Champagne for Buzzards

by Phyllis Smallman

  My eyes dropped to the white plastic braces showing beneath her flowing chiffon skirt. I looked quickly back to her face.

  “I have Multiple Sclerosis.” Her words were matter of fact and meant for information only, not meant in any way to garner sympathy. “It’s very advanced.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  She gave a slight nod in acknowledgment of my words then added, “The good news is that I have Harland. He spoils me terribly, waits on me hand and foot, don’t you dear?” She smiled up at her husband who came towards us with a tray and three glasses of tea. She raised her right hand, also in a brace. It hovered there by her ear as she added, “He even does my hair.”

  “It looks lovely. You’re lucky to have such a talented husband.”

  Harland pulled up a small side table and swung it in front of her. “Harland made this table himself,” she said proudly. “It works like a hospital table but it surely doesn’t look like one, does it? In fact he’s made much of our furniture.”

  “It’s beautiful and I noticed the floors right away. The floors in Clay’s ranch house are made of cypress just like these. These two houses must have gone up about the same time. I know it’s been a long time since they built with cypress in Florida.”

  Harland said, “This was the foreman’s house, built in the 1890s. Oxbow no longer needs a foreman, so we moved in. It’s a well-built house and just needed to be modernized.”

  “Harland did it all himself.”

  “I enjoyed doing it.” He slipped her glass of tea into an insulated foam holder. “I’m good with my hands.”

  “And he’s incredibly strong and fit.” She smiled up at him.

  “He keeps in shape lifting me about.”

  Harland helped his wife lift her trembling left hand onto the tabletop. He placed her hands around the insulated cup and positioned the straw while she leaned forward and sipped her drink.

  Iced tea is just not my thing but I found myself wanting to please her so I followed her lead. “What do you grow here?” I asked when Harland had pulled up a straight-back chair and was seated beside her.

  A brief look of fear and maybe even panic passed between them. Harland cleared his throat and said, “These days we’ve cut way back on our production. We rent out about a thousand acres to another farm.” Another look passed between them.

  What had I missed? What was happening out here that frightened them both so much? Or was it me? Was I somehow threatening them? I tried out a smile. “Oh, so do you work somewhere else now that you don’t farm?”

  He shook his head in denial. “Oh no, never worked anywhere else but here.” He rubbed the palms of his hands together between his knees. “Don’t think anyone else would hire me, I’ve only got a high school education.”

  I’d only been trying to make friendly conversation but somehow I’d got it all wrong.

  “Nonsense, dear,” Amanda said. “You could do anything you put your mind to.” He smiled gratefully at Amanda. “Besides,” she added, “Harland has to look after me.” Amanda Breslau reached out awkwardly and placed her hand on her husband’s arm, comforting and calming him. “He’s needed here. Justin, our son, is a little young to manage a farm as large as this, and my father-in-law, well he’s getting on in years.”

  I’d swear the look on her face when she mentioned her father-in-law, a look like a poisonous snake had just slithered into the room, made me think she felt about Orlin like I felt about my mother-in-law, Bernice Travis. I’d run a mile through broken glass and crawl through nettles to avoid that woman.

  I said, “I met your son today.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Harland shrank into himself, like a turtle pulling into his shell, and took Amanda’s hand in both of his.

  “I thought he said his name was Boomer. Boomer is an unusual name.” I smiled at them to tell them I wasn’t any threat. “How did he get it?”

  “His grandpa calls him that. His name is Justin,” Amanda said firmly. “His grandpa gave him that name because Justin was always loud, even as a little boy. He made so much noise, always banging on things.”

  “Yes,” Harland nodded in agreement. “He was always shouting and destroying things.” He looked mystified as if he couldn’t understand where this child of theirs had come from. Looking at them I couldn’t understand it either. They were gentle, refined people who cared for one another and their son was a pig. Go figure.

  “I was ill so much, Justin spent a lot of time with his grandfather,” Amanda explained. “At first it was cute the way he followed his grandpa around and tried to be just like him, and then it was worrisome. Boys can grow up too fast, Ms. Travis. Do you have any children?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Well,” she paused, searching for words, “Sometimes they can be a mixed blessing.”

  “Does Justin live here with you?” I was picking my way around what I’d come for, trying for a nice way to say, “Keep your brute of a son away from me.”

  Amanda frowned at my question and replied, “No, he lives up at the big house with his grandpa.” Her pleasant face grew hard. Unlike when she was telling the unhappy facts of her illness in a straightforward unemotional manner, her face now showed disappointment and grief. Clearly, Boomer was not the son she had hoped for.

  “Still, you are all together and your father-in-law was here to help raise Justin.”

  “My father-in-law has been a bad influence on Justin, given him too much. It’s hard for us to set limits when his grandpa pushes him on.”

  She was basically saying what I already knew. Boomer was out of their control. “Well,” she said, “I guess it’s too late to worry about it now. He’s a man.” Regret etched her words.

  No use making any demands on them they couldn’t fulfill. Boomer wasn’t going to be stopped by Amanda and Harland Breslau, and my request that they do something about their monster child would only hurt them more when they already had a bucketful of pain.

  “Now, I’ve come to invite you to my party for Clay’s birthday. It’s next Saturday night. Nothing fancy, my daddy’s going to roast a pig over hardwood and we’re going to have lots of salads and dishes we serve at the Sunset. Come and sit on the porch or under a tree and catch up with the neighbors and meet some of Clay’s friends from Jacaranda.”

  Her sweet smile was tinged with regret. “My chair makes it difficult.”

  “We’ll have lots of big old strong men there to lift your chair up onto the porch or take you anywhere you want to go. Can’t pass up a chance like that now, can you, being carried around like Cleopatra? And I surely would like it if you came.”

  “May we think about it for a day or two, see if it’s a good day or a bad day on Saturday?”

  “Of course. You do just whatever suits you.” I rose to my feet.

  Harland spoke up. “I’m sorry you had to be the one to find Lucan’s body.” He really did sound like he deeply regretted this bad thing that had happened to me. “It was hardly your fault, was it?

  He looked startled by my words. I tried to take them back, to soften them. “It was upsetting for me to find his body but much harder for April to lose him. Do you know her?”

  “Amanda doesn’t but I do. In small towns you pretty much know everyone.”

  “And of course Lucan worked for you, didn’t he?” He looked as if I’d accused him of something immoral.

  I was confused. “He did work for you, didn’t he?” “Some.” He let go of Amanda’s hand and got to his feet, sliding behind her chair and grasping the handles. “We’ll see how Amanda is feeling on Saturday.”

  He was inviting me to leave but his reaction awoke my curiosity so I chose to ignore the unspoken suggestion. “It just seems so terrible. Why would anyone kill Lucan?”

  The silence stretched out. Harland’s fingers restlessly picked at the rubber grips on the ha
ndles of his wife’s wheelchair.

  “Thank you for being concerned about me, about my being upset when I found Lucan.”

  He nodded. “I hope your truck wasn’t damaged.” He pushed the chair towards the door.

  Funny thing is I got the impression that he was truly sorry, not just apologizing in a general sort of way. “You were there that night, weren’t you?” He swung the wheelchair round to face me. The chair and his wife were his defense. “What?” The very suggestion had him panicking. “No I wasn’t.”

  Amanda caught his panic and came to his defense. “Harland never leaves my side,” she protested.

  “Oh? I must have misunderstood. I thought Howie said you came into the Gator Hole that night, Harland.”

  “Only for a bit.” He swiveled the chair back towards the door, leaving me behind again. Did he want to get away from me or just the talk of murder? But I never have been able to take a hint. “Yes,” I told his back. “Howie said you must have rushed right in from working on something, said you still had work gloves in your hip pocket.”

  The worried face he turned to me said he was waiting to see what came next.

  I smiled. “I know these questions sound rude but I’m just so shocked, I need to understand what part my truck played in all this. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to drive it again.” I gave a dramatic shiver. “Did you see my truck parked behind the Gator Hole?”

  “No, I was parked out front.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” I didn’t ask how he knew where Big Red was parked. But maybe that was just part of the general gossip about Luc’s death. Independence might know all there was to know about Luc’s death.

  I nodded my head to show how pleased I was about this. “Can you imagine going out to your car and walking right by a dead body, or even worse, going out there and seeing Lucan being beaten?”

  No response. I joined them by the door.

  “Did you talk to Lucan?” I asked. “In the Gator Hole I mean.”

  “No. I only stayed a minute or two. Lucan was still there when I left.”

  “Someone you knew your whole life, it must be painful for you to talk about his murder.” Eyes downcast, he pecked at the rubber grips. “Still,” I said, “not as painful as it was for Lucan.” Harland didn’t look up but muttered, “Lucan was so drunk he probably never felt a thing.”

  “It was a strange place to hide a body, in the back of a pickup. I suppose it was to remove the body from the scene of the crime and to delay its discovery.”

  They made no comment so I tried again, “Do you think that’s why the body was put in my truck?”

  Amanda jumped into the silence, “We’ve really no idea. Let’s leave it to the sheriff, shall we? It’s too distressing to talk about.” The subject was officially closed and I had outstayed my welcome.

  It was really none of my business and these people had enough problems without being burdened with the evil outside their pretty little house.

  I followed them through the door where I took Amanda’s hand and asked, “May I come back to visit when I’m next out at Riverwood?”

  “Oh, please do,” Amanda said, smiling up at me. Behind her Harland was not smiling. He’d be glad to see the back of me and not happy to see my return. “We’d like that,” Amanda added. “Wouldn’t we, Harland?”

  Right on cue he said, “Yes, ma’am, we surely would.” He pushed the chair farther out onto the deck.

  The crows in the pines surrounding the house set up a raucous clamor so loud we all stopped and looked up at the trees. We were still staring at them when a Chevy Silverado with a crew cab pulled into the yard. “Oh,” said Harland.

  The truck circled around in front of the house, stopped and then came on to park in front of Tully’s beat-up old pickup. It backed up tight to the front bumper. I’d have to backup and pull around it before I could get out the lane.

  “Amanda?” Harland asked.

  “I’ll wait here, Harland,” Amanda said. “You go on down with Sherri.”

  He looked down at her, hesitated and then said, “All right, if you think so.”

  “We’re still polite to our visitors; we haven’t fallen that far yet.” Rolling her chair backwards a few feet, Amanda distanced herself from us, or maybe from what was waiting for us.

  CHAPTER 23

  The crows cawed loudly from the pines towering over the deep underbrush behind the little house. We stood frozen at the edge of the porch, waiting and watching. I didn’t know what there was to fear but I caught their apprehension.

  “Go,” Amanda Breslau ordered, starting us down the ramp. The man that got out of the truck was about seventy, powerfully built and with a Florida rancher’s tan, the kind of color that comes from decades in the sun with no protection. It was broiled so deep into the pigment that it was permanent, the kind of tan Tully had.

  The man wore the battered straw hat of a working cowman rather than the faux kind sported by an evening cowboy. His boots were heeled but I was betting it was a long time since he’d climbed aboard anything that didn’t come with an engine. His smile was all charm and honey but didn’t warm his cold eyes. Everything about him said this was the man in charge. Even the dogs stayed well back.

  Hands on hips, his faded gray eyes assessed me and took my measure. He said, “Well, who’s this pretty little thing?”

  Little thing? I stand nearly five eight in my bare feet and normally I wear three-inch heels. I’m not really accustomed to thinking of myself as little, but in flip-flops and next to this bull of a man towering over me the description fit. He was at least six-four and heavy with it.

  Harland, nervous as a cat and stuttering, introduced me to his father. Orlin Breslau held out a gnarled hand with a copper bracelet around the wrist.

  I smiled as his hand crushed mine and returned his greeting but only for politeness’ sake. This man didn’t have me feeling warm and friendly. “I’m a friend of Clay Adams,” I told him, despite the fact we were both aware that he already knew all about me and my living arrangements.

  “He’s a lucky man to have a beautiful woman like you.”

  “She’s just leaving, sir,” Harland said. “Just stopped by to be neighborly.”

  But I wasn’t going quite yet, no matter how eager Harland was to get rid of me. Here was the man who held the power in the family, the one who could control Boomer. “I met your grandson today,” I said.

  “Oh?” He was waiting to see how bad the news was, which told me he’d heard lots of awful news about his grandson. I probably wasn’t the only one showing up to demand he get the monster under control, but on second thought, given the attitude of Boomer, only an idiot like me would come here to complain about Boomer Breslau.

  “Boomer was on Clay’s land and startled my horse with his ATV.”

  “Well, I’m real sorry ’bout that.” He didn’t say which part he was sorry about. “I’m sure he had no intention to cause you distress.”

  The roar of an approaching vehicle cut off my reply. The gigantic truck, kicking up dust, was speeding too fast into the clearing.

  The black pickup, raised up high on big-ass tires and throbbing with rap music through closed windows, started around the circle to the house but slammed to a stop. It backed up and swung around a broken-down wagon and roared towards us, pulling up at an angle across the back bumper of Tully’s truck and boxing it in. With the Silverado in front and the black pickup across the back bumper I was locked up tight against the fence and wouldn’t be going anywhere until they decided to let me.

  The pickup’s door shot open. The noise of gangster rap slammed into us. The word “bitch” cleaved the air. Boomer had arrived.

  He jumped to the ground. Grinning, he kicked out at a yapping dog and said, “Get off.” When I’d seen him that morning he’d been wearing a long-sleeved plaid shirt, hiding what decorated his body. N
ow his muscle shirt showed off tattoos, from wrist to shoulder, on both arms. On the right side a tiger stalked down towards the hand while on the left a cobra opened its jaw on the ugly bruise made by Joey’s teeth. Across his chest and up his neck tats in red and green ink covered his body like a garment.

  “You already met this young man,” Orlin said proudly. “My grandson, my only grandchild, we don’t do well in the reproducing line. I only whelped one and so did Harland. But this fine specimen here is going to do better, aren’t you, son?”

  “Don’t worry, Grandpa, I’m taking care of that.”

  Orlin clapped his hand on the back of Boomer’s neck and shook him roughly. “Good boy, spread it around, boy, spread it around.” Their laughter was an ugly, offensive thing.

  Beside me I could feel Harland ease away, distancing himself from the words or maybe from what was to follow.

  Boomer pointed a forefinger at me and said to his grandpa, “She’s hunting me down.” Then he said to me, “I knew you weren’t going to be able to stay away from me the minute I laid eyes on you.” There was something besides pride in Boomer’s eyes. Boomer wasn’t quite sane. “Old Man Adams sure won’t be enough for a woman like you.” “Justin…” Harland started.

  “Be quiet,” Boomer said, without looking at him. “Me and this pretty lady are friends, aren’t we?”

  “Not even close. I came here to tell you to keep off our land and to keep your hands to yourself or next time it won’t be just my horse that bites you.” A trill of laughter came from Amanda.

  Boomer swung around to his mother. “Get in the house,” Boomer ordered.

  “I’m just fine here,” Amanda replied. Her chin was up, rebellious and proud.

  Beside me Harland shuffled restlessly. He started to return to the house and then halted in indecision.

  I spoke to Orlin Breslau. “I hope you can make your grandson understand that when I say I’m not interested, I am not interested.” I looked at Boomer. “Stay away from me and stay away from Riverwood.” I didn’t wait for his response but started moving while waving to Amanda. “It was nice to meet you.