”—she gave John a nasty look—“For ‘his’ actions.”

  “No way, I told you it was worth every bit of food.”

  “No, no, we insist.”

  “Martha, don’t worry about it. You guys bested Harold’s stunt with the boots on old Crazy Horse,” said Madeline. “Speaking of crazy, the Countess just went by our place riding a bike.”

  “Where did she get a bike?” Martha asked. “The only one we have is that old thing in the garage with the flat tires.”

  “That must be the one. Harold said she was having a hell of a time, . . . looked like Dorothy’s witch, all hunched over and pedaling like crazy.”

  “Oh Christ, where the hell could she be going at this time of the day?” asked Martha. “This is so embarrassing. Maybe she left? Where the hell is Ricky?”

  “I told you—in the guest cottage,” said Heather.

  “You go get his ass out of there now!”

  “No way. He sleeps in the raw.”