The Misadventures of a "Modern Day" Gibson Girl

Adam Dumphy

Description

In the 1930’s every rural village in the U.S. had its own ‘fixit’ man. And contrary to, “Jack of all trades, master of none.” he could fix anything and was a master of improvisation.
Also being in and out of the back door of every house in the district he knew more about his neighbors than most anyone.
At the same time period women were getting into law enforcement.
Take one of each and between them chasing each other through the mysteries of courtship add a mystery and you have the story.
While rarely agreeing on most things the disappearance of the town banker and of the cast iron, merry-go-round pony from in front of the only antique store in town seemed as suspicious as minnows in the milk.
After stumbling into the vagaries of a number of the town’s citizens they emerge well courted and could agree on the marriage and the murderer.

Sujets

• Thrillers
• Suspense
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse
• Date de parution: 16 novembre 2005
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781467032278
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Misadventures of a “Modern Day” Gibson Girl
 
 
by
Adam Dumphy
 
 
 

 
This is a work of fiction. Places, events, and situations in this story are purely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is coincidental.
 
© 2005 Adam Dumphy. All Rights Reserved.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
 
First published by AuthorHouse 11/09/05
 
ISBN: 1-4208-6861-6 (sc)
 
Printed in the United States of America
Bloomington, Indiana
 
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 30
About the Author
 
 CHAPTER 1
“Oakie Pender you stop hiding behind that old corn shredder and come out of that garage. This is the law.”
From the shady depths of a comfortably cluttered garage behind a neat, frame, bungalow in a small southwestern town about 1939, there was a profound silence.
“Oakie! Are you in there?”
The silence was finally interrupted when from the shadows of the garage eave, a mostly indeterminate quadruped emerged into the sunlight. With the long, round body of a Beagle, bowed legs, short even for a dachshund, a stump of a tail and huge head and floppy ears of a mastiff, it was a composite of many breeds and totally distinctive. The only clearly identifiable feature was the Beagle Body. Unaware of it’s distinctiveness it ambled inside the garage and then after a histrionic pause it raised a front paw from the ground, the tail went up in a curve, and the nose pointed to a dark corner in a caricature of a hound impersonating a pointer.
The silence from the barn continued.
“This is your last chance.”
Then. “Ok.” came a voice. “Don’t shoot.”
The young man who emerged into the sun was so short and so stocky as to be equal in dimension from top to bottom, front to back, side to side. He had carroty hair, cut short, a round cheerful face with only a stub of a nose and a mouth that turned up at the corners as if made for smiling. It seemed he should be the epitome of cheerful, only at this moment his expression was strictly gloom.
He approached the Deputy arms overhead.
The Deputy, neatly uniformed in khaki shirt with blue and gold shoulder patch, neatly pressed khaki trousers, black Sam Browne belt and holster, spit-shiny black Wellingtons, and with a campaign hat set four square straight, glared.
Then, “Oh Oakie. Why do you always hide out when I come by?”
The Deputy while uniformed in regulation manner was also so ununiformly willowy and so richly feminine she looked like a modern day Gibson girl.
She hurried forward to put both arms around the little man and hugged him tightly.
He kept his arms over head.
“Gee Oakie. Don’t you remember all those Saturday nights after the YPF dances sitting in your old truck in the moonlight above the Reservoir?”
“Who me?”
“Yes you! You put your arms around me plenty willingly then. And held me so gentle and kissed me all you could and whispered sweet things, like how pretty I was and how funny and how cute and how much you loved me.”
“You sure that wasn’t Tony Parker or Fred Ballem?”
“Well, sure they all tried at least, but all through school from the time we were four years old it was just you, you know that.”
“Knew that? Big fool me.”
“Oh Oakie,” she squeezed him again tighter. “Don’t you notice anything.”
“Yeah. Your Sam Browne belt buckle is cold on my sensitive belly and your .38 Special is pointed at my toe.”
Furious she released him and turned away.
At her feet the Beagle Body panted a couple of times for the girl’s attention.
That caught the young man’s eye. Speaking to the animal, “And besides that, you buggering quadruped. You are supposed to chase rabbits, hate cats and bark at strangers and all you do its peach on your kindly, beloved, faithful, old master. What did you have to tell her where I was for?”
The dog ignored him to turn adoring eyes on the girl.
Oakie looked at her too, then bent forward as he heard a sniff and noticed a tear drop on the starched shirtfront.
Looking both ways nervously he tried to ignore them. Then, “Aw don’t cry Gibbie. I hate it when you cry.”
“Why? What do you care?”
“Well it makes your nose all red for one thing and well I just don’t like it. I like it better when your laughing and talking fast and cracking jokes and wiggling around….”
“I do not wiggle.”
“Boy you are really in a fit, Sweetie. Come on in the house, unpin the badge and prop the regulation boots up on the table. I’ll squash you glass of kumquat juice.”
“What juice?”
“Kumquat. The Tallman’s tree is in full fruit and it’s free for the picking.”
“Well. It’s not much of an invitation.” she mused. Then, “But I accept, I accept.” she added hurriedly.
 
 CHAPTER 2
Beagle Body panted approval and hurried forward to pry open the screen door with an educated nose. He pushed the door fully open and held it open with his belly for the girl as she entered. Then Body followed her in, allowing the screen door to swing shut in the young man’s face.
“Beagle you did that on purpose.” He gritted.
Beagle looked back in surprise.
“You did. I saw you. And don’t forget I can give you to old Mrs. Weller anytime. She’s got fourteen cats and the only food allowed in the place is vegetarian, health food, cat chow. With health food rutabagas mixed in. For your shiny coat, she says.”
Beagle considered this and then shook his head at such a hollow threat. His loving glance returned to the girl.
She sat and looked about the familiar kitchen. The neatly patched screen door, the large, sunny, old-fashioned room, high ceilinged and spotless. A huge sink occupied most of one wall. A huge combination propane and wood cook stove glittering in polished chrome and blue enamel faced it. A drop leaf, golden oak table stood in the center of the room with four matching chairs. The walls were covered by glass fronted cabinets filled with blue and white china. Although Oakie now batched, it was exactly as it had been since she was a girl and Mrs. Pender still alive.
Oakie took a bag of unappetizing looking brown fruit out of a sack and began to squash the small fruit on an orange squeezer.
The girl noticed something new. “What’s that?” She pointed to one wall.
“Just something I stumbled onto at a garage sale a while ago. Couple of nice, old, oak picture frames.”
She rose to look more closely. “They are old all right but new here.”
She read the caption, “Never the King, Rudolf. Never. Always you, only you.”
She paused in thought. “Why that’s an illustration from an early edition of the Prisoner of Zenda, in fact a Gibson illustration of a Gibson girl as Queen Flavia.”
“Well…. Yeah.”
“Say you…. you. You were the very first to call me Gibbie cause you said I looked so much like a Gibson girl.”
“Well…. yeah.”
“If you hate me so much how come you got a colored sketch of me as the Queen, hanging on your kitchen wall?” She looked around “Four of them, even.” She turned back to him and glared.
He looked at her again. The straight back, slender neck, and well formed head, and even under the restrictions of hair spray or the campaign hat the never-could-be-controlled amber pompadour, with a large soft roll over her forehead and the lazy curls pinned up from her hair line at her neck, were straight out of the 1919 fashion mags. He looked away. He didn’t have to look to see the rich bosom, the tiny waist above ample hips of the classical beauty.
“Aw Gibbie. I don’t hate you. You know that. I just don’t understand you. Besides I like Gibson Girls.” He continued. “They are always pretty and they dress real nice and all act like ladies and…”
“And what?”
“Well, they don’t go off and marry somebody else every time a guy’s back is turned.”
The girl sank down onto the chair as if her marionette strings were cut.
“I’ve tried to explain that a hundred times but you won’t really listen. I did a dumb thing but I was conned really and I am not going to apologize for ever.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me. I never had no longe line on you.”
“You did too, you bonehead. You just didn’t know it.”
She looked down at the dog. “Oh Beagle why didn’t you train him better when you were bigger than he was. He was such a sweet little boy.”
Beagle looked away embarrassed.
“Oh damn, hell….cow poop.” She wailed.
At her distress Beagle raised his beautiful, beagle voice in a long, sad howl than which there is nothing sadder.
“And…” Oakie continued. “It ain’t lady like to swear. Beside I’m the one that should be cussing. The whole county is still giggling at the sight of me all dressed up in coat, white shirt and tie coming by your house to take you to the Rotary Awards Dinner. Phil Oatman came to the door and says, ‘Gibby says she is sorry she can’t go out with you tonight. Its our wedding night and my wife and I are planning on being pretty much occupied the rest of the evening.’”
He looked down. “I guess it did sound pretty funny to the crowd hanging around your front gate.”
“But Oakie you must have known that was phony some how. I was in my bedroom bawling my eyes out; everybody on the block could hear that. And my Pa kicked Phil out ten minutes later and he spent the night shooting pool at Sharkey’s. That should prove my…well my innocence. I’m really single, Oak