Excerpt: Pooch

Mrs. Hudson was the County Clerk's secretary. She had been the secretary as long as the Court House had been standing in the center of town. So it seemed anyway. County Clerks came and went with elections, but they never got rid of her. How could they, she knew everything about everyone. She could recall the location of records from every era since the collapse of the Roman Empire. She claimed to have seen Yankees chase Robert E. Lee, on his horse, through the alley back behind the Court House and over next to the old Methodist Church, the second oldest building in town. She was fifteen at the time and although she looked very old, no one believed she was actually as old as she claimed.
"Why, Billy and Pooch," Mrs. Hudson said as they approached the Office of the County Clerk. Her small desk was clear of clutter, but along the window sill there sat a small violet that drew Cynthia's attention.
"I give it a few hours of direct sunlight every day. I think it helps them and they respond by offering the prettiest little flowers. I don't think I know you. You wouldn't be the victim from the car episode out on Highway 103 would you? Old Doc Simon's new patient? Broken arm, small tattoo somewhere that souldn't be mentioned in mixed company."
"Cynthia," she said extending her hand.
"Just the one name?" Mrs. Hudson said, raising an eyebrow and taking her hand, "I thought we only had one of those around here."
"I... I don't think I should..."
"Honey, I am probably the only person on the face of the planet who knows how to keep a secret. I know hundreds of secrets."
Cynthia smiled. "Galanis. Cynthia Galanis."
"Exactly what I would have guessed, something Mediterranean. I would have gone with an -opolus, though. We don't see too many Greek descendants around here. You're from?"
Cynthia felt trapped. The old cat had her by the tail and whipped her back and forth as she drug her across the floor.
"I would rather not..."
"I'd guess Ohio or a little further East but not much."
"Cincinnati."
"But not originally, though."
Cynthia shook her head and her eyes dropped. Never had someone known so much about her without she had volunteered information.
"Well, that we're acquainted, how can I help you all?"
"We're looking for records concerning land ownership for Lightners around 15 or 16 years ago." Pooch said.
"Won't find any. You're trying to find your parents, aren't you? Happens sooner or later, orphans or disconnected relatives try to reach out and connect with someone. They want to know their history. That what you're looking for? Billy?"
"Yes ma'am, I remember the last name Lightner."
"That's better than the name of a horse isn't it."
Billy smiled and nodded.
"Lightner isn't your last name, can't say where you got it from. Could be it was because of the stormy night you were found on. I'm actually a little surprised you haven't come looking a little earlier. Lasiter, you're last name is Lasiter. I didn't exactly know your mother and father personally, they were already married when they came into town. She was pregnant and Billy you were already what, 4 or 5? Old Doc though, it's hard to get anything past him. And what does slip by comes my way from the Sheriff. The three of us have breakfast together at least once a week. Doc and I have gone through several Sheriff, I'll say that."
"And their names? What were their first names."
"You know, Pooch, I never got a first name for you other than Pooch."
"That's all..."
Cynthia stepped forward, leaned against the desk, brushed a shock of short brown hair back behind her ear, "We're working on that right now. You can't rush into things like the perfect name for the perfect man."
Mrs. Hudson raised her pencil-thin eyebrows. Leaning back, she tapped her pen on the accountant's green and yellow desktop calendar and let a smile draw up her lips.
"Lasiter. Margaret and Henry Lasiter. Lived out on Stillwell mountain at the old Dickerson place. They rented it from Lem Dickerson, son and sole heir of Angus Dickerson who passed 24 and one-half years ago this last August. Lem lives in one of those gated communities that have sprung up in the suburbs of Houston. He's been there for some 27 years, now."
"Wow, is that all?" Cynthia said straightening up.
"Lightner was the family name of the people living next door to the Lasiters. It might be that the young Black children were left with the Lightners a few times too many."
Billy and Pooch looked at each other then at Cynthia.
"So, you all figuring on going home or hitting the road?"
"Well, Mrs. Hudson," Pooch said, "We'd like to try an locate them, if they're still alive."
Billy cleared his throat. "You wouldn't know where they headed would you?"
"You know, I truly don't, but if it was me, I might check with the Lightners. They might not be a talkative bunch, but it could be they heard some mention of where your folks had been or were from. That or the Sheriff. Sometimes the Sheriff gets queries on the whereabouts of folks. he might have heard something and not remembered to mention it to me. Now that wouldn't be the current Sheriff Rodgers, that'd be old Tom Block who has a little horse ranch out Highway 103, right there on the edge of town. You drove right past it on the way into town. He and his son used to do the local rodeo circuit."