by Paula Boyd
"From the killer or from herself?" Jerry said, not smiling even a little bit.
Jerry wasn't being sarcastic, just realistic. I knew he liked my mother, had always seemed to like my folks, stopping by now and then over the years just to say hi. He'd always seemed amused by my mother's eccentricities, telling me I was the one overreacting to Lucille's latest antics. I had a feeling he was rethinking his stance about now.
"Jerry, you don't really think Mother's got anything to do with BigJohn's murder, do you?"
"Do I think she pulled the trigger on the shotgun? Off the record, no. But I also don't think she's telling me the whole truth about where she was the night BigJohn was killed."
My mother, not telling the whole truth? Why, who would dare think such a thing of Lucille Jackson? "She said she was at home watching television, 'I Love Lucy' reruns. She even described the episode in detail."
He ran his fingers through his hair again, ruffling the thick coal-colored mass. "Either one of us could do that. One quick look in the TV Guide and recollections are easy."
I had a good idea where he was headed with this and it didn't amuse me in the least. "You think she was at his house when he was killed?" "I think it's one possibility."
"I can't believe that. If she'd seen him murdered, or even the body, she'd have been a wreck, scared to death, traumatized even. And I surely don't think she would have left him like that and not called an ambulance. She might appear cool and uncaring, but she's not, really."
Jerry leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. "She doesn't seem very upset that he's dead."
No, she certainly did not. I stuck my hands in the pockets of my jean shorts and tried to think of a tactful reply. Failing that, I said, "Apparently the relationship had run its course. The ex-wife showing up in town didn't help matters either. And let's not forget the 'saving face' aspect of this. Why should she shed tears over somebody who didn't want her?"
He nodded as if he were thinking over what I said, but now his blue eyes were twinkling with something completely unrelated to work. He smiled that smile I remembered from high school, the one that had made more than one cheerleader's heart melt, including mine. After a moment, his grin widened, he uncrossed his arms and relaxed his stance. "The old steakhouse is still around out on the Seymour highway. Want to skip class and make a run to town?"
Town was Redwater Falls, population one hundred thousand, give or take a few, and was situated about fifteen minutes north of Kickapoo. Ten if you took the back roads, which we always had back in the old days, for a number of reasons. The thought of replaying an illicit meeting from our youth was entirely too appealing. Unfortunately, having made it to the "older and wiser" stage of life, one has generally acquired a nagging sense of responsibility that prevents one from acting like a complete fool. Generally speaking, that is. In my case, I had a duty to my mother. "I'd love to Jerry, really...."
"But?" His smile was still there, but it was definitely forced. Obviously he didn't want to be turned down any more than I wanted to turn him down.
"If you'll recall, a certain pushy sheriff gave me direct orders to call a locksmith immediately. I try to do what I'm told."
Relief washed across his face. "Oh, yeah, you really do need to do that." He paused for a moment and then looked at me with soft blue eyes that had turned kind of gray around the edges. "I'm really glad you're here, Jolene."
That soft Texas drawl and the deep timbre of his voice rippled through me. He was the only person in the whole entire world that could call me Jolene and make me like it. "I am too," I said, although I wasn't glad I was in Kickapoo, Texas. I was simply glad to be with Jerry Don Parker again.
Lucille marched into the bedroom, startling us both. "BigJohn didn't keep my key on his regular key ring. He kept it on the one I gave him, a gold fancy thing with a "B" on it. Hung on a nail at the end of his cupboard. He hadn't used it in a while, I'll tell you that for sure. He could have thrown it away for all I know or care. Intended to ask him for it back, but it would have meant I had to talk to the old goat, and I very well was not going to do that. Not with her in town."
Jerry nodded to Lucille. "I'll go take a look around the mayor's place again." Then he turned to me. "Give me a call when the locksmith leaves."
I didn't have his home phone number, and wasn't about to ask, even if my mother hadn't been peering down her nose at me. "I'll call you at the office tomorrow."
"For crying out loud, Jolene, the boy wants you to go out with him tonight," she said as she spun on her heel and whisked herself from the room.
Jerry pulled a card from his pocket and scrawled something on the back. "Here's my cell phone number. Give me a call--tonight. There are a few places in Redwater that stay open past nine."
I took the card, but said nothing as he left, not that I could have said anything if I'd tried to, my heart having lodged itself in my throat.
It is no great news flash that I've never gotten over Jerry Don Parker. My ex-husband became painfully aware of the "Jerry" realities after our first trip back to Kickapoo less than a year after we married. I was about six months pregnant at the time.
Being a native Coloradan, Danny was more than a little taken aback with Kickapoo and its residents. In ten years of annual visits, he never did figure out how to fit in to the family or the town. Mostly, he just nodded and smiled a lot. To his credit, he never once lost his temper in the face of never-ending "Jerry and Jolene" comments whispered around.
But of all our trips to Kickapoo, that first one was the worst. I was pregnant with Sarah at the time and wholly determined to prove to everyone everywhere that I'd made the right decisions in my life. I was doing a fine job of it, too, until we ran into Jerry at the DQ. Awkward and uncomfortable sorely understates the situation. Jerry was the ultimate gentleman and managed to introduce himself and leave before Danny had time to say much more than "Nice to meet you." I don't think I said a single word. But seeing Jerry again just about tore my heart out, and it was all I could do not to sit down and sob.
I wouldn't have--couldn't have--admitted it at the time, but I think, at least subconsciously, that I knew my marriage to Danny was doomed, and had been from the very beginning. But being my mother's daughter, I stuck to my story and my choices, determined to prove myself right. It took about ten years to get over that, and another two to iron out the details of the divorce.
Now, it almost seemed like I was back at the very beginning, back at square one, or maybe it was square four, but back to having a chance with Jerry. The question was, did I want it? I was just about to settle in for some deep analysis of that question when I heard my mother rustling around in the kitchen.
"He's still got it bad for you," Lucille said from the kitchen doorway. "Never got over you marrying Danny. You know he didn't marry until about ten or twelve years ago, and that didn't last, as you can well see. She was a pretty girl, too. Sweet little thing."
Of course she was. Jerry had superb taste in women if I did say so myself, not that "sweet" ever cropped up when people were describing me. "You know Jerry and I have kept in touch over the years. I know when he got married. I sent a gift."
"Well, I don't believe you knew until now that he was available," Lucille said, a sly little edge in her voice. "I could have told you, but you didn't listen to me the first time around so I didn't figure you'd listen now either. If you'd have stayed here and gone to school, why, you'd have been a famous TV reporter or something by now."
I groaned inwardly. Oh, how I did not want to have this conversation. Mother had long ago made it abundantly clear that I had ruined my life by running off to Colorado and squandering my journalism degree when fame and fortune was only a stone's throw away in Redwater Falls. "I did what I thought best at the time, Mother. That's really all any of us can do."
"Well, yes, of course, but you know I never did approve of you running off to Colorado and marrying Danny. Everybody knew it was a mistake."
I took a deep br
eath. "Maybe I thought your monkey business with Mister Mayor was a mistake."
She straightened her shoulders and tilted her chin up another notch. "Well, I do believe that is my affair."
"Yes, it is. And my affairs are mine."
"Touché." Lucille patted her finely teased hair. "I suppose you're familiar with the safe-sex practices required these days, you being out carousing in a big city for eight years and all."
If you think I was shocked at this turn in the conversation, I was, but only mildly. In the last few months, my mother had made a great many comments that alluded to her being the new self-proclaimed authority on dating protocol for the geriatric set, which is pretty interesting since all I'd ever seen her do with my dad was a quick hug and peck routine. As for sex, I'm absolutely certain that my parents didn't do such things--ever. Lucille being intrigued by these activities now only confirmed the fact.
And regardless of experience, perceived or otherwise, I didn't need her telling me how to behave with Jerry Don Parker. In the eight years since my divorce, I'd had exactly two lovers, which makes a total of four in forty-three years. A loose woman I am not. Besides, I managed to do okay as a seventeen-year-old--Jerry had been plenty happy--so I was pretty sure I could probably muddle through on my own this time around as well, if there actually happened to be a "this time."
Sex was pretty close to the bottom of the list of things I wanted to discuss with my mother, so I changed the subject, quickly. "Were you over at BigJohn's the night he was killed?"
Lucille's eyes flickered a little at the abrupt change in topics, and her acrylic nails clattered against one another almost as if she were nervous about something. "What difference does it make where I was? I didn't kill him."
Nice clear answer. Actually, the only thing clear was that she'd been lying all along. "You told me, and the sheriff, I might add, that you hadn't seen the mayor privately for a couple of weeks. That was your official statement to the authorities. You hadn't seen BigJohn in a couple of weeks."
"I hadn't."
"Until that night." When she clamped her lips together and tilted her chin up, I added, "How did you know his wife wouldn't be there?" She looked me square in the eye. "I knew she would."
* * * *
I parked my mother in the kitchen in a straight-backed chair by the bay window. I did not do this so Mother had a nice view of the azaleas and canna lilies, rather so I could keep an eye on her while I found a locksmith willing to drive out from the big city at four o'clock on a Friday afternoon. Yes, there would be an extra charge, several of them, in fact.
With Earl's Locks and Safes headed our way, I replaced the phone and grabbed a Dr Pepper from the fridge. My mother really does love me or she wouldn't make a special effort to always have a six-pack of liquid tar, as she calls my favorite soda, on hand for whenever I might show up. I popped the top and took a long swig, then sat down. Facing her was a bit of a problem since she'd become terribly engrossed in the flowers and bushes in the garden.
"I'm going to have to call that Terrell boy," she said, clucking her tongue and tsk-tsking. "He didn't get all the weeds pulled from around the roses, and the zinnias are going to be choked out. I already paid him, too. He was supposed to have trimmed around the pecan trees. Did you notice if he did that or not? I'll just bet he didn't. I sure get tired of paying for jobs that don't get done. Just can't get good help anymore."
"Yes, good help is hard to find. And some people will lie to their only child when it suits them. Tragic situations, both."
Lucille sighed dramatically and turned around to face me. "Might I have a diet soda before the interrogation begins, warden?"
I grabbed a Diet Pepsi from the fridge and filled a glass with ice. Lucille Jackson does not drink from a can. When we were both settled again and our thirsts, if not our blood pressures, under control, I said, "You may as well start telling the truth right now, Mother--the whole truth. Jerry knows you were at BigJohn's near the time he was killed. For all I know, the whole neighborhood saw your car there as well."
"No, ma'am, they did not. I did not park anywhere near his place. I had gone for a walk over at the school track as I do three times a week, unless of course my knee is acting up, then I only go once or twice. But I try to not ever miss a week, you know. And I always keep a record of my mileage around the football field. Merline and I have a contest going. The one with the most miles in by Friday gets treated to a big old sundae with nuts."
I skipped the easy comeback on the nuts, rubbed my temples and tried to get back to the point. "So, you were walking around the track and just happened to stray across the back lot, past the tennis courts and down about ten blocks to the mayor's residence. Is that about it?"
"I was home by nine," she said, as displeased with my attitude as I was with hers. "And I did watch Lucy."
Okay, if she'd been out walking it had to still be fairly light out. That meant she hadn't been at the house when BigJohn had been shot because that happened around ten thirty p.m. or so. But she had been there at some point--and so had the mayor's wife.
The questions were piling up like June bugs on a porch light, but I opted for the simplest first. "Why did you go to BigJohn's?"
Lucille sipped her diet soda and clicked her nails on the butcher block Formica. "I'd just had enough of his shenanigans. I will not be made the laughingstock of this town for anybody. He was going around pretending he didn't even know me just because she showed up back in town. I went over there to keep him honest, or at least make him spin some new lies right in front of her. She's not stupid. She knows what he's been doing."
"And just exactly what has he been doing?"
Lucille's mouth tightened into a purple pucker. "Not a damn thing, if you must know."
I wasn't exactly sure what she was referring to, but I had a hunch things weren't quite as peachy with the mayor as she'd made them out to be. Perhaps BigJohn wasn't quite the hot catch everyone had thought. "Exactly what are you saying, Mother?"
"I'm saying he couldn't get it up if he propped a two-by-four under it."
My eyes very nearly popped out of my head and my mouth hung open--wide. I couldn't help it. This was my mother. I rubbed my hands over my face to try to erase my shock, but there were no words working their way up my frozen throat.
"Oh, don't be such a prude, Jolene. We're all big girls now. I just say it like it is. And frankly, it wasn't ever that great. Oh, for a while it was nice having everybody wishing they'd been the ones to snag him, and it was kind of fun to watch their faces as their dirty little minds thought about us in all sorts of ways. But that's about all there was to it, the thinking about it. I want more than that and it was darned clear I wouldn't be getting it from him. I'll tell you one thing, though. I will have sex again before I die."
I just kept my hands over my face and shook my head. What else could I do? This was nothing I ever needed or wanted to know about. My own mother out cruising for sex. I suppressed a shudder, and reached for my drink, finishing it in one swig. I'd seen a bottle of red wine in her fridge and I was sorely tempted to upend it as well--and I don't even like red wine.
"Okay, I think I get the general idea. You went over to his house to tell his wife there hadn't been any hanky-panky."
"No, ma'am, I did not. I went over there to tell her she was welcome to the lying, self-righteous bastard. I just wanted her to know what all he'd been up to since she'd been gone. I figured it was only fair."
"Maybe she didn't care."
"She didn't. I think all she cared about was keeping her name the same as his so she could get his retirement and all the joint property, which I guess she's got now, not that I care. I've got my own house and it's a darn sight better than that tin can trailer house he lived in."
Ignoring the comparative housing issue, I said, "I thought you saw papers from an attorney."
"He was probably just lying to me. Lying like he did about everything, including the fact that he was still virile."
&
nbsp; Oh, no, I'd heard way more than I ever wanted to know about my mother's sex life--or lack thereof. All I wanted to know was what had happened just before the mayor had been murdered. Simple really, unless you had to extract the details from Lucille Jackson. "The wife, what's her name?"
"Velma."
"So how did she take your appearance at her husband's door?"
Lucille inspected her acrylic nails. "She was really quite polite about it, considering the awkward situation. I don't have anything against her. Felt sorry for her really. And as I suspected, she already knew all about me and BigJohn, not that there was anything to know. Everybody in town knew about us going out, yet once Velma showed up back in town, they all pretended ignorance of the whole thing. I guess that's what set me off the most, everybody going along with his games."
"So you didn't get in a fight with these two or anything?"
"A lady does not fight, Jolene," she said, looking at me as if I were a complete idiot. "I just told them they deserved one another and I hoped they had a happy, boring life together. Velma just smiled and BigJohn stood behind her bobbing his head like the big old oaf he is, or was."
"You really don't care that he's dead, do you?"
Lucille patted her hair, then twirled a dangly rhinestone earring. "No, honey, I really don't. He wasn't a nice man. He put on a good front, but underneath the good looks and brown-nosing, he was about as crooked as a dog's hind leg. Folks were just starting to figure that out, but I was way ahead of them."
"I have to call Jerry and tell him about your little visit."
"I know. I'd have told him myself if his goons hadn't been so belligerent in front of my friends at the Dairy Queen."
I didn't argue with her or ask her what her excuse was for not coming clean about an hour ago. I figured I wouldn't like it anyway. "You need to know the approximate times you parked at the school, arrived at the mayor's house, came back to the school and then arrived home. Also, if anyone happened to see you during these times."