A Fool and his Honey Page 0,1

said Doris Post. "SPACOLEC" stands for Sparling County Law Enforcement Complex. It sounded like Doris was chewing a mouthful of gum. I figured she must be trying to quit smoking again. "Doris, this is Aurora Teagarden."

"Oh, hi, hon. How you doing?"

"Just fine, thank you, hope you're well. Ah - I have a situation here."

"Is that right? What's happening?"

"You know Darius Quattermain?"

"The black man who delivers wood? Got six kids? Wife works at Food Fantastic?" "Right." I peered out the window, hoping that somehow the situation would have changed for the normal. Nope. "He's gone crazy." "Whereabouts?"

"In my side yard. He seemed just fine when he got here, but all of a sudden he started singing and chunking wood."

"He's still there?"

"Yes, he is. As a matter of fact..." I stared out the window in appalled fascination. "Um, Doris, he's taking his clothes off now. And still singing. And chunking."

"You locked in that house, Roe?"

"Yes, and I've set the security system." Guiltily, I reached over and punched in the code. "I don't think he means to hurt anyone, Doris. He just can't help himself. It's like he took drugs, or had a seizure, or something. So whoever comes out here, if they could take it real easy?" "I'll tell them what you said," Doris told me. She didn't sound bored or lackadaisical anymore. "You move away from the windows, Roe. A car's on the way."

"Thanks, Doris."

I hung up and hid behind a curtain, so I could check on Darius from time to time. I needn't have bothered to hide. I could have been on the surface of the moon for all Darius cared. He was one big brown goose pimple in the chilly breeze as he danced around buck naked, telling the sky that we would have the wedding supper when she came.

I wondered what Darius would do when he ran out of verses. I didn't have to wait long. He switched to "Turkey in the Straw." Darius was having a flashback to elementary school music class, I decided. He scampered around to his own music with an impressive light-footedness for a staid middle-aged man.

I decided to call my husband.

"There's a naked man in the backyard," I said softly, because Darius had stopped singing and was hunting an imaginary deer.

"Anyone I know?" Martin's voice was cautious. He wasn't certain how seriously to take this.

"Darius Quattermain. The woodman."

"I assume you've called the sheriff?"

"The car's here now." The official car had just pulled up my driveway. I nodded approvingly. The siren wasn't on and the lights stopped flashing as I watched. "Jimmy Henske and Levon Suit," I told Martin.

"Jimmy Henske, huh? Maybe I'd better come home." And the phone was replaced firmly in its cradle. Martin has no high opinion of the sheriffs department in Sparling County, and Jimmy Henske, who is maybe twenty-five, gawky and diffident, has never inspired my husband with his competence. But Jimmy's a nice guy, and Levon Suit (who went to high school with me) is a very controlled deputy who is not only innately more intelligent than Jimmy, but five years more experienced. I remembered that Levon had dated one of Darius's daughters when we were juniors.

I watched, fascinated, as Levon slowly approached Darius. I was a little surprised the deputy would brave walking right up to him - but then, it was completely obvious Darius wasn't carrying a weapon. It appeared that Darius had killed the deer and resumed singing and dancing in celebration. In fact, he was so glad to see Levon that he grabbed Levon's hands and capered off, and for a delirious minute or two Levon trotted right along with him. With a patience that made me proud, the two deputies coaxed Darius into their car. Jimmy hurried back to pick up Darius's clothes, which he tossed in the front seat.

"Yessir, we'll sing along with you all the way into town," Jimmy was saying earnestly as Martin parked beside the squad car. My husband emerged from the Mercedes looking, as he generally did, immaculate, prosperous, and handsome. "Hey, Mr. Bartell!" Darius called happily, as Jimmy was shutting the car door.

"I brought your wood!"

Martin stood on the covered sidewalk between our house and the garage and saw the pieces of oak scattered around the backyard, which we'd finally, expensively, had rolled and re-seeded to make it smooth and grassy. Quite a few divots had been ripped out of the turf by Darius's impromptu log toss. "Thanks a lot, Darius," Martin said.

I came out after the