The Ex Who Wouldn't Die

by Sally Berneathy

  "Thank you. That would be lovely." Beverly sank onto the worn sofa, sitting primly on one of the faded cabbage roses.

  Amanda sat next to her mother, one careful cushion away. "Hello, Mother."

  "How are you doing, dear?" Beverly asked.

  "I'm doing fine." If you don't count spending time with Charley's ghost and worrying about being murdered and/or going to jail.

  "You don't look fine. You look like you're not sleeping well. You have dark circles under your eyes."

  "Thank you. That makes me feel so much better."

  Beverly gave a small, exasperated sigh. "Your father and I are worried about you. He said you're going to stay here another week, and I just don't think that's a good idea."

  "He told you about the trespassing thing? Geez!"

  Immediately Amanda realized her mistake. She could tell by Beverly's expression that her father had not told her mother about the trespassing thing.

  "No, he didn't. Perhaps you could tell me."

  Fortunately Irene arrived at that moment with three glasses of iced tea.

  ***

  Amanda should have known her mother's ubiquitous manners would see her through any situation, even lunch at the Randolphs'.

  Beverly tackled the crispy fried chicken, creamy mashed potatoes with gravy, green beans flavored with bacon, and fried green tomatoes as if she ate such fare every day. From earliest memory, her mother had taught Amanda that only sandwiches should be eaten with fingers. Watching her mother eat a drumstick held daintily in greasy fingers was definitely one of the high points of Amanda's day.

  "This is delicious," Beverly assured Irene, patting her lips with the paper napkin. "I must get your recipe for mashed potatoes."

  Irene beamed. "Plenty of butter, a little sour cream and half a block of cream cheese."

  Amanda munched contentedly on her chicken breast as she imagined her mother's arteries clenching at the thought of all that fat. Wait until she found out Irene made her gravy with bacon grease and real cream.

  Though Beverly refused second helpings, she did justice to the food, including Irene's pecan pie which she pronounced, "Wonderful, and your crust is so flaky."

  Amanda debated telling her that was likely due to Irene's usage of lard instead of oil, but decided to save it for later.

  When all three dessert plates sat empty and both Amanda and Beverly had refused a second piece, Irene stood and began gathering up the dishes. Amanda rose to help, but Irene stopped her. "I'll take care of this. You and your mama go sit in the living room and visit."

  "No, I'll help," Amanda insisted, carrying her plate and her mother's to the sink. In the scheme of things she wanted to do, cleaning up the kitchen was miles ahead of visiting with her mother. In fact, another trip to Kimball's in the middle of the night would be preferable to visiting with her mother.

  "No," Irene said firmly, donning her apron. "My kitchen, my rules. Pour your mama some more tea, and the two of you get out of my kitchen. Go on, now." She smiled while giving Amanda a gentle push toward the living room.

  "I don't need any more tea, thank you," Beverly said, rising from her chair.

  This was beginning to feel like a setup, Amanda thought grimly. What was her mother up to now? The pecan pie and fried chicken began turning somersaults in her stomach.

  This time Beverly chose the upholstered chair where she perched regally, feet crossed at her ankles.

  Amanda sank onto the sofa, folding her arms across her chest, ready to defend herself.

  "Charley's mother seems very nice."

  "She is. The whole family is."

  "It was very kind of them to invite you to stay with them after the funeral. It's given all of you a chance to get to know each other and to grieve together."

  Amanda nodded, waiting impatiently for her mother to finish with the BS and get to the point.

  Beverly smiled. "Your sister's having a baby."

  Though that announcement didn't seem to justify the drama of this trip, it did get Amanda's attention. "Omigawd! What will she do when she's no longer the baby?"

  Her mother's smile tightened to more of a straight line. "You're going to be an aunt."

  "I'm already an aunt to Charley's nieces and nephews."

  "I'm sure they're all wonderful children, but this will be your sister's child, your own flesh and blood."

  Amanda gave her mother a quizzical look. "Are you sure Jenny and I are related? Are you absolutely positive you didn't find me on the doorstep?" She knew she shouldn't antagonize her mother, but sometimes she just couldn't help herself. Most times, to be honest.

  Beverly sucked in a sharp breath. "Amanda, I wish you wouldn't talk like that. It's not amusing. Of course Jenny's your sister. We're your family." She paused, clasped her hands in her lap, lifted her chin and continued. "The Randolphs are lovely people, but they're Charley's family. Your father, Jenny and I would like for you to come home to your family."

  Amanda shrugged. "Mom, I'm coming home in a week. I already told Dad."

  Her mother's stiff posture stiffened even more. "You don't want to wear out your welcome with the Randolphs."

  "I've only been here a few days. They've invited me to stay all summer." Amanda's words were true, but suddenly she felt unsure. Yes, Charley's family had insisted she stay. They all went out of their way to make her feel welcome. But were they now ready for her to leave? Had Irene and her mother talked about this? She squirmed uncomfortably. "Did Irene say something to you?"

  Beverly looked aghast. "No, of course not." She straightened. "It's up to you to be a courteous guest and leave before you put a strain on your relationship with Charley's family."

  Amanda had felt so comfortable, so welcome here. She'd felt she was a part of this family. Now her mother had squelched those warm feelings. She cleared her throat and lifted her chin. "Fine. I'll move to a motel."

  Her mother blinked several times. "A motel? Why on earth would you do that?"

  Amanda had the satisfaction of seeing her mother disconcerted, but it was a hollow victory compared to her sick feeling of being an imposition on people she'd come to care about, of having lost a family.

  "Mother, you want me to leave the Randolphs' house. Okay. But I'm not leaving Silver Creek right now."

  "Why not? Your home and family are in Dallas. We want you back with us."

  Amanda studied her mother curiously. What was up with her parents? First her dad and now her mother demanding she come home? It wasn't like she was eighteen or lived at home or even visited on a regular basis. Was this the only purpose of her mother's visit, to drag her home? Why? She knew they hadn't liked Charley and hadn't wanted her to associate with his relatives, hadn't wanted her to come down here, but even her mother had admitted Irene was "nice."

  Well, whatever her parents' problem, she wasn't ready to leave right now. She had to somehow get proof that Kimball, not she, had killed Charley.

  "I'm not coming home just yet. I have something I need to do down here, some information I'm trying to find." That should make it sound business-like, official, make her parents back off.

  Instead of relenting, her mother's face sagged, the color draining from it.

  What the heck had she said now?

  Her mother licked her lips nervously. "What sort of information?" Her voice was low, barely audible. Could she somehow know about the situation with the mayor, the danger Amanda was in? That was impossible. She hadn't even known about Amanda's visit to his house.

  "I'll be fine," she assured her mother. "I'll be home in a few days. You have no reason to worry." That last part wasn't exactly true, but it might be if her visit with Daggett went well.

  Beverly shook her head slowly. "You've always been stubborn," she said quietly. "If you'd listened to your father and me and not married Charley, you could have saved yourself a lot of heartache."

  Amanda glared at her mother. What she said was true, but it was big-time wrong to say it after eating a meal prepared by Charley'
s mother, with Charley's mother only a few feet away in the kitchen, doing dishes from that meal.

  Her mother leaned forward, one hand extended, as if she were begging. Nah. Beverly Caulfield never begged. "Listen to your family this time and come home. Today. Now."

  "Mom, this is ridiculous. Give it up. I'll be home in a few days."

  Her mother leaned back in the chair, one hand on the side of her face as if she had developed a sudden headache.

  Irene chose that moment to appear in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. "Anybody want some iced tea or a Coke?"

  "No, thank you," Beverly said.

  "I would love a Coke," Amanda said gratefully.

  Her mother left shortly thereafter, giving Amanda an unaccustomed hug at the door. What on earth was going on?

  While Amanda stood watching the white Mercedes drive away, Irene came to stand beside her.

  "Your mama loves you an awful lot," she said.

  Amanda thought that was not an accurate statement, but she didn't argue.

  "And we do, too," Irene continued. "We want you here for as long as you want to stay." She wrapped an arm around Amanda's waist. "You're at least a year or two away from wearing out your welcome."

  Shocked, Amanda turned to look at the older woman. "You heard?"

  Irene's face went pink. "Not on purpose! I was trying real hard not to eavesdrop, but there's no door between the kitchen and the living room."

  Amanda chuckled. "No, there's not. Well, I apologize for anything rude my mother said. She's—different."

  "Not really. She's worried about her daughter. That's pretty normal. She doesn't want to lose you to another family."

  "What?" Amanda laughed out loud. "You think—no. I don't really know what's up with my parents, but, trust me, fear of losing me to you all is not their worry. We're not what you'd call a closely knit family. More like loose weave."

  Irene considered that for a moment. "I'll invite both of them down for dinner. Your sister and her husband, too. Then we can show them we just want to be one big family. We'd never try to steal you from them. We just want to share you."

  "Oh, let's don't do that." Seeing Irene's hurt expression, she added, "Not just yet. I'm sorting through some stuff."

  Irene nodded. "Whenever you're ready."

  "Soon." That was a nice generic time indicator. The Triassic period was soon followed by the Jurassic.

  Irene moved back into the living room and sat down on the sofa. "I guess now we know why they didn't come to Charley's funeral with you," she said, her gaze on her hands in her lap.

  Amanda searched through the memory of her conversation with her mother. Beverly hadn't said anything about our kind of people or made any of her other typical condescending remarks. "You do?" she asked.

  "They didn't want you to marry Charley." Irene lifted her gaze, her eyes sad.

  Amanda walked over to the sofa and sat down beside Charley's mother. "No," she admitted, "they didn't want me to marry Charley."

  "They didn't like him?"

  "Not really."

  Irene nodded. "Charley had his faults."

  Amanda couldn't disagree with that, but she felt reluctant to agree, so she said nothing.

  "He loved you."

  "I loved him." Past tense. Very, very past.

  "You told your mother there was something you need to do down here, some information you need to find."

  Amanda hesitated, but she couldn't lie to this woman. "Yes, there is."

  "Does this have something to do with those night-time motorcycle rides you've been taking?"

  "Well, yes."

  Irene looked directly at her. "Can you tell me what it is? Maybe I can help. I know a lot of things about this town."

  Amazing. Irene asked but didn't demand, then offered to help even though she didn't know what she was offering to help with. She trusted Amanda. "I can't give you any details right now, but it would be great if I could get back to you later with some questions."

  Irene smiled. "Any time. I'll be here."

  "Thank you. I appreciate that. Right now I need to run over to Dallas," she said. "I may not be back in time for dinner."

  "There'll be plenty of leftovers in the refrigerator."

  Amanda couldn't repress a smile. Irene didn't ask what she was going to do or when she'd be back. She just offered food when she returned.

  ***

  Amanda sat in a room that was either the same one or an identical twin to the one where Daggett had originally grilled her. She'd been waiting in the rectangular room for three hours or fifteen minutes, depending on whether time was measured by her watch or her nerves.

  "The Judge is going to come unglued when he finds out you talked to the cops without an attorney present," Charley said.

  "I don't plan to tell him, and I'd like to see you try."

  "If Daggett arrests you, and the Judge has to post bail, he's going to figure it out, and you're going to be in big trouble."

  "I'm already in big trouble. I can't get rid of you."

  "Talking to yourself?"

  Amanda whirled to see Daggett standing in the doorway. Damn! He hadn't slammed the door to announce his arrival this time.

  "Uh, yeah. It's what I do. Sometimes. When I'm stressed. Talk to myself. Try to get things clear in my own mind."

  Daggett took a seat across the table from her. He still hadn't got a haircut, but he had shaved. "Everything clear in your mind now?"

  "Not really."

  "You need a little more time alone? I can leave."

  Amanda considered her response. She'd like to tell this rude man to stuff it, then get up and walk away. But she needed his help. "I've got some information for you about the man who murdered my ex-husband."

  "I'm not your ex!" Charley shouted.

  Daggett lifted a dubious eyebrow. That eyebrow must have some powerful muscles as often as he lifted it. Or maybe it was just when she was around. "Tell me your information," he said, setting a notebook and pen on the table.

  Amanda drew in a deep breath. This wasn't getting off to a good start. Not that she'd thought it would. "Roland Kimball, mayor of Silver Creek. He killed Charley because Charley was blackmailing him." She told him the entire story, including her conversations with Greg and Sandy.

  Daggett listened without expression or comment. As she talked, Amanda realized she was speaking faster and faster, and the temperature in the room seemed to be rising with each word. Finally she finished her story, clenched her hands on the table top in a gesture that mimicked her stomach and waited.

  "Is this the same Kimball you told me about the night your apartment was allegedly broken into?"

  She had hoped he'd forgotten that conversation. "Yes."

  "The same Kimball that your deceased husband told you about?"

  She swallowed, but held his gaze and kept her voice firm. "Yes."

  "The same night you thought your deceased husband came by for a visit?"

  Obviously he had not forgotten anything.

  "Yes. I was—confused that night." She clenched her jaw and forced herself to tell the outrageous lie she'd concocted in anticipation of this situation. "I was under a lot of stress. I'd just lost my husband, and I had a head injury."

  Charley gave her a thumbs-up.

  The heat in the room intensified.

  "But you're okay now?"

  "Yes."

  "Head injury healed?"

  "Yes."

  "Recovered from the loss of your husband?"

  "Yes." She would be if she could just lose him.

  "No more psychic visions from your husband?"

  Did the man have a photographic memory?

  "No."

  Daggett leaned back in the wooden chair and tapped his pen on the table, his gaze never leaving hers. "So where did you get this information about Mayor Kimball if it wasn't from a psychic vision?"

  Time for another lie. "Charley told me about the blackmail before he died. I, uh, guess I had a
slight case of amnesia due to the head injury and forgot most of the story. It came back to me in bits and pieces." She was becoming as good a liar as Charley. Not an ability she was particularly proud of or one she intended to cultivate when this was over. Unless, of course, she ended up in prison. Then it might be an ability that would come in handy.