“Yeah,” I said.
“I’d have to look that one up in the statutes,” Orville said. “Being odd. Maybe I should get together a posse, we’ll round up everyone in the county who’s odd. Hey!” He smiled. “We could call it The Odd Squad.”
This hurt. Orville was right. We had nothing. What an unexpected and unwelcome turn of events.
“Okay,” I said, wanting to move on. “But couldn’t you look around their place anyway? See if they have the fertilizer? Because if they do, well, they’d have a lot of explaining to do.”
“You want me to search their place. You’ve got no evidence, no witnesses, nothing. What sort of judge would give me a warrant based on what you’re telling me here?”
“Well, couldn’t you tell him we’ve got a feeling?” Dad said.
Don’t give Orville the easy ones, I thought.
“And besides,” Dad continued, “would you even need a warrant? I mean, I own the place. If I say it’s okay, can’t you go ahead and do it, even if they object?”
I could see Orville’s discomfort growing. I suspect the last thing he wanted was to confront the Wickenses. “I’m not sure,” he said hesitantly, which I took to mean that yes, he could search. “But what am I going to say? I’m just going to walk up there and start snooping around?”
“You’ve got another reason to go up there,” I said. “You could go up and talk to them about their dogs. Remind them that they have to be penned up, kept on a leash, kept on a chain for fuck’s sake, so that they don’t come down here and bother Dad’s guests again.”
“I suppose,” Orville said, looking at his hands.
“And here’s the other thing,” I said. “It’s about May Wickens and her son, Jeffrey.”
“What the hell have they done?” Orville asked.
“Nothing. But I had coffee with May this morning, and she kind of poured out her heart to me, at some considerable risk, I think. She wants to get away from her father, to get her son away from him. Timmy Wickens is feeding that boy’s mind a daily diet of poison.”
Orville Thorne shrugged. “So, she should leave. She’s free, white, and twenty-one, isn’t she?”
“Timmy Wickens has this kind of hold on her. She said if she tries to leave, he’ll hold on to the boy. He won’t let her take him.”
For the first time, Orville almost looked concerned. “He can’t do that.”
“I know. She says if she tries to leave, with Jeffrey, that Timmy and those two stepsons of his, Charlene’s boys, will track her down wherever she goes and bring her back.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Just go up and talk to them,” Dad said. “Just get a feel of what’s going on.”
“But you can’t let on that you know what May told me,” I said. “I think that could be bad for her.”
Orville collapsed into total frustration. “Just what the hell is it you want me to do? Hunt for stolen fertilizer when you don’t have a shred of evidence that Wickens had a thing to do with it? Try to get the daughter and her boy out when she’s made no official complaint whatsoever? Honest to God, what do you want from me?”
Dad and I looked at each other.
“Also,” I said, “he assaulted me.”
“What?”
“On Main Street. When he found me having coffee with May, Timmy Wickens grabbed my arm and squeezed it.”
Now it was Orville’s turn to try not to laugh. “Did he squeeze it really hard?” His voice dripped with concern. “Go ahead, grab my arm and show me how hard he squeezed. I can take it.”
“Fuck it, never mind,” I said. “Let’s just go up and talk to them about the dogs.”
“The dogs.”
“They have to keep them tied up. Plain and simple. Then, while we’re up there, we play the rest by ear.”
Orville said, “We?”
Dad begged off, saying his ankle was throbbing. I think he was glad for an excuse not to go.
So Orville and I walked up the road to the Wickenses’ gate. I knew enough now not to hop it. Orville shouted, “Mr. Wickens! Hello?”
Timmy appeared, followed by Wendell and Dougie, who, at that moment, really did remind me of the Darryl and Darryl characters from that long-ago sitcom. The three of them walked, casually, taking their time, down the drive to the gate.
“Yeah?” said Timmy. Not nearly as friendly as at dinner the night before.
“We wonder if we could come in and talk for a moment,” Orville said. “Provided your dogs is someplace safe.”
“They’re in the barn,” said Wendell, grinning.
“You’re sure?” I said.
“If the boy says they’re in the barn, they’re in the barn,” Timmy Wickens said, unlatching the gate and opening it wide enough to admit me and Orville. We started walking slowly, walking and talking at the same time, toward the house.
“What’s this about?” Timmy asked.
“Your dogs got a bit out of control today,” Orville said.
“Wendell told me.” Wendell nodded at this. “Didn’t he say he was sorry?”