Page 42 of Call it Reckless

“Still having trouble with the squirrels?” I asked.

Beverly’s nose crinkled as she blinked at me, almost as if she didn’t know what I was talking about. “Oh, that. Yes. We’re still working on it. But now we have a new disaster,” she stated with wide eyes. “You’ve got to do something.”

Tillie spoke up. “It’s Hans Zimmerman. That man must be stopped.”

Any sense of urgency deflated. “What did he do now?”

“Well, as you know, this summer’s Milling About Barbecue and Bluegrass Festival is coming up in a few months,” Beverly said. “And that man…he’s…he’s…” She fanned herself with her hand as she shook her head.

I leaned my head a little closer and arched an eyebrow. “He’s…?” I prompted.

Tillie nudged her aside, her face red. “He’s promising to bring raccoon stew to the cookoff this year.” She might as well have announced that he was bringing a bomb.

I hid my chuckle. Of course, he did.

Hans was like a bit of folklore around here. He was a well-known hunter and trapper who lived in a remote cabin in the woods. We all figured he had at least one moonshine still hidden, but none of us ever tried to find it because, legal or not, we’d all enjoyed a sip of it now and again, even our sheriff.

His ongoing feud with Tillie was becoming legendary around these parts. Tillie had a fondness for raccoons, and oddly enough, they seemed to like her in return. She treated them like her babies. But a raccoon—not one ever proved to be one of Tillie’s “babies”—had caused a disaster now known as The Derby Day Debacle. She accused Hans, who had always been suspected of having stills on his property, of spiking the punch with moonshine that started the comical chain of events.

The feud began. They constantly found ways to stir one another up. Now, Hans wore a coonskin hat almost every time he came to town. Last spring, he found himself blocked from getting to his house up in the mountains because a giant tree fell across the road used to get there. The tree was too evenly cut to have just “fallen.”

Shortly afterward, Tillie found the stream that ran through her property had trickled to almost nothing because Hans had used the wood he cut up from the tree to build a dam. Both had been fined and the matter dropped, at least for the town.

It seemed I was caught in their latest development.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “I’ll miss his venison version.”

Neither lady appeared to see the humor in my statement. Beverly tapped her finger on the counter separating us. “I want to know what you’re going to do about it.”

“Mrs. Seymour, I’m not sure that’s—”

“You need to ban him from coming.”

“I can’t do that. He has every right to attend.”

“He’s threatened the good people of Sterling Mill.”

I grinned. “No, only the good raccoons of Sterling Mill.”

“Deputy Braxton, this is not funny,” Tillie sputtered. “Several of my animal friends on my property are disappearing. What else could be happening to them?”

It was kind of funny, but I tried to be more serious. “Ms. Espey, animals move around. Maybe they’re making families. I don’t know.” I turned my attention to the other uptight figure. “Mrs. Seymour, I suggest that you and your committee develop a list of rules and a contract that specifically states what kind of meat can be used in your cookoff. Anyone not complying will be automatically eliminated.”

She blinked her eyes at me. “That’s an excellent suggestion, Deputy. Our next planning meeting is in two weeks. I’ll send you the details.”

“Oh, I don’t need them.”

“Be sure to come in uniform,” Tillie added. “It will look official then.”

“I’m not—”

“You’ve been most helpful, young man,” Beverly praised. “You’ve taken a weight off our shoulders. Now, you have a wonderful rest of your day. Tootles!”

Both were out the door before I could get any more words out. Shit. I’d officially been Beverly-ed.

Sighing, I returned to my desk wondering what would happen if I ignored Beverly’s summons.

“Is it safe to come out now?”