insisted.
He frowned at her as though catching her in the worst kind of lie. “They’d have to be on in order to have kids shuck rocks at ’em.”
“They weren’t on,” Mom said stubbornly. “Besides, what makes you think it was kids?”
“Who else throws rocks at lights?”
“You’re the sheriff,” Mom snapped. “That’s up to you to find out.”
He slowly shook his head. “No point in causin’ trouble over a bunch of kids actin’ up. I’ll put out word I’m lookin’ for ’em, and if I catch ’em their daddies will warm their britches. You won’t have any more trouble.”
Mom took a deep breath and suddenly blurted out, “The guard at the Hawkins Brothers Waste Disposal plant recognized me.”
“Everybody in town knows you.”
“This was different. It was as though they were expecting me.”
“It wasn’t hard for us to figure out why you were here. It’s the only business around these parts you’d be interested in.”
“I told you,” Mom said firmly. “I came here to write a novel.”
“Then what took you to the Hawkinses’ company?” When Mom didn’t answer, Sheriff Granger looked at her with exaggerated patience. “The Hawkinses’ company gives jobs to many of the townsfolk,” he said. “Matter of fact, Billy Joe and Bubba are kinfolk to a lot of the people who live in and around Kluney. As I mentioned before, they wouldn’t take it kindly if you made trouble for Billy Joe and Bubba.”
Mom bristled. “Just what is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothin’,” the sheriff said. “Just lettin’ you know how things are around here. As G. K. Chesterton said—”
“I don’t care what Chesterton said!” Mom interrupted.“What kind of a sheriff are you, quoting classics instead of catching criminals?”
“Hilaire Belloc spelled it out when he wrote, ‘When I am dead, I hope it may be said: “His sins were scarlet, but his books were read.” ’ ”
Mom strode to the door and held it open. Without another word the sheriff left.
The next day Mom replaced some of the lights with lower-watt bulbs, grumbling to herself, “I don’t care
what
he said.” And later that evening she put through a call to an investigator she’d worked with in Houston. “Check out something for me, will you?” she asked. “Hawkins Brothers Waste Disposal. You know what I need.”
When she hung up the phone she stood next to her desk for a moment, rubbing the back of her neck, before she murmured, “I haven’t had anything to do with these people, so why would they give us trouble?”
“Maybe it wasn’t them,” I said.
“Who else would it be?” Mom asked.
I thought about B.J., who looked at me the way he’d look at a tree roach that had wandered into the cafeteria. “The sheriff said it might be kids,” I told her.
“He’s wrong. Kids would have no reason to knock out lights that weren’t turned on.”
“They might have had another reason.”
Mom studied me for a full minute before she said, “There’s something on your mind, Katie. What is it?”
I told her about B.J. hoping I’d get out of Kluney. His friends, too, probably felt the same way.
“But there’s Tammy and Julie,” I added. “Tammy askedme if I’d like to come home with her tomorrow and work on our history project together.”
“So it isn’t all bad,” Mom murmured.
“The only reason I told you about B.J. was so you’d know who might have thrown the rocks. As far as school goes, don’t worry. It won’t be long until June.”
Mom took my hand and led me to the sofa, settling down beside me. “I don’t buy your idea that it was kids from your school who threw the rocks.”
“Why not?”
“Some of them, like this B.J. you just told me about, may think you’re a city snob, and some may dislike you just because you’re different and didn’t grow up in Kluney, but think about it: it takes a lot of effort to gather a group together, collect the right-size rocks for throwing, get
He frowned at her as though catching her in the worst kind of lie. “They’d have to be on in order to have kids shuck rocks at ’em.”
“They weren’t on,” Mom said stubbornly. “Besides, what makes you think it was kids?”
“Who else throws rocks at lights?”
“You’re the sheriff,” Mom snapped. “That’s up to you to find out.”
He slowly shook his head. “No point in causin’ trouble over a bunch of kids actin’ up. I’ll put out word I’m lookin’ for ’em, and if I catch ’em their daddies will warm their britches. You won’t have any more trouble.”
Mom took a deep breath and suddenly blurted out, “The guard at the Hawkins Brothers Waste Disposal plant recognized me.”
“Everybody in town knows you.”
“This was different. It was as though they were expecting me.”
“It wasn’t hard for us to figure out why you were here. It’s the only business around these parts you’d be interested in.”
“I told you,” Mom said firmly. “I came here to write a novel.”
“Then what took you to the Hawkinses’ company?” When Mom didn’t answer, Sheriff Granger looked at her with exaggerated patience. “The Hawkinses’ company gives jobs to many of the townsfolk,” he said. “Matter of fact, Billy Joe and Bubba are kinfolk to a lot of the people who live in and around Kluney. As I mentioned before, they wouldn’t take it kindly if you made trouble for Billy Joe and Bubba.”
Mom bristled. “Just what is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothin’,” the sheriff said. “Just lettin’ you know how things are around here. As G. K. Chesterton said—”
“I don’t care what Chesterton said!” Mom interrupted.“What kind of a sheriff are you, quoting classics instead of catching criminals?”
“Hilaire Belloc spelled it out when he wrote, ‘When I am dead, I hope it may be said: “His sins were scarlet, but his books were read.” ’ ”
Mom strode to the door and held it open. Without another word the sheriff left.
The next day Mom replaced some of the lights with lower-watt bulbs, grumbling to herself, “I don’t care
what
he said.” And later that evening she put through a call to an investigator she’d worked with in Houston. “Check out something for me, will you?” she asked. “Hawkins Brothers Waste Disposal. You know what I need.”
When she hung up the phone she stood next to her desk for a moment, rubbing the back of her neck, before she murmured, “I haven’t had anything to do with these people, so why would they give us trouble?”
“Maybe it wasn’t them,” I said.
“Who else would it be?” Mom asked.
I thought about B.J., who looked at me the way he’d look at a tree roach that had wandered into the cafeteria. “The sheriff said it might be kids,” I told her.
“He’s wrong. Kids would have no reason to knock out lights that weren’t turned on.”
“They might have had another reason.”
Mom studied me for a full minute before she said, “There’s something on your mind, Katie. What is it?”
I told her about B.J. hoping I’d get out of Kluney. His friends, too, probably felt the same way.
“But there’s Tammy and Julie,” I added. “Tammy askedme if I’d like to come home with her tomorrow and work on our history project together.”
“So it isn’t all bad,” Mom murmured.
“The only reason I told you about B.J. was so you’d know who might have thrown the rocks. As far as school goes, don’t worry. It won’t be long until June.”
Mom took my hand and led me to the sofa, settling down beside me. “I don’t buy your idea that it was kids from your school who threw the rocks.”
“Why not?”
“Some of them, like this B.J. you just told me about, may think you’re a city snob, and some may dislike you just because you’re different and didn’t grow up in Kluney, but think about it: it takes a lot of effort to gather a group together, collect the right-size rocks for throwing, get
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