Lowcountry Bonfire

by Susan M. Boyer

  “Is April younger than Zeke?”

  “No. They’re the same age.”

  “And Jackson?”

  “He’s my age.”

  “April had a fling with a guy a decade younger?”

  “Something like that,” I said.

  Nate headed down the steps and I followed. “Well, it probably wasn’t serious. If something else doesn’t pan out we can look into it.”

  “I figured we’d talk to April. She lives in Charleston now.”

  “She didn’t go far when she left in a hurry.”

  “She did at first. They tried to find her to testify against Zeke. Looks like she came back to Charleston after the dust settled.”

  “And you’d rather interview her than your boyfriend?” Nate’s tone was teasing.

  “If we need to talk to Jackson we can. I don’t have a problem with it.”

  “Maybe I should interview him.” His eyes sparkled.

  “Be my guest. It’s a waste of time.”

  He stopped by the front door and pulled me close. “I don’t see finding out everything there is to know about any man who’s ever kissed you as a waste of my time.”

  “Who says I let him kiss me?”

  “He’s a fool if he didn’t try.” His mouth claimed mine, warm and possessive. He pulled back, caressed my face. “As long as he never tries it again.”

  NINE

  We stopped back in at Mamma and Daddy’s for lunch. Mamma was back in the kitchen, arranging platters and serving bowls filled with everything she’d served the day before plus a vegetable platter, pasta salad, and roasted corn salad. There was enough food for a family reunion.

  I went to the sink to wash my hands. “Where’s Daddy?”

  “In the backyard,” said Mamma. “He’s clearing some brush along the tree line. I declare it’s gotten so grown up back there. It’s a snake nest.”

  A chill shuddered up my spine. I purely hated snakes. “Can’t he hire professionals to do that? Folks with protective clothing and all like that?”

  “He said he could handle it himself,” said Mamma. “Call him in for lunch, would you, sugar? Nate, would you bring me the tea urn from the pantry?””

  “Sure.” Nate and I spoke at the same time.

  I crossed the kitchen, went out the backdoor, and scanned the yard for Daddy as I moved through the screened porch and stepped outside. Old-fashioned grass—the kind you mowed but didn’t fuss with too much—stretched from the porch across roughly two acres. Live oaks, magnolias, and pine trees dotted the landscape, with bunches of azaleas underneath the shady overhangs.

  Chumley’s outdoor retreat, comprised of an oversized dog house with a front porch inside a fenced area that we never referred to as a pen, was situated in the back left corner. A line of crepe myrtles that would bloom red soon bordered the right side of the yard.

  The tailgate of Daddy’s white Chevy pickup truck stuck out from the woods that ran along the back yard. It really was overgrown. It looked like an impenetrable tangle of vines, brush, and small trees had nearly swallowed the truck whole. Mamma was right. It was snaky. Chumley’s bark was muffled. Was he inside the truck?

  “Daddy?” I called. “Lunch is ready.”

  No answer.

  I strolled across the yard. What was he doing?

  As I got closer, I could see Daddy standing in the back of the truck, sawing on a limb over his head with a pruning saw. Chumley was in the cab, looking out the back window, barking up a storm. I stopped twenty feet away, leaving plenty of room between me and any snakes. “Whatcha doing?”

  Daddy didn’t immediately answer. When the limb came loose, he tossed it over the side. “There. That’s almost got it.”

  “You stuck in there?”

  “Nah. I could drive out, but I don’t want to scratch my truck.”

  I pondered that. “How’d you get the truck in there?”

  “I drove in.”

  “May I ask why you drove the truck into the thicket?”

  “No, you may not.” He delivered the line like I’d breached etiquette, asked him something deeply personal.

  I nodded. No doubt it had seemed like a good idea at the time. “Daddy, why don’t you hire somebody to clean up back here?”

  “Hire somebody? Why would I do that?”

  “Because you’re a retired salesman, not a landscaper?”

  “Landscaper. Huh. Those people charge sky high prices, and they wouldn’t do it to suit me. I can take care of my own yard.”

  I studied him, standing there in the truck, sawing on some kind of thick vine, thinking how there was surely a more efficient way. “It’s probably full of poison ivy in there.”

  “Poison ivy? Nah.”

  “Frank, you need a hand?” Nate walked up behind me.

  “Nate. Yeah. Tell you what. How about climbing in the truck. Back out real slow. Stop if I holler at you.”

  Nate analyzed the situation. “Sure thing.”

  “Don’t go crawling in there,” I said. “It’s snaky. How in the world did you even get out of the truck, Daddy? Will the door open?”

  “Enough to slide in, it will. Be careful, don’t let Chumley or Kinky out. They’ve got no business in this jungle.”

  “They’ve got no business in it, but it’s safe for Nate? And you?” I said. “Why are they in the truck to begin with?”

  “They like to ride in the truck,” said Daddy.

  “Slugger, it’s fine,” said Nate.

  “Mamma wants us inside,” I said. “Lunch is ready.”

  “Go on,” said Daddy. “We’ll be in directly. We can’t leave the hound dog and the poor little pig in the truck. It’s too hot.”

  I sighed. “I’m not leaving the two of you out here like this. Someone needs to be here to call 911.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Nate picked his way through the brush. “This won’t take but a minute.”

  “Careful of the paint,” said Daddy.

  “Hand me your saw,” said Nate, “and I’ll cut a few of these branches away from the front door.”

  Daddy passed him the saw.

  Chumley barked louder.

  Heaven only knew what the pig was doing.

  Poor Nate. I could scarcely think which idea I hated more: walking into that snaky mess of a brush tangle, or getting into the cab of a truck with a Bassett Hound and a pig that had been cooped up for who knew how long. It had to smell to high Heaven in there.

  Fifteen minutes later, Nate had cleared the branches and vines away from both doors. I cringed as he climbed inside the truck. He started the engine and eased the Chevy back while Daddy hollered instructions at him. As soon as the truck was completely clear, Nate pulled to a stop and eased out the door.

  “All set,” he said.

  Daddy climbed out of the back of the truck. “Well thank you there. ’Preciate it.”

  “Happy to help,” said Nate.

  I pulled him towards the house. “Come inside, now, Daddy.”

  “I’ll be right there, soon as I get Chumley and Kinky settled.”

  Nate and I hustled across the yard.

  “I am so sorry,” I said. “And I’m afraid of the precedent this might set.”

  “I’d say it wasn’t anything, but I think it’ll work out better for me if I encourage you to figure out a way to make it up to me.” He grinned, looking happy with the way things had worked out.

  After another round of hand washing and a thick layer of Purell, I put Nate and me each a plate together with a chicken salad sandwich, pasta salad, and cream cheese and olive deviled eggs. Mamma fixed plates for her and Daddy, and we all settled back into our places at the kitchen table while she fussed at him about getting his truck stuck in the woods.

  “What we need are a few goats, maybe
a llama,” said Daddy. “Keep all that mess eaten down.”

  Mamma stared at him, a chicken salad sandwich halfway to her mouth. This was about to escalate. In the wake of the incident where Daddy acquired Kinky—which was a whole nother story—Mamma had a well-publicized, hardline position about no more animals.

  “Did y’all know Harold Yates?” I asked.

  “Harold Yates?” Daddy made a face. Is that where I got it? “Why are you asking about him?”

  “Did he know Zeke?” I asked.

  Daddy shrugged. “He was a plumber. He knew everybody in town, I guess. He was the only plumber on the island for a long time. But he died several years ago. What does he have to do with anything?”

  “Maybe nothing.” I took a bite of my sandwich.

  “He was crazy if you ask me,” said Daddy.

  “Frank.” Mamma flashed him a quelling look as she took her seat. “Be nice. That poor old soul never hurt anyone.” Her small plate held a scoop of chicken salad, a small scoop of potato salad, and several thick slices of tomato

  I was going to have to pattern her habits better. But not today. I needed thinking food. I delivered a bite of potato salad to my mouth.

  “What kind of crazy?” asked Nate. “Was he a character? Or was he ill?”

  “He was always going on about flying saucers, aliens, all such as that,” said Daddy. “Probably had him a tinfoil hat.”

  “Frank.” Mamma laid down her fork.

  “Carolyn, I’m just telling them the facts,” said Daddy. “They asked.”

  Mamma smoothed the napkin on her lap. “He never had anybody. It was sad. He never married or had children. He was an only child, and his parents died young. He was a lonely person. Imagine what any of us would turn into without each other. Have some Christian charity.”

  “How would you put it?” Daddy asked. “Why don’t you answer the children’s questions then.”

  Mamma used her fork to cut a bite of tomato. “He was a lonely soul. He passed away from a heart attack a few years ago. And he was a plumber. He’s been to this house a number times. You’ve seen him, Liz. It’s been a long time.”

  I squinted, tried to recall.

  “Stop that,” Mamma said.

  I smoothed my brow. “I don’t remember.”

  “You were a child,” said Mamma. “He’s been here more recently, but you were living in Greenville. I don’t think he ever retired.”

  “Did he believe in UFOs?” I asked.

  Mamma sighed. “Yes. I suppose he did. He didn’t try to keep that quiet. He passed a lot of time watching the sky.”

  “Daddy,” I said, “how familiar are you with Zeke’s gun collection?” Daddy and Zeke had bonded over two things: poker and guns.

  “He has a few nice shotguns. Why do you ask?” said Daddy.

  “I’m just curious,” I said. “Running down a few things. Do you know why he’d have silencers and sound suppressors?”

  Daddy cut a glance at Mamma. “No, I don’t know anything about that,” he said, in the same tone he used when someone had left a godawful mess in Mamma’s kitchen and everyone knew it was him.

  I gave him a long look. I’d seen Zeke use a gun with a silencer once, the first time Tammy hired us. I caught him surreptitiously dispatching members of our wild hog population to the hereafter. He’d told me at the time that he’d been hired by “concerned citizens,” one of them being my daddy. The porcine problem was highly controversial. Island matrons—my mamma was exhibit A—were fed up with the pigs rooting in their flower beds. On the other hand, they were far too tender-hearted to hear tell of the swine being harmed. If I wanted the straight scoop, I’d have to get it when Mamma was elsewhere.

  The front doorbell rang. From the family room, Chumley went to woofing.

  “Who in the world?” Daddy stood and went to find out. We heard him talking to someone.

  A male voice.

  “Sure, come on in,” Daddy said.

  Nate, Mamma, and I stood and stepped into the hall.

  Robert Pearson, a family friend who also happened to be our family attorney, stood just inside the door. “Hey, Carolyn. Liz. Nate. I’ve got a package for Tammy Sue. I understand she’s here.”

  “A package?” I said.

  “Yes,” said Robert. “It’s confidential, I’m afraid.”

  He must’ve been Zeke’s attorney too. Of course.

  “She’s upstairs in the guest room,” said Mamma. “I don’t think she’s up to coming down.”

  “Do you mind if I go up?” said Robert.

  “Nah, go on ahead,” said Daddy.

  “Can I get you anything?” asked Mamma.

  “Thank you, Carolyn. But no, I’m fine. I won’t be long.” He started up the stairs.

  “Maybe I should let her know you’re here?” I scrambled up after him.

  “That’s not a bad idea. Thanks,” he said.

  I slid past him and knocked on the door to the first bedroom on the right. “Tammy Sue, are you awake?”

  She didn’t respond.

  I knocked again, then opened the door and slipped in, smiling as I closed it behind me with Robert still in the hall. The shades had been lowered again, dimming the room. “Tammy?”

  She stirred.

  I walked over to the bed, placed a hand on her shoulder, and jostled her gently. “Tammy, Robert Pearson’s here to see you.”

  “What does he want?” Her voice was thick with sleep.

  “He has a confidential package for you.”

  She sat up. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. He’s right outside. Is it okay to let him in?”

  “I guess.”

  I opened the door and admitted Robert, then waited a beat before taking a step towards the hall.

  “Where are you going?” asked Tammy.

  “The matter I have to discuss with you is confidential,” said Robert. “My condolences on your loss.”

  “Thank you,” said Tammy. “I need Liz to stay with me.”

  I paused.

  “I have a package for you and an envelope from Zeke,” said Robert. “Have you retained Liz to work for you?”

  “I did, yes.”

  Robert nodded at me. I closed the door.

  Robert approached the bed. I pulled the wicker chair over for him, then perched on the edge of the bed.

  Robert said, “I’m Zeke’s attorney. He asked that in the event something happened to him, I get this to you within twenty-four hours.” He handed her a sealed envelope.

  “Do you know what’s in here?” she asked.

  “No,” said Robert. “He prepared that envelope himself. I drew up his will. I have that of course. Zeke made you the executor and his sole beneficiary. He’s already made his final arrangements. He didn’t want you to have to worry about anything.”

  Tammy clutched the envelope to her chest. Tears rolled down her face.

  I patted her leg.

  After a minute, she turned the envelope over, worked the seal open, and slid out a single sheet of paper and a small key. She read quietly, sniffling occasionally.

  “Is there anything more I can do for you?” Robert asked.

  “No,” she whispered. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  “My pleasure to be of service.” He laid a larger manila envelope on the bed. “Copies of everything you’ll need are in here. Judge Johnson signed the order appointing you executor this morning. The, ah, memorial will be Friday night at seven. If you need anything else, call me anytime.” He stood. “I’ll show myself out.” He closed the door behind him.

  Tammy read the page again, then handed it to me.

  It was a letter.

  January 14, 2010

  My Darling Tammy,

  If you’re reading this, I’ve g
one on ahead of you. Know that I’ll be waiting to see you again someday. But in the meantime, I want you to enjoy every minute of this life. I hope in time you’ll find someone to share it with. Someone who can be there for you and take care of you when I can’t. The last thing I would ever want is for you to be alone.

  Sweetheart, you know how I like to tell tales. But what I’m going to tell you now is the God’s honest truth. I was in the Army for a short time, but they decided to send me to college. I graduated top of my class from West Point, but then the CIA wanted me, and the Army agreed to it. I spent twenty years as an operations officer, most of it out of the country. April was my partner, and my marriage to her was more of a business deal. You are the only woman I’ve ever loved. You can trust April. If you ever need anything, if you are ever afraid, go to April.

  I think we covered our tracks pretty good when we got out, but you never know. We live in the age of WikiLeaks. Whatever happened to me, it probably doesn’t have anything to do with my job at the CIA. If it does, best to just let it go. I don’t want you to get hurt. With me gone, no one would have any reason to come after you.

  I don’t have secret files on anyone, nothing like that.

  Talk to Michael Devlin, who built our house. There’s some built-in storage you should know is there. You can have someone sell the guns. You won’t need them. The people I was prepared for, well, they either got me (but I doubt that) or they’re too late now. They won’t bother you.

  The key is to a safe deposit box at the bank in town. Open it for me just as soon as you can. You can toss most of what’s in there. I won’t need it now. Take the cash and go on a nice vacation or something. You’ll find more cash at the house.

  You said you didn’t want to talk about life insurance, so I just bought some. You should be set. Also, I made arrangements for a big party at The Pirates’ Den. Don’t even think about carrying me in there in a casket. I have to be clear about this now: I don’t want a damn funeral. I’ve taken care of everything, and this is how I want it. Robert will make the necessary phone calls.

  I love you, sweetheart. Please be happy. Think of me every once in a while. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.

  Always,