Murder on a Girls' Night Out (13 page)

There was something I wanted to do first. I cut across Springdale Road and headed up 78 to Delaney’s, the truck stop where Bonnie Blue worked. If she was still worried about Henry’s whereabouts, I could set her mind at ease. Shacked up with my niece at his old house. And Doris Chapman was in Destin, Florida. Fly McCorkle knew exactly where but was reluctant to say for some reason. It’s been nice meeting you, Bonnie Blue, but Henry obviously doesn’t need any help, and the whole thing, including the murder, is tacky, tacky, tacky.

I had never been in a truck stop before, but they all look alike, unusually busy restaurants with a lot of big trucks parked to one side. Certainly nothing intimidating. I pulled into a parking space near the front door which had just been vacated by a plump blonde in a blue Mustang convertible. She gave me a casual wave and floored the accelerator. The parking lot was full of huge potholes, which she ignored. I expected her to be catapulted out each time she hit one. But she hung on. She wheeled onto 78 and was out of sight before I got out of my car.

That should have given me a clue that this was not your usual family restaurant, or maybe the cigarette smoke pouring out of the door should have. But no. I stepped in casually, dressed in my red suit and white silk blouse as if I were having lunch at the Blue Moon Tea Room. Take my word for it, I was the only person there in a skirt.

I spotted a table in the back and started toward it. I’m sixty years old with gray hair, and the only estrogen in my body comes from the pill I swallow every morning with breakfast. But it didn’t seem to matter.

“Yo,” said a burly, whiskered man who had turned to look at me. He was sitting at the counter eating a hamburger, and he held up a French fry in salute.

“Yo, Red Suit,” said his twin next to him, also looking at me admiringly.

I gave a little wave similar to the woman’s in the parking lot. And so on down the line. By the time I reached the table, I was, as Mary Alice would have been happy to point out, “switching my butt.” What is that saying about older women being appreciative?

I took out the plastic menu that was stuck between the sugar and the salt shakers and which felt slightly
greasy. I had been planning on some dessert, but maybe I would just have coffee.

I wasn’t the only woman in the restaurant, but I was the only one in a red suit. The others seemed to be lady truckers. Truckettes? One had a baby propped on her hip. Lord, hadn’t she heard of secondhand smoke? She needed to get that child out of here. I gave her the old schoolteacher stare and she turned abruptly and walked out. Ha! I still had it.

The truck stop was a male bastion, though. The women were outsiders, even sitting together away from their male counterparts. I wondered if any sociologist had ever done any studies of truck-stop social mores.

“Patricia Anne, what you doing?”

“Just watching their facial hair grow,” I said, pointing toward the men at the counter.

Bonnie Blue pulled out the chair next to mine and sat down. “I’m not supposed to do this, but my feet are killing me.”

“I found Henry,” I said. “He’s at my niece Debbie’s house.”

“Is that precious child all right?”

“That precious child is fine. And Doris Chapman is in Florida.”

“I figured that.”

“But, Bonnie Blue, I found out something else. You know when Ed tried to rape Doris?”

“Sure. I was there.”

“Well, he probably wasn’t trying to rape her. He had a cut weenie.”

“A what?”

“His penis! He cut his penis that morning and had to have it sewed up!”

I had spoken louder than I realized. Suddenly, except for the corner where the truckettes were eating, there
was silence. The words “penis” and “cut” had been amplified in the testosterone-laden air.

“Oh, Lord, Patricia Anne.” Bonnie Blue looked upset. Some of the men were pushing their plates back, preparing to leave.

“But they sewed it up!”

There was a general rush for the door. Bonnie Blue groaned and stood up. “I’ll call you tonight.”

“No. Don’t. That’s what I came to tell you, that I’m not going to have anything else to do with this whole mess. Henry is okay and somebody will bury Ed and it’s none of my business, anyway. I’m sorry, Bonnie Blue.”

I got up and stomped out. Several of the truckettes waved at me and smiled.

I
knew when I got home there would be a dozen messages from Mary Alice. Mama always taught us that we should exercise tenacity, but Sister didn’t know the difference between exercising it and beating it to death. I might as well go by her house and tell her all I knew about Henry and Doris and even Ed. Tell her I couldn’t believe I’d let myself get dragged into this, and then go home and take the phone off the hook for several days. If Henry wasn’t involved in what had happened out at the Skoot, which of course he wasn’t, in spite of the fact that he had moved in on Debbie under peculiar circumstances, then let him work things out himself with the sheriff.

As I pulled into her driveway, I was rehearsing what I would say and for a moment didn’t notice the grungy man leaning against a porch column smoking a cigarette,
which he held between his thumb and index finger. He had on a torn undershirt, torn jeans and rubber flip-flops. His long, greasy hair might never have been shampooed. Or was greased with the same substance that curled his mustache around like a ram’s horns. I slammed on the brakes with every intention of backing out as quickly as I could. But just as quickly, I knew I couldn’t leave Mary Alice at the mercy of this Charles Manson look-alike. I tried to think what I had in my purse that could be used as a weapon. All I could think of was a ballpoint pen and some breath spray. Neither would do much good against this guy, who was now looking at me curiously. He flipped his cigarette into the azaleas and walked toward the car.

“Hi,” he said, smiling. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and his teeth were perfect and white in their mustache frame. At least he was brushing and flossing.

I had the breath spray in one hand, the pen in the other. “Where’s Mrs. Crane?”

“She’s in the house with the others. They made me come outside to smoke. I’m Kenny Garrett.” He held out his hand. I had to drop the breath spray to shake it. “One of the Swamp Creatures,” he explained.

“I’m Mrs. Crane’s sister, Mrs. Hollowell.”

“Oh, sure. You’re Patricia Anne. She’s been looking for you.”

“I’ll bet she has.” I let the ballpoint pen slide to the car floor. I wondered if Kenny could hear my heart still thumping.

“Why don’t you pull on up and come in? I’ll tell her you’re here.” He ambled off toward the front door and I could see that his clothes were just as ragged in the back. He had to be freezing. The wind was really beginning to pick up.

I had stopped about halfway down the driveway,
which if Kenny had thought strange, he hadn’t shown. I pulled up and parked by a van that looked much like Kenny, the worse for wear. The name Swamp Creatures was written on the side in cursive boa constrictor. Pieces of metal seemed to have sloughed off as if the vehicle were molting.

“Mouse! Come in and meet the band!” Mary Alice had on a fiery red nylon wind suit and seemed to fill the front door. I couldn’t believe how glad I was to see her. I put the pen and breath spray back into my purse.

“You met Kenny, and this is Ross, Sparky and Fussy.” The three other band members stood up politely and shook hands. Kenny was the one who was dressed best. Fussy would have been thrown out of any bag ladies’ group for not meeting the dress code. The men were no better.

“We were just having tea,” Mary Alice said. “You want some?”

“The cookies are delicious,” Fussy added. “Look at these chewy chocolate chips.” She held one out to show me and I noticed perfectly manicured fingernails.

“Thanks,” I said. I sat down and gave the Swamp Creatures a closer look.

“Aren’t they cute?” Mary Alice beamed. “Don’t you just love Kenny’s mustache?”

He laughed. “She thought Pancho Villa had taken over the hacienda.”

“We’re on our way to play for an anniversary party at the Jewish Community Center,” Fussy explained. “The couple’s children are surprising them.”

“Oh,” I said, as if that made it perfectly clear why they were dressed in rags.

“We just came by to check on the Skoot ’n’ Boot,” Kenny said. “We need the regular night work. Mrs. Crane says the sheriff is still holding things up.”

“We never had any trouble there,” Fussy added. “If we had, my daddy would have jerked me out of that place in a second.”

Her daddy? I realized that under the makeup and the black hat pulled over her forehead, Fussy probably wasn’t more than eighteen. Ross and Sparky were also much younger than Kenny.

“I can’t believe somebody did Ed in,” Ross said.

“Nice guy.” Sparky reached for another cookie.

“Somebody didn’t think so,” Kenny said, then glanced at his watch. “We’ve got to get going. We don’t want to be late for the event.”

They stood, gathering their tatters around them. There were going to be some surprised elderly Jews in Birmingham tonight, I thought. Probably some younger ones, too.

“Supper’s included at the party,” Sparky said. He wrapped what might very well have been the original Count Dracula’s cape around his shoulders.

“Thank you, Mrs. Crane. Mrs. Hollowell, nice meeting you. Hope we see you again soon.” They left saying all the polite things mothers teach children to say.

“What?” Mary Alice turned to me after she had shut the door.

“What do you mean, what?”

“You expected to see
Helter Skelter
written on the wall in blood? For shame, Patricia Anne. Always judging people by their appearance.”

“I didn’t know these people from Adam’s house cat. Kenny was out on the porch smoking marijuana when I pulled into the drive. I thought he was a hobo or something.”

“They don’t have hoboes anymore, Patricia Anne, and he wasn’t smoking marijuana. It was cinnamon.”

“Well, whatever. Besides, I was very polite to them.”

“Your eyes weren’t.”

“My eyes weren’t polite?”

“No, they weren’t, Patricia Anne. You have got to learn to be more tolerant.”

That did it. Only a few minutes before, I had been willing to risk life and limb for this impossible bitch.

One big, chewy chocolate chip cookie was still on the plate on the coffee table. I grabbed it and whacked Mary Alice right between the eyes with it.

“I’ll learn to be tolerant tomorrow,” I said, stomping out the door. I was proud of that exit line when I thought of it later. Miss Scarlett herself couldn’t have done better. The cookie, I realized quickly, was pretty childish.

Just as I thought, my answering machine was full of messages, mostly from Mary Alice. There was one from Debbie, and one from a neighbor who wanted me to join her bridge group. I had played with them several times, but I wasn’t ready to become a regular. I had already realized I wasn’t the club type. I ignored all the messages and got out the vacuum cleaner.

I hate housework with a passion. When I was teaching, I had two women who called themselves The Jolly Maids come in once a week and clean. They were two of the most unjolly-looking women I had ever seen in my life, understandably, given the work they were doing, but not understandably considering they charged an arm and a leg for it. While I was working, I was happy to pay for their services. And they were good at it, too. But when I retired, the jolly ladies and I parted ways. I explained that I would have all the time in the world to devote to dusting tables and cleaning the stove. That was one of the few times I ever saw them smile.

The adrenaline was still pouring, so I decided to use it in a constructive way, a penance, really. I would vacuum the whole house, dust, and clean the bathrooms. I
didn’t even bother to take off my red suit and navy heels, just turned on the vacuum and got to work.

I finished the bedrooms and was starting down the hall when I saw someone sitting on my den sofa. My adrenaline shot through the roof again before I realized it was Haley. I turned off the vacuum and she looked up.

“What is this?” She motioned toward my outfit. “I’ve heard of people vacuuming in the nude, but this is ridiculous. You need to get out more, Mama.”

“Where did you come from?” I entered the den and sat down, my hand pressed against my pounding chest.

“Work. We had a light day today.”

“At the rate I’m going, I’ll be in your heart O.R. any day,” I said.

“Nah.” She held up the can of Diet Pepsi she was drinking. “Want one?”

I shook my head.

“I knocked, but you didn’t hear me.”

“I was vacuuming.”

“So I heard. Anything wrong?”

Sometimes I think my children know me too well. “Just mad at your aunt Sister.”

“What’d she do now?”

“Said I needed to learn to be more tolerant.”

Haley giggled and I began to smile. “I hit her with a cookie.”

“You didn’t!”

“Right between the eyes.”

“I can’t believe you did that, Mama.”

“I can’t, either.”

Haley’s face sobered. “She okay?”

“What do you mean, is she okay? Of course she’s okay. It was a soft chocolate chip cookie. I wouldn’t hurt her, for God’s sake. Besides, a crowbar wouldn’t dent your aunt Sister’s hard head.”

“But the crumbs could have gotten in her eyes and scratched the cornea, especially if she was wearing her contacts. What color were her eyes today?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t pay any attention.” I was starting to get worried. “That couldn’t really happen, could it?” I watched Haley take a long swig from the can of Pepsi and the light dawned. “She called you, didn’t she?”

Haley spluttered Pepsi down the front of her shirt and grabbed a napkin from the coffee table. “Oh, Lord, I would have loved to see that!”

“She called you at work to tell you I hit her with a cookie?”

Haley wiped her chin and mopped at her shirt. “I was at home. She called to tell me she had a date for me for the Hannahs’ party and that I couldn’t say no. She just happened to mention that the two of you had had an altercation.”

“Was she very mad?”

“Didn’t seem to be. I asked her why, if she had a spare man floating around, she didn’t fix Debbie up, but she said Debbie already has a date, as my mother well knew. What’s she talking about?”

“Henry Lamont. You’re not going to believe it, Haley, but he seems to have moved in with Debbie. Your papa and I had dinner over there with them last night, with Debbie and Henry, and you wouldn’t believe it. Your aunt Sister got mad because she wasn’t invited.”

“He’s really moved in? She hasn’t known him but a few days.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You like him, though, don’t you?”

“Well, yes.”

“But—?”

I told her about Henry’s records, about Debbie’s
house being the one he had grown up in. She seemed to think it strange but not alarming.

“He has good memories of that house. Maybe that’s it. Have you talked to him about it? Or to Debbie?”

I shook my head. “I just found out about it today.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s just a coincidence. Good karma and all that.” Haley wiped the Pepsi-can ring from the table. “It’s time Debbie found a nice man. Maybe Henry’s it.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, if I’m going out on a date Thursday night, I need to check and see if there’s still anything in the attic I can wear.”

What she was talking about was old cocktail and evening dresses she hadn’t bothered to take with her when she got married. They’ve been hanging there for years.

“Maybe you better buy something new,” I suggested. “Those are pretty old.” I didn’t want to discourage her, because this was the first time I had seen her this enthused about something in a long time.

“Dressy stuff doesn’t go out of style.”

“Let’s go see,” I said.

Haley pulled down the attic steps and went up while I got out of my heels, suit and pantyhose. Feeling more like myself in jeans and a T-shirt, I climbed the almost vertical steps. As I reached the top I could see how the wind was brushing small limbs of the oak tree against the window. The huge closet in the attic had been lined with cedar. Haley was already in there with the lights on.

“Tornado weather,” I said, coming around the corner.

She was sitting on the floor crying. Across her lap was spread a black velvet evening dress embroidered in a random pattern of white crocheted medallions that looked like huge snowflakes.

“I wore this to the leadout the night Tom and I got engaged,” she said.

“Oh, honey.” I knelt and held her. She cried like a baby, hiccuping and gasping for breath. I held on. Finally the sobs began to slow. We heard the wind and the first drops of rain hit the roof. Haley pushed the dress away slowly and I took it and hung it back up. My knees ached from having knelt so long.

She got up, her breath still coming in short sobs, and looked at the rack of dresses. “It’s time to move on, isn’t it, Mama?”

“We’ll go to Lillie Rubin’s tomorrow and buy you the most gorgeous outfit.”

She turned out the lights and we stepped into the main room of the attic, dim with its one rain-streaked window.

“Blue,” she said. “I think blue. But I can’t go until Wednesday.”