One Big Bat Read online

  “He'd make a good catch for you,” Diane suggested wistfully.

  “Not going to happen in the near future,” I whipped back at her. “I like my freedom too much. I suspect so does Doc.”

  After we ate at the round table on the deck, we sat and watched dusk come in over the rock bluff. I found myself wondering if the rocks on the edge were secure. I'd hate to have one land on me. “You ever have rocks turn loose and fall when you're out here,” popped out of my thoughts.

  “Oh, once in a while, a good size rock comes crashing down.” I darted another glance up high then frowned at Paul. He said slowly as if he had to think about his words, “Naw, we're pretty safe. I wouldn't worry about getting hit if I were you. We don't.” He chuckled.

  Not much ascetically scenic about that dull gray, and red bluff with scrubby cedar trees growing out of almost every precipice. The only thing the malnourished trees would work well for was entries in a Charlie Brown Christmas Tree contest. On the bluff's top was a lone, scrub oak tree with leaves showing colors that hinted at fall. Now that was a slight plus.

  A rush of wind along the top of my head caused me to duck. I thought I'd had a near miss by a rock I didn't see falling in the dusky light. “What the heck was that?”

  Diane waved her hand over her head as if she was shooing flies. “Bats. Watch against the sky. See them fly off the bluff and back on. They make a swipe down at us ever little bit until just after sundown.”

  “Just for the fun of it I take it,” I suggested dryly. And I was worried about rocks hitting me.

  “That's about it. They settle down after the sun sets and start gliding around above us looking for insects to eat,” Paul said thoughtfully.

  “Can't you get rid of them?” I asked, imitating Diane's hand waving maneuver.

  “So far we haven't figured out how,” Paul admitted truthfully.

  “You should worry. Don't those ugly creatures carry rabies?” I wondered.

  “I've heard that, but so far no one in the neighborhood that was bitten has died.” Diane said casually. “At least that we know about.” She started gathering up dishes and silverware. “Would you like to go inside? We can watch television.”

  “That sounds good to me.” I grabbed a stack of dishes before Diane changed her mind. While I backed toward the sliding glass door, I nervously watched for another bat attack.

  With my luck, I'd get bitten by the first rabid bat in the neighborhood. Paul followed us with the wine glasses and bottle, smiling at my jittery focus on the bluff like this was a big joke on me. I kept wondering how Diane could take bats flying around her so calmly.

  After Diane stuffed the dishes in the dishwasher, she straightened up the kitchen, and we joined Paul in the living room.

  He said, “I checked the TV Guide. Not much but reruns on except for the Country Music show. It lasts for three hours.”

  Diane and I agreed that program was all right to watch. We took turns talking about which singers were our favorites.

  About half way through the program, Diane grabbed the remote and aimed it at the television to turn down the volume.

  “What did you do that for? I want to hear the rest of Reba's song,” groused Paul.

  Her head was cocked on her left shoulder as Diane listened toward the ceiling. “Sh! Didn’t you hear that noise in the attic?”

  Paul shrugged. “No, but it’s probably bats trying to figure out how to get out. Turn the sound back up so I can hear Reba sing.”

  I sat up straight and tried to keep a shrill tone out of my voice. “You have bats in your attic?” I cocked my head toward the ceiling. Diane had me listening above us now.

  “Yip, they can squeeze through the tiniest cracks,” Paul shared with his eyes on the screen, trying to figure out Reva's song by reading her lips.

  “Great! Do they ever come downstairs?” I asked.

  “Oh, once in a while one does.” I gave him a hard look. He finished quickly with, “Not very often though.” I looked at Diane, wondering if my brother-in-law was serious.

  “The latest animal in the attic was a red squirrel. He chewed through that trap door that covers the hole on the back side the attic. That's how the bats got in, too. After the squirrel chewed up the living room wiring, knocking out the lights and television, Paul finally got around to scaring him out and putting on a new door. By then, it was too late. The bats flew in and hid. Now the nasty things are trapped up there,” Diane complained.

  “Can’t you do something to get rid of those ugly critters?” I pictured bats swarming over me in the night. I was reminded of the birds hovering over that woman in Alfred Hitchcock's movie. I imagined my worse nightmare would be if the bats swooped down at me and landed on me in bed while I was asleep.

  “I’m working on it.” Paul leaned his recliner back to a flat position.

  “Doesn’t look like it to me,” retorted Diane.

  “Bats are hard to get rid of since they're blind in the daylight. I can't drive them out that small attic doorway. I'm going to wait until the weekend after this next one so I’m here all day. I'll probably have to catch one at a time with my fish net,” Paul explained.

  “What's wrong with catching the bats this next weekend?” I hated to sound urgent, but I didn't want to worry for my whole stay about bats flying over me.

  “The Wedgewood Country Club golf tournament is next weekend. I can't miss that. The bats will keep,” Paul said.

  “That’s still days away. I hate to think of those nasty things above me all that time. They are stinking up the attic.” Finally, Diane gave up on the conversation when she didn’t get a reply.

  I'd have agreed with her out loud, but I thought she was doing a fine job of giving Paul a hard time without my help. I was just a guest that wanted to finish out my two weeks of free room and board before Paul kicked me out.

  Diane stared at me, silently imploring me to speak up and agree with her. I gave a helpless shrug. My sister rolled her eyes and turned the television volume back up in time for me to hear Luke Bryant. While that dream boat sang, I forgot about everything else including the bats in the attic.

  Chapter 2

  I'm usually an early riser since I jog before I go to work, and I didn't want to neglect my exercise routine. I never know when I might have to run down a perpetrator. I need to stay physically fit.

  Monday morning before Paul and Diane woke up, I'd slipped out of the house and ran around several blocks. That way I got a feel for the neighborhood. The police department doesn't spend much time in the development since we've never had much crime there.

  When I got back, Diane had the Keurig coffee pot going. “I just put in a K-cup that says Breakfast Blend Coffee on it. Hope that's all right?” She twirled the gold metal framework filled with rows of K-cups. “This carousel has all sorts of flavors if you like to experiment?”

  “Sounds like you picked the right one for me for morning coffee,” I said. “Now some cool evening, I might like hazelnut or French vanilla if you have those choices.”

  We were drinking our coffee when Paul yelled from the bedroom to Diane in the kitchen. “I'm running late for work so don't make me any breakfast. A glass of orange juice will do if you will pour it for me.”

  Diane set a glass on the table before she opened the refrigerator door and reached for the orange juice box. She shook the box. “Oh, for Heaven's sake. The man asks for orange juice, and there isn't any juice in the box.” Diane shook the half gallon carton again and huffed, “Why on earth didn't he at least throw the empty box away?”

  Paul rushed into the room, looked at the glass on the table and questioned, “Didn’t you hear me say I wanted orange juice?”

  My sister looked steamed as she pointed the orange juice box toward him. “Oh, I heard you, but we happen to be out of orange juice. Next time you drink it all throw away the empty box and tell me we're out.

  Better yet, why don’t you try putting something we're out of down on the grocery list yoursel
f so I know what we need when I go shopping.” Diane pointed over her shoulder. “That's why I leave that paper on the refrigerator door so we can write on the list right away before we forget.”

  In theory that plan sounded good, but so far it looked like an I as in a Diane happening instead of a Paul and Diane thing to me.

  Paul looked upset. “I didn’t drink the last of the orange juice.” He stopped talking when he remembered they had a house guest. By then I was wishing I'd kept jogging until Paul left for work. I hated being a witness to their argument. Especially one I considered this silly. “Oh, just forget it. I’ll stop and get a bottle from Fast Stop on the way to work,” he snapped as he rushed off.

  Diane yelled out the door after him, “I figure on going grocery shopping today. I'll pick up another box of orange juice. Have a good day.”

  The tone of her voice didn't sound much like she meant for Paul to really have a good day. Maybe I sensed that because of how hard she shut the back door.

  My sister poured a cup of coffee and plopped down across from me at the table. She asked half heartedly, “Would you like me to cook you some breakfast? There's eggs and bacon in the refrigerator. At least, I think there still is. Maybe I should check before I offer.”

  “No thanks, I don't eat breakfast at home. No need to start now. I'm not hungry when I first get up. The coffee hits the spot though and helps give me go power.” I glanced at the wall clock shaped like a gold skillet. “Seven thirty already. Guess I better get dressed and head for work.”

  Actually, I wasn't lying. Not really. I don't usually eat breakfast at home. I swig down one cup of coffee when I first get up. After my run, I shower and dress for work. Then I stop by the Wagon Wheel Diner and eat breakfast. Saves messing up my kitchen and washing dishes which I hate to do.

  Besides, I didn't want Diane cooking for me all the time. I could eat my breakfast at the diner since she's fixing supper for me.

  “Well, the least I can do is offer you oatmeal cookies to go with the coffee,” Diane said.

  She took the lid off a goose cookie jar on the kitchen counter. As she looked inside she did a double take. She held the goose upside down and gasped as she peered into the goose's rear end. Holding the goose with its head up, she looked up the long, kinked neck. “The jar is empty. I just bought those cookies. How could Paul have eaten a whole package that quickly?”

  “He must like cookies,” I defended.

  “Oh, he does. How inconsiderate can he get when we have company? He should let me know he cleaned out the cookie jar,” Diane grumped. “The orange juice is gone and now the cookies. What am I going to do with him?”

  I gave her a deadpan look. “I'm a police detective. You want me to arrest him for pilfering your cookies?”

  Diane stared at me for a moment. I grinned, and she broke out laughing. “I'm sorry, I must sound like a real grump first thing in the morning.”

  “You sit down and have a cup of coffee. It does wonders for the disposition. I know, because it always helps me,” I said as I got up to go shower and dress for work.

  The phone on the kitchen bar rang. As I left the kitchen, Diane was talking to a member of the library board about a time change for their meeting that afternoon. That was enough to get her mind off the orange juice and cookies.

  By the time I arrived at the Logan house after my shift, Diane and Paul were in good humor with each other again.

  After her meeting, Diane must have brought home orange juice and cookies from the grocery store along with the week's grocery supply. Looking very content, Paul snacked on a chocolate chip cookie.

  I'd no sooner entered the house when it was my turn to be in trouble with Diane. In fact, she had been waiting for me to come home to lay into me. The minute she saw me my sister had her hands on her hips, and feet in a wide apart stance as if she planned to do battle. She reminded me very much of our mother when Mom was ready to give Dad heck about something. “How come you didn't tell Mom you were going to stay with us?”

  “Oh,” I said, stalling for time to figure out what caused her to ask me the question in the first place. “I guess I just didn't think about it,” I lied. “Why?”

  “Mom tried calling your apartment several times yesterday. When she didn't get an answer, she got worried,” Diane said. “That wasn't very nice of you to upset her? Since Bill Hutson shot you, Mom has been really edgy about how safe you are on the job.”

  “Which means the landlord wasn't painting if he wasn't there to answer my phone,” I exclaimed, trying to pass the buck.

  Paul said, “Maybe he just didn't think it was his business to answer your phone.”

  “That's true.” I tossed the story back to Diane. “So what did Mom do? Call you and ask if you had seen me?”

  “No, well, not at first anyway. First, she called the police station dispatcher to see if you was at work. The dispatcher said you had the day off.

  Then Mom called your landlord at home last night. That's when he told her you were staying with us while he paints your apartment.

  Before I left for the library board meeting, Mom called me. I could tell from her voice that she was all bent out of shape about something. She wanted to know how come you didn't ask her to stay in your old room at home,” Diane said.

  “Mercy, I've only been gone one day, and it's a big deal when Mom can't get a hold of me? When I'm on stake out, she never calls. I've never had her track me down before,” I said. “What did you tell her?”

  Diane ventured with, “I didn't know what to say about you not calling her so I avoided that subject. I told her I was excited you came here to stay. I don't get to see you very often. We're going to have a good time while you visit, and I'm glad you wanted to stay with us.”

  Diane didn't sound too sure that was going to be enough of an excuse to suffice. She was probably right knowing our mom like we both did.

  I gave her the biggest thank you hug I can remember since we were little kids. That would be the time I talked her out of her favorite doll. I said I just wanted to play with it for a little while, but I never did give it back to her. “You handled that just right. Mom wouldn't want us both mad at her at the same time.”

  Diane fixed a quick fried potato and hamburger supper, and we ate at the table. As soon as Diane and I had the kitchen straightened up, we joined Paul in the living room. Talk about reruns. Not just the television shows, but the whole evening was a repeat of Monday night. Not that I should criticize. Frankly, I had a rut of my own. Not a big fan of television, I spend many of my evenings reading.

  I'd brought along the book I've been reading titled Known Dead by an Iowa author Donald Harstad. Mr. Harstad wrote his fictional story from his deputy sheriff point of view. I can relate to the police procedures and his description of low life in trouble with the law.

  Thinking it might be rude to have my nose in a book while Diane and Paul watched television, I decided to leave the book in the clothing bag beside my gun.

  About mid evening, I heard faint bumping noises in the attic off and on, but far be it from me to bring that up. I'm sure my sister heard the same sounds, but Diane must have tried to ignore the noises rather than give Paul another hard time in front of me. She'd either used up her quota of nagging for the week, or she'd decided to keep her mouth shut as long as I was visiting.

  After we retired for the night, I had trouble resting. I'd already decided from the night before that sleeping in a strange bed isn't for me. This night wasn't going to be much better. The mattress was too hard, and the pillows too flat. This just wasn't my bed.

  I remember complaining that strange beds didn't suit me on one of the nights I had a sleep over at Doc's house. He didn't suffer complaining from me very well. He told me to stop trying to do an impression of Goldilocks. I noticed he hasn't ask me back to his place anymore. He stays at my apartment when he wants to.

  Late that night, I finally did doze off and was wakened by the rush of running water. It must be Paul in the b
athroom. It had to be him and not Diane. Most men his age made nightly trips to the bathroom. So I've heard anyway. I knew my father did. I used him for an example of all men for most everything.

  The sound of water softly trickled then stopped when the stool tank filled up. Silence. I tried to relax. Just before I went back to sleep, through slitted eyes I caught the fast black blur of a shadowed figure walking past my door. That threw me for a loop.

  I was pretty sure I'd already fallen asleep, and I was dreaming. I pinched myself. Ouch! Definitely, I wasn't asleep. Paul must have been so sleepy when he came out of the bathroom he turned the wrong way.

  How lost could he get in his own house? He'd crawl in the bed in the other room until morning. I didn't see any need for me to worry as long as he didn't try to get in this bed with me. I might as well go back to sleep.

  Chapter 3

  Tuesday morning was a better start to the day in the Logan household than the day before. In a hurry to be off to work, Paul contentedly guzzled his glass of orange juice. “Diane, I couldn't find my golfing shirt. When is the last time you washed it?”

  Diane looked puzzled. “Uh, when is the last time you wore it?”

  Paul set his empty glass in the sink. “A month ago, when we had the foursome with the Chandlers.”

  “I'll hunt the shirt up for you today,” Diane assured him.

  After he left, she felt more like chatting while we sat at the table and drank our coffee. She refilled our cups. “Honestly, is it all men that can't find things that are right in front of their noses, or is it just my husband?”

  “Must be all men. I remember Dad having problems like that,” I said.

  Diane sat down and sipped her coffee quietly as if she was thinking about something.

  I knew something was coming when my sister looked up from her cup and smiled at me. “Did you have too much iced tea to drink last night?”