Dead Man Falls (3 page)

"Now, listen, missy, I’ve already told Agnes and Merline that I couldn’t go with them because you were going to be here and I knew you’d want the two of us to go together. Everyone is expecting you to be there with me and you darn well will be."

Beads of sweat suffused my skin in a mighty hot flash, and I swallowed a very un-daughterly groan. This was not good. Not good at all. I knew better than to take the upfront approach and "just say no." That would earn me the cold shoulder for the entire time I had to be here. Of course, I could just leave and go back to Colorado, always a lovely idea, but that would earn me a cold shoulder for the rest of my life--yes, I fully expected to die first as Lucille will live to be at least 143. Besides, I am an only child and she is my only living relative other than my children. Damn.

With another gurgle of my stomach, inspiration struck. "Well, I suppose I can try to take you to the big event tomorrow, if I’m up to it. That long trip down from Colorado is a killer, you know. I’m really not feeling all that great." I rubbed my temples. "Headache, stomachache…" I wasn’t lying either.

"I’m sure you’ll feel just fine in the morning," she said, entirely too sure of the matter. "Now, get some sleep. We’ve got a big day ahead of us."

I tried to smile encouragingly while looking as sickly as I could. "Maybe a good night’s rest will help. I just hope I can sleep." I stopped and frowned. That sounded like my mother’s voice coming out of my mouth, and it did not have a melodious ring to it. Maybe I’d learned more from Mother dear than I’d thought--and that was not a good thing. "See you in the morning," I said, but not with enthusiasm.

Lucille flicked off the kitchen light and trotted to her bedroom, no doubt grinning smugly.

I did my own about-face, turned out the light in the living room and marched back to my corner, giving myself a scathing what-for every step of the way. I was an adult, for godsakes. I didn’t have to do what my mother told me to anymore. If I didn’t want to go to the stupid fake-rocks-and-fire-hose show tomorrow I darn well didn’t have to. And I’d tell her just exactly that first thing in the morning.

I could be sick if I wanted to. So there.

Chapter 2

It had been a good theory, the one about being an adult and doing whatever I pleased. In practice, however, it left a lot to be desired. The pretending-to-be-sick thing hadn’t worked out so well either.

I’d given it my best effort, really I had, but I discovered I was no better at playing dead now than when I’d been ten years old. And here I thought I’d learned something in the last thirty years. If I have, it apparently has nothing at all to do with dealing with my mother.

Okay, if you must know the unpleasant details, I might have whined a little, moaned and/or groaned a lot, and even seriously considered writhing on the floor for dramatic effect. I eventually conjured up a pretty good whimper and produced a few real tears as I presented my complaints of sleep deprivation, nausea, headache, diarrhea and a couple of long shots like kidney stones and an aneurysm.

Lucille was not moved. I’m not even sure she noticed.

Apparently, I shouldn’t have forewarned her that I was planning to be sick in the morning. Even so, she would have seen right through my semi-fake illness just as she had when I was in grade school. I don’t think I ever got away with cutting class even once. I’m not very good at deviousness and deceit. However, I do excel at compulsive sarcasm and the ability to insert my foot into my mouth at any given moment.

Actually, Lucille didn’t stomp and rant and demand that I go to the big celebration with her. She just wondered aloud, over and over and over again, what would happen to her if she went alone and had a heat stroke, a frail old woman out there all by herself, alone and at the mercy of strangers. When she began her dramatic interpretation of a mother’s heart being ripped from her chest and stomped on--we are a theatrical pair--I gave in, but not gracefully.

Negotiations--and I use the term loosely--for the conditions of the outing were neither subtle nor fair on either side. Despite Lucille’s efforts to shame me into it, I refused to dress as if we were going to a funeral, regardless of how similar the events would be. I opted instead for a comfy pair of denim shorts, a tee shirt and sandals, my standard uniform of choice when sweltering is expected.

I also did not let myself get coerced into putting on a bunch of make-up. Lucille wears enough for both of us. Besides, it’s common knowledge that the beauty-queen thing never appealed to me. All the cosmetics I own can fit into a sandwich bag--with the sandwich. My mother’s collection, however, requires a tackle box worthy of a pro bass fishing champion. You open the top and all those little trays unfold like bleachers in a gymnasium. But I digress.

The trip into Redwater Falls had been both silent and uneventful, but now that we were on the highway by the falls, I could feel the excitement bubbling forth from the passenger seat. In true funeral procession style, we took our place in the queue of cars snaking along the access road at the edge of the river. We could see into the main parking area, which had a bit of a carnival atmosphere. Various food and beverage carts dotted the perimeter of the parking lot, all festooned with bunches of frolicsome balloons and surrounded by lines of people. Finding a close-in place to park was looking highly unlikely.

The city, knowing a hot tourist attraction when it built one, had cleared an ambitious area of trees and grass--and paved and striped it admirably. This grandiose parking area would no doubt hold several thousand cars. Unfortunately, there were about ten times that number trying to get in.

"Park right over there, Jolene," Lucille said, pointing up ahead to a grassy patch under a huge cottonwood tree to the far right of where the big new falls had been erected. "It’ll be real cool in the shade there. Just pull up on the grass. It won’t hurt anything."

"Nah, won’t hurt a thing except that we’ll have to call a taxi when my car is towed away for illegal parking."

"Oh, for crying out loud, Jolene, everybody will be parking everywhere. Besides, we know the Bowman County sheriff and that cute little blond Redwater detective. What was his name?"

I did not volunteer his name, although I did remember it. How could I forget? Rick, aka Surfer Dude, was not little, but he was very cute and very blond. Tanned and lean, he looked like he belonged on a beach in California instead of sporting a detective’s badge in Redwater Falls, Texas. He was also a part of a very bad time that I preferred to forget. I shook off a shudder at the still-fresh memories, reflexively rubbed my arm and studied the parking options for a few more seconds.

While Mother’s frequent and energetic marathons at the mall are the stuff of legends, I decided it really would be best if she didn’t have to walk too far in the impending heat. The temperature had already ripened to ninety-four degrees with a similar number on the humidity scale, and Mother wasn’t as young as she used to be. The shade might also prove helpful if perchance I discovered a way to enjoy the festivities from my Tahoe--my dark blue, sun-sucking Tahoe. So, with mostly selfless motivations, I hopped the curb and drove carefully toward the designated tree.

Pulling to a stop under the thickest spot of shade, I glanced around and noticed that my trailblazing had started a trend. Cars and trucks were packing in around us like frogs in a shrinking mud hole. There was some safety in numbers, I supposed, since it was doubtful they could haul us all off. I just hoped none of our new vehicular neighbors were setting up for a rousing tailgate party that would impede my solitude should I actually find a way to escape back here.

Mother unhooked her seatbelt and grabbed her tackle box from the back seat. She set the box on the console, snapped open the latches, and spread out all the little trays. After some deliberation, she selected a long brown pencil, flipped up the passenger side mirror, and expertly began embellishing her brows. That was only the beginning, of course, and I kept the car--and the all-important air conditioner--running while she re-based, re-powered and re-blushed. A swipe of mascara and an artful lip painting completed the cosmetic process. But she wasn’t done yet. From the bottom of the tackle box she pulled out an industrial-sized can of hairspray and shook it.

Heat or no heat, I rolled down the windows fast.

"What do you think about my new color, Jolene?" she said, spraying and patting her helmet of pale mauve hair. "I was getting a little tired of Frivolous Fawn and decided to try something new. It’s called Reticent Rose."

Painfully Pink would have been my guess. Obviously, I did not verbalize my opinion. Nope, I just smiled, very nicely, mind you, and coughed discreetly at the fog of hairspray engulfing me, then pointed all the air conditioner vents in her direction. "It does have quite a bit of reddish tint to it," I said, tactfully, and with not a hint of sarcasm. Honest.

"That’s what I thought." Lucille leaned back from the visor mirror so she could take in the full head view. "Of course, it could just be my natural color coming through. I was auburn like you when I was younger, you know. When I’d get out in the sun, my hair would glow just like the burner on an electric stove."

Lovely visual, just lovely. "Well," I said, still very kindly. "You can keep trying different colors until you find one you really like."

Lucille finished with the spray can, reloaded the tackle box and snapped the visor up, ready to venture out into the masses. For the festivities, she had chosen a purple pantsuit with matching earrings that dangled in strings of little purple balls, which matched the purple nail polish on her acrylic fingernails and non-acrylic toes. To complete her ensemble, she had opted to wear her favorite gold glitter sandals--presumably to show off the coordinating toe polish. As strange as it sounds, on Lucille, the look worked--very well. She looked rather fetching and certainly blended into the local crowd better than Plain Jane Jolene, who was starting to wish she had dressed for a funeral.

As more and more people flocked past the car, I began to surmise that everyone in Redwater Falls and the surrounding counties was here to see the unveiling of the new fake waterfall. Most, if not all, were dressed in their Sunday best, which does not mean shorts and a tee shirt. People around here dress to be seen, and one’s image is not something to be taken lightly. I know this, but I try to pretend it doesn’t matter, and it doesn’t--shouldn’t. But no matter what I tell myself, when I get around this mentality, I start worrying about what other people think of me. It’s just plain weird.

"Hurry, up, Jolene." Lucille swung the car door open wide and grabbed the overhead handhold to help herself to the ground. She didn’t make any ugly comments about my "monster truck" as she shimmied down, but the tooth marks in her fresh lipstick said she’d surely thought about it. She huffed a little as she smoothed away the wrinkles from her pantsuit. "We’d better hurry if we want to get a good place where we can see the water when it comes over."

I rolled up the windows, killed the engine and covered my mouth to hide my yawn. The heat does that to me--makes me want to just lie right down and take a nap. If I’ve just had a nice big chicken-fried steak with gravy and a tall glass of iced tea, so much the better. My mother--unlike most of the local populace--did not appear to be afflicted by this problem. As sleek and restless as a caged cougar, Lucille Jackson was neither dreaming of fatty foods nor yawning. She was, in fact, abuzz with energy. Before I could tell her to calm down, that we had plenty of time, a band--I’m guessing the high school marching variety--began to play what I hoped were just warm-up notes.

"Hurry up, Jolene, they’re starting the ceremony!" She slammed the car door shut and took off like a shot.

Well, damn. I climbed out of the Tahoe, pointed my clicker behind me to lock the doors and tried to catch up with Lucille Speedwalker, who was zipping through the burgeoning crowd at about thirty miles per hour.

Clusters of people rippled and surged toward the edge of the river, accompanied by exuberant whoops and hollers--and an unhealthy amount of secondhand cigarette smoke. Coughing and muttering, I pushed my way along, trying to keep my eye on the bobbing mass of puffed pink hair. It wasn’t as easy as you’d think, and the whole situation was beginning to wear on my good nature. Then, through a break in the sea of humanity, I caught another glimpse of my mother up ahead, elbowing her way to the front of the pack, her big black purse swinging this way and that. My shoulders shook in yet another involuntary shudder. Blinking away a flood of unsettling flashbacks, I followed Mother at a prudent pace, muttering apologies to the poor souls left swaying in her wake.

"Hey, Jolene!"

It took a few seconds and a few steps for it to sink in that someone had called my name. I took a few more in hopes that the person--a male person whose voice did not ring a bell--was actually calling to someone else as I am not the only Jolene on the planet. When he said my name again, with Jackson added for clarification, I stopped and turned around.

A squinty-eyed guy in a turquoise Hawaiian shirt, cutoff jeans, and a long dangly feather earring waved and called my name again. His hair was now shoulder-length and mostly gray and his eyes weren’t quite as vacant, but Russell Clements still looked pretty much like he had in high school. The spaced-out doper and I had been the top contenders for the "most time spent in the office" award, he for obvious reasons, I for trying to convince the superintendent to fire the principal. Russell they knew how to handle. Me, not a clue.

People ebbed and flowed around me, closing off my exit path, so I stopped. "Hi, Russell," I said. "How’s it going?"

"Hey, you remembered me! Wow." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shuffled his thong-clad feet. "Man, it’s been a long time since high school, but I knew it was you. Wow. High school. Really takes you back, huh?"