Authors: Jean Lorrah
Overt acts of racism were infrequent in Murphy, but as Ricky worked his way through high school, his sister Sandra two grades behind, their social life dwindled. Ricky was the only student in Murphy High that year to make the National Honor Society in eleventh grade, although several seniors did so.
And then last night Ricky had been arrested. Brandy was positive he was telling the truth, that Don Pringle had lent him his car for a date with Don's twin sister Paula. Paula was very pretty, very popular, and considerably brighter than her brother. She and Ricky Chu were in the honor classes together, and the Pringles hired Ricky to tutor Don, to keep him eligible to play basketball.
Whatever Brandy might believe, though, Don Pringle claimed that he had never given Ricky permission to drive his car. Paula claimed that Ricky had stopped by with a book for Don, and told Paula Don had said it was all right for him to take the car. He had taken the keys from the sideboard, she said, and asked her to go for a ride to see the Halloween decorations. She claimed she didn't suspect a thing.
Ricky claimed that Paula had invited him to go out for a date while they were still at school on Friday, and talked her brother into lending them the car then. There were no other witnesses to the conversation. Even though Brandy was positive the Pringle Twins had set Ricky Chu up, they were two to one against him and obviously carefully rehearsed.
Brandy wondered if the plot had been thought up by Don, by Paula, or perhaps by a number of Murphy High students envious of Ricky Chu's success. The boy might be brilliant academically, but he was starving for social acceptance. Thinking the Pringle twins were his friends, he naively accepted his good fortune.
Now Ricky's life could be marred forever with a record of grand theft auto. His parents were devastated. There was nothing Brandy could do about the situation today, though. Vowing to try again to break the Pringles’ story tomorrow, she determined to forget that and the unsolved murders, and enjoy her day off.
Coreen's pot roast recipe had won the Women's Club contest last year. Church opened the bottle of wine Dan had brought; serving four people, it was just enough to give a mellow glow to the dying afternoon.
It was after dark when they prepared to leave. As Coreen got Brandy's coat for her, the older woman said softly, “Don't let that one get away, girl! He's handsome, he's nice, he's employed, and he's liberated. Honey, you don't find that combination. Grab him while you can."
Brandy was seriously considering “grabbing” Dan Martin in a much less metaphorical fashion. The more time she spent with him, the more she wanted to evolve their relationship.
On the drive home he commented, “You were pretty quiet today. Tired?"
“It's been a hectic week."
“I won't come in, then."
“No, Dan!” she said, hating the desperate quality in her voice. It made her feel like Cathy in the comic strip. Forcing a calmer tone, she explained, “I mean, I'm not in the mood to go dancing, or argue politics, but it would be nice to spend a quiet evening together if you can spare the time."
She waited again for a response that didn't come. Why didn't he throw back at her that she was the one who could never spare the time? But all he said was, “I'd like that."
There were unpacked boxes in the dining room of what Brandy still had trouble thinking of as “her” house, as well as in the spare bedroom upstairs. Sylvester, who had occasionally stayed with Brandy's mother, had spent yesterday hiding in protest at being moved. Now he was ready to come out and be sociable, so when Dan and Brandy arrived he greeted them with purring and rubbing. Brandy was still amazed at how her man-hating animal accepted Dan.
Brandy put on coffee to brew. Coreen had sent a wedge of her spectacular chocolate cake with them, as they had all been too full for dessert after dinner. Brandy unwrapped it, and started looking for a knife.
She liked this kitchen, with the table where she and her parents had eaten all their meals except on Sundays and special occasions. The refrigerator was adorned with magnets. Once they had held notes to family members, important letters, snapshots, Brandy's drawings or A papers. Now there was nothing but her grocery list. Dan looked at the magnets. “Nice souvenirs from your travels,” he noted.
Brandy searched the drawers for a cake knife. Her mother must have taken hers, and Brandy's wasn't unpacked yet. Other than flatware, the only knife she found was a sharp butcher knife. She took it out, telling Dan, “I don't need all those magnets. Can you use some? Help yourself."
He backed away. “Oh, no, I don't dare carry magnets."
Allergy to the sun she had heard of, but to magnets? What was this man, some kind of android? “Why not?” she asked curiously, taking cups and plates out of the cupboard.
“Because I could forget one in my pocket,” he explained. “You know what magnets do to computer disks."
Brandy had just picked up the glass pot, full of fresh hot coffee. Tired, strung out, overwhelmed by a week in which her only spare time had been taken up with the exhausting job of moving, she was overcome with giggles at the idiocy that had flashed through her mind. The heavy pot tilted in her hand as she laughed helplessly—hot liquid sloshed over, and she dropped it.
The pot shattered. Hot coffee splashed. Brandy jumped back. Sylvester gave a yowl and disappeared into the dining room. Dan turned, exclaiming, “Brandy! Are you all right?"
Reaction followed reflex. Even though the burning liquid had not struck her, Brandy felt weak. She reached back to steady herself on the counter—and gave a yelp of pain!
Her hand was bleeding: she had sliced a finger on the butcher knife.
“Let me see!” said Dan, grasping her hand. Blood welled up from the cut, but all she needed to do was let some cold water run over it—
Dan said, “It'll be all right,” and before she realized what he was doing he lifted her hand—and took her finger in his mouth!
For a fraction of a second Brandy hung suspended, before pure fear broke the spell. “Dan!” she gasped, snatching her hand away. “What do you think you're doing?” He stared in confusion, saying nothing as she ranted on, “You idiot—do you want to die?"
He clearly didn't comprehend.
“How do you know what might be in my blood?” she demanded. “How can you take the risk that—?"
Utter horror sent such a pain through her chest that she couldn't go on. What if he could take that risk because it didn't matter to him? If he already carried death in his veins? Was that why—oh, God—was that why he had never made love to her?
Chapter Eight—Arrest
Brandy knew at once she wasn't thinking straight. If Dan carried AIDS, or any other disease, he would not risk passing it to her. But—what was he thinking?
“I'm sorry,” said Dan. “Of course it's not safe to use that technique anymore. But look—the cut wasn't as bad as it appeared."
Brandy did look. Positioned on the inside of her index finger, the cut would annoy her for a few days, but it was not deep or dangerous. She bent her finger, surprised to see that the bleeding had stopped.
Still, police were particularly trained about the dangers of body fluids, as they often had to deal with injuries. “You're in no danger from me so far as I know,” she said. “But Dan, how could you do that?"
“I didn't think,” he replied softly. “I just reacted. And you needn't be afraid, Brandy. I don't have anything you could catch.” He didn't give her a chance to ask whether he meant he had been tested or had been celibate—that long? Impossible. “Let's clean up that glass."
After cleaning up the mess, Brandy added a note to her list to pick up a new pot for the coffeemaker. Meanwhile, she found a jar of instant coffee, and they had their delayed dessert before Dan left to finish grading midterms.
* * * *
Monday morning Ricky Chu appeared in court. Brandy was there as arresting officer. To her amazement, Judge Callahan announced, “I have talked with the principals in this matter. Don and Paula Pringle have admitted to a practical joke that got out of hand. Richard Chu had permission to use Donald Pringle's car. Paula Pringle was part of the setup.
“I want it a matter of public record that Richard Chu committed no crime. This is not a matter of insufficient evidence; the boy's record is totally clean. Don and Paula Pringle, if you ever do anything like this again, you will be charged with malicious mischief, falsifying evidence, perjury, and anything else I can think of, you heah?"
The Pringle twins looked suitably subdued, their parents suitably furious.
Judge Callahan continued, “Furthermore, I want it on public record that in Callahan County we have fair and equal treatment under the law, regardless of race, creed, religion, or national origin! We will have no false charges in my jurisdiction. Now, this case is dismissed!” And he leaned forward to say to the Pringles, “I suggest that you folks make a sincere apology to the Chu family."
Mr. and Mrs. Chu were all bows and gratitude. Brandy wondered why Judge Callahan had taken a personal interest in the case, until she saw the reporter from the Murphy Ledger taking down every word. Campaign strategy. Hence the speechifying about truth, justice, and the American way.
Later that day, Brandy asked Church to swing by Wal-Mart on their lunch break so she could buy a coffee pot.
“Your mom take yours?” her partner asked.
“No, I broke it.” That reminded her of the cut on her finger, but when she looked for it, there was not so much as a scratch.
During Halloween week everyone put in extra duty. The days combined happy children parading in costume, drunken adult parties, accidents, bonfires, domestic violence, and three deaths by drug overdose, one of them a thirteen-year-old. All this in addition to the usual stolen vehicles, breaking and entering, and shoplifting.
Three days after Halloween, Brandy was sent to serve a warrant on Ed Mifune for missing his November 1st payment on the radio station. On the one hand, Brandy was greatly relieved that the money was owed to the bank, not to her new stepfather. On the other, she was sad to see the handwriting on the wall.
Soon Ed Mifune would have to shut down or sell out—probably to someone in Judge L. J. Callahan's political machine. Brandy was sure that what she had observed in Judy's restaurant that day was the judge pressuring the bank loan manager to tighten the reins on Mifune. There wasn't usually a warrant issued over the first late payment.
On Friday brandy arrived home after 8:00pm, not particularly tired, but with the feeling that something was missing from her life. She found a letter from her mother, with snapshots of the honeymoon couple on the beach, at Epcot Center, and in their new condo. To her surprise, it brought tears to Brandy's eyes. She reached for the telephone to call Florida and was disappointed that there was no answer.
So she called on Saturday morning, and thoroughly enjoyed talking with her mother.
The first weekend in November was Homecoming at the university. Dan Martin invited Brandy to the football game and a faculty party. They were together all day without a moment's privacy. At the party Brandy found herself surrounded by faculty wives who wanted to talk quilting, children, charity work, crafts, and canning.
Just about the time Brandy decided maybe a relationship with a professor was not a good idea, Dan appeared at her side and drew her away to a group of male and female teachers, spiritedly discussing Kentucky's educational system. Even though Brandy had no children, the public schools were of constant concern to the police.
The conversation came around to drugs, dealers now targeting the middle schools to get kids hooked before high school, where the major anti-drug campaigns took place. Although pot was still Murphy's drug of choice, crack was starting to appear—not a lot yet, but it would not be long before they found crack houses in their own back yards.
Murphy had so far had one incident of a gun in school—merely one student showing it to another. “But there could be worse to come,” Brandy warned. “We're no better at understanding our kids than Heath High in Paducah."
“Do you want to put metal detectors in our schools?” asked Dr. Anthony.
“I hope it won't come to that,” said Brandy, “but it could happen. There's not much police or school personnel can do about the kind of rage that erupts into senseless shootings—those problems come out of the home. But there are other reasons for guns in schools that we can do something about. While we have all our attention focused on math scores, the drug dealers are scoring hits. Once you have drugs in the schools, weapons follow."
“There's not much of a drug problem in Murphy,” one of the women protested. “I have two kids in Forbes Middle School, and they've never seen any drug use."
“They're not telling you. They're afraid of your reaction or, more likely, repercussions from fellow students. It's even possible they don't recognize what's going on. I'm sorry to tell you this, Dr. Swenson, but the more ignorant your children remain about drugs, the more easily they can be led astray."
“Oh, my children will have nothing to do with strangers,” the woman said confidently.
This was how the dealers won: brilliant, successful people like Darla Swenson, Ph.D., had no idea how they operated. “The pushers are not adult strangers,” Brandy said. “They are ten and twelve-year-olds, your own children's classmates."
There were gasps. Then one of the men, Dr. Bradley, asked, “Why don't we hear about this?"
“They're juveniles, protected under the law. But your children know which kids had all the latest fad clothing, video games and CD players, fancy bikes, their own TV's and VCR's and cell phones—and then suddenly disappeared from school. They probably know who took their place, and what they're selling. Your kids may not use, but they know whose grades have suddenly dropped, who never has their homework, who's constantly late or absent, who falls asleep in class, who doesn't seem to care.” She shook her head. “I give this lecture to teachers, to the PTA, every year, but it does no good. Parents believe it can't happen to their kids."