A Regrettable Menace: Alice's Story

By Georgann Prochaska

Who wants Archie Symes Dead?

The town of Limekiln is in a panicky crisis. Hard enough to adjust to new residents in Sawtooth Farms, but the economy tanks in 2009, and residents abandon their new homes. The mayor wants friendly faces all around. A most difficult thing to do since students call a new hire at the high school “Symes the Slime.”  He has an agenda to belittle women, particularly Alice Tricklebank, who nears retirement. Nobody is prepared for Symes’s schemes and abusive insinuations. Even Alice’s dog is threatened with death. Baer Tricklebank promises not to let that happen.

“I never thought poisonous change could break the good people of Limekiln into making regrettable decisions. But we swat mosquitos, don’t we?” Alice Tricklebank

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outskirts Press
• Release date: Aug 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9781977267511

Georgann Prochaska

Georgann Prochaska studied literature at Illinois State University and taught high school students for 34 years. She is the author of eight mysteries and one memoir. A Regrettable Menace is a prequel to the Snoopypuss series.

Book preview

Chapter 1

April 2009

"Did you hear that?" I asked.

From a dead sleep, our tri-colored Greater Swiss Mountain dog was on his feet, a low growl in his throat.

Sounded almost like hail, said my husband, Baer. His forehead puzzled. There it is again. News didn’t predict rain.

Jake growled as he lowered his head and stalked the window. Standing on his hind legs, he nosed the curtains aside to peer out. We turned off the ten o’clock television news and followed our dog to investigate the dark. To me the sound was like small pebbles lightly hitting the siding of our house, but even with the glow of the back porch light, all we saw at the side of the house was our gravel driveway and our quiet street under a clear navy nighttime sky with stars. The coolness of an April spring carried hope. Nothing could really be wrong.

Our watchdog, however, cut away from the window and ran to the back door. In his excitement, his one-hundred-pound, muscular body collided with kitchen chairs, causing them to skitter across the floor before tipping over. I grabbed Jake’s collar and felt him hellbent on storming outside. The sound of more pebbles hitting our house followed seconds later.

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat, two more tat-tats coming from below the kitchen window. Jake leaned on the back door with his big paws and barked his fury before wrenching free of my grip and bounding for our living room. He barked at another window again. He shook his frustration and sent fluffs of fur into the air. We were in shedding season, and Jake needed a good combing.

Jake, it’s okay. Quiet boy. I tried to calm him by patting his side. No luck. Jake makes his own decisions.

The white of Jake’s eyes seemed larger as he followed the outdoor sounds. His nails added stripes into the painted kitchen floor as he shot past me. His tail whacked a table that teetered, sending a newly purchased vase of flowers crashing to the floor. Before I could grab him, he was off bellowing at the front door again.

As the pack leader, Baer commanded Jake to stop and nabbed him while I cleaned up the shattered glass. Our dog was usually good-natured, but I wouldn’t call him obedient. Only the pack leader could brush Jake’s teeth.

Jake stopped, cocked his head, and listened. More rat-a-tat-tat from the front porch. A howl vibrated Jake’s body. He had a grizzly bear look about him.

I’m going outside, said Baer. His face reddened with annoyance. This is nonsense.

I hoped it was nothing. Baer was a big guy, and as an iron gate designer, he played with fire all day and bent and liquefied metal. In the dark, he can look like trouble even more so than our Swissy. But I could count on his reserve. We weren’t sure what caused the disturbance. Mischief?

In case I needed to take a picture, I grabbed my phone and followed both of them to the front door. Jake’s annoyance with new sounds continued to set him on a run back-and-forth inside, punctuated by his nose trying to push past me and get outside to Baer. He wanted out to join Baer and find the cause of the noise. I kept him inside and worked on controlling my own breathing. My knees started that nervous twitchy thing that made me feel wobbly.

Hey, kid. You lost? called Baer from our driveway. He didn’t sound angry, but his tone carried a deep authority. Part of me relaxed. My fingers scratched Jake’s head. He looked up at me. The tan dots above his eyes pleaded with me to open the door.

I spotted a kid pressed into the shadow of one of our bushes. Maybe he was five years old. When Baer moved closer to him, the child scooted past Baer and ran into a pool of light from our streetlights.

Hey, you need help? called Baer.

It was close to ten-thirty. The late news was over. What was a little kid doing outside our house by himself at this time of night?

I grabbed my phone and started to call 911, but a man emerged from the dark cover of our next-door neighbor’s front yard. It took me several seconds to recognize him.

Tater, show him what you think of him, said the man.

Tater stopped, turned, and held up both hands, showing Baer two middle fingers. He then ran gleefully to the man, Archie Symes, the athletic director of Limekiln High School. My heart pounded with rage.

Many students called him Symes the Slime, but, of course, never within ear shot.

He’s short, a little over five feet. I could see his jaw work at chewing gum as if he tortured it. Sweat on his forehead glistened in the moonlight.

Female students warned each other not to attract his attention or be alone with him. Teachers grumbled at the injustice of his pointed chiding of students who were hesitant, awkward, or clumsy. He always sought ways to mention an imperfection and diminish confidence. And then there was his touching. Girls ducked and twisted away as his hands lingered or wandered. School protocol demanded that concerns about behavior move up the chain of command: disciplinarian, principal, superintendent. I had spent the past several months reporting what I saw and what students told me. So had others. All to no avail. The new superintendent, Doyle Kooser, never reprimanded Symes’s behavior. Up until now, Symes used my age—old, height—six feet, weight—ample, and inabilities—a plain woman, as insults spoken in front of me to students. When the system didn’t shut down his bad behavior, I resorted to scolding him myself. We had a lovely relationship.

Now, here he was at my home to create some misery.

You got a great kid there, said Baer with his booming voice filled with sarcasm.

Taking my son for a ride so he can sleep tonight, said Symes. Wanted to check if the stories we heard about your dog are true. Your dog sounds like a big threat to the community. I’m surprised the police don’t visit you regularly. You know they put down dogs that terrorize people.

No one who knew Jake would think he posed a danger. Yes, he was large and consumed a lot of space. Yes, he was bored easily, but he still had his playful, puppy bounce. Neighbors and friends smiled at his antics.

Symes lived nowhere near our street. His family had a big house in the new development of Sawtooth Farms. My thoughts hopscotched directly to he’s been to our house when we weren’t home. This trip with his son was planned.

Jake was sleeping until your son threw stones, said Baer.

Symes laughed, called Tater, and walked to his car parked down the street. Tater skipped, apparently thrilled with his father’s approval.

When Baer came back into the house, he said, Why do I have the feeling he’ll be back?

Because he’s had to be here before to plan what damage he can do, I said, feeling a chill. It’s what he’s tried all year to do to other teachers and students. We’re his new target through Jake.

Chapter 2

"He’s littler than I thought, said Baer. What is he five-one?"

Give or take.

Wednesday morning, Baer ground coffee beans for our morning coffee. The shrill whirl of the grinder reminded me of the pulsating pitch of a siren. Last night I listened for Symes’s return. Would he sneak back and damage our house with paint? Would he drop a match? Every little sound in the night startled me.

All night I had worked at keeping still to keep from waking Jake or Baer, but once I moved onto my left, I saw that Baer’s eyes were wide open.

Try to go back to sleep, I whispered.

Can’t.

Jake rose from the bottom of the bed and crept closer to us as if to say, "Me either."

By morning light Baer’s eyes were puffed with the lack of sleep. Mine were too. We staggered about the kitchen trying to decide on cereal or toast.

Symes makes up for his size by being nasty to everyone, I said. Besides, you and I are both six feet tall. He has a whole vocabulary for ridiculing tall people. He likes to share that with me.

No one has been able to take him down? asked my dear husband.

Believe me, I have tried. But my only recourse has been to work within the system. By the time the story of his bad behavior reaches the superintendent, everyone knows Doyle Kooser will sanitize the facts and recommend that any person who brings a complaint should work on people skills. So far, Archie Symes’s abuse of my reputation has been limited to how old, awkward, and unattractive I am.

What about parents who complain?

That’s where geography comes into it. Kooser and Symes live in the new Sawtooth Farms housing. They’re known to cater to their neighbors. The only troublemakers for them live in Limekiln, Townies like me and now you.

Hmm. I think I’ll mention this to Lieutenant Gaither the next time we have a beer. By the way, you do know that when I look at you, I see Sigourney Weaver. The same careless energy and intensity. You are beautiful.

He came up behind me and gave me a hug.

I look nothing like the actress. Maybe we once had the same color hair but mine has always been a mop of curls that go every which way, something like a Raggedy Ann, now with gray hair. Of course, I’m taller.

Baer sat in his leather chair as he waited for the coffee to brew, and Jake’s eyes expected attention as he put his jaw on Baer’s knee. Our dog wanted his normal morning walk down the road, past Milkweed Slough.

If you do say something, keep in mind that while Lieutenant Gaither seems friendly, he also lives with the Sprawlies in Sawtooth Farms.

Our rural community had changed when Ivan Plank retired from farming and sold most of his acreage to housing developers. The ads read that Limekiln had affordable estate living, free from congestion and crime. When new residents found our quiet living boring and main street family businesses didn’t meet their expectations of glamour and excitement, Limekiln residents were belittled with the phrase typical Townies being pronounced with a scowl. Long-time residents like the Broadaxe sisters thought it was akin to being called rube or bumpkin. Shopkeepers and farmers retaliated by calling Sawtooth residents Sprawlies, urban folk motivated by selfish, uncontrolled needs. The divisions were set.

Alice, Gaither’s not like the others. He’s from New Orleans. He and his family only moved here because of Hurricane Katrina. Their family plans to go back as soon as his son graduates from high school in a month. Ryan’s been accepted to Tulane.

Still, please be careful with how you phrase your questions, I said.

I will. You always said Archie Symes was a jerk. Now, I got to see him in action. I understand a father driving a kid around until he becomes sleepy, but why would he allow his five-year-old son to throw stones at our house—unless, like you said, he wants to come at you by going after Jake.

Baer rose from the chair and grabbed Jake’s leash. Our Swissy tap-danced in front of him. He won’t win, he said. Both looked imposing and powerful.

I hope not, I said.

I recalled Symes holding a divorced mother’s hand in his and soothing her worries about her son by praising her concern and asking, "Why don’t you let me help you? Come see me, in my office." I feared for the woman and felt a chill too.

All winter I watched the son who had once been in my freshman class. By January the student checked out of the school. Dagmar Plank, the attendance clerk, told me the mother had withdrawn her son, and both had moved away from Limekiln.

Should Jake go with you to work, I asked, or should we leave him at home today to protect the house?

I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave him at home, but I’ve an appointment with a client. I’m afraid today he needs to stay. Do you think Symes will have the nerve to show up during the day? I nodded back to him. Then I’ll call Scott and Gretchen and tell them what happened last night. Both work from home. Gretchen has a view of our backyard, and Scott gets a kick out of watching the street. If Symes comes back, one of them will see him. Plus, since she’s next door, Gretchen will hear Jake if he gets agitated enough to bark.

I ran my hands over Jake’s back, collecting a handful of loose fur. His heart had a smooth thump of normal. He panted eagerly as if our day would be spent with him. Our Greater Swiss Mountain dog has kind brown eyes that makes me smile.

I’ll ask around at school to see if any of the other teachers have had this kind of run-in with Symes. I took a deep breath. I planned to have three years until I retire. Maybe less if Symes and Kooser get their way. Limekiln High School has always felt like a second home. I’ll hate it if this new plan to force me out works. But I don’t want you or Jake harmed.

No one is going to force you out, said Baer. His shoulders became steely. You may have become Symes’s enemy, and he may try to break you, but I’ve never known you to quit. The school may turn into a battle ground with all their rules, but if he tries to come after our home or Jake, he’ll have to come through me. And I don’t have to follow the school’s chain of command.

His eyes were like glowing coals.

Chapter 3

When the weather permits, I like to ride my bicycle to Sweet Treats Café before heading to the high school. I like the fresh air drawn into my lungs. And birds chirping. And the chance to wave to early risers.

On Wednesdays the air around the bakery always smells of sugar and cinnamon with undertones of baked apples. I parked my bicycle next to a picnic bench and went in for an apple donut and one more coffee before heading to work. I joined the line of customers. My best friend Lena, who knows everyone in town and collects gossip the way others hunger for baseball cards, already knew my Wednesday order. She tucked a donut into a sack, left the counter to an employee, and walked me to the urn of help-yourself coffee in the corner.

I won’t keep you, she said, but you have that look that something has happened. What’s going on?

I’ve had high hopes for every day at Limekiln High except for this year. Symes.

Don’t I know he’s a terrible man? said Lena. She swept off her hair net from her head and let her blond curls fall about her shoulders. Whyever did they hire him? He’s nothing but a malignant toad. What’s he done this time?

Last night he encouraged his five-year-old son to throw stones at our house. I’m not worried about the house, but he’s teaching his son to grow up to be like him. The sounds of the stones made Jake crazy.

Well, I wouldn’t be too nice about it if I were you. We’re stuck with one middle-aged hooligan. We don’t need a youngster causing damage because he wants to be like his dad.

I was about to agree, but Lena leaned closer.

He thinks I’m too sensitive about my curves. Lena smoothed her apron. "He likes to call me Tubby in front of customers. Then he says, Can’t you take a joke? I’m just kidding.

He’s not a kidder, I said. He’s trying to provoke you.

He’s trying to get revenge, that’s what. For me not going along when he gets handsy. I know you’ve got to get going. We’ll talk later. I’ve encouraged many teachers and workers at the high school to keep a butcher knife handy.

Chapter 4

Gretchen, our neighbor next door, called me at school to report that a man taunted Jake by going from front door to back again and again. She called the police because she could hear Jake barking from inside the house, but the man was gone by the time the police car rolled into our driveway.

Who came from the police? I asked.

That new officer. Unzicker. He took down my report of what I saw. So that you know, Jake barked at the officer as he checked windows and doors. No damage that I could see, but I didn’t give him a key to your house to check inside. He used to be a nice enough boy, but he’s now an officer. Who knows how he might have read your rooms especially if Jake had knocked anything over.

I was thankful. Poor Jake, who by nature worked to be a devoted watchdog, was strong enough to cause damage if excited.

I left the school on my lunch hour and went home to find several things broken in our house and Jake’s paw with dried blood in his fur. His big, sad, brown eyes looked grateful taht I was there, and he still panted heavily. Although not much of a drooler, his muzzle was wet. I took a few minutes to bring Jake back to being loveable and calm. I cleaned the small cuts on his feet. Jake looked more concerned about the tears in my eyes as he licked my hands. I fed him extra treats, cleaned up broken pottery, and recited a string of good-boys.

I checked both the front and back doors and all the downstairs windows. Before I left to return to the school, I thanked Gretchen. The man she saw was short, but since she had no children still in school, she had no idea who he was.

He reminded me of a bully. He knew he was upsetting your dog, and he giggled about doing it. I yelled at him from my upstairs window and told him that I called the police. He laughed. Laughed!

Her eyes were big with outrage. I took a deep breath to calm my thinking. Symes saw me as an enemy to intimidate, and he wasn’t beyond attacking those I loved.

That night, Baer was out late. Jake fell into a bored heap by my side of the bed while I graded papers.

As a worrier, his furry brow wrinkled with concern when Baer wasn’t home. Periodically, he got to his feet to patrol downstairs. In the silence of the house, I heard his nails drag along the kitchen floor as he checked the back door. He slurped water before returning to the bedroom. In his mouth, he carried the quilted jacket Baer used for yard work. Jake placed the jacket in our bedroom doorway, rotated five times, and settled into the jacket-bed that gave him hugs. Only once did he give me a disappointed look.

I wasn’t sure he thought I could defend us if there were a break-in. But he was wrong. If Symes broke into our home looking for God knows what, I was ready. Before settling in bed, I concealed my two forty-two-inch baseball bats near the front and back doors. I put my mother’s cast iron skillet under the bed. If Symes wanted to mess with me or Jake, I was ready. The skillet could make a nasty lump on his head because I still knew how to "Swing for the fences!" That, of course, assumed