Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. Vol. 101, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 610 & 611, March 1993

Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. Vol. 101, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 610 & 611, March 1993

On Lookout by Barbara Owens

Viewers of television programs featuring profiles of wanted criminals must all feel a little tantalized by the possibility that the outlaw is someone they know, but for the main character in Barbara Owens’s story, every new face bears a suspicious aspect...

* * *

By late evening St. Louis’s Lambert Airport was becalmed. An occasional arrival or departure still caused a brief flurry, but the hordes were gone — into the air somewhere, or waiting by phones in far-flung rooms to see if their lost luggage had been found. The few souls still wandering the terminal looked as though they lived there — familiar nods to concessionaires, a friendly “How’d it go today?” to a uniformed flight crew stepping smartly by.

Crawley’s Coffee Shop was waiting out the final hour to closing, its new manager, Arthur Woolsey, having already arrived to begin the day’s bookwork. Two of the three waitresses, Ruth Blackburn and Vonda Martin, retired to a booth to nurse black coffee and watch Cookie Gudermeyer sprint back and forth behind the counter as if she had a hundred hungry customers instead of three lone ones slumped there.

Vonda sighed. “Look at that girl. Never slows down. And nothing to her but skin wrapped around bones. She makes me tired.”

“I’m trying to remember if I had that much energy when I was nineteen,” Ruth said. “But I can’t remember when I was nineteen.”

“Cookie, come on over here and sit down,” Vonda called softly. “Leave those nice people alone. They’ll let you know if they want anything.”

With an embarrassed little grin, the thin blonde redirected her lope towards them. She fell into the booth with a bounce, pushing drifting strands of lank hair under her headband.

“I guess I still got a lot to learn.” Her voice was small and breathless. “I only want to do a good job, you know?” She had an ugly smear of gravy across the bib of her coral apron.

Vonda patted her hand. “Honey, you’re doing fine. You just got to be careful not to overdo. You’re real intense, aren’t you?”

Cookie’s brow wrinkled. “I guess. But with Buddy gone and all, just me to take care of Little Bud, I need to do everything right.”

Ruth and Vonda exchanged glances. If they didn’t change the subject she’d be off again, about how Buddy had coaxed her up from the Ozarks, promised to marry her and didn’t, then took off and left her with their baby boy, Little Bud. Cookie wasn’t mad. She was confident that Buddy would come back, she just didn’t know how soon. In the two months she’d been working at Crawley’s, they’d heard it many times.

“So, Vonda,” Ruth said quickly, “how’s Carlisle doing?”

Vonda’s dark eyes flashed gratitude. “Doing okay. If he ever gets graduated. I’ll be too old to have kids, but I’ll smile with the best teeth around.”

Her rich laugh made Ruth smile. Vonda was one of her favorite people. Here was an example of two black kids who’d fought their way out of an East St. Louis ghetto, gotten married, and worked together to put Carlisle through dental school. Nearing thirty, they were almost there, and Ruth had never heard a complaint about the hardships they’d endured. She had a lot of respect for Vonda and Carlisle.

“Well, kids aren’t everything,” she consoled. “I love mine, but some days I could live without them.”

Cookie leaned forward eagerly, her mouth opening, but Vonda was too fast for her.

“So how are yours getting along with that new boyfriend?” she teased. “That Raymond. You thinking to take the plunge again?”

Ruth felt herself blush. “They like him. But I don’t know. I got burned once. Now here I am with two teenage kids, and Walt’s hiding out so he won’t have to pay child support. Makes me a little gun-shy.”

Vonda grinned. “Raymond sounds awful nice, though.”

Ruth had to smile. “He is. Kind of scary. He’s almost too good to be true.”

Cookie released a sigh so gusty that neither woman could ignore it.

“Something wrong, Cookie?” Vonda asked reluctantly.

“Oh, it’s just that I didn’t spot one again today,” Cookie said.

Vonda rolled her eyes at Ruth. Cookie’s other obsession — the television series Lookout. It profiled wanted criminals, urging viewers to be on the lookout for them, and Cookie was addicted to it. She’d spent more than she could afford for a VCR to tape every episode, and she could spout offenses, aliases, and identifying marks until someone stopped her. She was certain that someday she’d spot a fugitive, maybe collect a big reward for turning him in. Cookie was on the lookout constantly.