Pernicious (35 page)

         
“Why if it ain’t the friendly Sheriff,” she said. “And, don’t tell me. Detective…Detective Montgomery, right?” Tasha didn’t reply. “Y’all come on in,” waving them inside.

         
Something’s not right, Tasha thought.
Cocky
.

         
“Have a seat,” Perry offered. “You too, de-tect-ive.” She said
detective
as if it were something nasty on her tongue.

         
Sheriff Bledsoe sat down on a black leather couch; Tasha preferred to stand.

         
“You must have known we were coming?” Tasha said.

         
Perry looked puzzled. “De-tect-ive, how would I know your comings and goings. You’re constantly granting me attributes I simply do not possess. Unlike you, I don’t guesstimate other people’s business.”

         
“Why the mud?” Sheriff Bledsoe asked.

         
Perry touched her face. “This? My facial? It works.” Staring at Tasha: “It does wonders for blackheads. Would y’all like something to drink?”

         
“No, thanks,” Sheriff Bledsoe said. “What we’re really interested in, your activities Monday, down in Dawson, prior to my stopping you.”

         
Perry smiled, the paste breaking into several cracks around her mouth. “Sheriff, I told you I was just visiting.”

         
“Yes, you did. You didn’t say who or where. Where did you go?”

         
“Haven’t we been through this?”

         
“You were at Jake’s place, weren’t you?”

         
“Sheriff, why would I go there?”

         
“You tell me. Roy Dickerson, Eddie Mills and Glen Jones say you pulled a gun, fired it in the air.”

         
Perry placed a hand on her chest. “Me?”

         
“Glen thought you’d shot him. Thirteen stitches in his head.”

         
“Me?”

         
“You weren’t at Jake’s place?”

         
Perry batted her eyes. “For heaven’s sake, Sheriff, can you imagine me at such a place. A juke joint! Really, now!”

         
“You tell me,” Sheriff Bledsoe said, “why three men say you were there? Why each claim you pulled a gun?”

         
“I don’t know why. Who knows why people lie. I sure don’t.”

         
“I don’t think they’re lying on you,” Sheriff Bledsoe said. “I think you pulled a pistol on those three men, and I think you popped Glen Jones over the head. I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure you did it.”

         
Perry stared at him. “If you’re that sure of what happened, why are we having this conversation?”

         
Sheriff Bledsoe started to speak…said nothing.

         
Perry said, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to put on something more appropriate.”

         
When she left, Sheriff Bledsoe whispered to Tasha, “It’s not going well, is it?”

         
“Not exactly. You got the camera?”

         
He patted his back pocket. “Got it.”

         
“If she comes back without the mud, snap a few shots and let’s get out of here. She’s acting cocky, and that’s a very bad sign.”

         
Just then a man descended the stairs; he too was wearing an oriental robe.

         
“Excuse me,” the man said.

         
Tasha heard the voice before she saw the face; her heart skipped a beat. “Neal!” she gasped, hands covering her ears. “Neal!”

         
“Hey, Tasha,” Neal said casually, though his expression betrayed him. He looked petrified.

         
“What the hell are you doing here, Neal?” Tasha shouted.

         
Neal didn’t answer, just stood there looking as if he’d been caught stealing from a blind man.

         
“Neal, what are you doing here?”

         
“Arrgh arrk!” Neal grunted.

         
“Go get your clothes, Neal,” Tasha ordered. “Now, Neal! Go get your clothes!”

         
Neal squeezed his Adam’s apple. “Tasha…I live here.”

         
“No, you don’t! No, you don’t! Go get in the car, Neal!”

         
Neal scratched his head. “Uh…I’ve remarried, Tasha.”

         
“Go get in the car, Neal!” Fists clenched. “Go get in the car, Neal!”

         
“Is there a problem?” Perry said, entering the room, the lime-green paste still on her face.

         
Tasha ignored her. “Go get in the car, Neal! The last time I’m telling you! Go…get…in…the car!”

         
“Ain’t,” flinching.

         
“Sheriff Bledsoe,” Tasha said, “may I please use your mace?”

         
“What?” Sheriff Bledsoe and Neal exclaimed in unison.

         
“I-I can’t do that, Detective,” Sheriff Bledsoe said.

         
Undaunted, Tasha snatched up a lamp, its base a ceramic statue of two African Americans lovers coupling, and advanced toward Neal.

         
“Go!…get!…in!…the damn car!”

         
“Sheriff Anus,” Perry said, “can you do something about this?”

         
Tasha lifted the lamp overhead and Sheriff Bledsoe hopped up and bear-hugged her…The lamp fell and shattered.
  
“Sheriff Bledsoe!” Tasha demanded. “Release me! Now!”

         
Perry crossed to the front door and opened it.

         
Tasha squirming in his arms, Sheriff Bledsoe started out, stopped in the doorway and turned to Perry.

         
“The last damn time I’m telling you! My name is Sheriff Ennis Bledsoe! E-N-N-I-S Bledsoe!”

                                     
Chapter 18

         
Perry slammed the door and locked it. Glowering at Neal: “You’re scared of that woman, ain’t you?”

         
Sweating profusely, Neal said, “Naw. Hell naw! Why would you think that?”

         
“She all but bitch-slapped you in your own home.”

         
“She’s a cop!”

         
Perry showed him the palm of her hand. “Spare me!” Under her breath: “Nutless wimp.”

         
“What was that?”

         
“Get dressed, Neal,” ascending the stairs. “We’ve got things to do.”

         
Neal picked up lamp shards and dropped them in a wastebasket.

         
What did she want me to do? Sock Tasha? Then it really would have been on
.

         
He regretted not calling Tasha and telling her he’d gotten remarried.

         
What was she doing here anyway? ‘Get in the car, Neal!’

         
He figured she’d take it hard, though not that hard.

         
“Neal,” Perry shouted from upstairs, “are you getting dressed?”

         
“Yeah!” Neal shouted back.

         
What had he gotten himself into here? Hadn’t been married three days and she’s already barking orders like a drill instructor.

         
She couldn’t wait to get married, but their honeymoon night she copped a headache.

         
A damn headache! Two nights in a row?
 

         
Just married and he was using more Vaseline than when he was single.

         
Perry came downstairs dressed in a moss-colored double-breasted jacket with matching pants and leather sandals. “Why aren’t you ready?”

         
“I was thinking,” Neal said.

         
“Can’t you think and get dressed at the same time?”

         
“Perry, are you sure this is what you want? Since we’ve gotten married, it’s like you got this attitude against me.”

         
Perry gritted her teeth. “Neal, I’m very impatient with men who don’t stand up for themselves. I’ve already had the misfortune of marrying three such men. I thought you would be different.”

         
“Three?”

         
“Yes, Neal, three.”

         
“Three! Including me three or including me four?”

         
“You’re my fourth husband, Neal…and my last.”

         
“Why didn’t you tell me this before…before we got married?”

         
“The same reason you didn’t tell me your ex was a cop.”

         
“That’s not the same. How can you compare…Three! Damn! Three is a helluva lot more than one.”

         
“Numbers, Neal. Just numbers.”

         
“What happened? Did they all end in divorce?”

         
Perry stared at the floor, then suddenly met Neal’s eyes. “All three succumbed an accident.”

         
“All three,” eyes blinking, “dead?”

         
Perry nodded. “One had a heart attack, one took a fall, and one drowned while fishing. Neal, go get dressed; we’ll discuss this later.”

         
He dressed in a daze, his mind stuck on the number three. Occasionally he mumbled millions, but his thoughts kept enumerating…one…two…
three
!