2 On the Nickel

by Maggie Toussaint

  “This person is unreasonable. I explained how the corporation assets aren’t liquid and got nowhere. What the hell am I going to do? If I sell enough of the land to buy this person out, I’ll cripple the development and lose my shirt.”

  “How about a gradual payoff?”

  “Nope. This person wants the entire chunk of change up front. And they want it yesterday.”

  “Who are we talking about here?”

  Darnell grimaced. “You don’t remember?”

  I shook my head. My stiff neck strained at the movement.

  Darnell looked me straight in the eye. “Erica Hodges.”

  Erica Hodges.

  I was beginning to hate the sound of her name. Every time it cropped up, something bad happened to my family. I stated the obvious. “She’s dead.”

  “But her heirs aren’t. I had a phone call from her daughter, Eleanor, last night, demanding Erica’s share immediately.” Darnell wiped his brow. “It makes no sense to liquidate White Rock now.”

  “Are there liquid funds in your other investments that you could move around to cover Erica’s share in White Rock?”

  “No. I’m completely leveraged. I never should have tied up so much of my personal money in this development.”

  Another idea occurred to me. Maybe I could help Darnell. “What about Bitsy Davis? Why don’t you ask her if she’ll purchase Erica’s share?”

  A faint glimmer of hope appeared on Darnell’s face. “Would she do it?”

  “I don’t know, but it won’t hurt to ask.” I rose to leave.

  Darnell reached for the phone, hope flaring in his eyes. “Thanks, Cleo.”

  I limped out of there, satisfied I’d helped him. If only I could fix Mama’s troubles so easily. I checked my watch. The girls were getting ready to spend the afternoon with their dad. Mama wasn’t going anywhere without a car, but I dreaded the conversation we would surely have.

  The wind stirred my damp hair. Here I was in downtown Hogan’s Glen on a Saturday morning. I wasn’t normally down here this time of day. But Jonette was. She’d whip me into fighting shape in short order.

  The Tavern was around the corner from city hall. As I hurried there, the breeze picked up and blew right through my thin white shirt. A glance at the darkening sky alerted me of an approaching storm.

  The thing about living in a valley was that you couldn’t accurately predict how far away a weather system was. Once you saw clouds over the mountain range, you might have a few hours or a few minutes, depending on the height and speed of the front. With any luck, the shower would come and go while I was at the Tavern.

  I hugged my arms close to my body and walked as fast as my aching muscles would allow. I stepped inside the Tavern, entering a world where time stood still. It was permanently 1970s in here, from the rock-n-roll paraphernalia dotting the walls to the raucous music filling the cozy room. Due to the dark-red ceiling and the hunter-green walls, the dim lighting seemed barely adequate.

  The wonder of it was that Jonette wasn’t blinded by sunshine after being in such a murky environment most of the time. I headed for her section in the back of the room.

  “Cleo!” Jonette took one look at me and handed off the tray of food she carried to a solid pony-tailed man behind the bar.

  “Dean, I’m going on break,” Jonette said. “Take this to table five.” Jonette untied her black cocktail apron and fixed us two cups of coffee. She slid in the booth across from me.

  I wasn’t surprised she told her boss what to do. Jonette had a way of twisting men around her finger without even trying. What surprised me was the look of alarm in Dean’s eye until he realized Jonette was sitting with me.

  “What’s wrong, Clee?” Jonette asked.

  “You haven’t heard?”

  Jonette’s eyes lit up. “Oh goody. News. It’s been slow in here this morning.”

  “It may be news to you, but it’s a nightmare to me.” I leaned forward to sip my coffee. The moist steam rising off the coffee opened my senses, the jolt from the caffeine revved up my flagging energy. “Mama was taken in for questioning last night.”

  Jonette grimaced. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I couldn’t.” I shook my head sadly. “I just couldn’t talk about it.”

  “Wait.” She met my level gaze. “Last night as in hot date last night?”

  “Only half of a hot date. We were dining when I got the call.”

  “Frustration on top of frustration, right?”

  I rubbed my eyes. “It’s such a mess. Britt believes Mama murdered Erica.”

  “Murder? I thought it was hit and run. An accident.”

  “Britt says it wasn’t an accident. He’s convinced Mama was behind the wheel.”

  “Dang.” Jonette sipped her coffee. Around us, Lynyrd Skynyrd sang of coming home to Alabama. Conversations at the bar counter ebbed and flowed. I caught Dean glancing at us as we put our heads closer together.

  Smart man.

  He had to know Jonette and I were scheming and anything could happen.

  “Where is she? Did Detective Dumb-as-Dirt keep her locked up overnight?”

  “No. He said she wasn’t a flight risk. She hasn’t been officially charged with murder. They’re checking her car against the other evidence.”

  “What have they got?”

  “Nothing good. All the evidence indicates Mama’s car ran over Erica. More than once. Intentional acts of violence. Britt says it’s murder. Mama says she didn’t kill anyone. I want to believe her.”

  “You know you do. Me, too. What’s next?”

  I sighed. “That’s the trouble. I’m exhausted, and I can’t think straight. Mama’s not talking, Rafe’s mad at me for ruining our night of wild sex, and Britt’s breathing down my neck. Top that off with a morning with Atilla the Grinning Gorilla at the gym, and my life sucks.”

  Jonette laughed. “No wonder you’re hiding out in here.”

  I bristled. “I am not hiding out. I came here for sympathy.”

  “Forget it.” Jonette waved off my remark. “You don’t need sympathy. You need a swift kick in the pants. We’re good at figuring out stuff, so we’ll find out what your mother is hiding. That will take care of Britt, too. Rafe will be fine once he gets you in the sack again. What I want to know is, who is Atilla the Grinning Gorilla? Evan the hunky gym dog?”

  I waved off Jonette’s dancing eyebrows. “Don’t go looking at me like that. I am not interested in Evan Hodges. He stood me up. Instead, I had a pint-sized personal trainer named Gen. She was merciless, and she grinned incessantly. I won’t be able to walk for days, and I’m sure I’ve ruined my golf game.”

  Jonette waved her hand like it was a magic wand. “Your game wasn’t good to start with. A few lessons from a certain golf pro will fix what ails you. See. One problem solved.”

  “If only it were that easy.” But I felt better. “How’s the election campaign coming along?”

  “Been working on a slogan. What do you think about ‘Moore for Mayor’?”

  “Not bad. Not bad at all.” The front door opened and my ex walked in and folded his wet umbrella. I did not want to deal with him right now. “Hide.” I ducked under the table.

  Jonette joined me. “Who are we hiding from?”

  I peeked over the table in time to see Charlie stop at the bar and talk to Dean. He directed Charlie toward our booth in the back corner. “Never mind. Dean ratted us out.” I sat up and slid close to the outer edge of my bench seat so that there was no room on my side of the booth.

  Undeterred, Charlie slid in next to Jonette. “Hello, gorgeous.”

  “All my customers say I’m gorgeous,” Jonette said, primping her short brown hair, turning his attention from me to her.

  “You ladies are too beautiful for words,” Charlie said with a broad smile that included both of us. His arm reached casually along the back of the seat.

  A glass shattered over at the bar. A spine-tingling shiver shook me from head to toe. �
��Charlie, what brings you here?” I asked pointedly.

  “I heard about Delilah’s run-in with the law. I’m here to offer my services. What can I do?”

  If I took him up on his offer, he’d think he was making progress toward getting me back. I needed help, but I didn’t need it that badly. My spine stiffened. “What makes you think we’re doing anything?”

  Broken glass screeched on the ceramic tile floor. Behind the bar, Dean muttered something unintelligible. Poor fella. He must be having a hard time collecting the shards of glass.

  “Come on,” Charlie pleaded. “I know you better than that. You wouldn’t sit back and let your mother go to jail.”

  I anchored my hands firmly on my coffee cup. “You don’t want to get mixed up in this, Charlie. Britt’s already thinking I’m an accessory to murder.”

  Charlie leaned forward, his arm slipping off the bench and onto Jonette’s shoulder. “Even more reason for me to get involved. I don’t want you in Britt’s clutches. Besides, I can’t let the mother of my children rot in jail as an accessory. What have you got?”

  “We’ve got nothing.” Jonette gazed up at Charlie with adoring eyes.

  My mouth dropped open. Jonette thought Charlie was the biggest loser on the planet. What was going on here?

  “What’s the plan?” Charlie asked, his gaze fixed on my face. Jonette might as well have been roadkill for all the notice he took of her adulation.

  “The plan is to find out who hated Erica enough to kill her,” I said. “Once I know that, I have a chance to clear Mama.”

  “I’ll help,” he said.

  “No!” Alarm flared from stem to stern. “I mean, no thanks. I don’t want a lot of people running around asking questions. If you want to help, keep your eyes and ears open.”

  “I’d like to do more,” Charlie said.

  He looked so wistful, so earnest. My heart softened. “How about if I bank your request? I’m sure I’ll need help along the way.”

  Pleasure flared in his blue eyes. “Deal.”

  Dean approached our booth with a fisted hand. He opened his palm and campaign buttons rained down on the table. “Here. Have a button.”

  “Moore for Mayor,” the bold red print proclaimed. I snatched one up and pinned it on my polo shirt. “Thanks. I’d love to support our candidate.”

  Charlie stared at the brightly colored buttons like they were a nest of venomous snakes. “What’s this?”

  Jonette picked up a button and pinned it on Charlie’s shirt. “I’m running for mayor. You’ll wear this for me, won’t you, Chuckie?”

  Charlie glanced from Jonette to me and back again. I shrugged. Who knew what the hell was going on here? I certainly didn’t. “Uh, sure,” he said.

  Dean’s hand rested heavily on my shoulder. Tension radiated down his arm, infusing me with the sensation of a swarm of buzzing bees. “Break’s over, Jonette,” he said.

  Jonette’s lower lip rolled out. “Party pooper.”

  “I’ve got to go pick up the girls. Lexy needs a camera for school,” Charlie said, sliding out of the booth. “I meant what I said, Cleo. I want to help.”

  “I won’t forget.” There were lots of things I wouldn’t forget about Charlie Jones. Like the way he had played me for a fool for months. I wouldn’t forget that. Neither would Jonette. So why was she acting so strangely around him?

  I stood as well. “I owe you for a cup of coffee,” I said to Dean. I took a few dollars out of my purse and dropped them on the table.

  “Coffee’s on the house.” He handed me my money back. His sullen gaze riveted on Jonette and Charlie as they walked toward the door.

  Dean was ten years older than Jonette. He had the look of an aging biker, with a stocky build, flat belly, silvery ponytail, and arresting gray eyes. The age difference had made Jonette cautious about getting involved with him in the first place. Now I wondered if there was irreparable trouble in paradise.

  He seemed like a nice guy and he treated Jonette well, which was more than I could say for Jonette’s previous lovers and husbands. A little reassurance might help Dean feel more secure in his affection. “She’s not interested in Charlie,” I volunteered.

  “You don’t understand,” Dean said. “She’s pulling away from me. I feel her withdrawal, and I can’t do a damn thing to stop her from leaving me. If I wasn’t so dull, she wouldn’t look at other men.”

  The stark pain in his voice ate at me. Dean cared for Jonette. Their personal relationship wasn’t casual to him. I’d known Jonette for a long time. She adored masculine attention, which was why the barmaid gig suited her so well. “Jonette’s not fickle. She likes to look, but she’s never cheated on her partner.”

  Dean shook his head sadly, reminding me of the gloomy donkey in the Winnie the Pooh movies. “I’m going to come back from my bartender’s convention next week, and she’ll be moved out of my place. I know it.”

  “That’s not Jonette’s style,” I said. “She doesn’t sneak around. She’s very much an in-your-face type of person.”

  The dimly lit, thinly populated tavern suited Dean’s melancholy mood. I couldn’t guarantee him she wouldn’t leave him. Jonette operated under her own set of rules, in her own time. If she wasn’t in love with Dean, she would move on, but not without a fiery showdown.

  “She hasn’t been in my face lately. That’s the problem. You’re her best friend. Tell me, what do I need to do to get her back?”

  Lord, how was I going to talk my way out of this? “I want Jonette to be happy, but I don’t know what to suggest.”

  Dean mopped his brow. “I’ve spent every waking moment with her, giving her my complete attention, doing chores for her, but it’s not enough. I’m blowing it and I wished to God I wasn’t.”

  He was smothering her. A little time apart would do them a world of good. Poor Dean. He really was gone on Jonette. “My best advice is to be yourself.”

  “Be myself?”

  “Yeah. Don’t try to impress Jonette. Relax. Enjoy your trip next week.”

  He looked skeptical.

  “Hey, life is short,” I said. “Don’t worry. Be happy.”

  Dean nodded. “I know that song.”

  “I thought you might.” I summoned a fleeting smile.

  I walked back to city hall to collect my car. Some of my workout stiffness had abated, but I was physically drained. The day was half over, and I had yet to learn a single thing to keep Mama out of jail. I’d better make progress soon, or it would be too late.

  Mama was drinking coffee in the kitchen when I walked in. I’d had enough coffee, so I poured myself a glass of water and sat down beside her at the scarred kitchen table. As a child I’d done my homework at this table, and now my kids did their homework here. Funny how life circled around.

  “About last night,” I began conversationally. “I know you are holding something back. I need to know what you know so I can help you.”

  Mama stared into her coffee as if the dark beverage contained the secrets of the universe. She hadn’t bothered to dress this morning, and her pale neck looked naked without her usual triple strand of pearls. Her short white hair was snarled and matted. I made a mental note to replace her faded baby-blue bathrobe with a new one at Christmas. If she wasn’t in jail.

  Would Mama tell me her secret? I’d expected her to tell me I was nuts, but her silence told me more than any protest she might have mounted. I had no choice but to keep dancing around the topic.

  “You’re not the only one that had run-ins with Erica,” I said. “I believe she extorted money from Muriel. Erica was three months behind in her beauty shop bill. Given those circumstances, I assume she needed money. From there it’s no stretch to assume she was blackmailing you as well as Muriel. What did she have on you?”

  Mama’s eyes flared in alarm. Her lips tightened to a thin colorless line. Deep creases lined her washed-out face. Bingo. I’d hit pay dirt. Erica was blackmailing her. For Mama to be wrinkling her face like a sun-dried
tomato meant she was too upset to care about her appearance. A rare moment.

  I’d gotten used to Mama running the world whenever she took the notion. Seeing her as frail and fragile was like splashing cold water in my face. Sobering. Shocking, even.

  Another realization set in. Though she was broken and hurting, Mama wouldn’t easily yield up her secret. I’d have to push her, hard. Could I be that ruthless? With Mama’s heart condition, I’d be taking a big risk. What if I caused more harm than good? Could I live with the outcome?

  Despair welled up inside of me. Her stubbornness might condemn her to a life behind bars. She needed to trust me. Frustration warred with anger, and anger won. “Dammit, Mama, what is this all about? Why did Erica make your life hell on earth?”

  A fat tear inched down her cheek. Another tear followed. Mama closed her eyes to stem the tide. She uttered a one-syllable word. Her voice was too soft for me to make out what she’d said.

  I leaned forward, cupping my ear. “What’s that? What did you say?”

  Mama’s bleak face filled with sorrow. The spark of life that characterized her gaze was missing. In its place was a glazed look of sorrow. Her head bowed, and her shoulders slumped.

  The bereft woman before me seemed a stranger. A stranger wearing my mother’s ratty bathrobe. When was the last time I’d looked at Mama and really seen her? I couldn’t remember.

  She’d always been there for me, a pillar of feminine strength, with boundless reserves of energy. Now it seemed she’d aged twenty years in the space of ten minutes.

  Guilt stabbed my heart. Mama didn’t get like this overnight. Why hadn’t I noticed the heavy load she carried? I should have noticed her torment before it broke her. I bit my lip in dismay.

  “What is it, Mama?” I asked, my heart in my mouth. “What could be so terrible?”

  I hung there, suspended in that miserable, aching silence. Mama’s anguish and longing crowded out my thoughts, overwhelming all but my autonomic body functions. Warmth drained from my core.

  “Joe.” Mama’s breath caught on a sob. “She wanted my Joe.” She burst into heart-wrenching sobs, cradling her head in her hands.

  I recoiled. I’d done it now. I’d opened Pandora’s box. Predictably, furies poured out and wreaked havoc. “Daddy? She wanted Daddy?”