Baby

like that before she swiped my coin and took off.”
    “Well, what do you want me to tell the boys?” Hudson waited patiently as Robert paced. He detested mysteries. Staring at the cellar’s miraculous produce, he finally made up his mind.
    “Have the boys load up the truck. Make sure they leave nothing behind. Take what you want for yourself; no sense letting it rot. Put some fruit in my vehicle. Sell the rest.” He started up the stairs. As an afterthought, he turned. “Yeah, you better drop off a load for Simpson. He’ll bitch like a woman if we leave him out.” He continued his rise out of the cellar, the treads of the stairs creaking under his weight. Blinking and squinting in the bright sun, he rudely ignored the men standing expectantly at the opening to the cellar. Turning on his brightly polished boot heels, he strolled to his vehicle.
    Watching from the front seat of the sedan, his eyes absently followed the movements of his men, monotonously empting the root cellar. The truck filled rapidly, the men obviously in a hurry to leave. Something in the back of his mind bothered him. He couldn’t put his finger on it. It began to eat at him as he continued to watch the loading. Frustrated, he got out of the car, pacing frantically as he tried to pin down the source of his irritant.
    His blood began a slow simmer, his attention focused on an easy target. Netty. She did this to him. She turned him into a laughing stock with his men. He often heard the whispers and crude jokes at the carriage house. He glanced up at them, catching a few sneaky peeks in his direction. The fact that Netty successfully turned this dump into a prosperous economic success burned him even more. He felt like spitting on her grave, the bitch. Shouting to Sheriff Hudson, he motioned for him to join his march to the back of the barn.
    “Robert, you don’t want to go back there.” Hudson ran hard to catch up. “Please, leave it alone. We should get out of here.” Robert threw Hudson a scornful look as he approached the grave. Startled, he froze at the edge. The grave looked caved in . Son of a bitch , how could that happen? His face turned crimson, his fists balled in anger. He slowly breathed in and out, trying to keep a lid on his explosive temper.
    “Go get the boys. And some shovels … now .” Hudson hurried away, shaking his head as Robert stared down at the impossible.
    Moans of reluctance announced the arrival of his men bearing the shovels. They gathered at the edge of the grave, snorts of dismay and shock professing their surprise. The silence grew restless, the baffled men unmistakably spooked.
    “This better not be a joke.” Robert’s ice pick eyes drilled deeply into those of his men. Not a one uttered a sound, more intimidated by Robert than the meaning of the disturbed grave.
    “You, you and you,” Robert directed in a glacial voice. “Get down there and start digging. I want all of this dirt removed. All of it.” His voice started to leak telltale drips of hysteria. Swallowing, he knelt at the side of the grave, desperately examining the dirt as it flew from the grave to land nearby. Grasping at straws, his face murderous, he turned to Hudson.
    “I trust we do not have a case of grave robbery here. I suppose the freak value of the bodies would be worth a few coins.” Venom and suspicion leaked from his clenched teeth.
    “Please, Robert, for the last time. Let’s go. This place might be cursed.”
    “Now you sound like an asshole, Hudson. Just shut the fuck up. ” Sheriff Hudson’s face blanched, looking as if he suddenly realized the snail he swallowed was still alive. Snickers could be heard from some of the men, hidden protectively behind strained coughs.
    “Hey, Boss, can we come back up?” The voice from inside the grave convulsed with panic. Robert leaned over the grave as his men scrambled up, not bothering to wait for a response.
    “Ain’t nothing down there no more; just a bunch of big holes tunneling to who the hell knows where. Looks like they were still alive.” The other men joined a chorus of agreement.
    “ Shut up, you idiots . They were dead. The likelihood they dug tunnels to escape is as likely as the possibility I’m going to sprout tits in the next two seconds.” Roberts’s educated mannerisms vanished. Under pressure and attempting to disguise his mounting fear, he sank to the verbal dirt with the rest of them.
    “Give me that.” He yanked a shovel from a pair of