FORK IN THE ROAD

By BOB LITER

CHAPTER TWO

 

 

 Hester DeWitt sat at the head of joined tables in the northwest corner of Rosemary’s Delmonico Diner. She had called another special meeting of the Fork Historical Society. Millie Pruitt rushed in, plopped her purse on one of the tables and sat down.

 “Had a customer,” she said. “Ray whatshisname, you know, that deputy, couldn’t make up his mind. Oh, I smell bacon and eggs.”

 Millie, a woman of "about thirty-five," pulled a comb from her purse and ran it through her thick, shining brown hair. Her eyes were large and brown, almost matching her hair. Her upper middle tooth was missing.

   “No breakfast now, Millie. This meeting will come to order,” Hester said.

 Rosemary, from behind the counter, said, “I’ll turn on the fan. It’ll carry the odor right otta here.”

 The large fan hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room.

 “I didn’t mind the smell,” Millie said. “Made me hungry for breakfast again, that’s all.”

 

 

 Rosemary came from behind the counter and said, “What did Deputy Radley buy?”

 “Not saying,” Millie said.

 “If you’re attending this meeting, please sit down,” Hester said.

 “Might as well,” Rosemary said. “Unless anyone wants something.”

 She sat next to Agnes Morgan, wife of the gasoline station owner.

 “Later, later,” Hester said. “Now Agnes, what’s all this nonsense you and your husband are talking about again. Glorifying that eyesore of a tavern. It’s a blemish on our town’s reputation.”

 “What reputation?” Rosemary said.

 Agnes, long of limb with large knuckled hands and a face like a ripped softball, as Fred Gilmore had once said, stood and opened her purse. She unfolded a sheet of paper, examined it, and read, “Our town is dying, has been for years, and nobody’s doin’ nothin’ about it. Why it hardly pays Dave to open some days. The most thing we got, publicity wise, is that old tavern. We know it’s the oldest one in the county. Nobody else does, or if they do, they don’t care. We should use it to promote our town.”

 She sat down, folded the paper, and returned it to her purse.

 

 

 

 Hester stood, glared at Agnes, and said, “Now Agnes, this has been brought up before and it’s always been decided that we don’t want that, that den of inequity to represent our town.”

 “Hardly a den of inequity,” Rosemary said.

 “What about the murder?” Hester said.

 “You blamin’ that on the tavern?”

 “Why not, Rosemary? That woman was drinkin’ there. Last anybody says they seen her, from what I hear.”

 Deputy Ray Radley opened the door and marched to the counter. Rosemary scraped her chair getting up, breaking the silence, and went behind the counter. Ray placed his wide-brimmed hat in front of her and ordered coffee. The women at the Historical Society meeting could see he was holding a gift-wrapped package behind his back. He sat at the counter, sipped coffee, holding the cup with one hand and still holding the package behind his back.

 “How ya been?” he said.

 “I've been fine."

 Ray moved the package toward Rosemary and said, “Bought you a little present.”

 He put the package on the counter when Rosemary didn't take it. 

 “Now what’s this, Ray Radley? Don’t want you giving me stuff.”

 “No matter,” Ray said, “I’m givin’ it to ya.”

 “What is it?”

 “Go ahead, open it?” Ray said.

 Rosemary glanced at Hester and the others. She leaned over the counter and whispered to Ray, “I’m not opening it now. With all those old biddies watching.”

 “It’s my best chocolates,” Millie said. “You should open it,

and we could all have some.”

 Rosemary sighed and tore opened the flowery wrappings paper. She put the box in front of Ray. He took a rounded piece with a nut on top. Rosemary scooped about half the pieces from the box, placed them on the counter in front of Ray. She went to the tables, slid the box in front of Millie and returned to the counter. 

 She pushed another piece toward Ray, daintily bit into a cherry-filled one herself, wrapped the rest in a paper napkin and put them under the counter. Ray said, “Gotta go, talk to ya later.”

 Rosemary moved her lips as though she was going to say something, but it was too late, Ray was gone.

 Millie said, her mouth filled with candy, “I knew these was good. Always order extra so I can have some. Talking bout the tavern. It’s nice and clean, as old as it is. The candy salesman always gets here late in the afternoon and when we’re done I close up and he buys me a glass of wine. We oughta go over there right now and continue this meeting. You could see for yourself, Hester.”

 Hester wiped chocolate from her fingers with a paper napkin and said, “I wouldn’t be caught dead in that, that place.”

 Agnes said, “I’ll go. For research. How else would we know?”

 “You might as well close up and join us, Rosemary,” Millie said. “No business now anyway.”

 “Yeah, if we sat by the window I could see if anyone came in here.”

 “Well, I never,” Hester said. “You can’t hold a meeting without me. I’ll go, but I’m sitting back from the window. Someone might see me. What would they think?”

 “I’ll bet Buford’s been in there?” Rosemary said.

 “Certainly not,” Hester said.

 Millie stood, Agnes stood, and finally Hester stood.

 “Let’s go,” Millie said.

 They paraded out of the diner. Rosemary brought up the rear after locking the cash register. The morning sun beat down, forecasting the heat to come. Agnes tripped on a crack in the street and nearly fell.

 Inside the tavern, Matt Dillon, the bartender, an ex-boxer with a crushed nose, little hair and a too-small derby on the back of his head, said, “Oh, shit.” He nudged Absalom Teasdale, the owner, who was sitting at the bar with his head resting on it, an empty shot glass in front of him. Behind the bar, rows of shelves held a variety of dusty bottles filled with various liquors.

 Teasdale sat up, looked at Dillon’s face, and turned in time to see the women come through the door. Millie led them to a table near the front window.

 

 Dillon -- his real first name was Joe, but everyone called him Matt -- grabbed a soiled rag and wiped the bar vigorously.

 Millie shouted, “C’mon Matt, wait on us. Won’t hurt you to get out from behind that bar once.”

 Matt hurriedly placed a spattered apron over his shorts and approached the table in his bare feet.

 “How may I serve you, ladies?” he said in a voice as low as a bear’s warning.

 I’ll have some of that homemade grape wine, a big glass,” Millie said.

 “Is it good?” Agnes said.

 “You’ll see,” Millie said.

 Matt went behind the bar, stooped and came up with a milk bottle filled with dark liquid. He fetched four glasses from the counter behind the bar, held them up to the light, replaced one, and put the bottle and glasses on a round, dented tray. Gray, curly hair covered his chest and arms. Red, white and blue suspenders disappeared under the apron.

 Hester said, “Well, I never,” as he leaned over her and put the tray on the table.

 As Matt retreated, Millie filled the four glasses. Light from the window danced on the purple hue of the liquid. Millie downed hers, filled the glass again. Agnes sipped at it, sipped again and said, “Tastes like grape juice.”

 “Yeah, grape juice with a kick,” Rosemary said. She pushed her still full glass toward Millie.

 “Well Hester, you ought to at least taste it,” Millie said.

 Hester snorted, picked up the glass in front of her, held it to the light, and wet her lips. She tasted the liquid with the tip of her tongue and sat the glass down.

 She said, “So the tavern does look better inside, but we don’t want this place to be the focal point of our town.”

 “What else have we got for a focal point?” Millie said as she got Matt’s attention and pointed at the empty milk bottle.

 While she was looking at Matt, Hester downed the contents of her glass and smacked her lips. Rosemary smiled and winked at Agnes.

 “How do we know this is the oldest tavern in Cleardale County?” Hester said.

 Absalom Teasdale slid off his stool, staggered over to the table, leaned toward Hester’s face, and said, “Cause the official history of the county says my great, great, goes way back, granddaddy built this place. Absalom was his name. That’s why it’s call Absalom, don’t ya see.”

 Hester leaned away from Absalom and waved at the air in front of her face. Matt appeared at Absalom’s side, wrapped his big paw around Absalom’s skinny upper arm, and said, “C’mon pop, ya shouldn’t oughta horn in on the ladies.”

 He led the older man back to the bar.

 Rosemary smiled. “What?” Millie said. Rosemary’s eyes darted toward Hester’s glass. It was empty. Agnes shielded her mouth with her hand, leaned toward Rosemary, and whispered, “Shouldn’t we warn her?”

 After the third glass, except for Agnes who still was nursing her second and Rosemary, who wasn’t drinking, the Fork Historical Society meeting lost its focus.

 Agnes said, “I ought to be gettin' back to the station. Dave might be busy.”

 “Yeah, busy,” Millie said. She slapped her hand on the table and laughed. “Busy.” She pointed at Rosemary and said, “Busy, you been busy?”

 “Gosh,” Rosemary said. “Haven’t been watching. Don’t see nobody over there.”

 Hester stood, nearly knocked over the table, and said, “I don’t care what anybody says.”

 She raised her glass, swayed, and sat down.

 “I suppose we should get back,” Millie said.

 Hester attempted to stand again, failed, and said, “I think we should stay, decide. Fork must never depend on a tavern for publicity. Is there any more of this stuff?“

 She held up her empty glass and turned it over. A lonely purple drop escaped and fell to the table.

 “Hester, we better go,” Rosemary said.

 “Go? Why? I’m not going.”

 Mrs. Hester DeWitt, wife of the councilman and road commissioner, steadied herself by leaning heavily on the table, finally reaching her full height.

 She smiled. “I feel good. Like singing. I sang in high school, you know.”

 She was into the second verse of a sort of hymn, when Matt took Millie aside and said, “Now look what ya done. My regulars will be driftin’ in soon. You want them to see her like this?”

 Hester had climbed on a chair and was attempting to climb on the table.

 Matt lifted her down. She put her hand on his bare chest and said, “Let me give you a bath.”

 “Call Buford, tell him to come and get her,” Millie said. Hester followed Matt toward the bar. Millie spun her around and headed her for the door.

 Fifteen minutes later Buford parked in front of the tavern. He got out, said, “Now what’s all this nonsense?”

 Hester giggled and said, “Buford! How the hell are you?”

 Matt carried Hester to the front seat, unwraped her arms from around his neck, and placed her in the car.

 

 

The complete novel is available on the internet from Fictionwise.com for less than five dollars. Search under authors name, Bob Liter. Hope you like it.