I’m Fixing To Play Dead (Part 58)

Even though it was just late afternoon the house looked dark and empty from across the lawn. With a feeling of looming disaster beginning to descend upon me, I walked to the front door with my key in hand.

But to my amazement there was one of those big real-estate lock boxes hanging on the door knob. I stepped sideways to the window, put my open hands to the sides of my face to shut out the light, peered inside and was astounded to see the room was empty!

Numbly, I journeyed to the back yard and as I stood on the patio discovered the same condition of the kitchen, empty! As I turned to leave I looked down and saw the dark stain of my blood on the concrete, proving this wasn’t the wrong house. No, this was Sissy’s house, or at least it had been.

I returned to the jeep and decided to just wait for awhile, attempting to convince myself that she was just getting things in order so we could leave town right away and that any moment she would pull up into the driveway next to me, flashing her beautiful smile.

To pass the time I planned the evening in my mind. We would go to a great restaurant. Sissy would know where to find one where we could get a thick, sizzling steak with all the trimmings and wash them down with a bottle or two. My mouth watered while the shadows grew long.

It was almost dark before I admitted to myself that something was amiss. That’s when I thought about Louise and the fact that she was in the county jail. Maybe she could tell me what was going on.

Just before I got back on the interstate leading into the city I stopped to get directions from a likely candidate. He was sitting on the curb at the Chevron station sipping on a bottle of Mad Dog 20-20. I pulled up next to him, let my window down and asked if he knew how to get to the county jail.

“If anybody does, I do,” he said through a toothless smile, “you got a couple of bucks on you?”

I wadded up a five and tossed it down to him while he gave directions.

When I arrived I parked in the visitors parking lot, all the while searching for site of Sissy’s Lexus, but it was nowhere to be seen.

Once I was in the lobby of the jail I approached a thick glass window with a little grilled hole in the center of it to talk through. It took a moment for the burly jailer to notice me, but as soon as he acknowledged my presence I said, “Sir, I wanted to see if it would be possible to visit someone you have in custody.”

“Visiting hours are from three to five on Wednesdays and Sundays,” he barked.

“Thank you, sir,” I replied. “Could you please then just verify that she is in jail? She’s my sister and we heard she got arrested late yesterday. It would be a comfort to our momma to know where she is even if it is in jail,” I lied.

With an edge of irritation in his voice he responded by poking at his keyboard while he asked, “What’s the name?”

“Louise Bedwell is her name and I heard she was placed under arrest yesterday afternoon.”

After a few more pokes at his computer he looked up and said, “Nobody in my jail by that name.”

“But-but-but you must be mistaken,” I stammered. “She has to be here!”

He stood up then, and I saw that he was about as tall as he was broad when he said in a threatening tone, “Listen here, boy, are you questioning—-”

“No sir, not at all, sir,” I interrupted. “My information just led me to believe she might be here.”

“Well, she ain’t. You got anything else on your mind?”

“No sir, and I thank you for your time,” I said just before I turned and began walking away.

My hand was on the door handle at the exit with it halfway open when I heard him call out, “Hey, son, wait up a minute.”

After I raced back to the glass partition the jailer said, “We did have her here. She was brought in last Monday night and booked for car theft, but somebody bailed her out a couple of hours later. She ain’t here now though. I can assure you of that.”

I drove back to Sissy’s house only to find it darker and depressing.

I just sat there in the driveway for a while trying to sort things out. It looked like Louise’s arrest on the murder charge had been a fake and part of some kind of a scam which I was attempting to convince myself wasn’t happening, when it occurred to me where I ought to be fixing to go next