Free Mariner's Compass by Earlene Fowler

them in the white plastic compost bucket.
    “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was trained by the big pooch himself,” I said wryly. Scout wagged his tail slowly, almost apologetically, as if he understood what I was saying.
    “Some dogs are like that. Takes to one person right off, and there’s never anyone else in their eyes and they aim to protect them.” She flipped her long white braid back, her pale blue eyes mischievous. “Some men, too.”
    “Yes, he’s annoyed as all get out about this whole thing,” I answered her nonverbal question. “He’d just as soon let the money go to the government, but there’s almost twenty thousand dollars in the bank, and that house has to be worth at least two hundred thousand. How can I throw away money like that?”
    “Gabe’s got a point. It is right strange.”
    “Yes, but then again, maybe this guy was just a lonely man who randomly picked me as the object of his—”
    “Perverted obsession?” Gabe finished as he walked into the room, followed by my father.
    “No,” I answered, though I had to admit I couldn’t think of a better description. “Are you sure you’ve never seen this man before?” I asked Dove. His driver’s license and the picture of me from his wallet were the only pictures I’d come across so far.
    Dove looked at the license and the candid photograph of me again. “No, don’t look a bit familiar. What about you, Ben?” Daddy peered over her shoulder, polishing a red apple on his cotton shirt.
    “Nope, but I sure don’t take to the idea of this old boy carrying a picture of my little girl in his billfold.” The webbed wrinkles around his eyes deepened as he took a large bite out of his apple. “Son, you better watch out for her.”
    “Doing my best, sir,” Gabe answered, raising his eyebrows at me, “but she doesn’t make it easy.”
    “Never did for me, don’t reckon you should have it any better,” Daddy said, chuckling.
    “You two chauvinists just dry up or go back out to the barn,” I said, then turned to Dove. “Let’s forget about Mr. Chandler for two minutes. Tell me what’s going on with the Historical Museum.”
    Dove straightened her entire five feet and glared at the room. “If those mealymouthed, noodle-brain council members think they’re selling our Historical Museum to some hotel chain, they got another think coming.”
    “What happened at the meeting with the mayor on Friday?”
    “That man has more than his share of tongue oil, that’s all I have to say. To think that I voted for him. Is there any way I can take my vote back?” She looked over at Gabe, who, because of his police chief status, she considered her political advisor.
    “I don’t believe so, abuelita,” he said. ”You might be able to start a recall, but that takes getting signatures on a petition, then another election. A lot of work. Especially since the mayor was voted in by a special election.”
    Her wrinkled face looked sly. “Don’t y’all worry. Me and the ladies have a plan, and it’s a lot quicker than any recall. They aren’t getting away with it, that’s a natural fact.” She went over to a lump of bread dough lying under a damp tea towel, slapped it down on a wooden breadboard dusted with flour, and started to knead it with her strong fingers. “He’s got me so mad I’ve made more bread than Ben and I could eat in a month of Sundays. Y’all better take some with you.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “We both will.”
    Her blue eyes darkened in a searching look. “Ain’t good for married folk to sleep apart, honeybun. You see it don’t last any longer than need be.”
    “I won’t,” I said, not looking at Gabe who was no doubt smirking.
    “By the way,” Dove said, “Elvia called. She said she was tired of hearing about things secondhand from Sam. Said you’d better call her pronto. I told her to join the club.”
    “I’ll call her right now,” I said, ignoring her carping. It took me four tries