by Peggy Webb
He stows his casserole in the kitchen then shows Fayrene to a leather recliner before settling onto the sofa. Ruby Nell sits right beside him, too close for my comfort. The way he puts his hand on her knees and gazes into her eyes while she’s blathering on about nothing, you’d think he was a world-wide sex symbol like me instead of a balding ex-coach with bags under his eyes and a beer belly hanging over his belt. Still, Ruby Nell’s got him so fascinated, he hardly notices when Fayrene excuses herself to go to the bathroom, amateur sleuth code language for search the house.
The problem is, she can’t get out of her chair. It’s one of these big old faux-leather chairs made for a two-hundred pound man, and she’s got it popped backward into the reclining position. She rocks back and forth a few times, then says, “Lord help us,” and waves her legs straight up in the air.
It’s all up to me to save the day. I trot my intelligent self over and tug at Ruby Nell’s come-hither pants leg. She looks up in time to see Fayrene still doing the rock ‘n’ roll from a sitting position.
“Flitter.” Ruby Nell pops off the sofa, leaving the coach with his hands empty. “Sammy, you’ll have to watch after Fayrene while I powder my nose. It looks like she’s gone into another seizure.”
“This is not a Ceasar.” Fayrene’s got her mouth open for further protest, but Ruby Nell winks at her, and she finally gets the picture. Their roles in the Big Plan are now reversed. “Oh, oh yes, my Ceasar!” While Ruby Nell scoots off to search the house, Fayrene flails around ‘til Coach gets up and pours both of them a glass of wine. And then another. And another.
Listen, I’m not the kind of dog to sleuth and tell, but everything goes downhill from there. Wine loosens Fayrene enough to get out of her chair and he’s too infatuated to notice when she drops something into his glass. Somehow wine has given Coach the idea she’s the most fascinating woman he’s ever seen or else that tight green leotard is doing its naughty tricks. He starts chasing her around the room, yelling, “Come here, big, bold and beautiful. I’ve got something for you!”
His bellows rouse the mortal enemy outside, who overcome their pepper spray and set out for revenge. The way those two half-wit dogs are growling and scratching and lunging at the front door, I expect any minute to see it cave in and let loose the hounds of hell.
Suddenly Ruby Nell rushes back into the room, alerted by the fracas, no doubt. The coach spots her and veers in her direction. From the look on his face it’s hard to tell whether he’s got loving or murder always on his mind.
“Elvis, do something!” she yells.
Who does she think I am? King Kong in a dog suit?
Chapter 12
Narrow Escape and the Finger of Guilt
Fortified by cream and sugar, Lovie and I set out from Baskin Robbins to find out what Coach Matthews knows about murder.
“I’ll have to say, ice cream was a good idea, Lovie.” I pull out my compact and check for stray cream – none, thank goodness – then grab my cell phone and call Mama. Wouldn’t you know? I get nothing but voice mail.
“Mama, I’m just checking to see that you and Fayrene got back home safe and sound. Call me. Or text. Either one will be fine.”
Not that I don’t trust Bobby Huckbee’s driving. It’s Mama and Fayrene who keep me wondering what new ways they’ve found to give me a first gray hair.
“They’re probably taking a nap.”
How Lovie can say this with a straight face is beyond me.
“You’re kidding. Right?”
“Relax, Cal. They’ve already done their worst with the Batman and Robin caper.”
Lovie pulls into Coach Matthews driveway – and straight into bedlam. Two vicious looking dogs are trying to tear down the front door, Bobby Huckabee is up a tree, and Mama’s outrageous pink Cadillac is in plain sight.
“Holy cow, Lovie! Famous last words.”
She says a few more choice words I’m too much a lady to repeat, all the while swiveling this way and that so she won’t miss a single, awful detail. “I don’t even know which way to go first.”
“I do.” I crack the van’s window, hoping my small action won’t catch the attention of the canine destroyer brigade. Fortunately, they’re more interested in what’s going on inside that house. As a matter of fact, so am I, but I don’t see any way of getting past the demon dogs to find out. I call out Bobby’s name, but he never even looks in my direction. He’s too busy trying not to fall out of the tree, and judging by that puny branch, he’s got cause to worry.
I risk rolling the window down another notch and waving at him. “Bobby! What’s going on in there?”
“Ruby Nell and Fayrene are in there vamping Coach Matthews.”
“Good grief!”
Lovie says a whole page of words that curl my hair, and I get this sinking feeling the next time Mama lands in jail for interfering with the law, it won’t be so easy to get her out. Nevermind that I’m trying to do the same thing. At least I have a solid plan. Sort of.
Suddenly Lovie bails out of the van.
“Wait!” I lunge to grab her, but I’m too late. When she wants to move fast, she can outrun even me with my long legs. I’ve never been able to figure that out. She eats too much fat and sugar and she declares exercise is worse than a root canal. Still, I’m not about to get out of the van and expose little Jackie Nell to a dog mauling. The dogs have turned their heads toward us and their ears are standing straight up. Anybody who is a dog owner knows that what means. They’ve heard us, we’re the intruders, and they’re fixing to do something about it.
“Lovie, get back in the truck!” There’s nothing except a silence that takes six years off my life.
Suddenly everything happens at once. The dogs leap off the front porch, the back door of the van pops open and there’s a series of snarling and shouting that sounds like Armageddon. I cringe down in my seat, shut my eyes and cover my womb with both hands. Normally, I’d be looking for the nearest weapon, but pregnancy has undone my courage. Maybe permanently.
At least ten years later, I feel somebody shaking my arm.
“Cal, it’s me.”
“Holy cow, Lovie. I thought you’d be dead by now.”
“Naw. Take a look!” She points toward a scene straight out of a Budweiser commercial. The dogs are lying in the sunshine at the far edge of the coach’s yard, docile as can be. “I tossed them some Porterhouse steaks.”
No need to ask how she hurled two steaks nearly half the length of a football field. Lovie was the best pitcher our high school girl’s baseball team ever had.
“Then let’s get into the house while we can.”
“No need to hurry. While they were busy eating I filled their water dish with beer.” She waves at Bobby. “Come on down.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’ve got everything under control,” she says.
Bobby scampers out of the tree, and as the three of us head toward the coach’s house, I hope Lovie’s prediction is not another case of famous last words. We’re almost at the door, and it has gone eerily quiet inside.
Lovie makes quick work of the lock, thanks to her training from Slick Fingers Johnson. I’ve had so many occasions to be grateful for her dubious talent I’m trying to stop giving her advice about dating. She has a bad habit of hanging out with men who aren’t worthy to tie the laces on her high top tennis shoes.
“Done,” she says and I step straight into a fresh horror show.
“Holy cow! Mama?” She’s got on enough red lipstick to paint every strumpet in town, and if Uncle Charlie ever sees her in that outfit, she’s going to be in permanent lockdown at the farm. I’ve a good mind to lay down a few rules, myself.
Fayrene is in the same kind of getup, and I don’t even want to know what was going through their minds when they set off in those outfits to vamp Coach Matthews.
Suddenly I spot the coach. Lovie sees him at the same time and races his way spouting words that would resurrect the dead. One can only hope.
The way Coach Matthews is lying there on the floor with his mouth open and his eyes rolling in his head, he’s already halfway to the Pearly Gates. Or the other direction. I don’t like to judge, but I’ve heard the rumors at my beauty shop.
Lovie squats over him, agile as any woman carrying fifty pounds less. “He’s still breathing.”
“Flitter.” Mama sinks to the sofa. “I could have told you that.”
I stalk over and plop down beside her. “How, Mama? What on earth did you and Fayrene do to him?”
“It was all behind closed doors,” Fayrene says. “Ruby Nell and I never make a pubic display.”
Oh, no? What about that little stunt with them hanging from Martha Jo Matthews’ trees in front of the entire Lee Country Sheriff’s department? Still, I don’t mention past deeds. I don’t want to hurt their feelings. Just keep them out of trouble. If I can. Which is not looking too promising lately.
“It was all my fault,” Bobby says.
“How could it be your fault, Bobby? You were up a tree.”
“I made up a little potion, Callie.” He tugs at the collar of his shirt, a nervous habit I’m hoping Darlene can help him overcome. If only he’ll quit hanging out with Mama and Fayrene and pay some attention to his neglected love life.
“What’d you put in, Bobby?” Lovie wants to know. “Arsenic?”
“No. It just had a little of this and that.”
“What would this and that be?” Bobby clams up, and I notice Mama and Fayrene are keeping their lips zipped. “Mama, what did you give him?”
“Just enough sedative to knock Sammy out if he got too feisty.”
“And he did,” Fayrene says. “He got to chasing me around the room, and if Jarvetis had seen his election he’d be singing in the heavenly chore by now. In fact…”
“Stop!” I hold up one hand while I shield little Jackie Nell with the other. “I don’t want to hear any more. Let’s just figure out what we’re going to do about this mess.”
“I don’t see how you can call it a mess when I found these.” Mama holds out a handful of notepaper, and then proceeds to read. “There’s nobody else but you. Love always, Evelyn. I’m saving all my love for you. Your sweet pussycat, Evelyn.”
“Holy cow. What is that?”
“These are notes Evelyn Lawson passed to Sammy Matthews in study hall.”
“He kept notes from high school? Good grief.”
Mama reads another. “Sammy plus Evelyn equals Ain’t We Wonderful Together Matthews. Love forever, Your hot to trot baby.”
“And now your prints are all over them, Mama, plus we can’t let Sheriff Trice know you’re still nosing around in his investigation.”
“Flitter. I’ll just put these back and steer the sheriff in this direction. The handwriting is Evelyn’s and an expert can prove it.”
“You’ll do no such thing. Your prints are still on them, Mama.”
There’s a groan from the direction of Coach Matthews, a welcome sign if you hadn’t tried to seduce him and then hadn’t knocked him out with a near-lethal potion of unknown origins. And if you didn’t suspect him of murder.
“He’s coming around,” Lovie says. “Better think of something quick, Cal.”
“Yes, Callie,” Mama says. “We need a plausible story.”
“Why me? I didn’t get us into this mess.”
“Because you’ve got Michael’s brain, that’s why.”
Mama just pulled her trump card. Any mention of a similarity to my daddy fluffs up my ego. He was not only handsome, but according to Mama and Uncle Charlie, he had a genius IQ and was the founder of Tupelo’s MENSA club.
“All right then. Lovie, you and Fayrene and Bobby stay here and keep everything under control. Mama, you come with me.” Ordinarily, she’d argue with me, but she can’t complain since she’s the one who put me in charge. “Where’d you find the notes?”
“In there.” She points to a room at the end of the hall, and when I open the door I nearly faint. There’s everything in here from curtain rods to rusting cleats to rat-chewed boxes with junk spilling over the top. “Good grief! How did you ever find them in all this clutter?”
“I have a nose for a clue.”
“Just put them back where you found them.” There’s a bellow from the living room, decidedly male and definitely not Bobby. “And hurry, Mama.”
I race off to see what the ruckus is all about, then wish I hadn’t. Fayrene has vanished and Coach is still on the floor, struggling to get up. Unsuccessfully, I might add.
“Holy cow, Lovie!”
“You said keep everything under control.”
“Yes, but I didn’t mean sit on him!”
The coach says a few words that rival Lovie at her best. Or worst. Whichever way you want to look at it. He flails around a while, and then spots me.
“Callie, thank God somebody with some sense. What in the devil is all this about?”
“I’m so sorry, Coach.” I kneel beside him and Lovie finally gets off his chest, but thank goodness she stays on the other side of his prone body in case I need her. “I’m afraid Mama’s got a crush on you.”
“For Pete’s sake, Callie!” Mama charges through the door like she’s the queen of some small country and is in charge of the next beheading. I wink at her, and thank goodness, she gets quiet.
“She’s had the crush for a long time, and I’m afraid she and Fayrene just got carried away trying to get your attention.”
“She got it, all right.” The coach struggles to get up but his beer belly is in the way. I reach down and give him a helping hand. When he’s upright, he smoothes down his shirt, but I’m afraid it’s going to take more than that to get out the wrinkles Lovie made when she sat on him. She’s a hundred and ninety pounds of cuddles and curves.
The coach turns his head toward Mama. “Ruby Nell, why didn’t you just call?”
“She’s shy,” Lovie says. I hope she’s got her fingers crossed behind her back. If Mama’s shy, I’m a pink elephant.
I cross my own fingers and add, “That’s right. Fayrene talked Mama into this little visit in the hopes she might capture your interest and you’d come down to the farm for one of her famous fried chicken dinners.”
“I’m right fond of fried chicken.” I don’t like the way he’s grinning at Mama or the way he’s patting his big belly, either. They say hindsight is twenty-twenty, and suddenly I’m having an awful vision of the coach eating Mama’s fried chicken and then chasing her around the kitchen with the carving knife. What if he’s the murderer?
“Of course, it will be a while before Mama’s back on the farm,” I hasten to add. “She’s staying with me till they find out what happened to poor old Evelyn.”
His face changes at the mention of the murder victim, but I can’t tell whether I’m seeing grief or guilt…or something far darker and more sinister. Shivers run over me, and I take a step back.
“That’s too bad,” he says, suddenly poker-faced. “I had my heart set on some fried chicken.”
“I’ll tell you what.” Lovie whips a little spiral bound notepad out of her pocket. “You write down your mailing address, and I’ll send you a coupon for a free catered dinner at the time of your choosing.”
Fayrene returns from her mysterious mission while Lovie finishes negotiating the peace offering. Now that we’re all here in one piece, more or less, it’s time to get out while we still can.
Thank goodness the attack dogs are now in a near stupor. I glance at their water dish to see it empty. Still, I make a quick dash back to the catering van.
“How much beer did you put in the dog dish, Lovie?”
Suddenly a big crash cuts off all other sound. I jerk around to see Mama has backed over Coach Matthews’ lawn chair and is now going down his driveway with it attached to her bumper.
“Quick, Lovie. Toot your horn.”
Of course Mama pays her no attention. I glance back to see what the coach thinks about his lawn chair vanishing down
Highway 321, but thank goodness he’s back in the house. And the evil dogs are too drunk to notice.
“Holy cow! What a day!”
“A successful one, I’d say.”
“I don’t know why you would, Lovie. It’s a wonder we didn’t all end up in jail.”
“You’ll see.”
“I hate it when you’re mysterious.”
“No, you don’t. You live for it.”
Lovie pulls into my driveway, right behind Mama, who is finally home, lawn chair and all. My incorrigible mama bails out, takes one look at the chair and says, “Well, flitter,” then proceeds to march into my house.
Lovie bursts into laughter, then leans over to give me a peck on the cheek. “Can you handle them the rest of the evening?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not if you want me to get the food ready for the funeral reception.”
“I can handle anything. Go on and don’t worry about a thing.”
I climb out of Lovie’s van then just stand there with my hands over my womb, staring at the front door as if Mama might pop through at any minute to retrieve the lawn chair off her bumper. Stubborn as I am, l don’t give up till Mama sticks her head out the door and yells, “Are you coming in or have you decided to just stand there and let my grandbaby become mosquito bait.”
“Coming, Mama.” But not until I wrestle the lawn chair off her bumper. It’s crumpled beyond repair. As I walk around back to stash it in the garbage can, I make a mental note to deliver a new one to Coach Matthews.
“Jackie Nell, it looks like you’re going to be born into a three-ring circus”
She tumbles around and gives me a little kick like she’s trying to tell me something, and then I enter my own house through the back door.
Everybody is in the kitchen clustered around the kitchen table. Probably trying to get away from Jack’s wrought iron. I make another mental note that I’m going to do something about. Soon.