casual. "The truth is, she must have been pretty tired, staying up so late. She fell asleep again on the way home. Then when she woke up and saw Vin, she actually asked who had scratched him. She's crazy about him, you know."
The stony scowl on Mrs. Vetel's face did not dissolve. "Well, I hope you're right," she said, obviously hoping nothing of the sort. "Because if there is one thing this town won't stand for, Mister Wilding, it's a molester of children. Do you remember Louis Neibert?"
"Who?"
"Perhaps you don't. You were away at college at the time, I believe. But you must have heard about him.
He had a shoe repair shop, and one day little Caroline Burney, who was just eight years old, accused him of taking her into his back room and fondling her when she went there alone to pick up some shoes. Then two other little girls found the courage to reveal he had done the same to them. Now do you remember?"
"Well—vaguely," Keith reluctantly admitted, realizing there was no way to escape without losing a customer. And not just one customer: probably others on his books who attended this one's church.
"And do you remember the reaction, Mister Wilding?" the lady went on relentlessly. "This town was up in arms. Groups of angry men met all over the place, trying to decide what to do about Mister Neibert. In the end it was determined he should be told to sell his business and leave town, and a group of the community's leading citizens went out to his house to tell him."
Keith nodded. "And found he'd already cleared out, I seem to recall."
"Yes. Exactly. And no one in Nebulon ever laid eyes on that man again, Mister Wilding. I hope you understand. That wasn't so very long ago, and this is still the same town. It hasn't changed its mind about such things."
"I'm sure it hasn't."
Mrs. Vetel seemed satisfied then, or at least willing to let the matter rest until she could learn more. But there were others. During the afternoon more customers implied they were not pleased at finding Vin Otto still working at the nursery. The worst of these did more than imply; he bluntly stated.
"What the hell's the matter with you, Wilding, keeping that son of a bitch on after what he did to that little girl? Don't you care?"
Keith's control had been worn thin by this time. Moreover, Leonard Quigley was a man who unfailingly found fault with anything sold to him and used his faultfinding as an excuse for not paying. He was a burly motorcycle cop for whom even his fellow policemen had no affection. "How do you know what Vin Otto did to the girl?" Keith challenged. "Were you there?"
"I heard about it."
"You heard about it. That's good enough? Why don't you ask the girl, and find out what really happened?"
"What the hell are you sore about?"
"I've been listening to cracks like yours all day long. I'm tired. I didn't realize this was such an uptight town."
"To hell with you, Wilding," the cop said darkly. "Anything goes with you college radicals. I just wish that girl would press charges against the bastard; that's what I wish."
Keith drew a deep breath to cap the volcano again, and said coldly, "What do you want here?"
"A tangelo tree, like you got advertised. Sell me one and don't expect to see me around here again as long as that SOB is working here."
"The tree will be six dollars."
"Put it on my tab."
"You already owe me more than forty."
"Shove it, then," Quigley snarled, and made thunder with his Harley-Davidson as he rode off.
5
A t four the citrus grafting was nearly finished and Keith gathered up half a dozen small tree hibiscus— Montezuma speciosissima they were tagged—for delivery to a customer. He put them in his truck, a jonquil yellow pickup with the words WILDING'S NURSERY lettered in green and gray on its sides. "You better go when you're through," he said to Vin. "I have a hunch Mrs. Ellstrom may want me to plant these."
Vin looked tired. The day must have been long for him with his face hurting. "Should I stop
The stony scowl on Mrs. Vetel's face did not dissolve. "Well, I hope you're right," she said, obviously hoping nothing of the sort. "Because if there is one thing this town won't stand for, Mister Wilding, it's a molester of children. Do you remember Louis Neibert?"
"Who?"
"Perhaps you don't. You were away at college at the time, I believe. But you must have heard about him.
He had a shoe repair shop, and one day little Caroline Burney, who was just eight years old, accused him of taking her into his back room and fondling her when she went there alone to pick up some shoes. Then two other little girls found the courage to reveal he had done the same to them. Now do you remember?"
"Well—vaguely," Keith reluctantly admitted, realizing there was no way to escape without losing a customer. And not just one customer: probably others on his books who attended this one's church.
"And do you remember the reaction, Mister Wilding?" the lady went on relentlessly. "This town was up in arms. Groups of angry men met all over the place, trying to decide what to do about Mister Neibert. In the end it was determined he should be told to sell his business and leave town, and a group of the community's leading citizens went out to his house to tell him."
Keith nodded. "And found he'd already cleared out, I seem to recall."
"Yes. Exactly. And no one in Nebulon ever laid eyes on that man again, Mister Wilding. I hope you understand. That wasn't so very long ago, and this is still the same town. It hasn't changed its mind about such things."
"I'm sure it hasn't."
Mrs. Vetel seemed satisfied then, or at least willing to let the matter rest until she could learn more. But there were others. During the afternoon more customers implied they were not pleased at finding Vin Otto still working at the nursery. The worst of these did more than imply; he bluntly stated.
"What the hell's the matter with you, Wilding, keeping that son of a bitch on after what he did to that little girl? Don't you care?"
Keith's control had been worn thin by this time. Moreover, Leonard Quigley was a man who unfailingly found fault with anything sold to him and used his faultfinding as an excuse for not paying. He was a burly motorcycle cop for whom even his fellow policemen had no affection. "How do you know what Vin Otto did to the girl?" Keith challenged. "Were you there?"
"I heard about it."
"You heard about it. That's good enough? Why don't you ask the girl, and find out what really happened?"
"What the hell are you sore about?"
"I've been listening to cracks like yours all day long. I'm tired. I didn't realize this was such an uptight town."
"To hell with you, Wilding," the cop said darkly. "Anything goes with you college radicals. I just wish that girl would press charges against the bastard; that's what I wish."
Keith drew a deep breath to cap the volcano again, and said coldly, "What do you want here?"
"A tangelo tree, like you got advertised. Sell me one and don't expect to see me around here again as long as that SOB is working here."
"The tree will be six dollars."
"Put it on my tab."
"You already owe me more than forty."
"Shove it, then," Quigley snarled, and made thunder with his Harley-Davidson as he rode off.
5
A t four the citrus grafting was nearly finished and Keith gathered up half a dozen small tree hibiscus— Montezuma speciosissima they were tagged—for delivery to a customer. He put them in his truck, a jonquil yellow pickup with the words WILDING'S NURSERY lettered in green and gray on its sides. "You better go when you're through," he said to Vin. "I have a hunch Mrs. Ellstrom may want me to plant these."
Vin looked tired. The day must have been long for him with his face hurting. "Should I stop
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