Relative Danger (25 page)

“Cealie, I know you can’t put a colon after
are
, but I’m not sure why.”

The anxiety I’d felt left.

He said, “A client from the Chamber asked me that after I deleted the colon from her copy. I tried to look up the rule but don’t have any of the books at home, and my Internet server’s down.”

Another question similar to the one from Brianna with no hips? I said, “It’s because you can’t place a colon in front of a predicate nominative.”

“Oh, and that would be any noun or pronoun that follows a linking verb.”

“Exactly.”

“Thanks, boss.”

“How’s the weather, Bud? And your family?”

“The weather’s terrific. Fifty-four today. And Lilly and kids, well, you know how they keep me busy.”

“I know. Please tell them hi for me. And everyone at the office.” Before we rang off, I thought about my gynecologist, Dr. Marie, up in that area, and knew I’d soon be around her office and mine. It seemed time to help some people brush up on grammar. Our copywriting agency did so much more than write proper sentences. We often broke rules of grammar, but everyone first had to know them.

“I’ll tell them. Thanks again, Cealie.”

“And Bud, please don’t take any work home. Keep the evenings and weekends free for your family.” We clicked off. Bud Denton was a good manager. The rest of the staff liked him. His wife seemed a flighty woman, or maybe I just thought that because she was blond to the roots. My own hair would need a touch-up soon—of natural burnt sienna. I slipped my phone into my purse, glad my cousin Stevie hadn’t called. If she’d had caller ID, she would have my cell phone number and probably call every time she had a funny notion to scare me.

I stretched out on the couch to totally relax body and mind. I napped for some time, and when I awoke, remained lying there on my back. Setting my CD earphones on, I listened to Bette singing “Wind Beneath My Wings,” my mind summoning an image of Gil. Like the wind, he had carried me through numerous days and nights, giving them meaning. And like the man in the song, Gil was my hero. But Gil was—gone from my life. I replaced Bette with the upbeat jazz of Harry Connick, Jr., trotted to the kitchen, and grabbed my red pumps with stiletto heels. Time to get Kat. And then to eat, avoiding Gil.

I swerved the Mustang to the road, my late husband coming to mind while I drove. Freddy had been a good man, kind and strong and always there when I needed him. And Freddy died. I’d needed him, and he left me. Fear made itself known by the way my body tensed. Fear from reliving the end with Freddy? Or keeping my eyes swaying toward side streets and my rearview mirror, searching for a black truck that might dart out at me? Street traffic had begun to thicken. On that horrible morning with Freddy, I had awakened with him patting my left arm like always, and then when he strolled from our bed, he crumpled. I shrieked, crying out his name, felt for a pulse and found none. With shaky hands, I clasped the phone, yelling what happened. Men dashed in, following their blaring sirens. A fellow with kind eyes pulled me away from Freddy.

I needed Freddy. Cherished him. He abandoned me. And dammit, I wouldn’t depend on another man. Wind swept over me from the open top of my Mustang, and I wiped scorching tears from my cheeks. No, I didn’t need to go around Gil. No man in my life again. Too much dependence, and then too strong a loss. You are a couple. And then you’re…what? Who? I had forgotten, but was trying to find out. And I didn’t need Gil Thurman’s presence mucking up my intent! I grabbed Bette’s CD from the seat and tossed it to the highway. Smiling, I imagined I could hear all the tires behind me crunching across her song.

A police car came up on my left and I tapped my brakes, giving its driver a friendly wave. My head whipped back. I had also traveled beside a black truck, heading in the opposite direction. Worry tightened my spine. I floored the accelerator, keeping an eye out for police cars but especially for a truck that might turn around to follow me.

* * *

Traffic was lighter by the time I approached Kat’s subdivision. No dark trucks in sight. I wanted Gil and shunned that thought, wishing I’d kept Bette’s CD. Then here, with fewer cars around, I could toss it out and roll my car back and forth over it, making sure to squash the notion of needing a man. I forced on a smile and was singing “Blue Suede Shoes” from my Elvis CD when Kat answered the door.

“You like Elvis?” she said, grinning. “I’d almost forgotten that song.”

“Well, sing it with me, girl.” I placed an arm around her waist, and we sang while I ushered her through the dark living room. I changed
blue
in the song to
red
, pausing to wriggle my stilettos in front of Nancy’s picture. She’d like that, I told Kat, who smiled and agreed.

“Baby girl,” I said once we reached the kitchen. I quit wiggling my body and clasped Kat’s shoulders. “Sometimes sad thoughts come that I don’t want in this noggin.” I tapped my head. “So then I rummage to find other things to think about. Or to sing.” I told her because Kat needed suggestions for what she might do when things weren’t going as she wanted them to. And I wouldn’t be around her much longer.

She said, “And your voice…” Kat appeared to be trying to find nice words to say, but she couldn’t.

“My singing could make infants cry,” I conceded. We both chuckled. Then through the bay window, I spied Roger spading in his flowerbed. His back was toward me, so I couldn’t tell his mood. Kat watched him with me. “Sometimes it takes a long time to find the right thought or song,” I said, and she leaned her head sideways, down to my shoulder. I stroked her head. “But when you need to change something bad enough, you’ll find the right lyrics.”

She straightened, smiled gratefully, and kissed my cheek.

“I came early,” I said. “Are you ready?”

“Ready.”

“You look pretty. Gorgeous really.” Kat’s gold-toned dress accented her reddish hair and brought out her curves. Some of her upswept hair fell loose from its tortoiseshell comb. “I messed up your hair when I rubbed it,” I said.

She felt the tendrils. “I’ll go fix it.”

When Kat went off, I walked outside. “Hi, Roger. Isn’t today a beauty?”

My son turned, shovel in hand. “Is it already time to go?”

“Not quite. I have an errand to run and thought I’d get Kat on the way.”

He cocked back his head. “And you’ll want to eat at Cajun Delights?”

“We don’t have to.”
Yes, we do
. “We can eat any place you’d like.”

“Gil’s place is good.”

“Or how about Polish food? Or Chinese?”

“We’ll do Cajun. I’m almost finished here.” He wore dress slacks and a plaid shirt, and hadn’t worked up a sweat. He stared at my shoes, and his brow wrinkled.

“You don’t want me to grow frumpy as I age, do you?” I said, and he almost smiled. “See you in a few minutes,” I told him. Whether he liked it or not, I chose not to look dowdy. I spun on my red heels. Felt the grass twist around them. Roger eyed me while I lifted each foot out of my shoes and tugged at the grass to make it let go. Then, smiling at Roger, I slipped my shoes on again and went inside.

Kat had every strand of hair back in place. “What about if we eat Mexican tonight?” I suggested.

“I thought we’d go to Mr. Gil’s place. I love all the food in his restaurants.” Her smile widened. “And you never know, he might be there.”

Anticipation swam through my stomach. We walked outside, and Kat glanced at me long enough to let me know she wondered about my reaction. Did I want to see Gil? She liked him. I’d always known that. So had Roger, I believed. I kept my lips tight, my face noncommittal. I wouldn’t show her the turmoil of my own feelings. She smirked, and I sang about red shoes, putting the Mustang’s top up so I wouldn’t mess her hair.

My ideas rounded away from lovers. I wanted to ask whether Kat knew of anyone who might have a motive for killing the custodian, but I needed to make only happy talk. She and Roger needed their spirits lifted. And Kat also needed—to take her exams? She hummed a solemn tune. To stop her, I said, “Sweetie, do you know what I need now?”

“Gram, with you, I have no earthly idea.”

“Take your pick.” I pulled into the repair shop’s parking lot. “Decide whether you’d like to drive this Mustang or a Lexus.” Kat snickered, and I said, “You have about three minutes to decide.”

She remained in the Mustang while I went in and paid the bill for the work done on the Lexus. “Looks like new,” said long-haired Johnny, who led me out back to the car. The kinks from where someone had kicked in the driver’s door were gone. No more scratches across the trunk from where it had been keyed.

I trotted out to Kat, holding two keys. “Choose.” She chose the Mustang. “Follow me,” I said, getting into the Lexus. I led the way a few blocks down to Dickers Rent-to-Own.

“I decided not to buy this Lexus,” I told Dickers, whose exuberance vanished. He wanted to show me other vehicles in the same price range, but I declined. I almost said I had a rented Mustang outside and a mail truck in another repair shop, but doubted the advisability of making that comment. He followed me to the front of the dealership, still trying to convince me to buy an expensive car. We neared the Mustang when his angry tone rose. He seemed a different person, not a nice one. “I won’t be back,” I said. “Young man, when you’re in a business, you don’t act one way to a customer when you think she’ll make a purchase, and another way when she doesn’t.”

His puffing face reddened. “I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do. And it’s wrong. It’s also bad business.” I spun on my stilettos. “And I won’t even charge you for my advice.”

I rounded the Mustang and slid into the passenger seat. “Let’s go,” I told Kat.

She started the car. “Why did you have that Lexus in a repair shop?”

“It didn’t have enough power.” Kat giggled, and I said, “Do you know where Gil’s place is?”

“I watched them building it, hoping I’d get to see Mr. Gil outside one day. But I didn’t.” She glanced at my face, and I tried to refrain from thinking of Gil. We were going to his place, so if he was there, I’d probably see him. I offered Kat a tiny shrug before she took off.

We found the restaurant’s parking lot nearly filled and met Roger near the pond. Kat wanted to watch the ducks swimming. “Mm, that smells yummy,” she said, peering at the front door when it opened. The scent of fried and boiled seafood made my belly joyful that we’d chosen this place.

“Gil sure does a nice job with these restaurants,” Roger said, glancing at our surroundings as we walked. Like me, he probably felt as though he were out in some quiet place in nature instead of the vicinity of a large city. “Nice stained glass,” Roger said, opening the door for us. I let Kat go in first. If she spotted Gil, she’d react.

I followed her, my head swiveling. Customers everywhere. Some rising from chairs with their doggie bags. No Legs. And no sign of Gil. I silently cursed. A woman led us past the table where Gil had sat when I’d first seen him. People ate there now and had left no empty chair for him. Soft music played from a jukebox, and people chattered. Dishes being set down or lifted made soft clatters. The young woman who guided us glanced at me. “Nice to see you again,” she said. “How are you?”

“I’m great. And you?”

“Never better.” She stopped at a table beside Gil’s. “Will this do?”

“This is fine,” I said, and we all sat.

Kat raved about this new place. She’d have to come often. She peered at Roger. “All right, Dad?”

A hooded look came to his eyes. “If you’re around much after graduation.”

That was it. Gloom rained down on our table. Kat’s smile faded. Roger’s usual somber expression replaced his earlier pleasant one. I yearned to shout and shake them. Where had my family’s happiness gone?

But I knew. Even as Roger had doubts about what life would be like after his child went off to college, Kat wondered, too. She’d miss him. He would miss her. I was already missing both of them. But what could I do, hang around with my adult son? Go off to college with his daughter?

At least for the moment, my attention spun away from murder. Right here, right now was most important for the three of us. “Things will be different when you leave,” I said, placing my hand on Kat’s.

Her gaze clouded. She turned to Roger and with her free hand, grabbed his. My son’s fingers slid back, almost shrinking from her clasp. Then his hand moved up, and he allowed Kat to hold it in place. Roger’s eyes moistened.

“Are you ready for jokes?” the manager called through the microphone, and customers clapped in anticipation.

A waitress came. “Would you like to give your order now, or do you need more time?”

“Ready,” I said. Kat wanted everything she loved from these menus, but today would take fried scallops and crab claws. And French fries. I didn’t especially like to feel my rear end wobbling behind me, so I normally ate light evening meals. But this one was special. “Ditto,” I said, “but instead of fries, I’d like a baked potato. All dressed, please.”

“I’ll have fried frog legs,” Roger said without opening his menu. Kat and I smirked. Apparently she also remembered when Gil convinced Roger to try them. But he had warned Roger that after he ate one, he’d be hooked, and he probably wouldn’t be able to find any frog legs around Chicago. It had been the time when Kat and Roger came down to Vicksburg, about six months after Nancy died. They’d needed to get out of the house and try to escape grieving. The apartment I’d rented had ample bedrooms, and Gil moved his things out before they arrived. During our days together, we sometimes all laughed. Especially during the joke contests, and on that evening in the restaurant when Gil convinced Roger to try the frog legs. After his first nibble, Roger asked for forty more. Of course he was kidding, but he ate them every evening after that until he and Kat flew home.

He must have also recalled the trip. Our waitress left the table, and Roger turned to Kat and me with a shy smile. “Do you think twenty legs are too many for me?”

“Naw,” we both said, knowing his entrée would hold about half a dozen. The mood at our table had defrosted. We all adjusted our chairs to see the stage, and Kat giggled loudly at the jokesters. I was especially pleased to see Roger seeming to forget his worries. He smiled at people telling the jokes. I liked the way his cheeks crimped when he was happy. But I couldn’t get involved in the contest. My interest held on the pair sitting with me and swayed to the table immediately behind me. I tried to face forward but often glanced over my shoulder.