by Teresa Trent
I was just digging into my watermelon parfait and the sweet taste lingered on my tongue. I wasn’t sure if I was more upset with the shortness of the interview or the fact that she was hurrying up my dessert. “Um ... Rocky from the paper wants me to take a few pictures of the grounds, if that’s okay.”
“Sure, no problem.”
I gathered up my things and looked down at my half-eaten parfait.
“Oh, please finish your parfait,” she said. “I really have to apologize. Sometimes Clay gets riled up about stuff, and we all have to go along.”
“That’s probably why this place is so successful,” I said, spooning up the remainder of the delicious pink parfait and trying not to drool juice down my chin. I obediently slurped it up and clanked the spoon into the glass. “All finished.”
Lina grinned again, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Looking into them, I saw sadness more than subterfuge. She lived in a beautiful place and ran a successful business, but still something was strange about her. As I walked out onto the porch, feeling the blanket of heat closing in around my air-conditioned body, thoughts of Lina’s well-being melted from my brain.
Clay Bonnet was coming down the gravel drive steering an ancient white pickup with raised sides. He was in his late forties with a little sun-bleached ponytail sticking out of the back of his weathered ball cap. The truck was nearly full of large green melons, and he jumped out of the driver’s side, pulling on a pair of tan work gloves.
“Miss Happy Hinter! Glad to meet you.” He slipped off a glove and extended his hand for me to shake. “Sorry to have to be rushing you out like this, but I’m sure Lina here supplied you with all you need.”
“Yes, yes she did,” I answered. He still held my hand, and I tried to release it from his grip. Finally, he let go. “I’m just going to take few pictures and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Take your time. Mi casa, su casa.” Somehow I didn’t feel like he really meant it, unless his Spanish words really translated to “get your pictures and then get the hell out of here.”
“Thanks,” I turned back to Lina, now walking behind me. “How long have you lived out here?”
“Oh, about ten years I guess. Clay built the sheds and redid the barn. I fixed up the house,” Lina said.
Clay took hold of my arm with his gloved hand and whispered to me. “We opened the farm to the public about eight years ago when we figured out we could make a lot more money if we had all the city folks picking the fruit. Best decision we ever made.”
“That is if you like everybody in the state of Texas driving up your driveway,” Coop Bonnet said as he came out of the shed. He was cleaning what looked like oil from his hands with an old rag.
“Those folks are personally paying for your college education, young man. Don’t forget that,” Clay added, his grip on my arm tightening.
“How can I? You remind me of it all the time.”
“Well, in case you haven’t noticed it takes money to live these days.”
Lina stepped in between her husband and son. “All right, you two. Let’s not argue in front of our guest ... our guest from the newspaper.” She emphasized the last word as if I were going to run back into Pecan Bayou and start the first gossip column the Gazette had ever published. I felt embarrassed to be standing in the middle of it all, but really it was just a little father-son squabble. Nothing unusual in any family.
As if to emphasize that point, my own father showed up in his police cruiser. The Bonnets and the police had a history, and I was just glad he hadn’t pulled up with the lights and siren wailing. He opened the door, putting on his Stetson and oh-so-insincere grin.
“Morning, folks.”
Clay Bonnet straightened his back and smirked. “What can I do for you, officer?”
“Oh,” my dad’s eyes scanned the landscape, “just thought I’d take a little look around, that’s all. A fellow can never be too nutritious, you know.” He spied Coop Bonnet’s red Corvette and walked over to it. “That is a fine vehicle, young man. I’ll bet you can get some awesome speed on this baby.”
I remembered telling my dad about Zach’s near accident a few days ago.
“Cut the crap, you aren’t here to buy fruit,” said Coop Bonnet.
“Coop! I’m sure the officer is visiting us for all the same reasons as everyone else who comes out to the farm,” said Lina.
“Yeah, right.”
“Are you worried about my being here?” My father tilted his head to one side, his gaze fastening on Coop.
Coop Bonnet cleared his throat. “Uh, no, I don’t care where you are, old man.”
“Coop!” his mother repeated.
“Well, maybe I’m here not to check up on you,” he turned toward me, “but my daughter.”
All eyes rolled to me.
“This is your daughter?” Coop said.
“Sure is.”
Lina Bonnet extended her hand as the thought of the newspaper article probably re-entered her thinking. “Well, welcome to our farm, sir.”
My dad reached out and shook her hand. Clay Bonnet stood back and didn’t extend his hand.
My dad continued as if the slight hadn’t occurred. “And thank you very much for that kind, if not delayed, welcome. Do you mind if I look around a bit?”
“Sure, we have a fresh load of watermelons in.”
He glanced over at the fruit stand. “I can see that. What do you keep in those two sheds back there? More produce?”
Clay Bonnet stepped up and put his arm around my father’s shoulder and guided him toward the bulging baskets of watermelons. “Just farm equipment. The modern farmer requires more gadgets every day. Makes me kind of miss the good old days with a John Deere tractor and a gallon of gas.”
I glanced at my watch. Despite all the tension in the air, if I wanted to get the pictures and turn them in to Rocky, I would have to get to work. “Well, I need to get back to town so I’ll just take my pictures.” I turned and took Lina Bonnet’s hand in mine. It was cool on my skin. Not what I expected in the record-breaking heat of late June. “Thanks for all your help and information.”
“Sure.” She squeezed my hand. “Really hoping for a good write-up for our business. I do the books, and sometimes even I’m not sure how we make it, but we always seem to get by.”
I stepped over to the field surrounding the house and outbuildings and took a picture as I felt the sun beat down on the back of my neck. The field held rows and rows of green striped melons, their various rounded shapes poking out from the tangle of vines. The property was edged by a thick forest of trees in the full bloom of summer. The picture would be beautiful in the online edition of the newspaper. It would have all of the beauty, and without any of the heat. That’s the way to enjoy Texas.
I stepped over to get a shot of the farm from a different angle. The colors were so pretty and beautifully highlighted the old farmhouse. I walked to the side of the lot with the two sheds lining up like soldiers in my pictures. More people were walking around now, either buying watermelons at the stand or going out to the field to pick just the right one. Coop Bonnet had gone back to whatever he had been doing in the shed, and my father had gotten away from Clay Bonnet. If I had to interpret my father’s actions, he was definitely snooping around Coop Bonnet’s car. What was he looking for, the blood of his last victim? I snapped another picture of the people milling around, hoping it would lead to more sales for the farm.
“Excuse me? Aren’t you Mrs. Livingston, the Happy Hinter?”
Behind me a woman stood with her left shoulder slightly stooped from an oversized red leather purse. Was she planning to secretly pop a watermelon in that thing? Had she already? Next to her was a small girl decked out in a pink satin dress with black sequined seeds sewn to the bodice and a green taffeta ruffle. Although her head moved as she took a pose, her hair frozen in a massive heap of Final Net hair spray did not.
“Well, isn’t this a surprise?” the woman said. “I’m Amanda
Harris, and Haley and I were just out getting some glamour shots for the pageant.”
Another pageant parent. Funny how I kept running into them.
“Yes, it is quite a surprise,” I replied.
“This is just wonderful. As long as we have you here, let me get your opinion on the talent Haley will be performing at the Miss Watermelon Pageant.” The woman leaned down and whispered in her daughter’s ear. The little girl broke her pose and then cleared her throat. She smiled, showing a row of fake teeth fitted over her own childhood toothy gaps.
“And now a number from old Broadway,” she lisped – and then proceeded to belt out “Thummertime” from Porgy and Bess. She was heading into the second verse when I stopped her.
“Uh ... Haley. That is just wonderful, and I’m sure it will be great for the pageant.”
“You think so?” said her mother. “We were wondering if maybe we needed to put some dance moves in, you know like this?” She put her bag down on the ground and began to do some jazz hands, stepping side to side.
“I really couldn’t say,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something great. So sorry, I didn’t realize what time it is. Have to get going. So nice to meet you.”
“Nice meeting you and getting this special time together.”
“Yes, well I’m actually out here taking pictures for the paper for a spread we’re doing on the watermelon festival, so I’d better get back to work.”
“Pictures?” She pushed her little girl in front of her, the red purse now a backdrop for precious Haley. “Well, then take one of my Haley so that the people in the town know we’re out here supporting the local watermelon economy.”
“Oh, no need for that. I think I’m just supposed to take pictures of the grounds and a few of the watermelons.”
“You want to promote the pageant as well as the festival, now don’t you? This is the perfect way to do it.” Her voice lowered slightly, “Take the picture.”
Feeling a little intimidated by her tone I raised my camera, “Cheese, Haley.”
“No, no, no. You can’t take her picture standing in front of me.” She looked around and spied one of the two sheds. “Over there against that nice white background.” She tugged both me and her daughter to the white shed twenty feet over from where we were standing.
She posed her daughter up against the shed leaning slightly to the side with one toe pointed. The little girl turned on a fabricated smile, and I snapped her picture.”
“Great, I got it.” I hoped she didn’t ask to see it on the camera as I also got part of the other shed and my dad in the picture.
“Wonderful, I can’t wait to see it in the paper. Where can I get extra copies?”
“Well, there’s no guarantee which picture my editor will pick for the article.”
“Oh, don’t you worry, he’ll pick her. Oh, and could you email me a copy of the picture as well? I would love to add it to her portfolio, you know.” She rummaged through her red bag, pulling out a small business card that read, “Amanda Harris, Manager/Publicist/Parent of Haley Harris.”
“Sure.” I took the card and quickly put the camera back in my bag before she plopped her daughter somewhere else for a picture.
“Back off, cop!” I heard shouted from the other side of the shed. “This part is not open to the public,” Coop Bonnet said.
“And why is that?”
“Because it’s none of your damn business, that’s why.” Lina and Clay Bonnet came running from the fruit stand.
“Lieutenant Kelsey, I think your field trip is now officially over.”
“Whatever happened to that good old farm folk hospitality?”
“You gotta be kidding me with that good ol’ boy grin. You’re just looking for some reason to take me in,” Coop sneered.
“That’s enough, Coop.” His father interrupted the ranting of his red-faced son. “Be on your way, Lieutenant Kelsey.”
“Certainly, but just know the next time I come back I’ll be bringing a search warrant with me.” My father leaned down next to the car and picked up something that was hanging out of the door. “Oh my,” he said. “Look what I’ve found here in plain sight.” My father opened the door and pulled a small baggie that looked like it was full of some sort of moss, but it wasn’t moss. There was also a piece of light blue plastic in the bag that looked like it had been torn off of something.
“Coop, I’m going to have to bring you in for possession.”
“It’s medical marijuana. I have allergies.”
“That's too bad seeing as we don't allow marijuana for medical reasons in Texas.” Coop looked down and shifted his feet.
Clay Bonnet stepped between them. “This is ridiculous. I’ll have a lawyer on your ass before you can pull out of the driveway.”
“I’m sure you will,” my dad answered. He pulled out his cuffs and put them on Coop Bonnet and led him back to his cruiser.
Clay Bonnet took off his ball cap and pushed the sweat out of his eyes. “Don’t worry, son. We’ll have you out in time for supper.”
Chapter Six
Reasoning that my Aunt Maggie would want to know what just went down at the Bonnet farm, I made a quick stop at her house before picking up Zach.
Maggie was stooped over a flowerbed pulling weeds. She wore a floppy straw hat, and when she straightened up to greet me her face was a deep red.
“Aunt Maggie, it’s too hot for you to be out here weeding. Let’s go inside.”
“You’re right, but these weeds have been bothering me for days. I just had to get out here and give ’em a yank. Glad you’re here. Time for a break. I have some fresh-made lemonade in the refrigerator. Some of my lemons were ripe.” Aunt Maggie pulled off her hat and placed it on a peg by the door. I followed her to the kitchen, walking by a wall of pictures that encompassed Danny’s life so far. In one picture he was six catching a fish with his dad, in another he was getting a medal in the Special Olympics.
“Here we go, Betsy.” Maggie placed a glass of lemonade on the kitchen table. “What brings you by?”
I pulled out a chair as she poured her own glass and ran her wrist across her perspiring forehead.
“It’s a couple of things. One concerns your brother, and one concerns your son.”
Maggie pulled a chair up to the table. “Oh, my word. Well, let’s start with Danny.”
I nodded. “We had an interesting conversation at Dr. Springer’s office yesterday.”
“Go ahead.” Maggie raised the glass to her lips.
“He told me he’s in love.”
Maggie put the glass down. “He already told me.”
“What are you going to do about it?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I suppose I’ll just let nature takes its course.”
“What if he gets hurt?”
“I know. I know it’s a problem. But how can I tell him he can’t have a crush on her? How do you think he would react to that?”
She was right. The minute you told Danny he couldn’t have something, he had a hard time understanding. Allison was just a lovely young girl with a good heart. My cousin misunderstood her kindness as romantic affection. Even with Down Syndrome, Danny was a young man with all the same hormones as other young men his age.
“When did he tell you?” I asked.
“Oh, a few days ago, I guess.”
“Didn’t he have a girlfriend from his class?”
“Yes, and as far as I know they’re still an item.”
“Grass is always greener.”
“I guess. So how was your trip to the farm?”
“Funny you should mention that. It brings me to the second reason I came by,” I answered.
“What happened?”
“Dad happened. He was snooping around while I was there.”
“Snooping?”
“He was suspicious of Coop Bonnet and his little red Corvette. He was being so nosy they were about to kick him out. He said he would come back with a search warrant
.”
“He didn’t already have one?”
“Guess not.”
“Doesn’t he watch Law and Order?” Maggie scoffed. “That Bonnet guy and his son. What rednecks.”
“Yeah, well, he’s threatening to sue now, and I was starting to like Lina. She seemed really nice. Then, Officer Judd all of a sudden found a bag of pot when he was leaning over looking at the Corvette. That was enough to arrest Coop. Not my favorite way to get a story for the newspaper.”
“You’re right. You’d think my brother could do his drug busts at a more convenient time.”
“You think? On top of everything else, I’m being stalked by these pageant parents. A mom from the pageant showed up and had her daughter start performing a Broadway number for me. What would happen if the other parents found out that this little girl finagled extra time with the judge? I’m beginning to think I never should have volunteered for this thing.”
“You volunteered?”
“Good point. No I didn’t, but now I’m knee-deep in watermelons and little girls.”
“And their mamas.”
“Right.”
“A stage mother is the most over-focused, well-meaning, crown-pursuing animal out there, darlin’,” said my aunt, “and you just found yourself in their sights. You might want to stick to home until the pageant.”
“If I only could. We haven’t heard anything about Zach’s dog yet.”
“Oh dear. I hope the little fella didn’t get himself run over.”
I rolled my eyes. “I hope not too, but I have this one thing that’s been bothering me.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, and this is going to sound strange, but what if ... maybe ... that British guy at the Loper mansion lied to me?”
“Why would he lie to you?”
“I don’t know, but I can’t get it out of my head. I just keep hearing that little bark.”
“That’s crazy. Those people have plenty of money to buy their own dog.”