Buzzkill (Pecan Bayou Series)

by Trent, Teresa

  “I’m sure it was fine,” I said, then added, “she did say something about polka music …” I stopped talking but didn’t close my mouth. Wilhelm leaned forward.

  “Say, do you have your party room open on … Valentine’s Day?” I asked.

  Wilhelm Mueller rested his hands on his ample waist and smiled.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  An hour later I was knocking on the door of Martha Stokes’ farmhouse, now smelling of fresh paint. There were spring pansies newly planted along the front of the house. Strange how I never noticed that Lenny Stokes, a flower grower, didn’t have any flowers growing or landscaping around his house. The Stokes house had looked more like the house you would find on the edge of a junkyard. Now that it was solely Martha’s house, it was beginning to look like something out of Texas Highways or Southern Living.

  I knocked on the front door again, and getting no answer, I started making my way around to the greenhouses. This time I rounded the corner carefully before walking by the beehives, where the vision of Lenny laying dead flashed into my brain. If they attacked Lenny, they could attack Martha. I was more than a little pleased to see that there were no bodies on the ground. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  I stuck my head into the domed greenhouse, feeling the temperature rise around my ears.

  “Martha? Are you in here?”

  “Back here,” she called out from the other end of the plastic-encased structure.

  I made my way through rows of planting beds, each filled with sprigs of flowers reaching into the warm air.

  “I have that sketch for you, and Mr. Andre wants me to get a picture of your flowers, I said. “He wants to make sure the color is right.”

  Martha, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, covered with a denim apron, pulled off her garden gloves and pushed back a stray strand of hair. “Well, come on into the greenhouse and you can see the beginnings of some of my newest babies.”

  “Oh, and I also need to tell you we may have lost Chateau Fischer.

  Martha expelled a breath. “I already know.”

  “How do you know?” I said. “I just heard about it.”

  Morton Fischer stepped out from around the back of a large plant. “Because I told her, Mrs. Livingston.”

  The surprise must have registered on my face, because Martha took my hand quietly.

  “Mr. Fischer and I go to the same church. We’ve always been good friends, and after Lenny died, he decided to help me out around here. Morton – I mean Mr. Fischer – tells me the mix-up was his fault,” Martha said.

  Morton Fischer sighed, somewhat embarrassed by his lapse of memory.

  “Yes, your brother Yancey told me Prissy Olin and her mother say they booked it before we did,” I said to Morton.

  “Actually they did. I had completely forgotten about it, and legally they had us first. My deepest apologies, Betsy.”

  “So, great. Now I’m scrambling for a place for my wedding reception.”

  “Have you checked the VFW hall?” he asked.

  “Even though I had contemplated how to decorate the model B-52 they have out front with a floral arrangement, I am happy to say I won’t need to. I have Wilhelm’s,” I answered.

  “Sorry I’m going to have to miss that,” Morton said. “I’ll be working with Prissy’s reception and hate that I won’t be getting me some of that excellent weinerschnitzel they serve there.”

  Martha’s eyes met mine as the corners of her smile turned up. “Prissy Olin. Now there’s a piece of work. She and Lenny got into it a while back. Her mother wanted to take her senior picture in a field of bluebonnets. Lenny agreed and then went back on them. They are not a good clan to cross.”

  I took her words to heart, thinking about Prissy’s swollen face and the little black eyes that shot out streams of hatred. We started walking toward the third row of the greenhouse.

  “Here they are.” Martha gestured across the rows of flowers like a game show model with a brand-new car. I pulled out my camera and started taking pictures of the deep red blooms.

  “I can’t get over how great the place looks, Martha.”

  “Well, thank you,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong – even after all these years, there was a part of me that still loved my husband, but losing Lenny was probably the best thing that could have ever happened to this business.” Morton quietly nodded his head in agreement.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Zach had been playing with the Mason boys when I picked him up from Scouts. They were running around the playground outside the school. I was a little late getting there and apologized to Benny Mason, the Scout leader and owner of Benny’s Barbecue.

  “That’s all right,” he said. “Celia is home with our little girl. I had no idea they took so long to get through the princess stage. Makes me want to really dedicate my time to scouting.”

  I thought about the friendships that Zach had made while living in Pecan Bayou. Could he do the same in Dallas? Kids are resilient, but moving Zach out of the town he had spent a lifetime in would be difficult.

  We headed to the supermarket after Scouts. The details of the wedding had me preoccupied, and planning for dinners just wasn’t high on my priorities list. I found myself running to the store two or three times a week to pick up something that would be fast and easy. One more night of canned ravioli and I think Zach would rescind all future Mother’s Day gifts. As we wheeled down the grocery aisle, Zach was picking up cereal boxes and reading the back of what seemed like every box on the shelf. He stroked his chin a couple of times as he examined a box of chocolate circles. He didn’t know it, but I had seen this exact gesture in my father many times.

  “Zach? Are you looking forward to living with Tyler and Mr. Leo?”

  Zach looked up from his sugarcoated research. “I don’t know. I guess so.”

  “If we move to Dallas, will that be okay?”

  Zach put the box back on the shelf and answered quickly.

  “Can we take Grandpa and Aunt Maggie?”

  “No, we can’t,” I said. “Their lives are here, but we would have a wonderful life there, I think.”

  “I guess.” He walked farther down the aisle and picked up another box. He seemed to be listening to me, but I couldn’t be sure. I also wasn’t sure if he realized just what a big move the two of us were about to make.

  “Mom, can we buy chocolate crunchies this time?”

  I thought about that for a moment. This would be a great time to indulge him just a little to help him through the transition. It might even make it easier on me. Nevertheless, I stood firm.

  “Don’t think so, Zach.”

  “Aw, come on, Mom.”

  “There’s way too much sugar in that cereal. You know that.”

  “I’ll bet Leo buys it for Tyler.”

  “Right now it doesn’t matter what Leo buys for Tyler,” I said. “All we’re worried about is what we are having for dinner tonight.” He snorted and put the box back on the shelf.

  “Now, I asked you how you felt about moving to Dallas,” I pressed. “Are you okay with that?”

  “I told you, Mom,” he said emphatically. “I don’t know.”

  Something inside me told me I needed to stop. There wasn’t any use in interrogating a ten-year-old about his future. I had wanted him to act and think like an adult and help me work out this issue. I knew deep down that someday my little boy would be a grown man and we could talk about decisions like this, but for right now I was on my own.

  ******

  At two days before the wedding, I felt like I needed to have a giant white board installed in my kitchen. With the help of Mr. Andre and Aunt Maggie we had arranged for everything, including a German buffet for the reception. One thing Prissy Olin didn’t get to was our wedding singer. Myrtle Richey had chosen to sing for us for free over Prissy, especially when we promised all the bratwurst she could eat at Wilhelm’s.

  I picked up a stack of bills from where they had fallen on the floor fro
m the mail slot. I sorted through the electric bill, the water bill and a bill marked “personal and confidential” from Chateau Fischer. I put them all down on my desk, vowing to deal with them after the wedding. We had filled out the necessary paperwork last week and acquired our official wedding license, and it was now sitting on the corner of my desk. I picked up the little piece of paper that would change our lives and set it on top of the stack of bills so I wouldn’t forget it. The flowing white wedding gown was now hanging on Aunt Maggie’s old dress-fitting form in the den. This was finally happening.

  I walked over and felt the layers of soft tulle between my fingers. Looking at that dress made it all suddenly seem very real. I had avoided discussing the prospective house with Leo. For now, Zach and I would move into Leo’s apartment until we could find a place big enough for our new family.

  A few half-packed boxes stood against the wall of the den. It was amazing how many things you could accumulate in ten years. Leo had filled out the paperwork to register Zach at Tyler’s school, and he was due to start there next week. The only part Zach had quibbled about was having to leave Butch behind for a while until we got into our new house. Butch needed a yard to run in, and I couldn’t imagine what he could do to an already crowded apartment.

  To Zach this whole thing was an adventure. To me, every second we got closer, it was more terrifying.

  I promised Rocky that I would continue to write my column from Dallas. He promised in turn that he would continue to mail my checks to me. Of course, after the Prissy incident, I wasn’t even sure if anyone would ever trust what I had to say again.

  “I know you’re making a new life for yourself, Betsy. But this old man sure is going to miss you,” Rocky had said on my last visit to the paper.

  “Dallas isn’t that far away,” I had said.

  “How’s your dad doing with all of this?”

  “You know, I’m really not sure,” I admitted. “Sometimes he seems fine with all of it, excited even, and sometimes he just gets quiet.”

  “What do you expect? He’s losing his daughter.”

  “And I feel like I’m losing him.”

  “Betsy, are you sure you really want to do this?” Rocky asked.

  I sighed. “I really want to make a life with Leo. It’s unfortunate that our lives are in two different places. This is the only way to make this work.”

  “It seems to me like you’re already doing all the giving in this relationship. Is there nothing that Leo can do to keep you in Pecan Bayou?”

  That conversation still echoed with me, and I wondered if Rocky had been right that day. Maybe I should have held out a little longer. Now we were just a few days from the wedding, and when I should have been feeling happy to move into a new phase in my life, I felt panicked and sad. The phone behind me started ringing. I was relieved it was Leo calling from Dallas.

  “Betsy, I think we’re all packed up and ready to hit the road,” Leo said. “So what do you say you and I get married this weekend?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. It is Valentine’s Day, after all, and I thought I might have a hot date.”

  “That’s funny, so do I,” he said.

  “What time will you be here?”

  “We should be there in about three hours,” he said, “and Betsy, I have a surprise for you.”

  “A surprise? You mean like a wedding gift?” I was a little amazed that he thought getting his new bride a wedding gift would be a surprise.

  “Not just any wedding gift. Probably the all-time world’s best wedding gift ever.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever.”

  I wondered if the home weather forecasting kit I had for him in the back of my closet was going to measure up to the world’s best gift … ever.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Aunt Maggie, Danny, Zach and I stopped by the community church to meet up with Myrtle Richey to hear the song she would be singing at the wedding tomorrow. I know it was last-minute, and I was willing to trust her, but Mr. Andre insisted we double-check on her choice of music. He was already waiting in the parking lot, sitting in his pearly white Lexus. My whole body ached, and I was feeling close to exhaustion already. I clung to the thought that maybe the load would be lifted somewhat when Leo joined me in all of this. He would be by my side tonight at the rehearsal dinner, and I looked forward to waking up with him on Sunday morning, free of all of this marital mayhem.

  As we stood in the back of the musty church, Myrtle was standing at the front, her hands clasped at her bosom. She hit a high note as her hand rested on the shoulder of a middle-aged woman pounding out vocal warm-up exercises on the organ. The woman’s hair was done up in a bouffant style that looked fresh from the Hair House. I could recognize Ruby’s work from a mile away. As she plunked down the notes, a single strand of hair fell down into her eyes and wobbled back and forth as she moved along the keyboard.

  “Well, she certainly is loud. I’ll give her that,” Mr. Andre said.

  I hadn’t really thought about what kind of music would be played during the ceremony. Myrtle also sang selected pieces for the Mother’s Day Luncheon and was a yearly spectacle as she stood atop her husband’s furniture store float in the Christmas parade. This year she’d sung “Santa Baby” into a sound system that consisted of a speaker tied to the roof of a garishly decorated pickup truck. With that image now in my mind, I began to feel a little nervous about what she had picked for us. She had excitedly chattered on the phone that her vocal styling would reflect on how Leo and I met. Seeing as she loved the fact that we met at a paranormal ghost hunt, I was half worried she would blurt out, “Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters!”

  Myrtle looked up as we walked down the aisle and immediately stopped singing, leaving her high note hanging in the air. She moved her hands up to the side of her rounded face as the joy of our arrival seeped out of her. “Good, you’re here at last,” she said. “We’re so glad you decided on us. I’m sure whoever Mr. Andre would have suggested would have been great, but I’m doing this for free, out of the goodness of my heart. I always say stay local and let us have the opportunity to make this your best wedding ever.”

  She stopped, realizing this wasn’t my first wedding. She spoke again, this time in a quieter voice. “We’ve been so excited to share this with you, honey. I think it’s probably the most special wedding arrangement I’ve ever put together for somebody.” She looked down at the organist and patted her shoulder. Don’t you agree, Irma Jean?” Irma Jean nodded as she blew on the piece of hair that had slipped out and pulled the stray strand back into her bouffant.

  “Well, that’s good to hear,” I said. “We had no idea that planning a wedding would involve so many mishaps and problems. Knowing that our song is safe and sound with you really helps.”

  “Oh, yes. I heard about that,” Myrtle said. “Let’s face it – everybody in town has heard about it.”

  “I threw my jar out,” Irma Jean said.

  “A terrible thing. You couldn’t have known that you were whipping up pure acid. Poor Prissy,” Myrtle said.

  “You just better hope Nancy Olin doesn’t sue,” Irma Jean said.

  “Tell me about it, sweetie,” Mr. Andre added.

  I tried to change the subject. “So, about the song?”

  “Okay.” Myrtle clapped her hands together in delight. “Because you’re marrying a weatherman, we’ve decided on this little number.” She cocked her head to Irma Jean. “Hit it, Irma.”

  Irma Jean rolled off a glissando and started into a sultry version of “Stormy Weather.” Myrtle started to strut back and forth letting her hand trail along the top of the piano like a torch singer.

  “Don’t know why, there’s no sun up in the sky, stormy weather …”

  Aunt Maggie stifled a giggle. “Oh my, Betsy. You’re going to need to wear red, that’s all I can say.” Danny backed up and sat stupefied in the pew. He was entranced by Myrtle’s version of a torch singer. Zach put his hands over his ears and shut h
is eyes.

  I wondered if it was too late to book a DJ.

  “Good Lord,” Mr. Andre said. He ran back to his briefcase and pulled out a piece of sheet music. He plopped it in front of Irma Jean at the organ. “Can you play this?”

  “Well, certainly,” she said, focusing her bifocals on the music.

  “Trumpet Voluntary? This is all instrumental. But what about me?” Myrtle whimpered.

  “Hum along,” Mr. Andre answered.

  A voice yelled out from the back of the church, “Is Pastor Green here?”

  We turned to see Yancey Fischer, his face red from exertion.

  “I think he’s in the back,” Myrtle said, still perturbed. “What’s the matter, Yancey?”

  “It’s Morton. He needs the last rites or final blessing or whatever it is that you do. He’s dying.”

  “He’s dying? What happened to him?” Aunt Maggie said as Myrtle clomped her sensible shoes to the back of the church to find Pastor Green.

  “I found him at his house,” Yancey said. “He had been reading his Bible, and somebody stabbed him. When I got to him he was still conscious, so he’s on his way to the hospital. He couldn’t speak, but he really wanted me to have this.” He pulled a small black Bible out of his coat pocket. “He just kept pointing to the passage he had highlighted.”

  Yancey Fischer held up the page for all of us to see. Pastor Green came closer to the book and adjusted his glasses farther down his nose.

  “This is most confusing,” he said. “He has highlighted the story of Jacob and Esau. Genesis 27, verse 23.”

  “Sorry, Pastor. It’s been a while since I been to Sunday School,” said Yancey. “Why would he mark that? Is this about me and him?”

  “No,” began the pastor, “well, maybe. It is about two brothers. One puts on an animal fur to trick his father into giving an inheritance to him instead of the rightful heir.”