“SO WHAT D’YA THINK, Mom?” Tay said that afternoon late as he walked into the apartment, Daisy right behind. He’d driven back from their granddad’s. He was grinning broadly.
He wore a long-sleeved red T-shirt with a black skull in the center, black pants, and a Santa hat. The T-shirt was spray painted white along the edges to look like Santa’s fur. He’d let the fuzz grow on his chin and had spray painted it white. He’d made his hair look like dreadlocks. One side of his face was painted white, the other black.
“Check this out,” he said, turning around. On the back of the T-shirt, it said, Consume me. “Ha, get it? Consumer holiday?”
“Isn’t it yucky, Mom?” Daisy said. She was dressed in a red velveteen dress, a tawny braid running down her back.
“Hmm, what should I say to a Santa who likes cannibals?” I said. “You look hideous? Sorry, dude, I don’t think any kiddies will be leaving you any cookies and milk tonight. No explosives at the party, okay?” I pointed at him and put a cookie at his mouth. “Eat and shut up.”
“Don’t worry, Mom,” he said. “I’m saving the explosives for more important things.” I ignored that comment.
I wore a faux Indian leather jacket from the sixties and tied a scarf in my hair. I had far too much to think about to spend energy on a costume.
“Did your Grandma Happy braid your hair?” I said to Daisy.
“Yep, good, huh? She gave me a potion, too, to give you. She said you’d need it tonight.” Daisy handed another Tupperware container full of what looked like the same tea as before.
“Oh, hungry crawling Jesus!” I said, slamming it down on the counter. That was the last thing I needed Jackson to know about.
“Mother, where do you get these colloquialisms?” Tay said, like a sociologist.
“Is Mama cussing?” Daisy asked him. I ignored them both, shoved the tea into the refrigerator and headed out in the Saturn to Mac’s reception hall.
I pulled into the lot, which held only three other cars. A vaporous and chilled night. The place was lit up with white lights trimming the walls and a blue mirror at the end of the hall where Mac had collapsed at the wedding weeks ago now. At the other end, the tables for food and drink. At every corner of the room, punch tables had been set up. At the end away from the blue mirror, the punch with rum sat, separated from the plain punch. The bowl smelled sweetly of rum drink, and the room smelled of eucalyptus.
The moon had a bright white cast and reflected like a luminous ribbon in the Intracoastal Waterway. Sprangle Island loomed its shadowy silhouette beyond. I thought of the graveyard on that island with remains of bodies long abandoned and left with the moss, no-see-ums, and sound of the tide. I shivered, pulling my scarf closer.
Randy Dilburn met me at the door and we headed towards the tables. He was dressed in a silk shirt. I commented on its softness, and he said, “It’s old. Really old.”
“Looks to me like you take good care of things,” I said. He shrugged.
“Where’s Tay?” he said.
“He and Daisy are walking over with Jackson.” I saw his face visibly change.
“Oh, bringing the cops so you can’t get arrested again, huh?” he said. “Good idea.” He walked to a table and nibbled on some celery and dip, and then went to the glass window to check the view of the Gulf. What did he care? He hadn’t called or made any contact since our kissing session.
Tay came trouncing in, kicking his leg high in a karate chop. He pretended to kick me in the belly, then chop my neck off with a “Ssssshhhhhhoooooopow!”
“How charming,” I said. “You can kill your mom in two moves. Where’s Jackson? And Daisy?”
“Mom, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Jackson,” Tay said, tugging at his shirt, shifting from sneakered foot to sneakered foot. “You’re not—he really likes you. He’s like . . . uh, uh, he’s like Aragorn in the Ring trilogy—you know, the Hobbit trilogy. He upholds the law without having an ego. He fights chaos without brutality.”
“Well, just be sure not to mention the tea your Grandma Happy made, okay?” I said. Tay frowned.
“I brought the tea,” he said, pulling it out from his gigantic backpack pocket. “Grandma Happy told me you had to have it. I didn’t let Jackson see it.”
“Oh, boy,” I said. “Put it under the table, will you?” I pointed to the table of punch under the window that faced the Gulf.
In walked Jackson with Daisy. Jackson wore jeans, a black T-shirt, and vintage Dingo boots, which I immediately coveted. I glanced at Randy, who avoided my eyes while he roamed the room checking punch bowls. The lights went low, and the DJ put on Tom Waits.
Randy and Jackson somehow merged and started talking about music and wandered off together. It seemed they’d both played in bands when they’d been younger. Daisy ran up to me and said, “Mama, I want some chips.”
“Where do you put all that food?” Taylor said, grabbing some potato chips himself. We all three stood by the window looking out at the Gulf and the moon and the island beyond.
“They say the ghosts of all the people who died in that flood nearly a hundred years ago come back this time of year,” I said, pointing to Sprangle Island in the short distance across the water. “Do you all miss Trina?”
“Mom, stop being so weird,” Tay said.
“Mommy, are they gonna get me?” Daisy said.
“I was just kidding around,” I said. “I was just wondering if you were thinking about her, Tay. And Daisy, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” She did have a propensity to fret over possibilities. Failure as a mom number 3,862.
“I don’t think Trina would haunt me, us,” Tay said. “Mom, I need to get something to eat. I’m really hungry,” Tay said, holding his flat, skinny stomach. I followed him to a real food table.
“Get food, of course,” I said, “but please, tell me—you don’t take this voodoo stuff seriously, do you? You wouldn’t get addicted to cough medicine. You wouldn’t do satanic rituals where cannibalism was practiced, would you? Or use violence to—”
“What are you talking about?” he said as he turned to me like Have you lost your mind? He frowned, his mouth stuffed with grapes. “Take a chill pill, Mom,” he burbled.
“Tay, my man,” Randy yelled out across the room. Tay walked across the room to him. “What are you, anyway? The Jackie Chan of St. Annes?” They huddled and then began to show each other Tae Bo moves.
Daisy went to meet her friends who had a makeup kit and were gathering in the corner to indulge in putting on too much blue eye shadow and painting their nails glittery silver.
Madonna made her appearance. Pearls and a black spaghetti-strap dress. She sashayed over to the punch bowl. All the men’s eyes followed her. Jackson literally followed her.
“Think that stinker Fletch or his bro Cooter will show up?” she said, grabbing a scoop of guac and chips.
“If I know those brothers, they will not be sitting in ICU with a woman in a coma with a St. Annes party going,” I said. “They’re crude enough to come here with no thought that it might be tacky when they ought to be in mourning and at the hospital.”
Jackson cleared his throat. “What we need,” he said, shoving his hands into his back pockets, “is to find out what Trina actually had on Fletch. Or on the ECOL group.” He and I sat in cold folding chairs behind one of the tables, our backs to the Gulf. “You don’t go murdering people because they find out you’re illegally building subdivisions that will eventually send sewage into the rivers.” He lowered his voice. “Mac was chased out of Mexico for it, probably, but it was called a mistrial. There’s got to be more.”
He grabbed, then crunched on a carrot stick. “That’s the missing link at this point. It’s one thing to have bad bookkeeping, it’s yet another to kill someone. There has to be more than she could prove.” He ruminated, chewing, then said, “You know, the county commissioners protect this stuff and give the CEOs of land developments a lot of clout. It would be hard to get in there and accuse t
hem of criminal acts.”
He grabbed a handful of roasted nuts now. “Something else. For someone to hire a thug with a silencer on a boat, to threaten the son, too. I think I’m going to have to go see that son, Preston Edwards. Or pull it out of Fletch and Cooter somehow.” The room was filling up. “By the way, I’ve still got tests running, and the hair samples and fingerprints from Mary’s trailer.”
Madonna pulled Jackson away and introduced him to the owner of the Hook Wreck. She deposited Jackson there so he wouldn’t be playing detective all night and getting me worked up. Then she walked over to Randy and blatantly laid a big kiss on his cheek. Even I was shocked. And jealous. Why? God, was I that greedy? I turned to the punch bowl and looked out on the moonlit water. The reception hall got louder. Jimmy Buffet, the renewed Gulf coast hero, for having a huge concert in Alabama and riffing on BP’s huge blunders, played on the stereo in the background.
I felt Madonna next to me. “Coming to give me a smacker now?” I said.
“That’s it,” Madonna said. “It’s the cologne on the boat. Randy was on that boat. Smells great. He says it’s called ‘Solo.’ Moreover—I know you intellectuals like words like that—moreover, guess what? It’s rare, a very rare scent. He got it on his way back from Africa when he stopped in Spain. They make it exclusively in this Spanish city, Valencia. Don’t even sell it here. Therefore, as you intellectuals like to say, for anyone else to be wearing it would be out of the question.” I kissed her on the cheek. So my guess was right. But what did it mean?
“You’re the best,” I said. The room had gotten warm with people.
“You’re not getting fresh with me, are you, Rue?” she joked.
“I’m just feeling desperate and vulnerable,” I said. “Stupid, anxious, crazy, exhausted, sorry for myself. What an ass.” She bumped me with her hip.
“Let’s dance,” she said, pulling my arm. Motown Tunes were playing now, and we soon had a big line dance going.
Then, to my surprise, in lumbered a big man dressed as a silvery Neptune. His deep, loud voice gave him away. Mac Duncan. The kids were squealing. It’s a monster! No, it’s God! I went back to the punch bowls, refilling them, as I was ironically chosen to be responsible for the food tables, and looking to see if Jackson was watching. He was deep in conversation with the Hook Wreck guy. The spiked punch was going fast. Some younger tourists from down the road came in and started to disco. Tay’s hip-hop/grunge crowd was bouncing around in a circle. In the corner, Fletch stood with Cooter. They had their hands in their pockets. Daisy had gotten Neptune to play limbo with the kids. He held the broom while they all lined up and bent backwards under the stick as it crept lower and lower.
“Where’s your cop? The date for the night?” Randy said with sarcasm. Jackson, he meant. He was digging at me. He knew Jackson was talking to the Hook Wreck guy.
“I don’t know,” I said, waving my hand. “And it’s not a date. And he’s an investigator. I’m not in charge of anything tonight. He’s out there somewhere, I suppose.” He gave my stupid costume a once-over.
“Poor mixed up little wampum girl in a Pakistani scarf,” Randy said. “Which kind of Indian are you? Nothing is turning out right these days, is it? Come dance with the lawyer who wears old silk shirts, but who’s not quite cool enough to own Dingo boots.”
“I guess nobody ever told you how to ask a girl to dance? Or were you actually asking me to step outside and settle this?” I said, yanking the dumb scarf off my head.
He grinned. “I’m just teasing you. Laura told me you really could be in danger. She told me about the county commission’s cover up. I’m pissed beyond pissed now. I knew the sewage and those neighborhoods with bad septic issues were causing the problems, I just didn’t know how to get the information.”
“Yeah,” I said. “What some people—you grew up here, too—what’re they thinking?”
Smokey Robinson was singing a slow heartbreaker. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cooter and Fletch head outside. Randy began to slow dance with me. I felt reckless and was fighting off guilt over Jackson’s seeing us. Almost everyone was stepping off the dance floor to cool down. I was anything but cooling down. Randy must have been feeling the same thing, because he pulled me closer. Randy and I stood almost eye to eye.
When the fast music started up again, we sauntered over to get something to drink—unspiked punch. “What do you think Trina really had on them? It’s one thing to know the books are bad, and yet another to prove someone’s doing illegal building and hiding it,” I said to Randy. “Laura used her wiles to get the paperwork this past week, but that’s Laura. What would Trina have had on him?”
“I don’t know, LaRue, or I’d have told you,” he said. “Maybe it had something to do with her son. The one who disappeared on the fishing trip.”
He looked around the room and grabbed a sandwich. “Still no sign of your cop, homegirl. Guess you’ll have to put up with me.” I tried to avoid eye contact, messing about with the sandwiches and punch. Randy took off his shoes and shoved them under the table.
Cooter and Fletch had come back in and looked for all the world like the redneck mafia, standing in that corner. I felt my boot for my .38. Hard as a rock. Now, suddenly, I knew what Trina had discovered.
Jackson was dancing with Madonna. The room had begun to get steamy, and the music was turned up loud. Nelly was wailing, It’s getting hot in here, So take off all your clothes, a ridiculous song, but so danceable. I watched three older couples get up, all dressed as parts of a turkey dinner, and shake it as I wormed my way towards Jackson. I came up behind him and leaned in close to his ear and said loudly, “I figured out what she had. What Trina had. I’ll bet I know where it is, too. I have an idea who might have poisoned Mac, too.”
“Can it wait till the end of this dance?” he said twisting a strange hip dance. Madonna waved me away. Lots of costumed people were creating a mass on the dance floor. Santas were dancing with reindeer and sexy elves or Christmas trees.
“Give it a rest!” she shouted over the music, swinging her hair around. Tay and his gang were in the corner doing a parody of with a little bit a ah ah.
I moved back to the punch bowl area where big Neptune Mac, Fletch, and Randy were having a bit of an uneasy conversation, not making eye contact, arms folded over their chests, shouting over the music about weather. Where was Laura?
Someone gestured to me to come over to get my phone. Where was Laura? “Hello?” I said, stopping up my other ear to hear.
“Hey, it’s me!” Laura said. She sounded close, but I could hear highway noise.
“Weird.” I walked out into the cold night. “Those invisible vibes in the universe. I thought of you and the phone rang. I was just worrying—where are you? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Mary’s come out of the coma,” Laura said. “She wants to talk to you. She’s got some interesting things to tell you, I might add.”
“When? Tonight?” I said, looking back into the room, noticing how many of the grunge kids had worn Santa caps, but smeared their mouths with what seemed like blood.
“As soon as you can get here,” she said. “Maybe tomorrow, first thing? She’s pretty tired. In and out, you know. But definitely out of the coma.”
“Thank god,” I said. “So, you’re not coming to the party?”
“I’m sorry, LaRue, we’re too tired tonight,” she said.
“We,” I said. Things must be going well in Gainesville, I guessed.
“We. Tell ya later,” she answered. I wasn’t going to get any more from her tonight.
“Do not tell anyone about Mary’s recovery, understand? Tell no one but Jackson. Only you know this. Only you,” Laura said.
“Okay,” I said, looking through the window into the reception hall and across the dance floor, as if they could hear the conversation. I walked back inside, phone still to my ear. The song had finished and there was a momentary lull before the next began. Which was why I heard Mac.
“Argh, Shiver me—” Neptune-gone-Captain-Bly said, then he coughed. Not a normal cough, a wheezing, throat-holding cough. He coughed again, holding his stomach this time. Neptune crashed to the floor.
“Oh, my god, Laura, Mac has fainted. I’m gonna have to go. Will call you back when I can, okay? Mary—I won’t say anything. I’ll call you back.”
Madonna knelt next to him. “Mac! What is it?”
“That punch! That!” he said, pointing to his punch glass.
I couldn’t move. This again? And in the back of my mind, I was wondering, factoring. Mary was awake and wanted to talk to me—not Fletch, not Mac, not Cooter.
Then Jackson darted over to Mac in his cop way, picked up the cup, and sniffed. He glanced at me for a split second. Then back to Mac. Then he said something to Madonna and walked over to me. Meanwhile, Cooter had ambled over to the table where I’d been standing all night and scooped up the Tupperware container sitting under the table.
“This belong to you, Miss LaRue?” he said. I nodded feebly. He was on his cell phone.
“You had nothing to do with this, right?” Jackson said.
“Of course not!” I said. “Are you joking with me?” I must have looked wild-eyed.
“Did you bring this tea here?” Jackson said. I felt the eyes of the party on me. The DJ’s music had stopped.
“No! I left it in the fridge at home!” I said. “Tay brought it at Grandma’s instructions.”
Jackson cleared his throat and began to yell. “Did you have anything to do with any of the making of this punch tonight?” he said. His voice was getting louder.
I looked down at the carpet. “NO. I’m not saying anything else.” I was standing in the middle of the room, staring at the floor.
I looked up. His green-brown eyes appeared so disappointed, so hurt. “I didn’t bring the tea! I didn’t know anything like this would happen again! Why would I have invited you?”
Cutting Loose in Paradise Page 30