Randy White - Deceived

The boldness in me vanished. “I’m… sorry, Levi, I shouldn’t have raised my voice like that.”

The man’s chin dropped to his chest. He looked at his muddy boots, looked at the hammer, then picked a leaf off his coveralls, which he rolled between his fingers.

Now what should I do? Leave him alone, a voice in me said. Keep moving and pretend this never happened. But we were here, only a few yards apart, and there could be no avoiding a handyman who worked next door. So I pushed ahead, saying, “Loretta told me you used the truck to deliver a box to Mrs. Helms. That she asked you to do it and you had permission. I shouldn’t have doubted you the other day. You forgive me?”

A shrug was my reply. Levi began tapping the hammer against his thigh-hopefully because he was eager for me to be gone and not because he was agitated. What I wanted to ask was Why were you so frightened on Pay Day Road? but couldn’t summon the courage. So I kept my tone chatty and stuck to a subject that had to be addressed. “I’m sure you took great care of the truck, no need to discuss that. But the thing is, Levi-”

He sensed a rebuke, and the man’s nostrils widened to gather air, which caused me to pause, before I continued, “The thing about using the truck is, you probably shouldn’t drive unless you have a license. See… my mother’s not as fussy as some when it comes to breaking the law or going to jail. But if the police pulled you over, and if they checked your-”

I stopped talking because, for the second time in my life, Walkin’ Levi risked eye contact, and what I saw scared me. The police- my choice of subjects could not have been more thoughtless. It was the source of the problem between us. Because of me, Levi had been questioned by Billy, the tough detective, and he was still mad. I had no idea why anger had motivated him to spy on me from the mangroves, but now was not the time to discuss the police or even to hint that Levi might be arrested.

I took a step back and fumbled to change the subject. “On the other hand, the worst thing for an old truck is not to be used-so let’s just forget it… okay?”

Was it my imagination or were Walkin’ Levi’s knuckles whitening as he gripped the hammer tighter? The man didn’t respond, so I asked, “How’s your new job going? You probably heard the news about Mrs. Candor’s little dog.”

That, at least, got a response. Levi’s big head swiveled toward the oaks at the top of the mound behind the cement house. “Yeah… she hunts at night,” he said, meaning the great horned owl, not Alice Candor, I felt certain, which would have made no sense. Then his head swiveled back, dodging eye contact, and offered me further reassurance by repeating what he’d told me in the truck, “But you’re nice.”

“Thank you, Levi,” I said, “I think you’re nice, too,” which struck me as a hypocritical thing to say to a man who was bouncing a hammer against his thigh. Thankfully, I was spared additional awkwardness when a voice summoned me from the road.

“Hey, Missus Smith… Hannah ? You got a minute to talk?”

Because she wasn’t in uniform, it took a moment to recognize this petite woman wearing shorts and an amber blouse that turned her red hair to ginger. It was the sheriff’s deputy from Boston who had an interest in archaeology.

I would soon learn her unusual first name: Liberty .

When Liberty Tupplemeyer, the off-duty deputy, said, “I don’t envy you putting up with that woman,” she motioned so vaguely I assumed she meant Loretta, not Dr. Alice Candor, as was intended, which almost caused a fight, then got us into a confusing discussion about parents.

“If you met my mom, you wouldn’t believe we’re related,” the redhead said. “She still bakes hash cookies-Christ, tried to get me to eat one on my sixteenth birthday. Said it would calm me down. ‘Make me comatose, you mean,’ I told her. Or wear peasant blouses and camp at Dead concerts with Dad and her pals from the old commune. Sing ‘Rocky Mountain High’ around the campfire; talk God and astrology. No thanks.”

“Parents sometimes become childlike,” I agreed, leading the woman onto the dock while also keeping an eye on Levi. When Tupplemeyer had appeared, he’d slipped back into the mangroves, then returned to work by crossing the road to the Candor property. Ten minutes, I’d been conversing with the deputy, who was chatty now that she was out of uniform, but I had yet to hear the sound of a nail being driven, or anything similar, to explain why Levi was carrying a hammer while he spied on me.

Something else that hadn’t happened was hearing why Tupplemeyer, on her day off, had returned to Sulfur Wells. The delay was caused by my defensiveness when she’d seemed to criticize my mother, but, in fact, had meant Alice Candor.

“No one’s asking you to put up with her!” I had countered with some heat. “Mind your own business-and walk yourself off our property while you’re at it!”

Like two dogs who mistakenly snap at each other, we were now eager to make peace. For Liberty Tupplemeyer, that seemed to require proving her mother was even crazier than Loretta, who she’d yet to meet so had no idea how stiff the competition was.

Mrs. Tupplemeyer, however-who came from money, according to her daughter-was making a strong showing.

“My mom sees a mountain stream, particularly if it’s a sunny day, she wants to go skinny-dipping. Doesn’t matter who’s around, can you imagine? Sixty-four years old- skinny-dipping . When I told her I was leaving BU for the police academy, you’d have thought I was marching off to join the Nazi Party. Know what she tells her friends? God forbid she gave birth to a cop, so she tells them, ‘Bertie has gone into public service.’ You know, like I married a Kennedy and I’m now devoting my life to flood victims.”

“We’ve got to keep those two apart,” I smiled but was becoming increasingly confused. BU, I knew, stood for Boston University, but what did our mothers have to do with the deputy’s return to Sulfur Wells? “You were studying archaeology before that?” I asked, hoping to get the conversation on track.

The redhead nodded while she enjoyed the view from the dock. “In a way, my mom got me interested. Especially the way she behaves around her old hippie friends. Tribal, you know?”

I was lost. “Interested in archaeology, you mean? Or having the power to arrest people?”

“Pre-Columbian history,” she replied. “Spend a day with Mom’s friends, it’s hard to believe space aliens didn’t come down and impregnate half our parents’ generation. You ever read Chariots of the Gods ? Or look at satellite photos of the Plains of Nazca in Peru? The theory’s been dismissed as bullshit, but it’s interesting, you know? Their fascination with astronomy… geometry, advanced stuff. In high school, I got college credit volunteering on digs in Guatemala and Copán. You can’t believe the vibe of those places, unless…” Tupplemeyer let the sentence trail off as her eyes focused on an island two miles away. “That’s the western pyramid you mentioned, right?”

“Cushing Key,” I said. “On this coast, whenever you see a high stand of trees, there’s always a shell mound.”

“I know that name. Cushing … Yeah, I saw his sketches on the Internet. He was sent here by the Smithsonian and collected artifacts in the eighteen hundreds. An ethnologist, right? Kind of a strange guy, but you were right about the mounds being pyramids. No doubt from his drawings.”