Marshall Evers checked his appearance in the rearview mirror. He was considered handsome by many. Not that he would deny it, he just pretended to be unaware of his appeal. He had a knack for manipulating people that he thought could be of use to him. That was the true reason Haddigan Barbor had sent him out to ask questions; Evers knew that full well. His first stop was a costume shop, "Annie Costume Designs." Annie May Martin was a widow of uncertain age, whose most recent husband had died two years ago. Evers pulled the patrol car into to tiny parking lot and briskly stepped through the door. A tinkling bell announced his arrival. A harsh voice crowed from the back.
"Be with ya in a minute, love. Gotta finish sewing these buttons. Mary Bradly's boy is dressin up as a tin soldier for his kindergarten graduation and I ain't never seen anyone so fussy in my life. Iffin I don't get this dang'd thing all sewed up before t'evening she'll have my hide. Those new mothers are always the fussiest. Cain't gettum to settle down for nothin. Here now I'm just snippin the thread." There were a few odd sounds from the back room and finally Annie May popped out of the curtain hung doorway. Marshall Evers would never have used such an odd word as popped if he could have helped it, but pop Annie May did. First came her head, wrinkled as a plum and covered with fiery red hair that could only be compliments of lady Clairol, then the rest of her body, clothed in a forest green velour pantsuit and draped in a large apron thrust itself through the calico curtain. Annie May wasn't an overly large woman, but her pushy personality made her seem much larger then she really was.
Evers opened his mouth to give his name when she thrust her hand at him. He took it gingerly noting that several shiny needles had been stuck in her sleeve. She grinned at him widly. "Annie May Martin at yur service. Well, that's not quite true. My real name's a lot longer, but I try to keep it simple. My first husband was a Jones. Almost turned him down 'cause I couldn't handle the thought of havin sech an ordinary name. But I figgured a girl only gets asked once." She gave a hearty laugh. "Turns out I got asked seven times." At Evers' horrified look she tried to amend the situation. "'Course I turned down one of um. And my Mr. Martin asked twice. So I really onlly had five husbands. Every one of them was as good a man as I could want, onlies they had a habit of dyin out ruther quick-like." Marshall was sure that death was a welcome relief to the poor ears of the unfortunate husbands.
"But now I know you di'nt come here to hear 'bout my dearly departed. Who are ya and how can I help ya?"
At least this was comfortable ground. He pointed to his badge officiously and added a slight bow for the effect. "I am Deputy Marshall Evers here to investigate – " His words were cut off abruptly.
"Ahhhh…. A lawman. You must be after some information bout that teacher fella who up 'n disappeared. Spose he ran off with some little girlfriend."
You can be sure Marshall pricked up his ears. "Do you have any reason to suspect - "
She wagged her ruby head. "It's allus a girl. I was wait'n for a lawman to come on up and ask about the teacher. He cum up here a few months ago wantin a costume. Now I know that the lawmen allus like to trace the last week of the dearly departed's life. Not sayin that he's dead, now. No, he's holed up in Canady somewhere with his little girlfriend and you won't be hearin from him agin."
Marshall had realized by now that it was impossible for him to get a full phrase into this woman's diatribe, but he knew that she was the kind who just needed small pushes in the right direction to give him a wealth of information. He wanted to keep her on topic so he said curtly, "The costume?"
If she heard his sharp tone she ignored it. "Said it was fer a production of Hamlet. Now I don't hold to that silly Shakespeare stuff, but it's good fer business so I know a fair bit about it. Now for Hamlet you wear a slashed doublet and hose… stuff with brocade and gold buttons. His was all wrong an I tried to tellim, but it hadta be his way. There was a woman up in Grandfair who was like that. She was allus wantin a bustle for Medieval festivals and hoopskirts to wear for the Roarin' Twenties Fair."
She pulled in a deep breath to continue and Marshall jumped on the chance. "What did this costume look like?"
Mrs. Martin was no doubt surprised to hear the man say a full sentence, but she recovered herself and lumbered over to her massive filing cabinet, keeping a running monologue as she searched for the appropriate file. "Here 'tis." She said as she pulled out a manila envelope. "Spose you'll be wantin this fer evvydence?" Marshall nodded shortly and pulled out the contents of the envelope. The cost of the costume was carefully written out, the price of each piece of cloth and button neatly written on notebook paper. He skipped over the pages that described the costume and pattern pieces used. A stack of Polaroid's at the bottom of the envelope was just what he needed. Part of his mind registered that Mrs. Martin was still talking, but he was sure that she had nothing new to add. The costume had been simple and functional. Mrs. Martin was right. It wasn't at all the kind of costume to wear for a production of Hamlet. He took a quick inventory: sturdy brown breeches, white shirt, dark green vest with lace-up sleeves, fingerless gloves knitted of dark blue yarn, and a large, hooded cape of brown wool. "Is this all?"
The woman snapped up her head and stared at him. "Huh?"
"Is this all the man ordered?" He repeated tersley.
"Well sure is! He wanted a leather belt and antiky jewlry, but I tole him I don't do leather work and all. Sent him somewhere else. Supposed you'll want to know where he went. Here's the man's name 'n address. Oh you leavin? Well sure was nice to be of servuce to a lawman. Iffin you need anymore information you come on back here and I cun tell you anything. Next time don't be so quiet. Folks like other folk who talk back."
Marshall collapsed in his car with a relieved sigh. He was not a patient man, and Annie May Martin's never ending talking had grated on his last nerve. At least he had the information he'd come for. It likely was no help to the investigation, but he had it. Now he had only three more people to visit. Marshall sighed. This could be a long day.