by Kitty Margo
“A coyote.” You can believe the wheels in my brain were spinning furiously, and that’s the best I could do. “I heard they have gotten bad around here. Several of my neighbors have reported seeing them either late at night or early in the morning.”
Sammy put his hands on his hips and I noticed his left eyebrow twitch. “So you came out here without a weapon of any type to confront a coyote. Maggie, do you know how crazy that was?”
“I just didn’t think, I guess. But now I see the foolishness of my actions and I promise that I will think before I act next time.” What was he waiting on. Why prolong my agony? Bring out the handcuffs and let’s get this over with. “Would you like to go up to the house for a cup of coffee, Sammy?” I needed to get him away from the woods before Trip came bouncing out.
“No, I thought I might take a walk in your woods if you don’t mind.”
My woods? Lord, help me, for only He knew what Noah might have taken a notion to plant in those woods?
“Um… there is nothing in my woods, but trees, Sammy.” And my son. “Why would you want to go traipsing through the woods?”
He scratched his chin and cast a dubious eye my way. “Because Trip just left a message for me to join him in the woods behind his mama’s house.”
What in the world would Trip do that for? “He did?” I slapped the heel of my hand to my forehead in a great show of forgetfulness. “You know that’s right. Trip did stop by this morning, but I don’t know what he went in the woods for.” At least I was able to slip one bit of truth in with all the lies I was telling while trying to convince Sammy that I was afflicted with a minor form of dementia.
We both looked up when Trip walked out from behind a copse of trees and called to Sammy. “Follow me, Sammy.” Then he motioned to me, “Go in the house, mama.”
Why? What was in my woods that made my son feel the need to call the Sheriff? This morning was going downhill in leaps and bounds. “What is it, Trip?” I hollered. “What did you find in there?”
“You just go on in the house, mama.” Trip shook his head and pointed to the house. “I will be in shortly to talk to you about it.”
Was he crazy? No way was I going in the house without knowing what they had found. That’s alright. I knew where a path was on the other side of the woods. “Take your time, son. I will be waiting inside.”
“Thank you, mama, for not arguing with me for once.”
I didn’t like to lie to him, but I didn’t like being kept in the dark either. “I wouldn’t dream of arguing with you, son.” I turned away before I could see the expression on his face caused by such a hilarious comment coming from his mother.
It was a good little hike to the other path and I had just entered the woods when I heard a siren blasting. It was probably going to the hollow. I had heard that you could find any drug you fancied in the hollow. Unfortunately, about once a month or so, someone down there fancied a drug to death.
Huh. The ambulance didn’t streak past the house on the way to the hollow as it usually did. It was so loud it sounded like it was in my front yard.
It was!
Lord have mercy! Now it was in my back yard and racing across my freshly mown lawn, tracking it up just as pretty as you please. Wait until I found out who was driving that ambulance. He was going to be told but good!
The ambulance couldn’t cross over the creek, so it stopped at the edge of my yard. Two attendants jumped out and removed their medical bags. I was still watching, speechless, when a black sedan pulled up behind the ambulance with the words Moore County Coroner’s Office written on the door. A man got out carrying his own bag. What on earth was going on in my woods?
I took off running through the woods and didn’t slow down until I was peering behind a tree at the macabre scene unfolding before me.
There, right before my eyes, was a naked female lying in a shallow grave. What little I could see of her body, through all the blood and grime that covered the poor thing, made me guess her age to be between 25 and 35. That’s all I can tell you about her, because I gagged and lost the entire contents of my stomach when I glanced up to the empty space where her head should have been. She had been decapitated. That’s the last thing I remember about an episode that I had just as soon forget.
Chapter Three
Maggie
I came to bouncing along on a gurney that was headed straight for an ambulance. “Stop this thing,” I ordered, sitting upright. Granted, I was a little wobbly, but I tried to play if off. “Let me off at once.”
“You need to go the hospital and be checked out, mama,” Trip urged, putting his hands on my shoulders and gently trying to shove me back down.
“No, I’m fine.” I nudged his hands away and sat back up. “Seeing that poor girl was a shock to my system. I’m fine now.”
“I told you to go to the house and not come in the woods, mama.” He shook his head and frowned at me. “I should have my head examined for believing you would ever be that agreeable.”
I arched a brow at him, not pleased with his tone, but actually kept quiet for once.
“Are you sure you won’t let us take you to the hospital, ma’am?” One of the EMT’s questioned. “My advice is that you get checked out by a doctor. You have a nasty bump on your forehead.”
I fingered around above my eyes and felt a giant goose egg. Evidently I had executed a face plant on the forest floor. “Yes, I’m positive and no, I don’t need to be checked out.” I motioned to a wooden swing hanging from an elm tree in my backyard. “Just let me sit in my swing for a while and get my bearings.”
They rolled me over to the swing and hovered over me while I got comfortable against a cushion. Motioning toward the woods, I said, “Now, go about your business. I know you have more important things to do than fuss over me.”
“Are you sure you’re okay, mama?” Trip fretted. Leaning over to kiss my forehead, he mumbled, “You are as hardheaded as the day is long.”
“Yes, son. I’m fine.” I reached up and drew him in for a big ole hug. “I guess hardheadedness runs in the family, huh? Anyway, you just run on back and see what’s happening in my woods.”
After Trip had fetched me a glass of sweet tea, and the paramedics had checked my blood pressure one more time, they finally left me alone.
Leaning back, I closed my eyes and relaxed into the cushions. Good Lord in heaven! Why on earth would he, she, it, whoever, feel the need to cut off that poor girl’s head? Wasn’t killing her enough? Did they really need to carry out such a barbaric act of brutality?
I called my best friend Irene all in a twitter. “Lord, Irene, you won’t believe what happened this morning.”
“I probably will,” she teased. “Nothing you do surprises me anymore.”
“I didn’t do it!”
“Do what?”
“Chop off that poor girl’s head.”
“What in the world are you talking about, Maggie Moore?” Irene cried, suddenly becoming serious. “Whose head got chopped off?”
So I filled her in on the entire story.
“Oh, my God, Maggie! Are you kidding me?”
“I wish I was. You have no idea how badly I wish I was. But no, Trip is on his way to police headquarters as we speak to answer more questions.”
“For the love of all that is holy,” she murmured. “It would appear that Pine View is trying to become a sister city to Detroit, Michigan with all these explosions and murders.”
“Ain’t that the gospel truth? But, honey, it has been a madhouse around here this morning. Police, detectives, an ambulance, the coroner, and now the majority of my property is marked off with yellow tape. I’m afraid people are going to think that I killed somebody and buried the body back there.”
“Maggie, everyone knows you would never be capable of harming a living thing.” That made me feel somewhat better. “Do they know who the girl is?”
“No.” I pushed with my feet to set the old swing in motion and hopefully stir up a b
reeze. “According to Sammy no one has filed a missing person’s report yet.”
Irene was silent for a minute, obviously trying to digest all I had told her. “Why would someone bury her body on your property though?”
“That’s the sixty four million dollar question, Irene? If I could answer it, I promise you I would sleep better tonight.” Who was I kidding? I probably wouldn’t sleep a wink for a month.
“I guess it is.” She hesitated a moment and said, “Somebody knows who she is.”
“Yes, somebody does.” A shiver curled down my spine as the truth of her words sunk in. “Just think, Irene. In the past few days, or possibly hours, probably while I slept, a murderer was in my back yard digging a grave to bury his victim in. In my back yard! Do you realize how close he was to me? I wonder if he walked around my house and looked in the windows?”
“I doubt it. He probably did the deed and hightailed it out of there as fast as he could.”
“You know what they say,” I worried.
“What?”
“A murderer always returns to the scene of the crime.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Irene couldn’t hide the concern in her voice. “Why don’t you ask Trip to stay with you for a few nights. Or, better yet, come stay at my house with me.”
I released a troubled sigh. “No, I’m just being silly.”
“Maggie Moore. You are not being silly. For crying out loud, they just dug up a body in your back yard. You have every right to be paranoid.”
“I’ll check the locks on the doors and windows and if I get spooked I will come to your house.”
“You know damn well if you suspect someone is trying to break in, you won’t go outside in the middle of the night and get in your car. How stupid would that be?”
“Pretty stupid, I guess. Anyway, how is Miss Nellie today?” I asked, hoping for a change of subject.
“As cantankerous as ever and getting worse by the second.”
Irene is a caregiver, sitting with a 104 year old lady who, to put it bluntly, can be a pure T bitch. As with most every elderly person I know, Miss Nellie’s bowels are her main objective in life. Her day, and the main topic of every conversation she instigates, revolves around her next movement. She gulps from a bottle of Milk of Magnesia every single morning as soon as her feet hit the floor. If the Phillips Company were to go out of business, I’m not at all sure she would survive. I kid you not, if she doesn’t have three, count them three, bowel movements a day she sets in to hollering the likes of which you have never heard that her stomach is hurting, she’s dying, and she needs to go to the hospital for a hot, soapy enema.
“I look for this old woman to drive me bat shit crazy,” Irene was saying. “She will dig up her nose, and other parts of her anatomy, then I have to immediately grab a wipe or she will shove that same finger down her throat trying to make herself belch. Lord help me, I need a vacation.”
“Me too.” Then I proceeded to tell her about my morning from hell in the pot field, before the real morning from hell had begun. “You know, after today, I need a vacation too. Let’s do it.”
“You know I’m ready, girl.” Irene could hardly control her excitement.
“I don’t remember if I told you or not, but when I went to the Red Hat Society meeting last Saturday, they were asking if anybody wanted to go on an eight day cruise. They need two more people to fill the bus. The only problem is they leave a week from Friday.”
“Where too?” Irene asked eagerly.
“Jamaica, with its crystal clear water, powdery sand, and cabana boys.” Irene and I felt the same way about the male species. Take them or leave them. We had both been in a leave them phase for about a year now.
“Well, you know I am not going to wear a red hat and announce to the world that I’m a senior citizen. If I go out to eat and they offer me a senior tea or coffee it is going to royally piss me off.”
“I know. I would never suggest that you wear a red hat.” Heavenly days! Irene still thinks she is 39. I had to think a minute. “Let’s see. The ports are Jamaica, Grand Cayman, Cozumel, and a private island if I’m not mistaken. Hold on a minute.” I grabbed the brochure from my purse and hurried back to the phone. “We could stay in an interior room for $536.00, a window room for $836.00 or a balcony room for $1,276.00 each.”
“Wheweeee! That’s a lot of nights with Miss Nellie.”
“Now, let’s think about this a minute, Irene, I don’t see any reason for you to have to sell a kidney to pay for a cruise. I would be just as happy in an interior room.”
“Girl, you know I am not staying in an interior room.” I could imagine Irene standing there with her hands on her hips, eyes blaring, and shaking her head vigorously. “I have to be able to see day light or I will go into a major panic attack, and you don’t want to see that any more than I do.”
Yet another one of Irene’s peculiarities that I had forgotten about. In all honesty, she has way too many to keep up with, but I’m sure that being in a tight enclosed, airless place is her number one worst fear. “So would you like a window room or balcony?”
“The way I look at it, it’s only money and we can’t take it with us. So, we can either leave it here for our children to buy weed with, or we can have a hell of a good time with it. I say let’s splurge and go with a balcony room.”
“I agree. Balcony it is. Start packing your bags, honey. Our ship sails in nine days.”
~*~
The following morning my business was blasted all over the front page of the paper.
Mutilation in a Small North Carolina Town.
The body of a woman of undetermined origin was discovered on the property of Maggie Moore just off Highway 211 in the town of Pine View, North Carolina yesterday by the son of the property owner. Police were called to the scene around 10:45am. An official police report has not been issued, although this reporter has learned from eyewitness accounts that the victim, a young lady of approximately thirty years of age, had been decapitated as well as having her fingers cut off. The Moore County Sheriff’s Office and the Federal Bureau of Investigation are investigating the homicide.
Chapter Four
Irene
It was my day off so I decided to take Maggie out to lunch to cheer her up. Poor thing had been through hell in the last 24 hours. I just can’t imagine what I would be going through if I were in her shoes. A headless body buried behind my house! I shuddered just thinking about it.
I didn’t bother knocking since I knew she would be in the backyard working in her flowers before it got too hot. Sure enough, she was on her knees ripping at any weed that had the nerve to take root amongst her marigolds with a vengeance.
“I figured this is where I would find you,” I called softly so as not to startle her.
“It helps soothe the troubled soul.” She stood and brushed the dirt off her knees.
I nodded toward the woods. “Any news?”
“Not really.” Trip called earlier after he had spoken to Sammy. They still don’t have any leads on who the dead girl is. He said it could take months to identify her. Bless her heart.”
Even though I had known the woods would be taped off, it was still a shock to see it. Then I saw a man walk out from behind a tree holding a phone to his ear. “Who is that man walking back there?”
“Some member of law enforcement. They’ve been in and out since before daylight.”
“Okay, come on,” I announced. “I’m getting you away from this depressing crime scene and taking you to Applebee’s to get you some hot wings for lunch. That always puts some pep in your step.”
She tossed her gloves in the wheelbarrow and gathered up her gardening implements. “Just let me run a brush through my hair and I’ll be ready.” She actually had the beginnings of a smile curving the corners of her mouth. “You know I can’t turn down a hot wing.”
With her back turned as she scurried into the house, I took the opportunity to read the back of her tee shirt.
Southern Girls
A pitcher of sweet tea is always ready
Front porches are wide and words are long
Pearls match everything
Y’all is a proper noun
Everything is darlin’, sweetie, or honey
And someone’s heart is always being blessed.
That shirt was designed with Maggie in mind. For the record, let me just rattle off a few of our differences for you.
If the church doors are open, Maggie is in attendance wearing a black or blue dress with jewelry (preferably pearls), a hat, and with shoes and a large purse to match. Why, the girl would just stay home if her shoes and pocketbook were not of one accord.
I rarely go to church, and when I do I wear a colorful top, preferably floral, of either peach or pink, and dress pants.
If Maggie knows you, and you die, she will be at your visitation. She never, ever misses a viewing of the body for anyone she has ever had the privilege of meeting in the past.
I, on the other hand, can count on my fingers how many times I have graced the doors of a funeral home.
Sometime, before or after the viewing of a close family member or friend, Maggie will arrive at your house with a full meal. Spiral sliced ham, green beans, potato salad, homemade buttermilk biscuits, a jug of sweet tea, and either a lemon or chocolate pound cake. Her food is absolutely delicious. I know, because this is the meal she delivered to my family when my parents passed away.
When I decide to take food to a bereaved family, I swing by Bojangles and purchase a family pack of chicken and fixings and a jug of sweet tea. For the record, Bojangles has the best tea in the South.
Maggie drives a little red convertible mustang and puts the top down and zooms around town with the sun beating down on her just as happy as if she had good sense.
I drive a nice, safe, Honda Civic. I refuse to even purchase a car with a sunroof.
She goes to the beach and sits in the sun for hours on end.