Saving Allegheny Green (3 page)

“Are you threatening me?” I eyeballed him right back. I wasn’t backing down. I had a few nasty expressions in my repertoire, as well.

“Think before you speak, Ms. Green. Sistine could get as much as a year in prison.”

“For a half-dozen joints? Don’t make me laugh!”

“Haven’t you heard? Parker County is now zero tolerance on drugs.”

“Since when?” I asked. The man had a chin like a rock cliff. A very steep, very slippery, very dangerous cliff. So why did I have the urge to plunge my tongue along that treacherous outcropping?

“Since I took over.” He stabbed his thumb into his chest. Was his hard-line stance supposed to make me hot and bothered? If so, to my complete embarrassment, it was working.

“So Parker County belongs to you?” I was literally breathing hard.

“That’s right.”

“I didn’t vote for you.”

“Too bad. I’m still here.”

“If you’ve finished trying to intimidate me, I’ve places to be.” I put my hand on the doorknob.

And he put his hand on me. On my shoulder to be more specific.

My knees liquefied into noodle soup. It was damned hot in here. Someone, please, turn on the air-conditioning, give me a fan, and while you’re at it, how about a gallon of ice water?

“Let’s get something straight,” he said. “If I were intimidating you, then you’d know it.”

“Excuse me.” I tugged open the door but that pesky hand remained branded on my skin.

“Be careful what you say and do, Allegheny Green,” he warned. “I’ve got my eye on you.”

I’
VE GOT MY EYE ON YOU
.

His words echoed in my head. And, I really could feel his eyes on me. Burning, searing, scorching my backside.

I stalked away, determined not to wiggle. I held my head high, then realized to my chagrin I was going to have to ask Conahegg for a lift home. I turned and saw him in the doorway, one strong shoulder slouched against the jamb, a smug grin on his face, his car keys looped around his finger.

Did he have to look so damn sexy?

“Need a ride?”

Briefly, I closed my eyes and reached into the depths of my soul for patience. Oh, he knew what he was doing. I wasn’t fooled for a moment. I stared at Conahegg and forced a smile. “If you please.” My tone of voice could have frosted a dozen cakes.

“My pleasure.” The corners of his lips twitched. He was clearly amused at my predicament.

The turkey.

I searched the corridor for Sissy but didn’t see her. “Just let me get my sister.”

“The ladies’ room is around the corner.” Conahegg pointed. “Try there.”

“Thanks,” I judiciously said. What I really wanted to tell him could have landed me in jail.

“I’ll wait right here.”

From the front of the building came the sound of an argument. In unison, Conahegg and I craned our necks at a man’s raised voice.

“I have to see the sheriff. It’s extremely urgent.”

“Could I have your name, sir?” we heard the dispatcher ask.

Conahegg pocketed his keys and stalked toward the entrance in long-legged strides. Compelled by curiosity, and the fear my sister was somehow involved in the commotion, I followed.

We rounded the corner, Conahegg in the lead. We found a well-dressed man of about sixty standing at the front desk. A mousy woman maybe ten years his junior, stood beside him, nervously worrying her purse strap.

The man looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him at first. His silver hair was swept back off his forehead in a glorious pompadour. His face was slightly flushed as if he’d either been drinking or had recently run a short distance.

He smelled of Yves Saint Laurent and something darker, mustier. His teeth were so perfectly white and straight, I figured that they had to be capped. He used his hands when he spoke, punctuating each sentence with flourishing jabs.

“I want to see the sheriff right now!” Both palms went up, slicing through the air faster than a ninja on Dexedrine. “As a taxpayer I should have carte blanche access to my elected officials, day or night.” He spoke as if winding up for a Sunday-morning sermon.

Then I knew who he was.

The Reverend Ray Don Swiggly. And his wife, the very antithesis of Tammy Faye Bakker, Miss Gloria. Or that’s how Swiggly referred to her on his weekly Sunday-morning, bible-thumping rampages.

I’d only caught the program because Aunt Tessa liked to
hiss and boo at the man while she ate breakfast. More than once his television effigy had sustained damage from flying Captain Crunch. Aunt Tessa had a fit when she had discovered the Swigglys had built the house next door to ours.

Miss Gloria was as dull as her husband was showy. The peahen to his peacock. She wore a shin-length brown print dress, sensible flat brown shoes, brown purse, brown hair worn in a tight bun at the back of her head, brown eyes without a hint of makeup—brown, brown, brown.

“I’m Sheriff Conahegg. How may I help you?” Conahegg stepped forward, all business, his hand outthrust.

Glad-hand was Swiggly’s middle name. He pivoted and slapped his palm into Conahegg’s.

“Well.” Swiggly smiled. “You’re the kind of public servant I’m pleased to meet.”

“You have a problem, Mr.…?”

Swiggly looked surprised that Conahegg didn’t know him. I could tell from Swiggly’s expression that Conahegg had slipped into the “sinner” category.

“Swiggly. Reverend Ray Don Swiggly. Perhaps you’re familiar with my weekly television prayer program—
One Step Closer to Jesus?
”

“Sorry,” Conahegg said. “I attend local services on Sunday morning.”

“Good man, good man.” Swiggly pounded Conahegg on the shoulder. “Let me guess, Baptist?” Swiggly had formed his own offshoot of fundamentalist Protestantism which he had dubbed The Church of the Living Jesus.

“Catholic,” Conahegg replied.

Swiggly drew back his hand as if he’d been introduced to the devil. “Well, long as you hear the gospel. That’s all that’s important.”

“May I ask your business here, Reverend Swiggly?”

Swiggly puffed out his chest. “I have come to press charges against those no-count heathens that live next door to my brand-new summer home on the banks of the glorious Brazos river, built by the grace of God, praise his name. Amen.”

“Pardon?” Conahegg frowned.

“He’s talking about me,” I whispered in Conahegg’s ear. “Or at least my family, but he distracted himself and took a mental side trip down the Holy Roller highway.”

Conahegg glared at me. “Why don’t you go find your sister, Allegheny?”

Allegheny. Why did my name trip so easily from his lips? Why did it sound so lyrical even as he was chiding me?

Disturbed by these questions, I backed away but stayed in the immediate vicinity. Swiggly was putting on quite a show and I wanted to see what was going to happen next.

“Are you referring to the Green family?” Conahegg asked.

Reverend Swiggly sniffed disdainfully. “I don’t know their names.”

“We’re the ones who called about the gunshots,” Miss Gloria ventured, barely raising her head. “We saw you arresting some of them so we came down to file a formal complaint.”

Swiggly placed a restraining hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Miss Gloria, I’ll thank you to let me handle the matter.”

Miss Gloria ducked her head, stared at her feet and mumbled, “I’m sorry, Ray Don.”

I wondered why she’d been dragged along on his misadventure at two o’clock in the morning. I felt sorry for the woman. She seemed so devoid of gumption.

“As I was saying,” Swiggly continued. “These people have all-night parties even during the week, playing that devil music and throwing their garbage over the fence onto my lawn. Do you have any idea how much it cost to have three acres of Saint Augustine grass sodded? They’re ruining it
with beer and vomit and urine. And tonight they were shooting off guns. I’m fed up, Sheriff, and I want something done.”

Conahegg nodded and let Swiggly rant. Since I wasn’t a fan of self-righteous bitching, particularly when my family is the subject of said bitching, I figured I’d take the opportunity to search for Sissy.

The Parker County Sheriff’s Department is not a big building. Maybe ten thousand square feet, not counting the jail facilities butted up against the main structure. There are four entrances to the place—one, the front door through which Swiggly and his wife had come. Two, the back entrance where Conahegg had brought us, accessible only with a key. Three, the doorway through the jail. And one more entrance through the small courtroom where prisoners were arraigned.

I knew the layout because I’d been here once before when Aunt Tessa was arrested for chunking rotten eggs at the Mayor during the Founders Day parade while in the throes of an Ung moment but that’s another story.

It didn’t take long to walk through the facility. I checked the ladies’ room with no luck and ended up back at the front desk five minutes after I started. Conahegg and Swiggly were still deep in conversation about the evil Green family.

I waited until Swiggly halted his soliloquy to take a breath and I jumped in.

“Sorry to interrupt,” I apologized. “But I can’t find my sister.”

Conahegg gave me his full attention which I found rather flattering until I belatedly realized he was simply desperate to find an excuse to get rid of Swiggly. So much for my natural charm.

“Do you think she left the building?” Conahegg asked.

I shrugged. With Sissy, who knew.

He frowned. “She shouldn’t walk alone in this neighborhood.”

Conahegg was right. The sheriff’s department hunkers in the roughest part of town, which granted, in Cloverleaf isn’t
that
bad, but it’s where most crimes occurred.

Swiggly started talking again but Conahegg raised a hand. “Excuse me a minute, sir.”

“Well…” Swiggly looked affronted. “I was talking to you first.”

“I’m afraid something more important has come up.” Conahegg took my arm and guided me out the front door. If I hadn’t been so worried about Sissy I would have paid more attention to the strange sensations rioting through me at his touch.

“Do you think she would take off on her own?”

I shook my head. “It’s twelve miles home.”

“Would she hitchhike?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn,” he swore.

And then we both heard it. A distinctive moan coming from the patrol cars in the parking lot.

A soft feminine moan.

My stomach knotted.

Conahegg began to run.

We found Sissy crumpled on the ground in the fetal position.

“Sissy,” I cried, struggling to stay my rising panic. “What happened?”

Conahegg bent and scooped her into his arms. When he raised her up, I could see her face in the light from the street lamp. Her right eye was swollen shut and her nose was caked with dried blood. My stomach lurched and I feared I was going to be sick.

You can’t throw up, Sissy needs you.

“Ally?” She groaned and reached for me.

“I’m here.” I squeezed her hand. “Right here.”

It completely did me in to see my little sister beaten like
that. I started to shake and my head swam with empathy.

“Where are you hurt, sweetie?”

“He punched me in the stomach.”

“He who?”

“A man.”

“Did you know him?” I asked.

Sissy didn’t answer. I took that as a bad sign. She probably
had
known the guy. What a hellish night. First Rocky, then Tim, now Sissy. What was going on? Was there a full moon? Was Mercury in retrograde? Had the remaining Beatles reunited?

“Are you sick at your stomach? Can you describe the pain? How hard did he hit you?” I hurled the questions at her, desperately needing answers.

“Hush,” Conahegg said softly. “You’re upset, Ally.” When had he started calling me Ally and why did it feel so nice? “Hush and let me take care of this.”

I wanted to protest. To tell him that I was the one who took care of things in our family, and by the way he had no right to call me Ally. But he didn’t even wait for me to tell him anything.

Conahegg started up the sidewalk, Sissy slack against his strong arms. I trotted along beside him, trying to keep up, my fingers laced through Sissy’s.

Conahegg was at fault. If he hadn’t brought us here, Sissy wouldn’t have gotten beaten.

Immediately, I realized the unfairness of my accusations. I was thinking with my emotions. He’d simply been doing his job and if Sissy hadn’t shot Rocky we wouldn’t have been here, either.

Conahegg walked us through the station, ignoring Swiggly who watched openmouthed, and took us out the back way to his patrol car. We drove to the hospital in two minutes flat. He hurried inside for a wheelchair and returned with three nurses.

They wheeled Sissy away and I started to follow but Conahegg stopped me.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Yeah, well, so am I.”

He put a hand on my shoulder. A gesture of support, commiseration. “I mean it.”

“Why should you care?”

For a moment he hesitated. I tried to read the expression on his face but couldn’t. “It’s my job.”

That wasn’t the answer I wanted, but don’t ask me what I expected him to say.

“I’ll come back to question your sister after they’re finished examining her,” he continued.

“I gotta go.” I pulled away from him. I had to get to Sissy and find out what she wouldn’t reveal in front of Conahegg—the name of the man who’d beaten her and the reason why.

“Allegheny,” he called out as I reached the pneumatic doors. I stopped and the doors opened, but I didn’t turn around to look at Conahegg.

“Yes,” I called over my shoulder.

“If she tells you anything I expect you to relay the information to me, even if it means implicating your sister in something illegal.”

This time I did turn. “What are you suggesting?”

“I don’t know what your sister is involved in, but I promise you I will find out who hurt her. And he will pay.”

T
HE HOSPITAL RELEASED
Sissy at 6:00 a.m. Conahegg had returned once to check on us and told me to call for a squad car when we needed a ride home, but I’d declined, having had enough of Conahegg and his crew for one day. I talked to an emergency room nurse I knew, Glenda Harrington, and she
agreed to give us a lift, but she didn’t get off until seven. We were stuck for another hour.

“I wanna see Rocky,” Sissy whined. “Just for a couple of minutes.”

“Sissy…”

“Ally, please.”

“Are you going to tell me who beat you up?”

Sissy hardened her jaw, ran a hand through her spiky, midnight-black hair and looked away from me. We were sitting in the emergency room waiting area with two bleary-eyed drunks and an elderly lady who’d fallen fast asleep over her knitting.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You knew the guy, didn’t you?”

Sissy shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

“Some thug bloodies your nose, blacks your eye, hits you in the belly and you tell me it’s no big deal.”

Who was my sister protecting and why? I wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her but she’d been through enough for one night.

“Could we drop it?”

“Does it have something to do with your pal Rockerfeller Hughes?”

Sissy’s expression confirmed my suspicions. The tip of her nose turns red when she lies. “You’re wrong.”

“What do you see in him, Sissy? He borrows money from you that he never pays back, he makes promises he doesn’t keep. He does drugs for heaven’s sake, and he’s not even cute. I don’t get it.”

“You don’t understand,” she said. “How could you when you can’t even get a man of your own?”

Ouch. Her comment hurt more than I cared to admit. The truth is, I haven’t even gone out with a guy in over three
years. My life is too busy, my past history with the opposite sex too shaky. Plus, I haven’t found anyone who interested me. Until tonight. Until Conahegg. But why him? Why now?