Marguerite was Mac’s first wife, whom he’d lost several years before I met him.
“I wore the long sleeves for the first three months I knew her, even in hot weather. But finally I figured she had a right to know about my . . . youthful foolishness.”
“You also realized you weren’t going to be able to keep the tattoo hidden indefinitely.”
“That too,” he admitted ruefully. “So I showed it to her.” He groaned. “In all its buxom glory. I’m sure tattoos can’t grow, but somehow this one looked as if it were expanding second by second while she looked at it.”
“So what happened?”
“Marguerite was a sweet and generous woman. She didn’t berate me or laugh at my foolishness, at least not out loud. Instead, she politely asked if the tattoo represented any particular female anatomy, and I said no. It wasn’t anyone I knew. Just a tattoo the artist had in his repertoire.”
Some repertoire. Where were the battleships and sea monsters? But I didn’t comment.
“So then, also very politely, she asked if it was a permanent fixture there on my arm. I said not necessarily, and that was when I looked into how it could be removed. I was willing to go the surgical route, including the skin graft that would be necessary because a fairly large piece of skin would have to be removed.”
That was Mac. If he was in the wrong, he was willing to do whatever needed doing to make the wrong right. Including surgery and skin graft.
“It was Marguerite herself who suggested the alternative of turning it into something other than the . . . gross exaggeration of female anatomy that it was. She even suggested the motorcycle.”
A gracious way to handle the situation. With something of a sense of humor too. I think, if I’d known her, I’d have liked Marguerite.
He pulled the sleeve down. “So now you know the story of why a man of elder years has a blue motorcycle tattooed on his arm.”
I just stood there with my toes in the sand and looked at the rueful, chagrined expression on Mac’s face. A breeze off the sea ruffled his silvery hair and stirred his beard. I halfway wanted to laugh, halfway wanted to swat him for pulling such a macho-kid stunt, even if it was so many years ago.
But I’ve made a foolish mistake or two in my life too. Back in my teenage days I’d once stuffed a too-large swim suit with cotton balls to fill it out, with the ensuing embarrassment of that strangely soaking-wet portion of my anatomy when the rest of the suit had dried. I put my arms around him. “I love you, Mac MacPherson. With or without a tattoo.”
“Thank you, Mrs. MacPherson. I love you too.”
So he kissed me there in the moonlight, and we strolled hand in hand around the cove. And I had this wonderful all’s-right-with-the-world feeling of happiness and satisfaction.
Honeymoon is, after all, a state of mind.
***
In the morning, Mac spent time on the laptop working on his magazine article, and then we went over to Duke’s trailer so Mac could check some remaining details. Duke looked at the digital photos Mac had taken and said the plaques on two of the dinosaurs had been switched, and what was identified as a psittacosaurus was really an ankylosaurus, and vice versa. Mac said he’d see about getting the plaques put back in their right places and take new photos.
When we walked back to the motorhome, Brian was just crossing the parking lot in his Porsche. On his way to see his girlfriend in Eureka? I felt like giving him a meaningful thumbs down when he went by, but I managed a polite wave instead. Brian gave us a stiff nod. Then Mac changed his wave to an upraised hand to stop the Porsche. Brian rolled down the window as we approached.
“I was just talking to Duke,” Mac said. “He noticed in the photos I showed him that a couple of the plaques in the park have been mistakenly switched. Okay if I go in and change them?”
“I’m just leaving, but you can get Kathy to unlock the gate for you. Though you might want to be careful. I spotted a cougar in there a few mornings ago when I was doing my usual walk-through.” He smiled maliciously and took off in a blast of muddy puddle water. I suspected he hoped the cougar would consider us a tasty snack.
We’d just gotten back to the motorhome when Geoff and Magnolia’s big motorhome pulled up beside us. She stepped out first, and we hugged as if we hadn’t seen each other in months instead of a few weeks.
“It’s so good to see you!” she said.
Magnolia isn’t overweight or fat, but she’s a large woman, and when Magnolia hugs you, you know you’ve been hugged. Her hair had been a delicate orchid when she walked me down the aisle at the wedding; now it was majestic purple. We stepped back, hands held, and studied each other affectionately.
If I tried purple hair, it would definitely be an Eccentric LOL look, but Magnolia was quite regal in purple hair, as if she surely had queenly robes and a crown tucked away somewhere.
“You’re looking marvelous,” Magnolia said. “Marriage agrees with you. But I always knew you and Mac were meant for each other.” She nodded wisely. “I felt the vibes from the very first minute I introduced you.”
Magnolia places great stock in her “vibes.” She has them, vibes good and bad, about everything from matchmaking to political choices to hair color. Strong vibes encouraged her to vote for a mayor who later embezzled a million or so in city funds to finance a South American gold mine. But I have to admit the vibes had been right about Mac and me.
I squeezed her hands. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“What a beautiful place!” Magnolia looked off toward the jungled park. “So lush and green. But it’s closed now? We won’t be able to see the dinosaurs?”
I was surprised that she sounded so disappointed. “Did you really want to see them?”
“Yes, indeed. Several years ago I took a class about prehistoric eras, remember? I found the dinosaurs fascinating. Some of them were quite small, not all huge and vicious like that triceratops over there. We might even be keeping them as pets today, if that asteroid hadn’t wiped them all out.”
I couldn’t quite imagine a dinosaur, no matter how small and even-tempered, as a pet for myself. But Magnolia? Yes, I could see her with a pint-sized dinosaur on a leash. I couldn’t recall her taking the class about prehistoric times, but Magnolia is a determined believer in self-improvement, and I knew she’d studied everything from Butterfly Identification to Appreciation of Street Art. Taking a class was actually how her passion for genealogy began.
“The manager isn’t here at the moment, but his wife can let us in,” Mac said. “I need to go in and change a couple of identification plaques anyway. We can do it right now, unless you’re too tired from being on the road?”
Magnolia and Geoff assured him they weren’t too tired. I thought I knew Mac’s real reason for wanting to get into the park immediately. Brian didn’t yet know there were now two motorhomes in the parking lot, and when he came back and surely did notice, he might do more than wave regulations at us.
Mac headed for the Morrison’s door to get a key. I went back in the motorhome to get Mac’s camera, then followed Magnolia and Geoff to the park gate. A minute later Kathy stepped outside, key thrust ahead of her like a weapon. She headed for the gate, determinedly avoiding eye contact with me. But she didn’t get to the padlock on the gate before a call from Magnolia stopped her. And startled me into a stumble as well.
“Genevieve! Ivy didn’t tell me you were here. What a lovely surprise!”
Chapter 6
IVY
Kathy stopped so short she stumbled over her feet. Yet even with shocked recognition written all over her face, she managed to say, “I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I don’t know you. My name is Kathy.”
I hadn’t yet had a chance to tell Magnolia about Kathy, so Magnolia had no idea Kathy had also pulled this we’ve-never-met act on me. I hadn’t been able to refute it, but Magnolia was having none of it.
“Of course you know me,” she scoffed.
“My hair color may be different, of course, but so is yours.”
Kathy touched her hair but didn’t retreat from her stubborn stance. “No, I-I really don’t know you.”
“You’d just moved into that little house over on Jefferson Street, remember? Two blocks over from our home on Madison. And you came to my St. Patrick’s Day potluck. I had corned beef and cabbage for everyone. A lovely man came to play the bagpipes. You admired my magnolia trees.”
Hey, I remembered that St. Patrick’s Day potluck. I also remembered that the lovely man may have imbibed a bit too much Irish whiskey before he arrived, and his bagpipe playing occasionally sounded more like the bellow of a lovelorn goose. But something else about that day was even more memorable. Magnolia likes to get into the spirit of the day at her get-togethers, with appropriate outfits to match.
“Oh, it’s you! I guess I—” Kathy might not want to admit she knew Magnolia, but her finger moved to point as if pulled by a magnet. Maybe a green magnet, because Magnolia as a large green elf is not a sight to be forgotten. Green from peak of her pointy hat to the curled toes on her pointy shoes. And hair delicately green as well.
I couldn’t remember Kathy at that crowded potluck, but now I knew why she looked so familiar. And Magnolia was right. Kathy’s hair was different now. It was mousy brown back then. “I remember now! I occasionally walked over on Jefferson, and sometimes you were out working in your flowers. Once, when you were transplanting geraniums to hanging baskets on the front porch, you even gave me a little pot with a beautiful red geranium in it.”
Kathy still didn’t admit knowing either of us, but she did make a generic statement. “I’ve always loved having flowers in hanging baskets. Especially geraniums.”
“And then your husband became ill—” Magnolia broke off and reached out to touch Kathy’s hand. “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. We’re bringing up painful times and upsetting you, aren’t we?”
Kathy blinked and twisted the key in her hands. Her mouth opened as if she still wanted to deny what Magnolia and I were saying about knowing her, but finally her shoulders slumped. “Your St. Patrick’s Day potluck was the only neighborhood event he was ever able to attend. I don’t think he went out of the house except to go to the doctor after that.”
“And then he passed away.” Magnolia’s voice was gentle and regretful. Magnolia can be blunt, but she’s never unkind. “A sudden heart attack.”
Kathy tucked her hands around her waist as if trying to comfort herself. “It wasn’t really sudden. He had heart trouble, and I knew it could happen. But still, it was a terrible shock.”
Magnolia turned to me. “It was after you’d left Madison Street, so you wouldn’t remember.”
Mac and Geoff had remained silent. Mac had never met either Kathy or her now-dead husband back in Missouri, and Geoff, though he sometimes takes charge, usually lets Magnolia do the talking.
“I used my first name back then, of course. Genevieve. Genevieve Higman. But when I had to start a new life without Andy, I decided to use my middle name, Katherine. Kathy. It was kind of a . . . you know, closure thing.”
Magnolia gave her a big hug. “I’m glad you were able to make a new life for yourself.”
Kathy looked up and blinked. “Yes. Brian and I are very happy together. I hope Andy would have wanted it that way.”
“I’m sure he would,” Magnolia said.
I hadn’t said anything all this time, but now Kathy gave me a wary sideways glance. “I know you mentioned Missouri and I said I hadn’t been there, but it was the saddest and most heartbreaking and stressful period of my life, and I avoid talking or even thinking about it as much as I can.”
A tacit admission that she remembered me from Madison Street from the first time I mentioned how familiar she looked. Although it wouldn’t have been surprising if she hadn’t remembered me. I’ve never been the kind of woman who’s a magnet for every eye the moment she enters a room, and it was back then I first realized I seemed to have aged into this state of invisibility. A good many people, both then and now, just don’t see me. An invisible LOL. I guess it happens to a lot of older women. It can certainly be a frustrating non-reaction from people but can also be a handy asset for someone who has a peculiar tendency to stumble into murders.
Kathy gave herself a little shake, as if to dismiss the sad past and orient herself to a now state of mind. “Well, let’s see. I’m here to open the gate, aren’t I?”
She did that, and we all trooped inside. Except for Kathy; she didn’t stay to accompany us to the mislabeled dinosaurs. “Click the padlock when you come out,” she said as she headed back to the house, and I was undecided whether this meant she just didn’t want further communication with us and our reminder of her sad past or if she was feeling hostile emanations from the dinosaurs. Maybe she and Magnolia should get together and compare vibes.
Mac and Magnolia had a learned discussion about the various dinosaurs as we walked the winding path. She didn’t mention anything about dinosaur vibes, but she did mention how difficult it was to see the dinosaur figures properly through such overgrown foliage. Although it seemed to me the dinosaurs were perhaps just a bit shy and hiding behind the foliage, that with a little coaxing they might come out.
Then I gave myself a mental slap. They’re just concrete statues, ma’am. Not shy or hostile. No more feelings than a fireplug and just as immovable.
Mac found the switched identification plaques, corrected them, and took new photos. I took a few photos of Magnolia and Geoff with my cell phone camera too. They turned out quite nicely, much better than the one I’d accidentally taken of myself when I first got the cell phone. I’d never before realized it was possible to get such an oversized and detailed look up your own nose.
Afterward, I fixed lunch, and we discussed whether we should move the motorhomes over to Sheila’s five acres or just head on down to Arizona. Magnolia and I decided to take a walk while Mac and Geoff drove over to look at Sheila’s place. They took BoBandy with them, and I left Koop sleeping on the bed in the motorhome. I’d once thought I’d teach him to walk on a cat leash, but usually calm Koop turned into King Kong Cat and climbed the leash as if it were the Empire State Building. Now, he often does accompany us on walks but only on his no-leash terms.
Magnolia changed into her safari pants with all the pockets and brought along a carved walking stick acquired from a found relative who said he’d carved it himself for hiking in the Himalayas. Maybe true, although I suspected it more likely once had a “Made in China” sticker attached and hadn’t been any closer to the Himalayas than I have. I also thought that Kathy, now that our prior acquaintance had been established, might come out to join us for a walk, but then I saw that both vehicles were gone.
Magnolia talked about their search for the relatives in Idaho as we walked, but I have to admit I wasn’t really listening. Instead my mind wandered around in these newly revealed facts about Kathy.
She’d told me that she and Brian had been married a “few years,” but, if her husband’s death had come after I first left my home on Madison Street to escape the murderous Braxtons, there couldn’t have been much time between his death and when she married Brian.
Was that really why she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge she knew me when I first said I was sure I recognized her from somewhere? Because if she did admit she’d lived near Madison Street back in Missouri, she knew I’d realize she’d remarried within a very short time, maybe within days, of her husband’s death?
Another thought ballooned through that one. Had Kathy been in a relationship with Brian even before the ill husband died?
That got into the slimy ooze of gossip, but then an even more ominous thought balloon exploded through the others. What if the husband’s death hadn’t been a natural heart attack? What if Kathy had somehow brought it on so she and Brian could be together? Was there a way to do that? Withhold his heart medication? Give him a triple dose of it? Was grandmot
herly-looking, dinosaur-cookie-baking Kathy really a husband killer?
Back off, Ivy, I chastised myself the instant those though-balloons threatened to expand to spaceship size. Because, just like my wondering about a dead body in the house when Kathy hadn’t immediately opened the door, this rocketed into sleazy tabloid territory with alien-baby stories and bloody novels with toothy vampires on the covers. In real life, ill spouses die; living spouses get on with their lives and remarry. Perhaps sooner than old-fashioned rules might consider proper, but nothing sinister about it.
My mind resisted that logical thinking and instantly hoisted another red flag: maybe it was Brian who got impatient and somehow hurried the first husband’s death along.
I hastily shut off this line of thinking, and all its subversive tentacles too, and turned to Magnolia. “You said you’d had some kind of ‘experience’ with the last relatives you were looking for?”
“Ivy, I’ve just been telling you.”
“I’m sorry.” Not wanting to admit I’d been rambling around in murder plots again, I determinedly moved on. “You did find the relatives you were looking for, then?”
“After chasing all over Idaho. A bill collector said they’d written enough bad checks to paper a jail cell. A landlord claimed they’d made meth in the kitchen of his rental house. A neighbor said he’d loaned them a pickup for an emergency, and they just disappeared with it.”
“But you kept searching for them anyway?”
“Well, that information concerned me, of course, but mistakes and misunderstandings happen.” Magnolia looked uncomfortable, but she’s always reluctant to admit her gene pool may have some swampy areas. “But when we finally caught up with them at a place out in the mountains, they stuck a shotgun out the window.”
What could I say? Good thing they didn’t grab the semiautomatic rifle and just start blasting?
Detour Page 6