Downhome Crazy Read Free Page B

that in her way, Precious really was…precious. “Then you won’t mind taking her in until we find Miz Waddy. Chief wants to send her to the pound.”
    Dang. One tiny fib and here I am, trapped into kitty sitting.
    “I’ll take care of her,” Eugene cuts in.
    “Uhhh.” Not a brilliant response from Luther, but I understand. He was probably trying to figure out if Eugene meant shelter and feed or was using the phrase “take care of her” in the vernacular of a hit man. Or maybe he figured Eugene would make poor Miss Priss a midnight sacrifice.
    “I love cats.” Eugene’s voice is earnest. “If my mother wasn’t allergic, I’d have a dozen of them.”
    As Eugene waxes on about how regal cats are and what great companions they make, I can almost hear Luther’s mind at work. Like maybe he’s beginning to realize that just because Eugene is different, it doesn’t mean he is evil. Or even bad enough to step on a crack and break his mother’s back.
    “Uh, your mother’s allergy?” I finally cut in.
    “Oh.” Eugene’s face falls. Then it brightens and he says, “Maybe we could both stay at your house.”
    Panic rises swiftly and fills every fiber of my being. I could maybe handle Eugene or the cat, but not both of them. Okay, if I’m being honest here, I don’t think I could handle a teenager even on a temporary basis. Or afford to feed a healthy growing boy like good old Big E. I doubt if he’d settle for a bowl of kitty kibbles twice a day.
    “I’ll take the cat; you go home and keep an eye on your mother.” I put as much authority as I can muster into what I hope sounds like an order.
    “Breaker, breaker here,” Luther interrupts, leading me to wonder what old TV show he’d been watching. “The alto section decided it would be best if Florine had a nice little rest away from the stress she’s been under lately. At the moment she’s secured in a room at the motel out on the Interstate.”
    “The one with the game room and the pool?” Eugene sounds like a bitter six-year-old.
    “The preacher’s offered you a spare room in the parsonage,” Luther says. “He’s a fine man and his girl Penelope makes some mighty tasty pie.”
    Eugene doesn’t answer right away. He’s busy with his cell phone, wandering off to carry on a conversation. Upon his return, he announces he’s spending the night at this grandmother’s.
    “You’re sure this is what you want to do?” Luther asks. “Penelope has a coconut cream pie she made today, and she’ll cut us each a piece when we get there.”
    Ah, the plot thins. Luther’s sudden concern over the weird kid makes sense at last. And while I normally choose any solution that involves pie, I certainly understand what Eugene’s thinking: The crazy you know is always more comfortable than the crazy you don’t. Not that I’m saying Penelope’s less than perfectly sane. It’s simply that sometimes her actions and words might confuse you on that particular matter.
    “I’ll run along home then,” I say, edging toward my car. “I’m sure I can get the whole story from the chief in the morning. Gotta be up bright and early, you know.”
    “Stop right there.” An unusual note of authority rings in Luther’s words, and I realize he must have seen me coming from Miz Waddy’s store. Us. Eugene’s not built for stealth. I seriously do not want to sit in the county jail on a charge of tampering with evidence, so I prepare to grovel.
    “Or maybe I should take Eugene to his grandmother’s first.” I make an impatient gesture toward good old Big E, who takes the hint and nods.
    “I’ll make sure the boy is taken care of before I go tell Penelope her fine offer was unnecessary. Just need to lock up Miz Waddy’s place first. What I’d like you to do is call your…Lt. Hayes.” Luther’s cheeks carry a blush, and I realize he almost used the word “boyfriend.” That makes me a little more sympathetic to the man than usual.
    “Thanks for being there