Sinking Suspicions

Chapter 9

53 Chapter 9 Cynthia Tanner stood in front of the meat counter, trying to choose what to prepare with her morel mushrooms. For weeks she’d been craving the delectable treats that grew in the woods close to the creek not far from her home. She considered them a gift from the Creator to the Cherokee people, and she’d loved them ever since she’d first tasted them as a child. The mushroom crop had been plentiful for only a few weeks in April, immediately after a week of cool showers had passed through the county, so she’d picked as many as she possibly could and stored them for future use. After she thoroughly shook them in a paper sack to remove the dirt and debris , and dunked them in a cool bowl of water, she’d threaded each mushroom on a piece of heavy thread, using a sewing needle to pierce through the stem just as her Cherokee grandmother had taught her. Then she’d hung them to dry for almost a month before placing them in airtight plastic bags and stacking them above the refrigerator, where she thought they’d be good for at least six months. If there were any left after that, she would carve out a spot in the freezer for them. Cynthia grinned inside when she thought about her sister, who had never acquired a taste for morels yet had spent most of the day helping Cynthia with the harvest, all the time complaining about shuffling through dead oak leaves for what she referred to as “icky fungus.” Cynthia had 54 always tried her best to instill in her sister some of the lessons she’d learned from her grandmother. Someday she might be thankful for a meal provided by the earth, she’d told her. Refocusing on the meat cooler, Cynthia finally made her choice. It would be chicken again, not only because it came from the local processing plant, but because it cost a lot less than beef or pork. She would bring the mushrooms back to life with bacon grease in a saucepan, brown the chicken in the skillet, and pour the mushrooms on top. It would be delicious. After choosing the cheapest package of chicken legs available, she dropped it next to two bags of potato chips on top of the other items in her grocery cart, and headed for the beer section in the refrigerated aisle with guarded anticipation. Did she have enough to pay for all this food? Benny had called from the Northwest Arkansas Airport to let her know he was almost home. He’d been visiting family in Hawai‘i, and she knew he would be famished after the long plane ride. She’d never fixed mushrooms for Benny before, but she knew he’d like them. Guiding her cart down the beer aisle, she picked up a six-pack of Benny’s favorite—Pabst Blue Ribbon—and pushed her cart toward the checkout lane. Coming to a halt in the middle of the aisle, she counted the number of items she had. No express lane for her today. She waited patiently behind a young mother who balanced a toddler on one hip as she placed items on the conveyor belt for the cashier. The other child, a preschool boy, ran around the entire group of checkout lanes, stopping each time he circled to pull on the toddler’s shoe and provoke an earsplitting shriek. Cynthia tried to focus. She studied her grocery cart and made another attempt to mentally add the cost of the contents. She thought she had enough balance left on her food stamp debit card for the groceries, but she would have to pay cash for the beer. The cashier would never let her slide on the beer, even though she’d seen her do it for others. Cynthia heard a siren and watched through the grocery store’s large plate-glass window as a truck flew by, followed shortly thereafter by a police car. A jolt of adrenaline shot through her. The truck looked just like Benny’s truck. She tried to think. It couldn’t be. He hadn’t had time to get from the Arkansas airport to Sycamore Springs. Then another thought entered her mind. Unless he had lied about where he was when he called. Suddenly, her 55 face felt hot. There were other...