The Pecan Man(31)

I walked home after that, feeling more full than proud. A stiff wind had kicked up and I had to lean into it to keep from being blown off my feet. It didn’t help that my bags full of whatnots for the girls kept filling with air and pulling me backward like parachutes. I stopped and tied them closed with the handles. Then I leaned forward and pushed on toward home.

I was almost home when I got to thinking how silly I must look, all ninety-eight pounds of me, buckin’ a headwind. It just tickled me so much that I got to giggling. Inside at first, but then it just bubbled out the top and I was nearly crying with laughter by the time I hit my porch. I had been so focused on putting one foot in front of the other that I hadn’t looked up yet when I set my foot on the first step.

“’Bout time you got home,” a voice boomed from my porch. I looked up, choking back a giggle.

“Whatcha’ laughin’ at, Ora Lee?” The Honorable Harley T. Odell thundered from his seat in one of my rockers.



Harley Odell was as large as I was slight, with a bulging belly that stretched the hope of any wrinkle right out of his expensive western-cut shirt. He sat with one foot propped on the runner of the chair and his snakeskin boots gleamed shiny gray beneath the dark blue slacks he wore. His face was covered in a neatly-trimmed, but thick beard of more salt than pepper. A handlebar mustache, waxed and twisted in place just so, covered his top lip and provided a frame for his bulbous red nose. He looked like a cross between Santa and his lead reindeer with a little John Wayne thrown in for good measure.

I hiccupped through the last of my giggles, set my packages on the top step and stared at my visitor with both arms akimbo.

“Well, if it ain’t Poopsie, it’s the devil himself!”

“Afternoon, Ora Lee.”

Lord, but the man had a voice as smooth as silk, even if it was a few decibels above normal.

“I wasn’t expecting company or I’da been here to meet you.”

“I woulda called,” he drawled, “but I didn’t think of stopping here until I was coming through town.”

“How long you been waiting?”

“Oh, ‘bout thirty minutes or so. It’s nice on this porch. Warm for December, wind and all.”

“That’s a long time, nice porch or not. What brings you here, Poopsie?”

“A strong desire to lose that old nickname, for one,” he said with a wry smile.

“Aw, I always thought it suited you just fine. Would you like some tea?”

“You haven’t changed a whit since high school, Ora Lee. Still got that sharp tongue, tempered only by your earnest devotion to the social graces. Sweet, please.”

I gathered my packages without a word and was soon back with two glasses of sweet tea. I settled into my chair and sipped the icy brew.

“You didn’t finish answering my question. What can I do for you?”

“Glad you asked.” Harley Odell leaned forward as he spoke. “I got a problem over at the jail I was hoping you could help me with.”

“What kind of problem?”

“Got an old man there I’m pretty sure didn’t do what the sheriff says he did and I don’t know how to handle it.”

“Eldred Mims?”

“The one and only.”

“What gave it away?” I huffed. “I told you myself he couldn’t have killed anyone.”

“Yep, you did. And I’m inclined to believe you. Problem is, I’ve got to do something with the man between now and time for the trial. I’m thinking of letting him out on bail, but nobody’ll post it without him having an address, much less a home.”

“I can vouch for him, if that’s what you’re asking,” I said.

“Well, in a way, I am,” Harley squirmed in the rocker, “but there’s more to it than that.”

“Such as?”

“You visit him fairly often, don’t you?”

“Much as I can, yes.”

“I‘m just wondering why it is you do that.” Harley cocked his head sideways and peered at me curiously.

“’Cause of what you just said. I think Ralph Kornegay’s got the wrong man and I feel bad for him, being in jail like that. And I think the longer he stays there, the more likely it is he’ll be hurt worse than he was already hurt.”

“How bad do you want him out?” Harley asked, leaning forward again. “Or maybe I should rephrase that. How much are you willing to bet he didn’t do it?”

“How much is his bail?”

“I haven’t set it yet. Hearing’s Monday afternoon.”

I was getting tired of the game, but I decided to hang in a while longer. “How much are you thinking?”

“Normally, it’d have to be a hundred thousand or more, but I’d be willing to make a deal for less.”

“Get to the point, Poopsie.”

“Fifty thousand and you never call me Poopsie again.”

“Done,” I said, thinking I had gotten off quite easily.

Harley Odell reached down and snagged his hat from where it lay on the floor beside the chair. Then, rocking forward for momentum, he heaved his massive frame to a standing position and paused for a moment in front of me. He seemed to be considering something carefully.