Peony Street

by Pamela Grandstaff

  “Pay attention,” Claire said. “Things might get a little crazy here in a minute.”

  As Claire passed Hannah she said, “Get in the truck and wait.”

  Hannah did as she was told.

  When she got back to where Spencer and Peyton stood, Claire said, “Hatch needs to get back to work; does he really need to tow your car right now?”

  “Yeah,” Spencer said. “We need it done now.”

  “You’re not a cop, are you?” Peyton asked, and Spencer punched him in the arm.

  “She’s not a cop,” Spencer said. “The cops in this town are more like the three stooges.”

  “So what’s up with the car?” Claire asked.

  “We had an accident last weekend,” Spencer said. “We’re just getting it towed to the body shop to get fixed.”

  “And you’re worried about the cops seeing it?” Claire said. “Shouldn’t you have it towed at night, then?”

  “We don’t have time,” Peyton said, and Spencer said, “Would you just shut up, Peyton?”

  “Hit and run?” Claire asked, as her heart began to beat faster.

  Spencer shrugged, and Peyton looked down at the ground.

  “Hey,” Claire said. “I’m a drug dealer; what am I gonna do, call the cops?”

  “What do you have?” Spencer asked her.

  Claire took the tin full of snuff out of her pocket and opened it like she was revealing caviar.

  “This, my friends,” she said. “Is Jamaican turtle-hash.”

  “Do you smoke it?” Peyton asked.

  “Yep,” said Claire.

  “You have any papers?” Spencer asked his friend, who pulled a small folded box of rolling papers out of his back pocket as he answered, “Of course.”

  Claire watched them roll up Hatch’s snuff into a tight little cigarette, and then tried not to wince as they lit it up and sucked in the acrid smoke it produced. They passed it between them a couple times, coughing and trying hard not to show how awful it tasted.

  When they offered it to Claire she said, “No thanks, I have to drive to Pittsburgh later to pick up a shipment; that stuff is going to knock you on your asses here in a minute.”

  “Cool,” said Peyton as he choked.

  Spencer looked a little green around the gills, and Claire had to bite her lip not to laugh.

  “So this accident,” Claire said. “You kill somebody?”

  Peyton choked harder and Spencer’s complexion turned even greener.

  “Cause I heard some guy got mowed down on Peony Street last Friday night. Was he a friend of yours or a local?”

  “We didn’t know him,” Peyton said.

  “Shut up!” Spencer said.

  “The locals around here are idiots,” Peyton said. “We don’t party with them.”

  “Well, I can see how you’d want to get rid of the car,” Claire said, her heart pounding in her chest. “His blood’s probably all over it.”

  “There was no blood,” Peyton said. “This hash is amazing.”

  Spencer ran to the side of the paved area and puked in the grass.

  “He can’t handle it like you can,” Claire said to Peyton. “I can see who the real man is here.”

  “Damn straight,” Peyton said. “I’m gettin’ wicked messed up on this turtle-weed and Spencer’s over there pukin’ his guts out.”

  “No big loss, I guess,” Claire said. “The guy you hit.”

  “That’s what I figured,” Peyton said. “But Spencer’s all freaked out about it. He’s afraid his mother’s going to find out and cut off his money.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “My mom’s locked up in a loony bin,” Peyton said. “And my stepdad doesn’t have access to my trust fund. I got nothin’ to worry about.”

  “Was Spencer driving,” Claire said. “When you hit him?”

  “Yeah,” Peyton said, taking a long, choking drag on the snuff cigarette. “We were hauling ass and it was way wicked foggy. We thought it was some stupid local loser but it turns out he was from Hollywood or something. This guy just runs out in the street, right in front of us. We popped him up, man! He hit the windshield and rolled over the hood and landed on the street behind us; Spencer didn’t even stop, he just kept going. We were so messed up; he kept saying ‘it was a deer, it was a deer,’ but I was like, ‘man, that was no deer.’”

  “Does anyone else know about this?”

  “Just Phyllis; she hooked us up with the guy who owns this place. He doesn’t care what you store here or why you store it, especially if you pay cash.”

  Spencer came back over, rubbing his stomach.

  “That’s awful,” he said. “How can you smoke that?”

  “I’m a real man,” Peyton said. “That’s how.”

  “You better let them haul your car now,” Claire said. “Then we can go back to my place and have us a party.”

  “Excellent suggestion,” Peyton said. “But you’ll have to drive, Spencer; I’m already wasted.”

  Claire waved to Hatch to back up the wrecker.

  Hatch backed the wrecker right up to the door. Peyton unlocked and removed the padlock, handed it to Claire, pulled up on the handle of the door, which was just like a garage door, and then lifted and rolled it back.

  “Make sure the parking brake is released and shift is set in neutral,” Hatch called out to them. Peyton went inside the storage unit and Spencer waited outside.

  Claire craned her neck to see the car, which was parked nose-out. It was a very expensive German car, a newer model. She hadn’t expected to feel as emotional as she did when she saw the dent on the front of the hood and the windshield’s spider web of cracked glass. She felt like she might be sick, too.

  “You’re lucky there’s no blood,” Claire said, although her jaw was clenched. “Peyton told me all about it. He said you were driving kind of fast and the guy just stepped out in front of your car.”

  “Peyton’s an idiot who should learn to keep his mouth shut,” Spencer said.

  “No need to worry,” Claire said. “Telling your drug dealer’s like telling a priest.”

  “I heard it was some homo from Hollyweird,” Spencer said. “So no big loss.”

  “You son of a bitch,” Claire said, and lunged at him.

  She caught him completely off guard. She shoved him into the storage unit, where he fell onto the concrete floor next to the passenger side door of the car. Claire had only a brief glimpse of the stunned face of Peyton, sitting inside the car, before she grabbed the strap attached to the storage unit door and pulled it down to the ground. She fumbled with the padlock but got it clasped before the boys began pounding on the door and yelling.

  Claire stood back, unsure what to do next.

  “Damn, woman,” Hatch said as he sauntered up to the back of the wrecker and leaned on it. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

  “That was awesome!” Hannah said, jumping up and down next to Claire. “You knocked that snotty kid on his ass!”

  Claire’s heart was racing and she was breathing hard, but she pulled her cell phone out of her bra, ended the recording, and then scrolled until she found the number she was looking for.

  “This is Claire Fitzpatrick from Rose Hill. I found the car that killed my friend Tuppy and the people who were driving it,” she said to the person who answered, and then gave directions to the storage unit facility. As soon as she hung up she began to cry.

  The young men were banging on the garage door, treating them to a colorful assortment of profane words. Claire couldn’t seem to stop crying. Hannah put her arm around Claire on one side and Hatch put his around her from the other side. Oddly, it felt like a safe place to fall apart.

  “You were so brave!” Hannah said. “I’m gonna have to give you a cape and a comic book name.”

  “You done good, girl,” Hatch said. “I reckon your friend’s lookin’ down on you from heaven. I bet he’s purdy proud right now.”

  Claire imagined Tuppy sit
ting on a cloud, looking down at how she was attired, in Megamart jeans, puffy white tennis shoes, and a Fitzpatrick Bakery t-shirt, being embraced by a man in dirty coveralls which for some reason had the name “Dwayne” embroidered on the left breast pocket, and by a short woman in a ball cap, sweatshirt, jeans, and hiking boots. She thought pride wouldn’t be the primary emotion Tuppy would be moved to express.

  ‘Nice shoes,’ she heard him say in her mind. ‘Did Dwayne buy them for you?’

  ‘I’m sorry you’re gone,’ she thought. ‘You didn’t deserve to die that way.’

  ‘Homo from Hollyweird, Claire? Really?’ he said. ‘That’s my epitaph?’

  ‘I would say handsome, stylish man about town,’ Claire thought, ‘and a good friend.’

  ‘Too good for you,’ Tuppy said. ‘And those two boys aren’t fooling anyone, by the way. Be sure to tell them I said that.’

  ‘Goodbye, Tuppy,’ Claire thought. ‘I’ll miss you.’

  ‘Don’t call me, Claire,’ Tuppy said. ‘Don’t make it weird.’

  Then he was gone.

  Claire could tell Sarah’s warring emotions were making her extra irritable. She was thrilled to be able to arrest someone for the murder but couldn’t think of a way to take credit for everything. She listened to Claire’s story and the recording before she asked to see the snuff can. After she sniffed it and made a face, she said, “That’s snuff, alright. What idiots.”

  She let Claire wait in the wrecker with Hatch and Hannah while she and her deputies removed Spencer and Peyton from the storage unit and then put them in separate county cruisers. When she finally returned to the truck she stood at the open window looking almost jubilant.

  “Do you know who that kid is?” Sarah asked. “That’s Peyton Stanhope Huckle.”

  “I thought it might be,” Claire said. “That should make things interesting.”

  “I’ll need you to come down to the office and give me your statement,” she told Claire, and to Hannah and Hatch she said, “You two can go.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Albright,” Hannah said in her best Sunday school voice.

  “That’s Detective Tiny Crimefighter to you,” Sarah said. “And don’t you forget it.”

  Chapter Eleven - Friday

  Scott held Maggie’s hand as the Hospice nurse gave him and his sister the latest update. They were sitting at the kitchen table with Penny, her recently-arrived husband Kyle, Doc Machalvie and Father Stephen. Sister Mary Margrethe and Claire’s mother Delia were hovering nearby.

  “It won’t be much longer,” the nurse said. “You should say what you need to say.”

  “They’re killing her,” Penny said to Scott, “and it’s all your fault.”

  Penny fled sobbing down the hall to the bedroom with her husband right behind her. Scott felt his eyes fill with tears and his vision blurred. Maggie squeezed his hand, but he didn’t look at her for fear that he might lose what composure he had left.

  “I want to thank you all,” he said to the room full of people, after clearing his throat and wiping his eyes, “for everything you’ve done for my mother, my sister, and me.”

  Everyone made the appropriate noises but to Scott they sounded very far away and he didn’t really listen; he just nodded, clasped the hands that were offered, accepted the hugs and the words meant to comfort. After they left he sat there for a while, he didn’t know how long, before he realized everyone was gone; everyone but Maggie.

  “What time is it?” he asked her.

  “It’s after three,” she said. “Sister M Squared is in with your mom and Delia went home to make you guys some supper. Doc said he’d be back later, and Father Stephen went to get his last rites … kit, I guess. I don’t know what they call it.”

  “I was ten when my dad got sick and died,” Scott said. “They sent me to Ed’s house to stay until the funeral was over; they didn’t think I should go. Ed’s mom was still around then. She said I should always picture my dad doing something I loved doing with him. We used to toss a baseball for hours in the backyard; that’s how I remember him.”

  “Your dad was so fun,” Maggie said. “He was always smiling.”

  “After going through this with her I don’t know how I’ll remember my mom any way except how she is right now.”

  “It will take time,” Maggie said. “My memories of Grandpa Tim are of when he was much younger, not how he was at the end.”

  Scott felt his mind wander, and it was some time before he felt present again.

  “I’ve always taken for granted that we live in a town where people help each other; where, if you fall down, someone will come along and pick you up,” Scott said. “I do realize how lucky I am to have all these people who are willing to help.”

  “It’s the flip side of everyone knowing your business,” Maggie said. “Assistance paid for by the loss of any kind of privacy.”

  “It feels worth it today,” he said.

  “It’s what church people are supposed to do,” Maggie said. “It’s what friends and neighbors are supposed to do. When Grandpa Tim and Brian died lots of people were kind to our family. It even restored my faith, in a way.”

  “I’ve been wrestling with this idea of expecting God to solve my problems if only I’m good enough,” Scott said. “After what I’ve experienced over the past few days I don’t think it works that way. I think God must not be able to do anything on His own, that He can only inspire people to act on His behalf. I think God makes His presence known through the kind acts of people, and we decide whether to invite His presence or send it away through how we treat each other.”

  “You’ve been spending way too much time with these religious people,” Maggie said. “I’m going to have to take you down to the Thorn to get you some perspective.”

  “It’s not easy to do the right thing all the time,” Scott said. “It’s not easy to love thy neighbor.”

  “You’re awfully good at it, though,” Maggie said. “I mean, you’re almost sickeningly generous and kind. Plus you’re so damn helpful I can hardly stand you half the time. Hannah’s comic book name for you is Nicely Super Scout.”

  “I find it hard to be kind to people I don’t like, and people I don’t approve of,” Scott said. “I judge everyone all the time.”

  “I don’t like 99.9 percent of the people I meet,” Maggie said. “I can count the people I like on one hand and still have a middle finger left over to show the rest of them.”

  “Everyone in this town could show up here tonight to help me and I would be grateful,” Scott said, “but not as grateful as I am to be sitting here, holding hands with you.”

  “You know how I hate it when you get squishy,” Maggie said. “It makes me want to pinch you.”

  “I hope you never get tired of pinching me.”

  “I hate to tell you this, Saint Scott of Rose Hill,” Maggie said, “but I really have to pee.”

  “Alright,” he said. “If you really have to.”

  Maggie got up and went down the hall just as Scott’s brother-in-law Kyle came out of his sister’s bedroom.

  “How’s she doing?” Scott asked him.

  “She’s resting,” Kyle said. “How are you holding up?”

  “It doesn’t seem real,” Scott said. “A week ago she had a bad cough, and now she’s dying.”

  “Penny thinks the Hospice people are killing her.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t think that,” Kyle said. “Penny’s just upset.”

  “I know,” Scott said. “It’s okay.”

  “When Penny’s upset she says awful stuff,” Kyle said. “She doesn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “I know,” Scott said. “I love Penny; we’ll be fine, eventually.”

  As Maggie walked back down the hall toward Scott he thought to himself that she was the reason he could get through this; she was why he knew he would be okay. Maggie was giving him the extra strength he needed. He couldn’t imagine she needed God’s inspiration to do that. S
he was too pigheaded to let anyone tell her what to do. No, if she was here it wasn’t divine intervention, it was because she cared.

  “I’m going to run over to Delia’s,” she said. “I’ll bring your dinner back here in a little bit. Call me if something happens.”

  “Thank you,” Scott said, rising from the table to embrace her, “for everything.”

  Maggie pinched him really hard on the arm and he said, “Ow!”

  “What did I tell you ‘bout that?” Maggie said, and then kissed his cheek.

  Kyle waited until Maggie left to ask, “What did she do that for?”

  “She loves me,” Scott said.

  When Claire stopped by Denise’s house to drop off the week’s deposit, Denise immediately handed her a sleeping baby swaddled in a flannel blanket.

  Claire looked down at the little old man face of Dom Jr. His lips were very thin and he had flaky, blotchy skin all over his scalp and face. It was all she could do not to whip out something with which to exfoliate the child. She didn’t feel all ooey-gooey inside like she thought she would. He didn’t smell very good, for one thing.

  “He has cradle cap,” Denise said. “I’ve been picking at it all morning.”

  “He’s so big,” Claire said. “It’s hard to believe he was just inside your belly.”

  “Nine pounds eight ounces,” Denise said. “Took to the bottle like a champ. I’m not nursing this one, and his two nonnas are having a fit over it. ‘They’re my boobs,’ I told ‘em. ‘Not yours; so lay off.’ They’re relentless.”

  “I’m so happy for you,” Claire said.

  “Let me ask you something,” Denise said. “I’ve been looking for somebody to buy the salon. What do you say?”

  “I don’t think so,” Claire said, and handed the warm bundle back to his mother. “My life is in serious disarray right now. I can’t commit to anything.”

  “Someone called us with an offer,” Denise said. “It’s from a company in New York. I thought maybe you had something to do with it.”

  “No,” Claire said, although she had a good idea who had.

  As Claire was walking home from the Delucas’ house her phone rang.