“Thanks, Bing, but I don’t want to have to scrape together bail money for you.”
“Everybody knows you got it, so we’ll be looking to be bailed out right quick.”
“Okay,” she replied, chuckling.
The visits from the farmers brought to mind the troubled Al Stillwell, and she turned serious. “I want to go visit the Stillwells, Mal.”
“Why?”
“I’d like to pay his daughter’s tuition, if that will help the family.”
“It’ll help, but he won’t take your money.”
“Reason being?”
“Pride, and that he blames you for the oil company backing out.”
“Okay, but will you ride with me anyway, so I can try and talk to him?”
“He’s not going to talk to you, baby girl, believe me.” He eyed her for a moment. “You still feeling guilty?”
“Yes.”
“You shouldn’t. Even without your lawyers, the thinking folks around here would’ve fought Leo. Remember that HBO special?”
She did. Gasland. Trent had showed the documentary to the community during a movie night last winter. The cautionary tale about the peripheral dangers of pipelines and drilling on farms and in small towns had been an eye-opener. One woman’s home was so filled with gas seeping from the pipelines on her land, her house would spontaneously flame up, as if an invisible hand had flicked a Bic. The documentary shed light on cancer clusters and livestock born with deformities, not to mention contaminated water tables, toxic air, and sick kids. When the program ended, the local farmers who’d been straddling the fence about Leo’s pipeline got off the fence and signed their names to the petitions and lawsuit.
“Nobody wanted a Gasland here, Bernadine. Free money from Leo’s company was great, but not at the expense of the health of our families and land.”
“He’s going to lose his farm, Mal.”
“And that’s sad, but you shouldn’t blame yourself. Some of the farmers who signed the lawsuit will be losing their places as well, if times don’t get better. Are you planning on paying everybody’s bills?”
“If I could.”
“You don’t have enough money to save the entire world, Bernadine.”
He was right, of course, but she didn’t like hearing it, any more than feeling responsible for putting the final nails in Stillwell’s casket.
“Sometimes there’s collateral damage,” he said quietly. “No matter how good our intentions are.”
She looked away with a sigh of resignation. In truth, she felt terrible, and yes, on some levels responsible.
Mal said, “And besides, Al’s mad at everybody who opposed the pipeline, not just you.”
“But maybe if I talk to him.”
He chuckled softly. “Did you not hear what I just said?”
“I did, but you know I’m an eternal optimist, so let’s ride out to the Stillwell place. Maybe he’ll let me give him a loan or something.”
Mal shook his head. “Okay, but remember, I tried to warn you.”
“What if I talk to his mother?”
“Odessa? The lady who pulled a gun on Marie and threatened to kill her for keeping Al after school in the eighth grade—and went to jail for shooting a bill collector? Oh, yeah, she’ll hear you out.”
“Shot a bill collector?”
“That may sound comical, but Odessa Stillwell is not to be played with. She’s mean and dangerous, but if you’re determined to do this, we’ll go.”
“Thank you.”
When they arrived at the Stillwell place, Bernadine looked out at the weed-choked field that should have held crops, and over at the empty pens that had probably held livestock until they were taken away. The house had been white at one time, but the paint was peeling now, and worn. The home looked tired, as if crumbling under the weight of the pain and suffering of the people inside.
Mal parked the truck, and they got out. Halfway up the walk, an older woman wearing dirty jeans and an aged T-shirt stepped out of the torn screen door and sighted them with the raised shotgun she held steadily in her hands. Bernadine froze.
“What do you want, July? You come to gloat?”
“No, Dess.”
“Bank’s giving us thirty days to pack up and get out. Hope you and the rest of them do-gooders are happy.”
His lips tightened. He looked down at Bernadine.
“Who’s that with you?” she asked nastily.
“I’m, um, Bernadine Brown.” Odessa Stillwell was nearly as tall as her son.
“What the hell you want! I should shoot you where you stand.”
“I—wanted to offer to pay your granddaughter’s tuition, or offer you a loan—”
“Why! Trying to pay off your guilt?” The laugh was an ugly one. “It ain’t going to be that easy, so get the hell off my land, and don’t ever bring your ass out here again! Same thing for you, July. I see you, I shoot you.”
On the walk back to the truck, Bernadine prayed her shaking legs wouldn’t give out before she got inside. Her pounding heart didn’t calm until they were driving on the road back to town.
All Mal said was, “See what I mean?”
She did. “I expected her to be older. Not sure why.” The woman looking down the gun hadn’t been the kind, elderly farm matron she’d envisioned.
“She’s only in her mid-sixties. Went to school with us.”
She started to ask if she had other family in the area, but went still at the sight of the traffic jam ahead. She and Mal were on the one-lane road that flowed past the county’s agricultural complex. Usually there was nobody out this way, but today traffic was backed up coming and going because of all the television trucks and cars blocking the way. There was a whole slew of people of all ages, races, and sizes chanting and marching with signs, while nicely dressed men and women stuck microphones in their faces, or stood along the shoulder of the road, speaking into cameras. Locals in vehicles trapped on either side of the mayhem were honking their horns furiously.
“This must be Riley and FUFA,” Mal said without amusement.
She wondered how he’d come to that conclusion, but as they crawled ahead, she saw uniformed police up ahead escorting sign-carrying protesters out of the road. It irritated her, knowing law enforcement had been taken away from their real duties—like trying to find the nut who’d called her—and she’d bet her BlackBerry that Sheriff Dalton was irritated too.
College kids were knocking on the windows of the slow-moving vehicles and holding up canisters. “Wonder what they’re collecting for?” she asked.
“Who knows? If it’s for Cletus, they may as well fill ’em up with rocks. Not much hog support around here.”
Sure enough, when one of the kids came up to the window and held up the canister in her hand, Bernadine read: “Cletus Defense Fund.” She shook her head no.
Mal’s truck was by then close enough to the center of the madness for her to get a good look at what was going on. There had to be at least fifty cheering and chanting people holding signs and marching clockwise in the center of the road. Signs that read: “Free Cletus!” “Honk If You Love Hogs!” and “Hogs Have Rights TOO!” were raised next to others bearing color photos of Cletus decked out in his wedding tuxedo and Ray-Bans. FUFA had a reputation for being a bunch of kooks, and this display of crazy people, some of whom were wearing full-face pig masks, didn’t dispel the notion. Traffic was inching by on the shoulder to keep from hitting the protesters, the police, and the camera people.
Mal groused, “Riley needs his butt kicked for this.”
“Where did all these people come from, is my question.”
Mal didn’t answer; he was too busy cursing and swinging the wheel to avoid a woman who darted out in front of them on her way to the demonstration. She was wearing fat pink pig ears, and there was a large curly tail attached to the seat of her jeans. In her arms rode a black potbellied pig with a pink bow tied around its neck.
“Good lord,” Bernadine voic
ed.
“Ditto.”
All the hoopla certainly took her mind off Odessa Stillwell and her rifle-toting threats, if nothing else.
Chapter 14
Heather Quinn worried about what was going on with the demonstration out on the road and how long it might be before the police came and closed it down because they didn’t have a permit. But her client didn’t seem concerned in the least. Riley Curry was standing next to the pens, showing off his pride and joy to the assembled media. Of course, he’d had to point his hog out to them because the big city reporters couldn’t tell one hog from another, but the camera crews and photographers must’ve taken a thousand shots of Cletus, if not more.
Earlier that morning, when she and Riley first arrived on the scene, he’d taken a suitcase out of his truck and said he wanted to wow the reporters by decking the hog out in camouflage gear, complete with beret and aviators, but Dr. Keegan vetoed the nonsense. Heather was so relieved and grateful, she could’ve hugged the county vet.
As it were, the reporters and photographers were going gaga over Cletus even unclothed, so Curry seemed to have put away his pique and contented himself with basking in the attention of his version of a press conference.
“Mr. Curry? What’s the first thing you and Cletus plan to do if he’s set free?”
He grinned like a polished politician. “When he’s set free,” he countered. “We’re going to sit in front of the TV and watch Animal Planet. It’s his favorite channel. Then we’re going to see about taking him to Hollywood.”
He pointed at a reporter standing to his right. “Yes?”
“Do you think Cletus and Chocolate will ever reconcile?”
“We’ll have to see, won’t we?” He turned to a female reporter who’d raised her hand. “Yes? You over there in the blue.”
“Is it true your wife, Genevieve Curry, left you because Cletus made her life unbearable?”
He kept up his smile. “Only because she kept wearing a perfume Cletus didn’t care for.”
Heather growled inwardly. Perfume had not been the issue. Her bandaged hand bore the testament to how nasty that pampered hog was, and the more she was around Riley, the more she sympathized with Genevieve. Riley Curry was as pompous as he was delusional, and she found it surprising that the lady had stayed married to him for as long as she had. Heather didn’t understand why Riley kept putting the animal in clothes, either. The practice only made him look crazier, but then again, she’d never been a big proponent of anthropomorphism. To her, animals were just that, nothing more, but nothing less, either.
He was in the middle of answering a ridiculous question as to which Hollywood actress Cletus would be best paired with when a big man in a police uniform walked up and announced, “Name’s Will Dalton, and I’m the local sheriff. You’re trespassing on county property, and you got five minutes to get yourselves packed up and out of here.”
His no-nonsense manner negated any discussion, and the cameras crews took a few quick parting shots before scrambling after the reporters to their vans.
“Who’s in charge of the yahoos tying up the road?” he asked, turning on Riley.
While Curry stood wide-eyed and silent, she walked up and stuck out her hand. “Heather Quinn, president of Folks United for Animals.”
Dalton shook. “You make a habit of trespassing?”
“Trespassing?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, miss. We both know you don’t have a permit, and when you don’t, it’s called trespassing.”
“I didn’t think rural areas like this one required permits to strike a blow against injustice.”
“This may look like Green Acres, but it’s still America, so don’t give me that bull about you not knowing. The way I figure it, you were looking for some free publicity, called the rally, and figured that all you’d get this time around was a warning. Guess what, you’re right. However, any more demonstrations will need a permit, or I throw you and Riley in jail.”
That he’d nailed her thinking right on the head momentarily caught her off guard.
As if having read her mind, he warned, “Don’t judge the smarts of folks around here by your client, ma’am.”
“Good to know.”
He gave her an assessing look. “Okay, get going and take Mr. Curry with you.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
He didn’t appear to buy her meek surrender at all. He folded his arms and waited and watched as she shouldered her laptop and picked up the box containing the press releases and flyers she and the volunteers had been passing out.
Curry complained, “Can I at least say good-bye to Cletus?”
“From what Doc Keegan said, you and Cletus have been holding court all morning, so get going, Riley. Now.”
Heather saw him pout his displeasure, but he got going and so did she.
After the walk to the car, she dumped the box in the trunk of her rental car.
“Where you headed to now?” Curry asked.
“To Henry Adams to pass out flyers. I’m hoping the residents will come out and support us at the hearing.”
“Don’t waste your time. They’re all on Genevieve’s side. They don’t like me or Cletus, and the feeling’s mutual.”
She paused. “You don’t have one supporter in the entire town?”
He didn’t respond.
“What about over in Franklin?”
“Might be a few there.”
She knew he and his wife didn’t get along, but the entire populace? “Okay. I’ll check that out after I speak with the people in Henry Adams.”
“You want me to go with you?”
“No!” she shouted, then upon hearing herself, drew in a calming breath and smiled falsely. “I mean, might be best if I went alone.”
“Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I won’t. I’ll call you when I get back to my motel room.”
He got in his truck and drove away.
She ran her fingers through her hair and tried to convince herself everything would be okay. When she glanced up, Sheriff Dalton was standing next to his patrol car, watching her.
“Ms. Quinn. Have you seen the tape of what Mrs. Curry’s home looked like the night Cletus sat on Prell?”
“No.”
“You might want to get a copy before you go to court on Monday.”
He got into his car, but he didn’t pull off until she drove past. Curry hadn’t mentioned anything about a tape, and it made her wonder why Dalton’s tip sounded so ominous.
In the parking lot behind the Power Center, Bernadine stepped down out of Mal’s truck and heard him groan. “Now what?” she asked him.
“The little guy walking toward us in the too-big suit is a process server.”
“As long as he’s not an assassin, I’m good.”
When the man reached them, he asked, “You Ms. Bernadine Brown?”
“Yes.”
He handed her a sealed envelope. “You’ve been served. Have a good day. Take care, July.”
Opening the summons, she asked Mal, “How do you know him?”
“He served me and the rest of Dads Inc. when Riley sued Genevieve for assault.”
Bernadine read the contents. Once she finished, she was so angry, she balled it up and shoved it into her tote.
“What’s it about? If I’m not being too nosy.”
“Mayor Piggly Wiggly and his minions on the City Council want to sue me for breach of contract.”
“What contract?”
“Exactly. I may have to hire an assassin just to make His Craziness go away.”
“Is this tied to Big Box?”
“I don’t really know, but I’m going to assume it is.”
“When’s the hearing?”
“Monday afternoon.”
“Same day as Cletus’s hearing.”
Bernadine sighed deeply. The world had gone insane. “Great. Let’s hope Judge Davis is so mad after dealing with Riley, she sente
nces old Squirrel Head to a firing squad.”
He laughed. “Let’s hope.”
Inside her office, she dropped her tote into the bottom desk drawer and plopped down into her chair. First Mrs. Stillwell, then the fools from FUFA, and now a court summons. Neither she nor the town had contracted with the city of Franklin for anything, let alone something that called for a court appearance, but just to make sure she wasn’t mistaken, she hit up the intercom and asked Lily.
Lily entered the office, saying, “I don’t even have to look it up. We haven’t signed any contracts with them, because Wiggins can’t be trusted.”
“Just wanted to make sure I was right.”
“You are, and if he brings anything to court that says otherwise, I’ll eat—”
“Excuse me,” called a soft female voice from the doorway.
They turned, and there stood a young woman whose small brown face was dominated by a pair of thick black-framed glasses. She was wearing a cheap gray skirt and matching jacket over a worn white blouse, all of it looking like hand-me-downs.
“May I help you?” Bernadine asked.
“My name is Heather Quinn. I’m looking for Ms. Brown.”
The familiar name made Bernadine wish for the power of invisibility, but since that wasn’t possible, she sighed inwardly and confessed, “I’m Bernadine. What can I do for you?”
“I’m the president of FUFA, and as you’ve probably heard, we’re representing Mr. Curry at his hearing against the county on Monday, and I—”
Lily chose that moment to make her escape. “I think I hear my phone ringing. Bernadine, let me know when you’re ready for lunch. Oh, and I’ll get in touch with Jim Edison about the summons.”
Bernadine cut her BFF a look that Lily promptly ignored because she was too busy leaving. “Please have a seat, Ms. Quinn.”
“Thank you. You have a very nice office.”
“Thanks. What brings you here?”
“Do you believe an animal should be euthanized for defending itself against an assault?”
Bernadine assumed Quinn was referring to Cletus, and to be truthful, she hadn’t dealt with Prell’s death from that perspective. “No.”