4 - Stranger Room: Ike Schwartz Mystery 4 by Frederick Ramsay

proceeded to pass out. She wouldn’t stay that way long. But for now, her drinking had formed a solid wall between them, protecting her from the inevitable tongue lashing her father would have bestowed on her, had she attempted sobriety on a permanent basis.
    Lydell glared at her for several minutes. He wished her gone from his presence. Dead would be better. After all he had done for her, and now this…this…He slammed the file box shut and stalked from the room.
    After a few minutes had passed, Martha Marie cocked one eye open, stood, and shuffled to the desk.
    Too late to replace the papers in the box. He’d already searched there. She paused and then, a sly smile lighted her face. She slid a sheaf of papers under the blotter on his desk. Her father had a habit of doing that when people came into the room, unexpectedly. Satisfied, she refilled her glass and slipped away.
    ***
    “How’s your hand?”
    “What?”
    “Dr. Harris, you poked your hand with a pencil yesterday, remember? I asked how it was.”
    “It’s fine, Agnes. Thank you. The sheriff says it may turn into a tattoo.”
    Agnes lifted an eyebrow and turned to leave the office with the mail to be filed.
    “Agnes, can I ask you a question?”
    “Certainly.”
    “Sit down. It’s a little personal.”
    Agnes perched on the edge of one or the other of two crewel upholstered chairs opposite. Ike, when he visited, would usually slouch in one or the other. That’s how Ruth remembered him. The first time he’d visited, she’d chewed him out royally. She blushed at the memory. How wrong she’d been. The second time he’d come into the office, it was her turn to receive a verbal spanking. She thought that if she ever had to leave Callend, she’d ask for the chairs as part of her severance package.
    “Yes?” Agnes still held her dictation pad in her hand.
    “What, exactly, do you have against Sheriff Schwartz that makes you dislike him so much?”
    “I never said I did.”
    “Never said, but action, Agnes, action speaks louder than…whatever.”
    “Well, as long as we are being personal, I believe your behavior, your actions, are causing a major scandal on the campus. What sort of example do you suppose you set for the girls when you openly sleep around with that…well, that man?”
    Ruth’s face reddened. She’d always admired Agnes, appreciated her willingness to shield her from the endless intrusions visited on her office and time. She thought of her as efficient, smart, and loyal. On the last item, she discovered, it appeared she’d been wrong and felt betrayed.
    The two women faced each other, each waiting for the other to continue.
    “By ‘that man’ you mean what, precisely?”
    “Nothing. Only that he is not the sort of companion I would choose, and I think your faculty and the girls feel the same.”
    “They are young women, not girls, and fully capable of assessing the circumstances of my relationship, without prejudice as, it appears, you are not.”
    It was Agnes’ turn to turn red. “If my presence is not wanted…”
    “Agnes, you and I have been together a long time. You came with me when I accepted this job. You, better than anyone else, know my faults and, God forgive me, my past, including, I should add, past relationships. You were fine with them then, at least you never said anything. Why now, all of a sudden, are you acting like a South American duenna, watching over some sixteen-year-old virgin? You know that I am neither. So what’s the problem?”
    Agnes lowered her head and said nothing. Ruth, whose patience was already worn thin by work, rumors, and several important postponed decisions, slapped the desk with her hand, and sent another pencil spinning in the air. This time no trauma accompanied the gesture. One serendipitous tattoo was enough.
    “Agnes, say something, for God’s sake. You act as though I have become the town tramp, or worse, a Hollywood celebrity. Speak to me.”
    Agnes removed a handkerchief