Iced

Sometimes you have to pay a premium for what you really need

It was the last Friday of spring, but a long early hot snap had crashed headfirst into the mid-June humidity. Central Indiana felt like a tropical jungle.

“Looks like he slipped on that puddle of water,” Officer Jack Rolfe said, then added in a low voice, “or maybe it’s sweat.”

We were standing in the Lister kitchen, and Tommy Lister lay before us on the black-and-white checkered linoleum. His eyes were open and glazed, staring at the ceiling. His wispy white hair fluttered in the breeze of the box fan that stood in a doorway leading to another part of the house. There was a small smudge of blood to one side of Tommy’s head.

I followed Jack’s pointing finger to the small puddle near Tommy’s feet and wished I’d just kept driving when I saw the deputy’s squad car out front. I should have made it to town and back with the morning paper already, but I just can’t seem to resist when I see trouble brewing.

Guess that comes with the territory when you’re trying to eek out a living as a private detective in a tiny town.

“I poured you boys some lemonade,” Hattie Lister said as she turned from the ice box. I had some vague notion that she had been rummaging around while we gawked at her dead husband, and I felt guilty that I hadn’t tried to console her.

“Thank you, Mrs. Lister,” I said, rushing to take the tall glasses from her trembling hands.

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you any ice,” Hattie said. “Seems like just yesterday Tommy bought that new block down at Ike’s, but I guess it’s already all gone.” Her eyes glazed over as they locked on a spot of nothing on the drab paneled wall above the sink.

“It’s the heat,” I said, handing a glass to Jack. Something itched at the base of my brain.

Jack nodded and took a swig of hot lemonade. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’d kill for a block of ice right about now.”

That itch in my brain broke out into full-on chicken pox.

–

There were a few families in Silo who had splurged for a refrigerator, but it was a poor town on the whole. Most folks still used ice boxes in their kitchens, and that included me.

It also included Fred Pranger, one of my old coaches from high school who was well into his eighties now. I’d see him at Ike’s Grocery every once in a while these days, and at the Silo Pharmacy.

In fact, I had seen him at Ike’s just the day before. Had seen Tommy Lister there, too.

Fred answered his front door before I even finished knocking. “Good to see you, Rooster,” the old man said, using my high school nickname and standing to one side. “Come on in.”

If Fred wondered why I had dropped by, he didn’t ask, so I decided to help the conversation along.

“Just passing by and thought I’d stop in to check on you two,” I said, following Fred towards his kitchen. “How’s Pauline doing these days?”

“Have a seat and I’ll pour us some iced tea,” Fred said. “Her sugar’s acting up as usual, and this heat doesn’t help much.”

I sat down in a stiff oak chair and pulled up close to the cigarette-burned Formica table. “Sorry to hear that. Hope you’re taking care of each other.”

Fred was rooting around in his ice box, and I heard something hard clink against glass. He set two tumblers with chunks of ice in them on the counter next to him. I caught a quick glimpse of the chipped ice block in the top compartment of the ice box before he closed the door and opened the bottom compartment. Next to the pitcher of tea were several glass vials with clear liquid in them, along with a syringe.

“Yep, she’s going to the doctor on the regular, taking her ins’lin.”

Fred poured the tea and sat across from me at the table. I took a sip. The tea was strong and cold.

“Guess you found a block of ice after all?” I said.

“How’s that?” Fred said.

“Yesterday at Ike’s. You just missed out on a block of ice. Tommy Lister grabbed the last one, remember?”

Fred’s bottom left eyelid twitched about two lashes worth, but his face remained otherwise smooth and unflinching. “Oh, sure, sure. Ice is mighty important this time of year, especially for my Pauline. Sometimes, I have to pay a premium.”

I nodded and sipped my tea, remembering the bid Fred had muttered for a block of ice in Ike’s the day before as he eyed Tommy Lister.

I’d kill for a block of ice.

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