by Linda Ross
Jimmy hesitated, and I was pretty sure I had him.
“She’s probably got barbecued potato chips too.”
“Well, I’m hungry,” he said, “and I should say hello to your dad.” I noticed that Momo didn’t get a mention.
We walked over to Eileen’s house in time to help Tiffany and Desi carry in the luggage. As usual, Dad had one suitcase, and Momo had four. Dad and Momo were brother and sister, but they reminded me of that nursery rhyme about Jack Spratt and his wife. Dad was portly with white hair and a prominent bald spot, and Momo was thin with dyed hair that tended toward blue. Both wore glasses though. And Momo was a dedicated Christian, although we weren’t sure exactly which church was her favorite.
I hugged Dad and Momo and said, “You remember Jimmy Burrell, don’t you?”
Dad shook his hand warmly and said, “I’ll always remember you shooting hoops next door.” Jimmy’s grandmother had lived next door to us, and that’s how Jimmy and I got acquainted, shooting baskets in the driveway. And that was where I first developed a crush on Jimmy. It had only grown in the intervening years.
“You’re looking good, Dad,” I said. “How’s the grass growing?” Dad was in a constant battle to grow grass and then to mow it. He was losing a good patch of his hair, so I figured the grass was a substitute for that.
“Cash flow’s fine,” he said, “but CDs sure don’t pay what they used to.” I may have mentioned that my father is hard of hearing, but too vain to wear a hearing aid.
“You and Jimmy aren’t living together, are you?” Momo demanded.
I felt another hot flash coming on, but Jimmy laughed.
“I keep asking her,” he said, “but she turns me down.”
“Honestly, Momo,” I said. “I’m fifty years old. I’m not a young girl.” Momo made me feel more like fifteen than fifty.
“All the more reason to think about your immortal soul,” Momo advised me as she trooped inside.
I put my hand over my face and groaned. “Are you sure you want to stay?” I asked Jimmy.
“You promised me a lunch meat and cheese sandwich and barbecued potato chips.”
Luckily I could come through on that promise. Tiffany and Desi had fetched Eileen, who was looking wild-eyed at Dad and Momo’s early arrival. But she gamely set out bread, lunch meat, cheese, sliced tomatoes, lettuce, condiments, the Jello salad and two kinds of potato chips. We all filled our plates and sat at the kitchen table. Tiffany and Desi took their sandwiches upstairs, and I’m sure Eileen wished she could join them.
Momo told grim stories of the drive up from Florida, rife with gas station rest rooms that had no sanitary cover for the toilet seat and—horrors!--vending machines that dispensed sex items. Momo fanned herself while she told the story. “I was shocked,” she said, “just shocked. What is this country coming to?” She looked across the table at Jimmy. “You probably lock up sex perverts all the time.”
“I try, but she keeps getting bailed out,” he said without missing a beat, and then he ruffled my hair. I bit back a laugh, but Momo looked horrified.
“Who’s sailing out?” Dad asked. “We didn’t go to war, did we?”
“No, Dad,” Eileen said. “Nobody’s sailing anywhere.” I could tell from her pinched face that her migraine was coming back. “Now, who wants cake?”
“As long as it’s a small piece,” Momo said. “I’ll be up all night taking antacids. I have a delicate stomach.” We had all heard multiple stories of Momo’s delicate stomach. None of us wanted to hear any more of them.
Eileen cut the cake, yellow with chocolate frosting, and passed around the plates. We were all eating, drinking and talking about the changes in Hannibal since Dad and Momo last visited when my cell phone dinged with a message. I pulled it out of my pocket and checked it, figuring it was probably Lorenzo with another story idea.
Just a rat this time. Next time you’ll end up like Kara. Leave me alone.
I stared at the screen in horror. And then I said, “Shit!” I almost never swear, and when I do it’s not a really serious curse, but this one came out of my mouth without me even thinking about it. I could feel panic rising in my throat. My heart was pounding, and I’m sure the blood had drained from my face.
Conversation ground to a halt, and everyone stared at me. Jimmy reached over and took my phone.
“Really, Aretha,” Momo said, “there’s no call for language like that. The good Lord will put that on your record.”
My voice was shaking when I answered. “The good Lord hasn’t recently found two dead bodies, eaten weed brownies, had a rat in his car and been thrown out of a B and D club.”
“Your aunt and I stayed at a B and D in Louisiana last winter,” Dad said, apparently oblivious to my outburst. “The owner made the best cinnamon rolls for breakfast.” Now we all stared at Dad.
Eileen cleared her throat. “I think that was a B and B, Dad. A bed and breakfast.”
“Well, that’s what we were talking about, isn’t it?”
Jimmy was scrolling back through my messages. “Is this the only one?” he asked.
I nodded. One was enough. I could see that Jimmy had gone into cop mode.
The phone rang, and I jumped. Jimmy looked at the ID and handed it to me. “Thelma. Ask if she got one of these messages.”
I didn’t have to ask. As soon as I answered, Thelma launched into a panicky account of a similar message. Hers didn’t mention the rat, but it promised similar retribution if she didn’t leave the person alone.
Jimmy took the phone from me and asked her if she had a safe place to stay. He told her he was going to stay with me and she could come here if she wanted. I glanced sideways at my family and saw Eileen staring with her mouth open. Jimmy voluntarily staying with me was probably high on her list of improbable events. Momo was frowning in disapproval, and Dad was cutting himself another piece of cake.
When Jimmy clicked off the phone he was still all business. “Thelma’s going to stay with her brother. I’m going to go pick up her phone to check it out. I’ll take yours too. I’ll be back tonight.” He stood and nodded at the rest of the table. “Thanks for the food. It was good seeing you again.” And he was off.
Eileen’s mouth was still open. “What was that all about?” she asked.
I didn’t want to alarm Momo and Dad, so I said, “Just some information about a case.”
I’m sure Eileen knew there was more to it than that, but my explanation seemed to satisfy Momo. Of course that also triggered another lecture from her.
“Aretha, you need a hobby. You shouldn’t go poking around in things that don’t concern you. And what are you doing eating something like weed brownies?” Trust Momo to pick up on that. “You don’t know what kind of poison people put on weeds these days. I used to eat dandelions all the time in the spring, but I wouldn’t touch them these days. What kind of weeds were they, anyway? You weren’t eating nodding spurge, were you? That’s poisonous, you know. You have to keep it out of the pastures or it will kill your cattle.”
Momo was a font of agricultural information, having once dated a farmer.
“Don’t worry, Momo,” I said. “It wasn’t spurge.” I looked at Eileen, who rolled her eyes.
I volunteered to wash the dishes for Eileen, who looked like the migraine was taking over. I sent her to bed and then sat and visited with Dad and Momo. By the time I headed back to my house dusk was falling. Jimmy pulled into the drive in his truck just as I reached the porch.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“No luck with your phone,” Jimmy said, handing it back to me. “Whoever sent the text probably just bought a phone at Dollar General, then pitched it. It could be anybody.”
I sighed and started for the door, but Jimmy told me to wait. “I’d better check first.”
He opened the door, and Nancy charged out, promptly squatted and peed. She was actually doing better lately with the house training program. I picked her up and rubbed her ears while Jimmy went inside the
house. When he gave the all clear, Nancy and I joined him.
I was finding this whole threat to kill me thing pretty depressing now that the shock was wearing off. On the plus side, Jimmy would be staying with me. It was almost worth being targeted by a psycho killer. Almost.
After I put some clean sheets on the guest bed, Jimmy got a beer from my fridge and handed me a Diet Coke. We sat at the table, and I took a deep breath.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“Maybe a little.”
Jimmy pulled out a notebook and pen. “Let’s go over everybody you’ve talked to about the murder in the last several days.”
I rubbed my forehead and closed my eyes. “Well, first was Derek. You know all about him.”
“Right. Who else?”
“Ralph Pierce, the farmer. Loren Haskell, the iron worker. Jordan Kirsch, the art student who tends bar. And I guess the B and D club guy, David Henderson, although that wasn’t exactly an exchange of information.” I could feel myself flushing at the memory of Jimmy seeing me being escorted out of there in that costume, carrying a buggy whip and wearing handcuffs.
“He still counts,” Jimmy said. “He realized what you were looking for. And he may have told Jeffrey Connell, so he goes on the list too.”
“Either of them would have had to move fast to get a rat in my car that night.”
“True. But not impossible.” Jimmy took another drink of beer. “What did these guys have in common, aside from Kara?”
I thought about that. “Well, her boyfriends were either artists or musicians.”
Jimmy made a note. “What else?”
“She either cut them or destroyed their property. She was violent toward all of them.”
“Except Ralph Pierce.”
“Right. I guess he didn’t cross her.”
“Or he didn’t appeal to her in any way. She seemed to have an attraction for all of her victims.”
“But if one of them is the one who killed her and sent me the text message, then they weren’t just a victim.”
Jimmy put down his pen. “They would be just as much a psycho as she was. It was payback time, giving her what she’d given them, but fatally.”
That made me shiver.
“What about her sister Rose?” I said. “Same gene pool.”
“We haven’t turned up any information about Rose ever being violent, but it’s something you might want to ask about Monday in Arnold.”
“Right.” I was actually looking forward to getting away from Hannibal for a day and putting some distance between me and the killer.
“So,” Jimmy said, “what are we going to do tonight? Any plans?”
I’m a menopausal fifty-year-old, so my Saturday nights generally consist of junk food and TV. I wouldn’t mind a repeat of the night I’d eaten the weed brownies when Jimmy had been amorous. But, in retrospect, I wasn’t sure how much of that I’d imagined. Fifty Shades of Grey described my hair better than my sex life.
I must have looked blank, because Jimmy said, “Didn’t you have sleepovers as a kid?”
“Well, yeah, until after my mother died.”
“So what did you do?”
“Seriously? I was just a kid.”
“Well, you must have done something.”
I thought back to my childhood sleepovers, mostly involving my first-grade friend Stella McPherson. The last I’d heard Stella was married to an undertaker and living somewhere in Missouri. Stella liked to eat as much as I did. I think that was what I’d liked most about her.
“I remember we used to make s’mores,” I said. “Dad would build a fire for us.”
“I don’t want you venturing outside with someone threatening to kill you.”
“We could always toast the marshmallows over the stove.” I didn’t want to admit it, but I’d done that on previous occasions when I really wanted s’mores.
So I rummaged in the pantry and brought out graham crackers, marshmallows and Hershey bars.
“I see you’re prepared for any contingency,” Jimmy said.
“Well, I never know when I might get stranded here.”
“Yeah,” Jimmy said dryly, “this being a wild, mountain region. The closest gas station is probably only half a mile away.”
“Do you want s’mores or not?”
That shut him up.
The trick with toasting marshmallows over a stove burner is to be sure not to let them drop on the burner. I was going to have some clean-up to do the next day. But the s’mores were excellent. As was the fudge we made next. It was the chocolate chip kind, but I’m not fussy when it comes to fudge.
Jimmy had been pacing himself, limiting the amount he ate, and I was already well into a chocolate buzz.
“Now what?” Jimmy asked as I popped a fifth piece of fudge into my mouth. “What else did you do?”
“Well, we painted our nails.”
“I’m vetoing that one.”
“We wouldn’t have to paint our own nails,” I said, remembering the times I painted Wonder Woman’s nails.
“So whose nails are we going to paint?”
I looked around. “How about Nancy?”
“Really? You want to paint your dog’s nails?”
“Well, we’re keeping with a theme here, aren’t we?”
Jimmy sighed. “Okay. Come on Nancy. Time to get beautiful.”
Jimmy sat on the couch, and I tossed an old towel on his lap in the event that Nancy’s bladder let loose during her beauty treatment. Nancy sat on Jimmy’s lap, and I went to work on her toes.
I have to admit it was a little weird blowing on a dog’s toes to dry the nail polish. Nancy seemed mildly annoyed by the whole process, but Jimmy massaged her shoulders and back while I worked, and that nearly put her in a trance. It would have put me in a trance too.
“Do you know what we need?” Jimmy asked when Nancy was curled up beside us on the couch, her nails a lovely shade of pink.
“More s’mores?” I offered.
“Music. We need some music.”
Jimmy turned on the radio on my counter and tuned around until he found an oldies station.
“That’s my parents’ music,” I told him.
“Yeah, the music that got you your name.”
He had a point there. My mother was a big fan of Aretha Franklin. Hence my name.
“So did you and your slumber party friends ever dance?” he asked.
“Sometimes.” Actually, we tried it a lot, taking turns pretending to be the boy. Usually I ended up in that role.
“Come on. I haven’t danced in years.” He held out his hand and I put mine in it. I could feel another hot flash coming on.
The first song was The Spinners’ Working My Way Back To You, and after I got over my inclination to lead we did pretty well, moving around the living room while Nancy watched from the couch. Captain and Tennille were next with Do That To Me One More Time. I was starting to get the hang of it, and I liked the way Jimmy’s hand rested on my waist at the back. I could almost forget that I was fifty, prone to hot flashes and my libido only worked sporadically.
When Aretha Franklin’s Natural Woman came on, Jimmy smiled down at me. “Your theme song,” he said.
“I’m as natural as you get,” I said on a sigh. From my graying hair to my chubby thighs, I was all nature. I’d been thinking about getting my hair dyed, but I hadn’t gotten up the nerve. As I’ve said, my hair guy is also a dog groomer, so I was a bit hesitant. So far he’d always done a great job giving me a haircut, but there was always the possibility I would come out looking like a cocker spaniel. Not that cocker spaniels aren’t cute.
Jimmy gave a quiet laugh and pulled me closer. “This is nice,” he said. “I’ve missed dancing.”
I’d missed being held by someone of the opposite sex, but I kept my mouth shut and just murmured assent. Let him think I was a dancing fool.
And then the phone rang. Bugger.
It was Eileen, desperate because Momo was insist
ing everyone accompany her to church in the morning. Eileen normally attended anyway because she taught Sunday school, but she wanted reinforcements. “I’ll pick you up at 8:45,” she said. And she hung up. No mention of Jimmy spending the night, so I knew that she was totally undone by Momo. I thanked my lucky stars that Dad and Momo were staying with Eileen and not me. I actually felt a little guilty that I got Jimmy for the night and Eileen had to contend with family. Don’t get me wrong. Families are wonderful, especially at a distance. Preferably several hundred miles.
Jimmy and I decided to watch TV after our dancing. It was 9 p.m. and he chose a football talk show. By 9:30 I was asleep on the couch beside him. What can I say? I’m middle-aged and energy challenged. Jimmy nudged me awake and pointed me toward my bedroom. I let Nancy out first, then brushed my teeth and headed to bed. Nancy curled up next to me on the other pillow, and we were both out for the night. So much for my big sleep-over with Jimmy.
I woke up at 6 the next morning and let Nancy out, then fixed her breakfast, some canned food with a little peanut butter mixed in. I fixed myself some French toast and opened a Diet Coke to go with it. Nancy had some of the French toast as well. Dogs in general and poodles in particular will not let you get away with eating something they want to share. If the big eyes don’t work, there’s always the paw on your leg and, as a last resort, whining pitifully. I’ve sometimes been tempted to try the whining myself.
Jimmy was still asleep in the guest bedroom. Remembering how I’d fallen asleep on the couch last night, I wondered if I should see a doctor about some hormones to give me more energy. Heck, there was probably a breakfast cereal for that. Frosted Zippy Flakes or Peppios. I’d tried energy bars, but four bars just put me to sleep. And I think I’m immune to the caffeine in Diet Coke. Possibly chocolate cake would do the trick. Couldn’t hurt.
By 8:30 Eileen was honking her horn in front of the house, I was dressed for church and Jimmy was sitting at the kitchen table eating French toast.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to come along,” I said, pulling on my coat.