Rummy — Chapter 3
The storm had blown away by the time I got out of bed. The sun was already up and shining through my window so it looked like a ribbon was wrapped around Rummy’s mane. Miss Marie was gone, too, just like the storm. Daddy never tells me when she and I have a sleepover, but she snores so loud I always wake up. And when she’s snoring away on my floor, it means Daddy and Uncle Pete are out working.
“Rummy, where do you think they go?”
Rummy never answers. He likes to make me work it out myself. But my throat’s dry and my tongue feels bigger than it should, so I head downstairs for a drink. There are already voices down there. It’s early for voices. At least ones that aren’t just Daddy or Uncle Pete. Daddy doesn’t open the tavern until afternoon, because he says the only ones who’d come in the mornings aren’t worth having around anyhow. I like that it’s our quiet time. Or usually is.
Even though the voices made me want to rush down there and investigate, I sat at the top of the steps so no one could see me and listened. It might be private, or business, or just not for little girls, and if that were the case, Daddy would just send my back up to my room anyway. I could hear him washing up behind the bar, sloshing water around in the sink, clanging dishes and mugs together. Hearing the water and mugs like that just made me thirstier. But I could wait. I’m old enough now that I can wait. Daddy would like that.
“Mr. Whitmore,” a voice was saying, “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just asking you what you were doing down at the river last night.”
It sounded like the sheriff’s assistant, Mr. Rupert. Daddy said he wasn’t actually a deputy but he did the sheriff’s collecting. I didn’t understand how that was possible but Daddy wouldn’t explain. He’d just say something like, “The walrus likes to eat other people’s fish” and confuse me more. He thinks that’s funny, I guess. I like Mr. Rupert anyway. He has a big mustache that hangs down over his mouth, so when he speaks his voice sounds hairy.
“And I’m asking you why you want to know, Steven.”
“Mr. Whitmore.”
“That’s my name, Steven. I don’t think we’ll have much luck in this conversation if we’re both answering to the same name.”
“Sir, please just answer the question.”
“I believe you know my daughter, Steven?”
That’s when I stopped breathing. What did I have to do with this? Did I get Daddy in trouble with the sheriff? Or was I in trouble? Eventually I remembered to breathe again and got up and crept down to the landing quiet as I could so they still wouldn’t know I was there.
“There are reports, Mr. Whitmore, of your truck being seen down by the river.”
“My daughter’s name is Genevieve, Steven.”
“Of course, sir, but—”
“Genevieve’s only eight years old. While I’m inclined to admit she’s a bit mature for her age, certainly even you’d agree that eight is still a bit young to be left alone at night.”
I hugged my knees up under my chin and rocked gently against the railing. There was a squeal building up behind my smile and rubbing the two of them into my legs was all I could do not to pop.
“Mr. Whitmore, the tavern was closed last night.”
“The tavern was closed last night, Steven. That is true. And I can attest to that fact, as I was right here, witnessing its being closed firsthand.”
“Closing your tavern for a night is an unusual happening, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Whitman?”
“Not as unusual as this conversation, Steven.”
Mr. Rupert laughed. It sounded like a sick dog’s bark at first, until it stopped being a laugh at all and just turned into wheezing.
“True enough, sir. True enough. It’s also true, is it not, that Miss Chapman was seen leaving here late last night?”
“Surely you don’t want me to speak to what other folks did or did not see, Steven.”
“There are reports to that effect, Mr. Whitmore.”
“Well then. It seems there are a lot of eyes in this town with nothing better to do than stare in my direction, don’t you think?”
“If I’m not mistaken, Miss Chapman’s your usual babysitter, Mr. Whitman.”
“Genevieve is quite fond of her.”
“Am I to assume she was babysitting last night, sir?”
“There are many reasons Marie might be here after dark, Steven, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to discuss any of them with you.”
Mr. Rupert coughed twice. I heard him pull a handkerchief out of his pocket and the quiet rustling sound of his mustache being wiped.
“Why was the tavern closed last night, Mr. Whitman?”
There was a sharp noise and then nothing. I recognized the bang as the tin plate that hung behind the bar being slammed down on the bar top. I’d heard it through my floorboards so many nights I don’t even wake up anymore. That sound always cuts through the voices and manages to quiet them down. Daddy says it’s easier than violence and just as effective. Even though I couldn’t see them from where I was, in the quiet that followed the slamming, I just knew that Daddy was scrunching his eyebrows down around the bridge of his nose and staring at Mr. Rupert, who I imagined was chewing on his mustache.
“What is it that you want, Steven.”
“You know what we want, Mr. Whitman.”
“This is the last time.”
“I’m not so sure Sheriff Davis would agree to that, sir.”
Daddy sighed and drummed his fingers on the bar. “There’s a liquor delivery should be here within a half hour, so you’ll need to be quick.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Whitmore. Whatever you say.”
I listened to their footsteps move off toward the back door, then into the yard toward the barn. Once I couldn’t hear them anymore, I counted to ten three times then ran back to my room. I jumped up on Rummy and hugged his neck hard as I could.
“Why was Daddy lying to Mr. Rupert, Rummy? And what are they doing now?” He didn’t answer me. I stayed draped over his neck for a long time trying to work it all out myself, until the feel of his mane on my lips reminded me of Mr. Rupert and I had to move.
