by Tamara Woods
The stairs that led up to the front door were cement. They paused to let Auntie on the wide wooden porch in front of the stained glass front facade of the church. The door was propped open welcoming parishioners, letting out all of the warm air. Inside the church was a bit darker with thick maroon carpet that matched the cushions on the pews. In front was the pulpit where Pastor Collins was greeting people who came up to him. Isa felt relieved that he wasn't waiting for people at the door. She didn't want him to get any ideas that she'd be coming all the time.
They walked in a bit early, which was the norm. Late-comers would bear the brunt of sideways glances and passive-aggressive comments.
Like:
"Bless your heart honey, did your alarm clock break overnight?"
Or:
"It's so good to see you, sweetie, wish I could've talked to you before the sermon, but I guess I missed you."
All of it annoying as heck.
Her aunt split away from her, making a beeline toward the Ladies Who Lunch, all of whom wore their matching floppy hats. Auntie stuck out with her hair wrapped in a scarf, but somehow, she still seemed to fit right in. Isa sighed and looked around.
Jamie Sutton waved at her and smiled, heading toward her. "Hey, girl! I heard you were back in town, how are you?"
"I'm good! But not as good as you are, I see,"
Jamie smiled and patted her rounded tummy. "Yup, there's something in the water. This is our third. Our other kids are in Sunday school."
She patted her husband's hand and he smiled, rubbing his thinning hair self-consciously. "This is my husband, Gary. Gary, this is Isa. We were good friends in school."
Isa smiled and shook his hand, "I think we were all pretty good friends."
"Well, most of us anyway," Jamie said, cutting her eyes toward Tiffany and her mean girls crew.
"Some people were really living out their 90s teen movie fantasy," Isa said. "I better find my seat before Pastor Collins starts. It was good to see you, Jamie and good to meet you, Gary."
They said their goodbyes and she moved toward Clare, who sat near a window as usual with her mother. Auntie's crew had made their way to the front where they could hear better and show off their hats to the congregation.
Clare leaned toward her, lowering her voice. "Did you see who came in together?"
"No, who?"
"Girls, he's about to start," Miss Olivia admonished them, just like they were in grade school again.
They sat at attention, looking face forward with their hands clasped in their lap. Grownups or not, Miss Olivia did not play. Pastor Collins topic of the day was forgiveness and learning how to be more benevolent with your fellow man. He wasn't a particularly inspired speaker, but he laid out his lessons in easily digested sound bites. Perfect for the casual churchgoer.
Isa’s mind started to drift and she thought over all that had happened. After she'd gotten home from the diner, she hadn't been able to settle down. She'd gone onto Facespace and had looked over Chad's page. He was a guy who liked to show himself off. Pictures of him cutting logs, measuring a doorway, while flexing his muscles, mowing a lawn while flexing, drinking a beer while flexing. He also had a lot of "hot chicks" posted on his feed, some of them in varying stages of undress. But she could see what Ester had meant. Nobody seemed to be any sort of special to him. Maybe one of them was the girlfriend he had on the DL and she'd finally gotten fed up with his disrespectful ways. Would that be enough for her to kill over?
There was one post that seemed to really tell her all she needed to know about his humor and what he thought about women. A meme with a picture of a smiling guy from the 50s that wasn't attributed to anyone, but she doubt he'd said it. He didn't seem like he was the type.
Women can say NO...unless they're dyslexic. Then it's on!
If her eyes could've rolled any further they'd have got stuck.
A few songs, a few testimonials, a few prayers for some elderly people who couldn't make it due to illness, and everyone was ready to leave.
After services were over, everyone was shaking hands and offering good tidings of faith and love. It was nice. Yet, Isa felt a little cynical about the whole thing. Every one of these people had somehow in one time or another said something to her that made her feel some type of way in the past. That had stolen a happy moment from her or made her feel insecure. Granted she should let the past stay in the past, but it was hard to let things go.
"Oh, there you are, Isa. You look so nice. Like you're on your way to one of your black funerals."
Black funerals? Isa winced hearing her grating voice but tried to draw on that grace her aunt had instilled in her.
"Hello Tiffany," she said, her voice even toned and her smile as fake as the pastor's toupee.
"Did you enjoy the service? I know you must not get a lot of God in your Auntie's house what with her being a heathen and all."
She had a smear of red across her teeth from her lipstick that Isa decided to let her keep.
"You know Tiffany, in Matthew 7 Verse 12, it says: Therefore whatever you desire for men to do to you, you shall also do to them; for this is the law and the prophets.
My aunt embodies that sentiment in a way that you couldn't possibly understand. Thank you for the fellowship. I hope you and yours have a wonderful day."
While Tiffany's mouth dropped open with her streaked teeth showing, Isa spun around and went to find Clarebel. She didn't have time for that kind of foolishness, especially when she and her bestie were going to the land of gossip—Miss Harriet's house. Even the younger people their age went to the grand dame of The Ladies Who Lunch's home after services. And even though her home was expansive, everyone still brought a dish. Isa had made deviled eggs, much to her own amusement. Her aunt made her infamous coffee cakes. She hadn't been too deep into her "tiny little iddy biddy piece of a drink" last night, so the dessert looked pretty good.
Isa and her aunt gave a ride to Clare and her mom, who was having difficulty climbing into Clare's truck.
Miss Harriet lived a little outside of town in a larger home up on a hill. She always complained that it was too much house for her, but it was a family home, so she couldn't possibly sell it.
One day, Auntie had suggested she try to get some tenants or a caretaker to help her with upkeep, but Miss Harriet said, "I don't want nobody coming up in here stealing my things and moving stuff to where I cain't find it."
And so she puttered around trying to get it to be a nice, but just getting too tired to do it all.
They drove down Main Street onto the backroad, past the diner and the biker bar. Soon they had reached Rolling Hills Estates. This area was where the "upper echelon" of the town lived, like the mayor and his wife. And the owner of the local newspaper/grocery store. It wasn't nearly as fancy as the name sounded. It just meant they were outside of town where their property taxes were a bit lower and the homes were more scattered.
As the women drove up the winding hill, Isa was so glad the first snow of the fall hadn't happened yet. They would have been slipping and sliding from here to next Sunday. All around them, trees were starting to drop their leaves, but in some areas the grass was knee-high. Are they not paying lawnmowers out here?, Isa wondered.
The driveway leading up to Miss Harriet's house seemed to lead up the side of a mountain. Isa saw a rabbit run through the brush, peeking here and there.
The grass closer to Miss Harriet's was low. Isa mentioned that someone must have mowed there recently.
"That Chad boy would come out once a week and mow for her before we'd break bread at her house after services," Auntie said, taking a pull from her flask.
"Auntie! What are you doing?"
"Girl, I'm minding my own business, that's what I'm doing. We out that church and I need me a little juice to get me through this."
"Now Maybel, you know you can't go up in there smelling like the drink. They'll eat you up alive." Clare's mother admonished. "At least not alone. Now pass that flask back h
ere so I can take a little sipple."
Auntie passed it to the back seat and Isa rolled her eyes. Had everybody become a lush while she was gone?
"Aunt Maybel, you're a bad influence," Clare said, shaking her head, but she looked more ready to laugh than anything else.
Isa followed the tire tracks through the side of Miss Harriet's yard where everyone parked in the flat area. She didn't bother locking up. Clare jumped out and opened her mother's door, offering her hand to her mother for assistance.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Miss Olivia said, waving her daughter away.
Aunt Maybel was already out, having another drink from her flask. Isa looked around, taking in the vehicles that were already there and the landscape.
Her aunt straightened up her clothes and checked her scarf, and was ready to go. After another sip from the flask.
"Could you at least try to be slick with it?" Isa said in a last-ditch effort to corral her aunt.
"Girl,” she said drawing the world out. “I was slick before you knew slick was slick."
Oh no, she had that tone of voice already. Isa shrugged. Whatever was going to be happen was going to happen. She would leave it between her aunt and her God.
Isa noticed empty spaces on her walls where Miss Harriet had sold paintings and other pieces of artwork. She imagined the upkeep for a home like this must be massive. They reached the tea room where a buffet was started on a long table that had a faded blue and white runner on it. Isa's eyes widened.
"We forgot the food! I'll go out and get our dishes."
Miss Harriet came over and tutted at her, taking her lightly by the arm. The elderly woman's hand had a slight palsy to it and was spotted with age.
"Uh-huh, you ain't got to do that when there's all these able-bodied young ones to do it," Miss Harriet turned and hollered much louder than her little stature would lead you to believe. "Brendan! Go on and out there and get this girl's potluck from the backseat."
It was the cute guy from the brewery downtown. His eyes lit up when he looked at her.
"Yes ma'am," he said and winked at Isa.
She tried not to meet his eye and tried not to blush. She described her car to him. As the handsome man walked away, Clare wiggled her eyebrows at her best friend who tried valiantly to ignore her.
"I didn't realize he was here," Isa said, trying to sound casual. Or that his name was Brendan.
"Oh yes, he comes in with the rest of those young hooligans late. Sitting in the back like Jesus don't know," Miss Harriet said. "But he knows." She gave Isa a sharp look. "About EVERYTHING.'
Isa took a step back and smiled weakly. She wasn't sure what Miss Harriet thought Jesus knew, but it definitely wasn't all like that.
Perfect timing, he walked back in carrying the bag that had the Tupperware. "Here's the food. Where do you want me to put it?"
"I'll find a place for it," Isa said, grateful for the interruption. She went to grab him from him and he pulled it out of her reach.
"You lead," he said.
She led him to the dining room table. He put the bag down with a thud and she set up their dishes.
"Miss Harriet has been after me to come to church for a long time," he said.
He stood close enough that she could feel the heat from his arm. She leaned away. He was cute and all, but she didn't like her space encroached on like that. Besides, all it took was to stand beside someone a little too close to feed the gossip folks.
"What finally brought you out?" she asked, popping lids off of Tupperware.
"I heard you might be here, so I took a chance," he said.
She blinked wordlessly a few times and then ducked her head down. She murmured something noncommittal, refusing to look at him. Her face felt hot under his scrutiny.
"Thanks for the help. I'm going to catch up with some people. I'm sure I'll talk with you later," she said. He opened his mouth to say something, but she hurried off. She really hadn't seen some of these people in years.
"It's so good to see you again Isa," said Mr. Moran, her high school track coach.
She gave him a hug. When she had been on his team, he'd supported everything she'd done. She probably wouldn't have made it through most of her high school years without his support. Even afterward, he had been one of the only people to send her Christmas cards with a little extra cash during the holidays.
"How's the team looking this year?" she asked.
He shook his head, "It's not looking like anything. Track and field were cut."
"No!" She was shocked. They were a smaller school, but their track team had always been its strongest sport.
He shrugged looking sad. "I guess they didn't figure it was important enough to put any money into it. Nobody tried to fight the school board. So here we are. I'm retired at 60."
"I'm sorry, Coach."
He shrugged again, looking down at his shoe. Then he brightened. "I hear you're going to be at your aunt's now. Maybe you can put in a word at the Board about the team?"
"Me?"
"Sure! You're a town success story and now you're back to help your elderly aunt to run her shop. They'll eat that up!"
"Elderly! I'm going to make you eat those words, Wilbur Moran. I've only got a couple years on you."
He blushed rubbing his hair sheepishly, "Oh, you know what I mean, Maybel."
"Uh-huh, I bet I do. I might be elderly, but I still know how to shake it," she said and did a shoulder shimmy.
Isa watched his Adam's apple shake while he tried to swallow. She took that moment to run away. Seemed like she did more of that today than anything else.
She took the moment to look around.
The home was bigger than her aunt's in just about every way. The ceilings were taller, with deep pine and thick beams running across the ceiling. Beautiful dark wood was everywhere. And deer heads. And a bear in a corner. Miss Harriet's husband must have been a hunter. The fireplace was a deep red brick that had an inviting fire crackling in front.
Isa stood in front of it, warming her chilled hand. She wasn't sure how to start the investigation. Who should she talk to? She felt like she needed to do something, but she wasn't sure how.
"I ain't gonna lie. I'm not sad that he's gone."
Her ears perked up at the man's voice. She wanted to turn to look but didn't want to attract any attention.
"Course you ain't. Who is? He was a bastard. But he was my bastard." Another voice broke off a little.
"Don't cry now. They'll put Travis under the jail after what they found putting him at the scene. That boy always was too big for his pants. Always thought he was better than everybody."
The man's voice was filled with satisfaction. "I bet he ain't feeling so fancy now that he's locked up."
She looked toward the voices slowly and saw that there were two people standing behind a plant. She could see the top of the guy's head. He was a balding redhead. The woman was covering her face with a handkerchief, but her body was fairly curvy and she had blond hair.
"Hey, I've been looking for you!" Clarebel said, coming over and hitting Isa's shoulder with her own.
"Hush! Who is that?" she whispered, pointing at the people.
She looked over and whispered back. "That guy is Chad's brother. I don't know who the woman is. I don't think I've ever seen her before."
"She wasn't at the church. That much I'm sure," Isa said. She'd been paying attention to everyone sitting there to stay awake.
"Well, that's a mystery, isn't it?"
"Great, that's all I need. Another mystery."
A little bit later, everyone was getting ready to eat. Even the Mayor was there with his wife, Sally Anne, holding court in the formal dining room. Whenever there was free food, he always was there. He was also a carpenter and helped man the road crew to clear ice and snow. Being mayor of a small town didn't really pay all that much, but fortunately, Sally Anne came with the money to go with his title.
"I never would've thought that Travis boy would've been
a murderer, but I guess you never really know a person," said the Mayor, sucking the meat off of a drumstick.
"They always say to look at the quiet ones," someone said out of the group. Everyone murmured in agreement.
"But Travis has never been quiet," Isa blurted. The group turned to look at her.
"You don't think Travis did it?"
"Of course not. Travis is taking the fall for somebody and I'm going to find out who," she said, looking around to see if she had provoked a reaction.
"If you think you could do better than my brother, by all means, Nancy Drew," Sally Anne's laughter had a sharp edge.
Isa raised an eyebrow. She had forgotten in addition being a pain in the butt, Sally Anne was Sheriff Watson's sister. Great.
"I wouldn't call myself Nancy Drew, but I'm pretty sure I know when somebody's got the wrong guy."
Sally Anne's laugh had a derisive edge to it.
"Maybe there needs to be new blood in that office," Mrs. Garris, Travis's mom spoke for the first time. Everyone turned to her, eyes widening, whispering erupted. They hadn't realized she was in the room too. The phone lines would be burning tonight.
"What does that mean? Since your son is in the hot seat, my brother has to be wrong?" Sally Anne's chest seemed to expand, her eyes sharpening. The mayor was by her side and put a warning hand on her shoulder that she shrugged off.
"No, what it means is if people want to get away with murder, all they have to do is be in your brother's district. Remember that fire in the early 90s over in Tiltonsville? They never did find who set that fire."
"That fire was ruled an accident."
"Accident my aunt fanny," she said.
"If you would excuse me," Isa said and spun away. She didn't want to be put under the gun. She preferred to fly under the radar unless she was helping someone at the library. Controversy and drama weren't her things. She liked to be friends with everybody.
Clare found her on the front porch, shivering with her hands under her armpits.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Sure, sure. I just told half the town I thought my ex couldn’t be a murderer in front of his mom, everything is peachy." Her sarcasm was thick.