Jane Carter Investigates: Episode Seventeen
The morning was bright and sunny. Rain-washed foliage along the
roadside had a fresh, glittering color and the air was dust-free and
invigorating. We motored along, enjoying the scenery. We’d gone five miles or
so when we came upon a man on the road ahead who was waving a red flag.
“Now what?” Flo said.
“Probably a washout of some kind,” I suggested.
The flagman stopped us.
“Sorry, Miss,” he said. “The bridge won’t carry a car safely. That
flood last night did something to one of the piers.”
“How do we get by?” I asked. “We didn’t see any detour sign.”
“Ain’t had time to put any up,” the man said. “Turn around and go
three miles back to where the road forks. Take the right-hand turn. Go two
miles east, and three south, till you hit the river again. The bridge there is
all right. Then two miles south, and two west, and you’ll be back on this road
again.”
“I hope I can remember all that,” I said, turning the car around
in the middle of the narrow highway.
“We’ll probably miss seeing Mud Cat Joe and his family,” Flo said.
“The detour won’t pass his place.”
We followed the alternate route, and when we came out on the main
highway again, I saw that Florence’s prediction had come true; we had bypassed
Mud Cat Joe’s.
“My idea of buying food wasn’t such a good one after all,” I said.
“The only way we could get it to them now would be to turn back. I’m not sure I
could find the place from this direction.”
“I need to get back to Greenville. One of Father’s parishioners,
Mrs. McCall—”
“Old Mrs. McCall who always insists on taking out her glass eye
and making you clean it for her?”
“That’s the one.”
“And never fails to solicit your expert opinion on how her bunion
removal is coming along?”
“Also the one, and she’s laid up again, so I promised mother I’d
call in with a pot of chicken soup.”
“Well, we mustn’t deprive Mrs. McCall of the opportunity to have
her glass eye tended to, so I’m afraid we’ll have to take the food for the
Gains family home and deliver it another day,” I conceded.
The highway circled through dense groves of trees. We caught
occasional glimpses of the river, glistening for a moment like a ribbon of
silver in the distance, and then fading from view amid the green foliage.
We came upon a stoop-shouldered man walking with an easy gait
along the road. He raised his hand as if signaling us to stop. I raised my foot
from the gasoline pedal.
“Don’t stop!” Flo said. “It’s not safe, picking up hitchhikers!”
“Hitchhiker, nothing! It’s Mud Cat Joe!”
I slammed on the brakes and screeched to a halt just beyond the
man.
“Hello, Joe,” I called. “Aren’t you a long way from home?”
“Well, dog my cats if it ain’t Mrs. Carter and Miss Radcliff!
Where you-all headed for?”
“We’re on our way home,” Florence said. “We have a basket of food
for your wife, but we couldn’t take it to your place because the bridge was
out.”
“That’s too bad, it sure is. We ain’t none of us been eatin’ very
regular.”
“Have you had any word of The Empress?” I asked.
“A feller jest gave me a tip. His uncle heard tell of a houseboat
in the Blue River. He didn’t know what business it had a-bein’ there, but he
reckoned as how it looked right smart like The Empress. I’m a-headin’ for there
now.”
“How much farther is the Blue River?” I asked.
“Only two, three miles. It runs into the Grassy down here at
Gribsby’s Station.”
“We’ll take you there, Joe,” I offered. “It won’t be much out of
our way.”
“That’s mighty nice of you, mighty nice,” Mud Cat said as he
climbed into the car.
I threw the car into gear, and we sped down the road. Joe could
not take his eyes away from the river.
“I knows ever foot o’ water along these parts,” he said. “Right
over there is the best place to ketch crappie I knows of. There’s a rocky reef
a-stickin’ out from the shore where they likes to hang out. Many a time I’ve
anchored The Empress on the end of the reef and hauled ’em in till it weren’t
fun no more.”
“You miss The Empress dreadfully, don’t you, Joe?”
“I sure do. She was a real boat. I’ve owned a right smart o’ craft
in my day, but The Empress laid it over ’em all. She had style, and she’d stay
afloat in a puddle. And inside she was beautiful. Jennie had fixed her up till
she looked jest like a parsonage. Why, she even had a carpet in the settin’
room. And purty lace curtains on the winders with a geranium a-perched on the
sill.”
Mud Cat Joe lapsed into a meditative silence until we pulled up at
our destination.
“I’m much obliged for the ride.”
“We may as well wait here while you make inquiries,” I offered.
“Maybe we can help you find your boat.”
Joe thanked me and ambled off down to the river bank, all the
while looking up and down the stream for his beloved Empress. He accosted a
fisherman he seemed to know, but his face fell when the man answered his
question. Soon Joe returned to the car.
“Nobody’s seen The Empress around these parts. I reckon it was
jest another false alarm.”
“Isn’t that a road going along the river?” I said, indicating a
narrow dirt lane. “Let’s drive up that way and see what we can learn. It’ll
only take a few minutes.”
We bumped over the potholes for ten minutes before Joe said, “It
ain’t no use goin’ any further, Mrs. Carter. The river’s a-running over the
rocks here. They wouldn’t never git the boat higher up than this.”
“We’re dreadfully sorry, Joe,” Flo said. “But don’t be too
discouraged. A houseboat couldn’t very well vanish into thin air.”
“Looks like that’s jest what she’s done, Miss,” Mud Cat replied,
refusing to be comforted. “Reckon we never will see that boat again. And
a-livin’ like we are now, in an old cowshed, we feels mighty trashy, I’m a
tellin’ you.”
We reached the main road and turned toward Greenville. Mud Cat Joe
rode along until we reached the crossroads nearest his temporary home. He got
out with the basket of food.
“I won’t be a forgettin’ all you’ve done for us,” he said. “Mebbe
I kin pay you back for it someday.”
I hadn’t the slightest inkling that his words were prophetic.
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