Arnco by Ben Muse

Author:Ben Muse [Muse, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: 4EyesBooks
Published: 2014-03-22T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

“Mr. Baker?”

“Yes, what do you want?” said the man in a suspicious tone from behind his partially opened front door. A giant oak shaded his front yard, which made his screened in front porch even darker. He hung back from the door without showing his face and I wondered if there was a pistol in one of his hands.

“I’m Jake Brigham, sir. Your new neighbor from across the street. Just wanted to stop by and say hello, introduce myself.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Mr. Brigham. Good day,” he said pleasantly before closing the door without another word. I heard the dead bolt return to its familiar, secure position. Well that certainly went well. It would take some work to crack through Mr. Baker’s wall of suspicion.

Next up was Martha Walker, either Mr. Baker’s mortal enemy or secret confidante, depending on who you believed. She was the exact opposite of Mr. Baker, practically pulling me inside her home. She was a slight, proper woman, hair perfectly frosted, and her home smelled of mothballs and Glade plug-ins. She wouldn’t let me leave until I’d had a piece of pecan pie and had given her constantly running toilet a thorough examination. A simple flapper chain adjustment corrected the problem and endeared her to me forever. I decided to cash in on my good deed immediately.

“Stopped by Mr. Baker’s house, but he didn’t seem very sociable?”

“Charlie Baker has always been somewhat of a loner, ever since Lucy passed. I do know he was fond of your grandmother, God rest her soul.”

“Are you friends with him?”

“Lived next to him for almost 40 years.” If Martha Walker were a witness on the stand, Alex would’ve said she was being non-responsive to the question.

“So you know him pretty well?”

“Jake, Charlie Baker keeps to himself. Don’t take it personal. I’m sure he has his reasons.”

Objection!

I spent the next three hours visiting every neighbor on the eastern end of 2nd Street, except Allie, who was toiling away in the emergency room. In no particular order, after Mrs. Walker’s pecan pie, I was offered banana bread, coffee, pound cake, chicken and dumplings, sweet tea, and two year’s worth of old Reader’s Digests. The only person not home was Mr. Willey. He was younger and therefore from a different generation. Allie said he did hair in town.

I felt like a witness under cross-examination at Mrs. Hawkins’s house. She plied me with pound cake and made Samantha Chandler look like a journalism school intern. I slipped into interview mode and answered her intrusive questions with the skill of a Martha Walker, until I walked out her front door.

“What are your intentions with Allie, Jake?” she said pleasantly just as I let my guard down. The wily senior citizen caught me off kilter and I had no canned response to offer.

“Well, we, I, Mrs. Hawkins, Allie and I are friends, nothing more, nothing less. She’s pretty. I’m busy. I mean she’s pretty busy, as am I. Thank you for the pound cake. Let me know if you need anything.

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