Free Boo by Rene Gutteridge

Polaroid man she was beginning to realize she didn’t know quite as well as she thought.
    “Miss Parker?” the owner asked.
    She turned back to him. “I’m sorry. I was just noticing your—uh, never mind. Anyway, thanks for your help.”
    She had to get to the hospital. She headed back into the cold.

    Missy Peeple’s crumbling old teeth chattered in the cold, which she supposed helped to disguise her voice, lest anyone would want to know who was
really
calling. She was on hold, but from the little phone booth near the hardware store, she could see Boo leaving the church and walking up the hill to his home. She sighed in disgust. He was spending time at the church. That couldn’t be good.
    “Are you still holding?”
    “Yes, I’m still here,” she said, putting a deliberate and hard-to-find chime in her voice.
    “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, ma’am. I’ll have to take a message. Mr. Tennison isn’t available.”
    “Oh, is that so? If he knew what I had to say, I think he’d be on the phone.”
    “He’s a very busy man—”
    “Listen,” Missy said. “I’ve got information. Do you know what information means in a business like yours, deary?”
    “Well—”
    “Wrong answer. The correct answer is ‘One moment, please. I’ll get him.’ ”
    A pause was followed by, “Ma’am, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but …”
    Missy held her breath. She’d only put three dollars’ worth of quarters into the pay phone, and the time it took for the little brat to make up her mind had ticked the minutes away. She could still see Boo climbing the hill to his house, carrying a paper grocery sack filled with something. Her curious mind played over what it might be. How could a man of such fame and glory give it all up so easily? And with such disregard for the town that practically made him famous.
    “Then I’ll leave a message. The message is this: ‘Wolfe Boone has become a Christian.’ I just thought his editor might like to know.”
    She could hear the girl writing. “Your name?” she asked blandly, as if it were a prank call.
    She paused, wondering if she should indeed gamble and give out her identity. She tried to guess what kind of man this Alfred Tennison might be. How would this news affect him? And what would he do with it? The call in and of itself was a gamble, but she had a feeling, a gnawing feeling, that Mr. Tennison would become quite useful.
    “Miss Peeple. That’s M-I-S-S,” she said calmly, then added her phone number, and just for kicks, gave her address, too. The operator indicated her time was up, so she hung up the phone, just in time to watch Boo shut his front door.
    Missy stood and pondered the phone call until something caught her eye. It was Oliver Stepaphanolopolis, the owner of a local used car business. She knew him from church. Had bought a car from him once, back when she was still allowed to drive. He passed Melb Cornforth, who was leaving The Haunted Mansion restaurant. He held the door for her, and she thanked him and continued on. But Oliver stood there and watched her walk down the sidewalk until he realized Thief, the sheriff’s cat, was about to make his way inside the restaurant. He shut the door quickly.
    Missy Peeple smiled. Greed could make a man do anything. Love could make him do the unthinkable.
    She made a mental note of it and then bundled herself up for the walk home.
    Ainsley held Aunt Gert’s hand as tightly as she could, trying to hold back her tears. Gert was slightly propped up on several hospital pillows, her face pasty and pale, but her eyes as bright as always.
    “Dear heart, don’t you cry. Why are you crying?”

    Ainsley wiped at her tears. “I’m sorry. It’s just … they’re saying you won’t leave the hospital this time.” Before she knew it, she was sobbing, her head in the arms of the fragile old woman she was supposed to be comforting.
    “There, there,” Gert said, stroking her head. “Death, where is