The Misadventures of a "Modern Day" Gibson Girl

By Adam Dumphy

In the 1930’s every rural village in the U.S. had its own ‘fixit’ man. And contrary to, “Jack of all trades, master of none.” he could fix anything and was a master of improvisation.
Also being in and out of the back door of every house in the district he knew more about his neighbors than most anyone.
At the same time period women were getting into law enforcement.
Take one of each and between them chasing each other through the mysteries of courtship add a mystery and you have the story.
While rarely agreeing on most things the disappearance of the town banker and of the cast iron, merry-go-round pony from in front of the only antique store in town seemed as suspicious as minnows in the milk.
After stumbling into the vagaries of a number of the town’s citizens they emerge well courted and could agree on the marriage and the murderer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 16, 2005
• ISBN: 9781467032278

Adam Dumphy

Inflamed by a novel of and during the Spanish Civil War of 1936, titled, “The Kansas City Milkman”, Adam Dumphy searched out and contacted a clandestine enlistment center for the British Ambulance Corps operating there. Clandestine as it was at the time an illegal act to aid either side in the conflict. To Adam that fit the novel and made it all the more interesting to him and more Hemingwayesque. He ever after felt the British people generally to be biased and intolerant as he was rejected and simply for being only twelve years old. Still he found himself fascinated by that most peculiar of wars even as some men are towards our American Civil War. All the books and information he collected then he still has. His loyalty he has tried to maintain unbiased to either side although it has varied in degree from one side to another from year to year. Now from the vantage point of eighty years of age the only thing he can decide with certainty about the affair is that both sides got a very “bad press”. But then he believes that is true of most major events.

Book preview

 CHAPTER 1

Oakie Pender you stop hiding behind that old corn shredder and come out of that garage. This is the law.

From the shady depths of a comfortably cluttered garage behind a neat, frame, bungalow in a small southwestern town about 1939, there was a profound silence.

Oakie! Are you in there?

The silence was finally interrupted when from the shadows of the garage eave, a mostly indeterminate quadruped emerged into the sunlight. With the long, round body of a Beagle, bowed legs, short even for a dachshund, a stump of a tail and huge head and floppy ears of a mastiff, it was a composite of many breeds and totally distinctive. The only clearly identifiable feature was the Beagle Body. Unaware of it’s distinctiveness it ambled inside the garage and then after a histrionic pause it raised a front paw from the ground, the tail went up in a curve, and the nose pointed to a dark corner in a caricature of a hound impersonating a pointer.

The silence from the barn continued.

This is your last chance.

Then. Ok. came a voice. Don’t shoot.

The young man who emerged into the sun was so short and so stocky as to be equal in dimension from top to bottom, front to back, side to side. He had carroty hair, cut short, a round cheerful face with only a stub of a nose and a mouth that turned up at the corners as if made for smiling. It seemed he should be the epitome of cheerful, only at this moment his expression was strictly gloom.

He approached the Deputy arms overhead.

The Deputy, neatly uniformed in khaki shirt with blue and gold shoulder patch, neatly pressed khaki trousers, black Sam Browne belt and holster, spit-shiny black Wellingtons, and with a campaign hat set four square straight, glared.

Then, Oh Oakie. Why do you always hide out when I come by?

The Deputy while uniformed in regulation manner was also so ununiformly willowy and so richly feminine she looked like a modern day Gibson girl.

She hurried forward to put both arms around the little man and hugged him tightly.

He kept his arms over head.

Gee Oakie. Don’t you remember all those Saturday nights after the YPF dances sitting in your old truck in the moonlight above the Reservoir?

Who me?

Yes you! You put your arms around me plenty willingly then. And held me so gentle and kissed me all you could and whispered sweet things, like how pretty I was and how funny and how cute and how much you loved me.

You sure that wasn’t Tony Parker or Fred Ballem?

Well, sure they all tried at least, but all through school from the time we were four years old it was just you, you know that.

Knew that? Big fool me.

Oh Oakie, she squeezed him again tighter. Don’t you notice anything.

Yeah. Your Sam Browne belt buckle is cold on my sensitive belly and your .38 Special is pointed at my toe.

Furious she released him and turned away.

At her feet the Beagle Body panted a couple of times for the girl’s attention.

That caught the young man’s eye. Speaking to the animal, And besides that, you buggering quadruped. You are supposed to chase rabbits, hate cats and bark at strangers and all you do its peach on your kindly, beloved, faithful, old master. What did you have to tell her where I was for?

The dog ignored him to turn adoring eyes on the girl.

Oakie looked at her too, then bent forward as he heard a sniff and noticed a tear drop on the starched shirtfront.

Looking both ways nervously he tried to ignore them. Then, Aw don’t cry Gibbie. I hate it when you cry.

Why? What do you care?

Well it makes your nose all red for one thing and well I just don’t like it. I like it better when your laughing and talking fast and cracking jokes and wiggling around….

I do not wiggle.

Boy you are really in a fit, Sweetie. Come on in the house, unpin the badge and prop the regulation boots up on the table. I’ll squash you glass of kumquat juice.

What juice?

Kumquat. The Tallman’s tree is in full fruit and it’s free for the picking.

Well. It’s not much of an invitation. she mused. Then, But I accept, I accept. she added hurriedly.

 CHAPTER 2

Beagle Body panted approval and hurried forward to pry open the screen door with an educated nose. He pushed the door fully open and held it open with his belly for the girl as she entered. Then Body followed her in, allowing the screen door to swing shut in the young man’s face.

Beagle you did that on purpose. He gritted.

Beagle looked back in surprise.

You did. I saw you. And don’t forget I can give you to old Mrs. Weller anytime. She’s got fourteen cats and the only food allowed in the place is vegetarian, health food, cat chow. With health food rutabagas mixed in. For your shiny coat, she says.

Beagle considered this and then shook his head at such a hollow threat. His loving glance returned to the girl.

She sat and looked about the familiar kitchen. The neatly patched screen door, the large, sunny, old-fashioned room, high ceilinged and spotless. A huge sink occupied most of one wall. A huge combination propane and wood cook stove glittering in polished chrome and blue enamel faced it. A drop leaf, golden oak table stood in the center of the room with four matching chairs. The walls were covered by glass fronted cabinets filled with blue and white china. Although Oakie now batched, it was exactly as it had been since she was a girl and Mrs. Pender still alive.

Oakie took a bag of unappetizing looking brown fruit out of a sack and began to squash the small fruit on an orange squeezer.

The girl noticed something new. What’s that? She pointed to one wall.

Just something I stumbled onto at a garage sale a while ago. Couple of nice, old, oak picture frames.

She rose to look more closely. They are old all right but new here.

She read the caption, Never the King, Rudolf. Never. Always you, only you.

She paused in thought. Why that’s an illustration from an early edition of the Prisoner of Zenda, in fact a Gibson illustration of a Gibson girl as Queen Flavia.

Well…. Yeah.

Say you…. you. You were the very first to call me Gibbie cause you said I looked so much like a Gibson girl.

Well…. yeah.

If you hate me so much how come you got a colored sketch of me as the Queen, hanging on your kitchen wall? She looked around Four of them, even. She turned back to him and glared.

He looked at her again. The straight back, slender neck, and well formed head, and even under the restrictions of hair spray or the campaign hat the never-could-be-controlled amber pompadour, with a large soft roll over her forehead and the lazy curls pinned up from her hair line at her neck, were straight out of the 1919 fashion mags. He looked away. He didn’t have to look to see the rich bosom, the tiny waist above ample hips of the classical beauty.

Aw Gibbie. I don’t hate you. You know that. I just don’t understand you. Besides I like Gibson Girls. He continued. They are always pretty and they dress real nice and all act like ladies and…

And what?

Well, they don’t go off and marry somebody else every time a guy’s back is turned.

The girl sank down onto the chair as if her marionette strings were cut.

I’ve tried to explain that a hundred times but you won’t really listen. I did a dumb thing but I was conned really and I am not going to apologize for ever.

You don’t need to apologize to me. I never had no longe line on you.

You did too, you bonehead. You just didn’t know it.

She looked down at the dog. Oh Beagle why didn’t you train him better when you were bigger than he was. He was such a sweet little boy.

Beagle looked away embarrassed.

Oh damn, hell….cow poop. She wailed.

At her distress Beagle raised his beautiful, beagle voice in a long, sad howl than which there is nothing sadder.

And… Oakie continued. It ain’t lady like to swear. Beside I’m the one that should be cussing. The whole county is still giggling at the sight of me all dressed up in coat, white shirt and tie coming by your house to take you to the Rotary Awards Dinner. Phil Oatman came to the door and says, ‘Gibby says she is sorry she can’t go out with you tonight. Its our wedding night and my wife and I are planning on being pretty much occupied the rest of the evening.’

He looked down. I guess it did sound pretty funny to the crowd hanging around your front gate.

But Oakie you must have known that was phony some how. I was in my bedroom bawling my eyes out; everybody on the block could hear that. And my Pa kicked Phil out ten minutes later and he spent the night shooting pool at Sharkey’s. That should prove my…well my innocence. I’m really single, Oakie, honest.

When he didn’t answer.

Besides you never would marry me.

Me? I’d have married you right out of the third grade. But how could I? I knew you wanted more than anything else, certainly more than you wanted me, to be a Sheriff like your brothers and your Dad and his Dad and his Dad back to the High Bailiff of Glengarry Castle or something. You couldn’t go to Deputy Day School unless you were single.

The Academy. She corrected with hauteur. And I did very well there.

He put a glass of brownish sticky looking juice in a jelly glass on the table before her. She smelled it and then, his back turned, held it down to where Beagle was sitting at her feet. The animal sniffed gingerly stood and haughtily raised one hind leg as if to…She hurriedly put the glass back on the table.

I thought so. She said as the young man looked back at her. She sighed and then took a sip. Aughhh. I mean. It’s very… ah well, nice bouquet or something.

Its very good for you. Theda Bara has some every morning and look at her.

Why? Nobody has for years.

He drank his glass down and then grimacing slightly added. Its very good for you. Says so in the Health Food Doctor Book.

When the silence had lengthened he spoke.

 CHAPTER 3

Gee Gibbie you look upset. What is it? Tell the old comfortable slipper, disposable slipper of course, all about it.

Oh its just that damn Lt. Oliphant.

Elephant pants?

Yeah. The guy who is so careful in checking on everybody else’s fitness record and weight. Get a load of him from behind.

The young man waited. He knew this girl. She couldn’t be pushed but silence made her nervous or something. She would usually open up if you kept your mouth shut. He turned back to squeeze more kumquats.

Well I’ve been begging him to let me out of the office and into real Sheriff’s work in the field.

So?

Well he finally came through. I got an assignment.

Well good on you. All those little smiles, and hugs and pats and pouts paid off.

I guess… No! I don’t hug or pat.

She considered. I guess he has a thing for me, surprising as that may seem to some men. He likes me around the office to bring him coffee and file his notes and like, but I don’t do that other stuff.

She considered and continued. "I been working on a scheme. I come in early and bust my bones to keep the office neat and organized and every thing in place. He likes his files dusted and flowers on the desks and like that. I come at seven to get ahead of it and about nine I say, ‘I really don’t have anything to do here, Sir. Want me to take the afternoon, downtown patrol?’

He usually says no and makes up a bunch of new regulations to keep me occupied. She brightened. Yesterday he didn’t.

Oh? He put another glass full in front of her.

Ignoring it she continued. Yeah he put me on a case.

Really?

Well sort of a case. I’m investigating the theft of… The official tone rather wilted… of the iron Merry Go Round horse maliciously stolen and removed from in front of old Honest Abe Lincum’s Antique Shop.

Gibbie, that gets stolen about once a week. It is just some kid from high school feeling his pheromones on a Saturday night. It’s in Mrs. Newton’s vegetable patch like it was grazing there. Or set behind the swing in the Park so if you swing too high you get it’s tail jammed in your fanny. What kind of a case is that?

Oh don’t I know it, but it did get me out of the office and I would be taking reports and interviewing people and I was going to get Tommy Miles to take fingerprints just like a case at the Deputy Day… I mean the Academy.

Big deal. Tommy has got a thing for you. He’d fly circles around the flagpole if you said to.

What’s wrong with that. He has got eyes and he is single.

Well then marry him if you’re so single, too.

But I am single. It is just that it take time to straighten out all the legal details of a mix up like that.

Don’t worry if he won’t marry you there are dozens of guys who will. You can line them up and marry them in bunches.

Yeah there certainly are. And don’t you forget it.

There was another silence.

So you didn’t find the horse?

No. I looked everywhere.

He is a pretty big, heavy old pony to pack very far.

Don’t I know it. I found the ornament off his bridle in the bushes where some one had dumped it in the alley and I had to lug it back. About busted a bosom dragging the silly thing.

Oh, which one?

None of you business.

Oakie sat back and pondered. Head stuck in the oat bin at the Feed and Grain?

I looked.

Girl’s restroom backed up to a… well a bidet or what ever they call them at school.

Looked. Looked on both sides. Almost got caught in the ‘Boy’s’ when the bell rang. Oh Oakie I just got to succeed in this. It is my first assignment. I know it is a silly one. But everyone in town is watching me and they all are laughing, thinking I am just a dizzy blonde, well mostly blonde, that got through the Academy on my…well my feminine allure. I just got to succeed or I’ll…

There, there, baby.

He reached across and effortlessly lifted the girl still in her chair to be close beside him. He patted her shoulder then put a friendly arm about her and chair.

Don’t be so upset.

What does that arm around me mean?

Just brotherly, or neighborly sympathy. That’s all, honest.

Oh Oakie it feels so good. It is the first time since my marriage, I mean the phony wedding, that you and I ah…. She looked up into his face. He looked back, then looked away and violently detrained his mind from that train of thought.

Let’s see. It has to be somewhere. We’ll just have to figure like we were high school seniors again and kind of goofy.

We?

Well, yeah, I guess, ‘ we’.

Oh Oakie. She put her head on his shoulder. He thought she was crying again. Or maybe laughing. And looking down he saw that Beagle was laughing too. Laughing like hell.

 CHAPTER 4

Shortly after nine AM the next morning the phone rang in the Cottonwood Junction Substation of the Elfreda County Sheriff’s Office.

The Deputy who answered felt a tug at her heart as a voice asked. Could I speak to Deputy Virginia Warren about her investigation?

Oh Oakie. Is that you?

Yeah, but I thought you weren’t supposed to have any personal phone calls at the office. Elephant Pants wouldn’t approve.

Oh he’s on his 45 minute coffee break in the …ah ‘Men’s’. He won’t be out for a half-hour at least. But gee, Oakie, is this really a personal call?

Well private at least. Look could you meet me in the alley behind Honest Abe’s Antique Shop?

Is that all you called about? It’s not about the Elk’s Dance Saturday? I might possibly find the night free.

I thought you told me yesterday, complete with tears and the choking voice of an Academy Award Performance that the most important thing in your life was your investigation?

Oh it is but I’ve almost given up. I checked the Principle’s Office, all the Church parking lots, and the basement of the City Hall and even the Buckaroo Bar. Nothing.

Well can you come?

Oh I’ll be there.

And come unobtrusively. You sabe unobtrusive? It means to park the Black and White out of the way and come alone, skulking down the alley, not with a block-long trail of hopeful admirers.

Can I help it if most men appreciate Gibson girls in tight uniforms?

Yeah you can help it. Don’t wiggle and stop taking those deep breaths that make the Sam Browne belt creak.

Twenty minutes later an unobtrusive figure oozed down the alley. She had parked the patrol car behind Miller’s Mercantile, bought off a couple of seven-year-old admirers with a popsicle and smiled, waved, but did not linger with three business types coming out of the Deli with sweet rolls and coffee.

Then hands behind her back she strolled, a picture of idleness, through her Aunt Melba’s back yard, around old Mrs. Murray’s vegetable patch and behind the Arnold’s barn to the target area.

He was there all right stretched out on his back in the shade in a pose totally characteristic of him when thinking hard or possibly dozing. The battered Marine-style visored cap was pulled down over his eyes, he wore a neat Hickory shirt and freshly laundered Levis with one knee over the other so the red stitching on the fancy, cowboy boots showed in all its glory.

His hands were across his stomach holding a something. It looked like a cigar box with wires poking out and down and with a broom handle attached to what looked like an old Ping-Pong paddle. It was awake it seemed. At least it was ticking.

As she approached Beagle body emerged from Mrs. Boyer’s hydrangea hedge with a blossom in his mouth. The finest trailing nose in the county, Beagle was a dilettante and he didn’t like the smell of dust or trash cans. He scratched a hollow in the dirt to be comfortable for his fanny and lay down, the blossom just under his nose.

When the young man didn’t rouse as she approached, she squatted and jammed a scarlet tipped finger into his short ribs. The result was dramatic. He jerked wildly and sat up suddenly. Don’t do that Gibbie. You know I got very delicate ribs.

She was unimpressed. About as sensitive as whalebone.

She straightened. Had not the dignity implicit in age twenty and the stiff uniform precluded it, she would have stretched out beside him as they often had for a serious discussions over the years. As it was she leaned against the back wall of Mrs. Boyer’s garage in what she hoped was a military manner.

All right, oh mighty forehead, unobtrusive Eunice is here at your beck and call.

He considered and then began counting on his fingers.

What is the bumpf, oh games leader? She finally probed.

Beagle rolled over sniffed at the hydrangea and opened one eye to listen too.

Well I was thinking about you last night….

Really Oakie? How sweet. What were you thinking? Anything really exciting come to mind?

I mean about the investigation. And if you want to hear you got to stop interrupting.

Beagle sniffed.

And you too you pot-licker. I can still send you up to Wildcat canyon and have ol’ Moke Mercer take you with him hunting mountain lions with just a stick.

Beagle sniffed in derision. Gibbie sniffed too. All right, oh silent lipped Svengali, your faithful audience is all agog. But get to it. How long do you think a girl like me can stay unobtrusive?

"Well you know that old iron horse is awful heavy even if you take off the bridle and saddle