Murder for a Rainy Day (Pecan Bayou Book 6) (3 page)

"Yes. I believe you have."

"If it’s a boy, you can name him Rocky, and if it’s a girl, you can name her Rockette." He grinned, pleased with himself.

"Now you’re sure you’re okay with me taking some time off for the baby?"

"Not only am I okay with it, I’m looking forward to it," Rocky said. "You’ve been doing so much nesting around here, it’s driving us all crazy. Who said you could put curtains in my bathroom?"

"You have to admit it looks a lot better now."

"I like them," Nicholas said.

"Besides, every time I used the restroom I worried somebody walking down the alley might be looking in the window at me. You need to think about the women in your life, Rocky."

"Something I try not to do too often. It tends to lead to alimony checks."

 "May I help you?" The receptionist asked. She sat behind a glass-topped desk held up by a curved steel frame. I waddled up to the waiting area. The rush of the air conditioner hitting my body caused me to stop for a moment. I took a breath and regained my composure. The woman's eyes widened as if she were afraid I was going to go into labor right there on the polished marble floor.

"I need to see Baxter Digby." Her look of astonishment continued as she noted my hand resting on my protruding belly. She gulped.

"Oh no! I'm from the Pecan Bayou Gazette and I just need to get a recipe from him for a feature we're doing on the candidates."

"Of course," she smiled, unable to hide her relief. She picked up the phone and punched in a number. "Someone from the paper is here to see you, Mr. Digby." She listened and then set down the phone. "Mr. Digby will be with you in just a moment."

I glanced over at a picture of Digby with his wife and two children. "That's Mr. Digby's family?"

"Oh yes. That's Dana Digby. She's wonderful. She studied nursing of some type, but when she had the children, decided she would be better at home raising them. I really admire her for deciding to do that. When is your baby due?"

"In a couple of weeks."

"Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"

"Yes."

A hand reached out from nowhere. "Baxter Digby at your service." Digby squeezed my hand while pumping my arm up and down.

"Uh. Nice to meet you. I'm Betsy Fitzpatrick. I'm writing a piece on you and Drummond Struthers for the paper."

"Well, this is excellent, just excellent. I really admire how your paper has jumped in to give the candidates a voice. If we can't get our platforms out there on community issues then the people have no idea who to vote for. Today I just have to say — God bless America and its media outlets."

"Actually…."

"No, you should be commended. What should I start with? City planning? Zoning? My vision for a bright economic future?"

"Actually, I need a recipe."

"Pardon?"

"A recipe. I write the Happy Hinter column, and Rocky thought it might be good to have sort of an electoral grill-off."

His lips thinned. "I see."

"Are you an active griller?"

Baxter Digby straightened the flag pen on his lapel and stepped back. "Leave your card with my secretary, and I'll have my wife call you."

The freshly pressed back pleat of his navy sport coat swayed slightly in the breeze he created turning from me in a dash for the door.

"Thanks for your time, and I'm sure your simple recipe will go over well with the comments Drummond Struthers included with his grilling secrets. Who knew the guy knew so much about barbecue, and for that fact, life?"

Digby's head pivoted back toward me. He replaced his look of boredom with one of great interest.

"He gave you commentary? He shared wisdom? Folksy stuff
?
"

"Yes sir," I lied. I hadn't even spoken to Drummond Struthers yet. "This is America after all." Land of the free and home of an abundance of hot air, I thought.

"Well, then," he pushed the knot in his tie up. "I would be pleased to share my take on grilling and American life. It's just the kind of guy I am."

An hour later I sat with Drummond Struthers in the office of his automotive repair shop. He had the proud distinction of being the only tow truck driver in Pecan Bayou. When Struthers was not fixing or towing cars, he was the congregational president at Pastor Green’s church. Drummond helped the church not only as a member of the church council, but had a hand in programs for the poor. Baxter Digby had given me such a good response when he found out his opponent contributed, I decided to let Drummond Struthers look through my notes. He glanced at my yellow legal pad full of scribbles. "So, you say Digby gave you all that?"

Digby had called home for a recipe and then expounded on the values of family life and the American way for at least five pages. Knowing that Rocky had a word limit, I wondered if he realized I would be using only about a tenth of what he was saying. Still though, it gave us good material to put in the paper.

"Yes. He shared so much good advice about grilling and really, life in general."

"I see." He said quietly. "You know, when I agreed to run for this seat, I never expected I would be competing against another person. A seat on the city council of a small town is somewhere between the dog catcher and the tax assessor. When Mr. Digby announced he would also be running for the position, I'll have to admit, I had second thoughts about the whole thing."

Struthers leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms and gave me a gentle smile. "I’d be hard pressed to provide so much for your article. I’m a pretty simple guy, you know. I work. I help people. I go to church. I spend time with my family."

"Mr. Digby is a salesman," I said.

"That he is. I suppose I could give you my recipe for Coca-Cola Burgers. It's nothing special, but my kids seem to enjoy it. Of course you have to measure the ingredients just as it says, or it won't come out right."

He pulled out a pad of paper from a desk drawer and started listing ingredients.

"Now, when your readers make this be sure to tell them it’s important to baste the burgers." He ripped off the note and handed it to me.

"Thanks, I will." I put the recipe in my notebook along with the legal pad. "Was there anything else you wanted to share?"

"Oh you mean some sort of grilling advice that will cause people to vote for me?"

"Yes." I readied myself to write.

"Uh, stay away from the side of the grill where the smoke is drifting."

I stopped and looked up. Drummond grinned.

He put his hands up in the air and shrugged. "All I've got."

Even though his contribution was much shorter than Baxter Digby's, I already knew who I would vote for.

My phone rang in my purse. "Betsy." The familiar voice of Aunt Maggie rang in my ears. "I need you to come over to my house."

I placed my hand over the phone.

"Sorry," I said to Struthers.

"No problem. I look forward to the article."

I nodded and stepped outside the auto repair shop.

"What's the matter?"

"Uh … I need you to talk to Danny."

"Why?"

"I don't know. He just says he has to talk to you."

"Okay. Put him on the phone." My cousin Danny was an adult with Down Syndrome, and when he got his heart set on something, he could be pretty stubborn about it.

"I can't," Maggie said.

"Why not?"

"He wants to speak to you in person."

I glanced at my watch, and placed my hand on the small of my aching back. I stretched as the baby shifted.

"Seriously?"

"Yes. I wouldn't be calling, but he insists on seeing you in person."

I sighed. I had planned to sneak a nap in under the ceiling fan with the air conditioner on "arctic blast".

"Betsy?"

"Yes. I'm getting in my car right now. I should be there in five minutes."

"Five minutes" she repeated after me. As she hung up, I heard laughter in the background. Probably from one of the annoying sitcoms Danny liked to watch. He was the only person I knew with the complete Steve Urkel collection on DVD.

As I started the car, the radio blared to life.

"…And the clouds in the Gulf continue to form. With a more defined structure, we expect to send a C-130 Hercules airplane in to look at the eye. Listeners need to be prepared and possibly evacuate.  Please stay tuned for important weather information."

I would have to check NUTV at Maggie's house to see if Hurricane Hal was giving a report. I was so happy to see Hal on the local weather broadcast. Last Thanksgiving Leo graciously filled in for him when he had the flu. It was not an experience that turned out well for any of us. Of course, it was also when I found out we were expecting a baby. I guess it wasn't all bad.

Now Leo was working at the weather bureau full-time and with a potential hurricane in the Gulf he was once again putting in long hours. As we sat, month by month, watching our baby grow, we discussed the reality that our bundle of joy would be due in hurricane season. Some years the months from June to the end of October were quiet in Texas, and other years we experienced storms like Katrina. I just hoped and prayed that this was an uneventful year. With the boys at camp, I wasn't comfortable having our family so far apart. If there was going to be a crisis, would they have a set of procedures they followed up at camp? Was there some sort of storm shelter Tyler and Zach could go to?

I thought of the terrible things that could happen to them up there. I was starting to hyperventilate and the baby was becoming restless. Trying to shake it off, I jumped when the phone jangled next to me.

"Betsy? Are you doing okay?" Leo said on the other end.

"Do you know what kind of storm plan they have up at the boy's camp?"

"Um, no, but I'm sure they have one. It's a state regulation that a summer camp has to have an  emergency protocol."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Betsy, I’m sure. You don't sound good. Are you in labor?"

"No." The baby kicked. "I don't think so anyway. I just started feeling panicky about the boys being so far away and the weather in the Gulf."

"I know."

"Maybe I should drive up there and get them," I volunteered.

"How are you going to do that? You’re almost to full term. What would do if you went into labor on the road? Besides, all that sitting in the car isn't good for you anyway."

I sighed, feeling every inch of my body radiating with sweat and exhaustion.

"But what about the boys?"

"Bets. Listen to me. They will be all right."

"What if they get a tornado? That camp is just a step above a trailer park."

"Bets. You're making yourself crazy. Listen, I would go get them if I could, but I just can’t get the time to do it right now. It's the Black Friday of meteorology."

"We can't leave them stranded up there either."

Leo was silent. He knew I was right. He knew better than most people what kind of storm was headed toward us.

"I know this is probably a bad time to tell you this, but guess what? I get to go with the 53rd Weather Reconnaissance Squadron in a plane right into the center of the storm. Isn't that exciting?"

If he was waiting for a positive response from me, it just wasn't going to happen.

"You can't."

"But, Betsy…"

"Leo. You just can't. What if something were to happen?"

"Nothing is going to happen."

"I don't know if you noticed this or not, but you could be up in the cloud and I could be down here in labor alone. Tell them you'll go next time."

"It's a short little trip. There's so much I'll be able to see."

"I don't like the idea of it. Please don’t go."

"Betsy…"

"I'm at Aunt Maggie’s. Danny needs me. We'll talk about this later."

As I pulled into Aunt Maggie's driveway, I noticed an abundance of cars parked on the street. The strange phone call began to make sense to me along with the muffled laughter in the background and Danny’s unreasonable request. I was being set up.

I sighed and wrestled to get out of the car feeling the two-inch elastic waistband that had been sticking to my belly was beginning to roll. Once standing, I yanked at my maternity pants wondering how many people in the house caught sight of my awkward gesture. It was really sweet of them, but all I wanted to do was go home and take a nap, especially after my last conversation. How could Leo want to go flying into a weather system right now? I walked up to the front door and opened it without ringing. A privilege of family.