So Faux, So Good

by Tamar Myers

  “I didn’t think you were going to keep it.”

  “It’s evidence, isn’t? Surely you weren’t planning to keep it, were you?”

  I shook my head sadly.

  He smiled broadly. “How’s your breakfast?”

  I glanced around for the skulking Imogene. She was nowhere to be seen.

  “Fine.”

  “Good, because I can’t cook nearly as well as Imogene.”

  “I beg your pardon?” If you ask me, the guy was moving a little fast, even by Yankee standards.

  “Bedford County Jail does not pretend to have haute cuisine.”

  “What?” It’s a good thing I have short hair, because it was standing on end. I stood up to keep it company.

  Sheriff Marlon remained seated. “Is that your Lincoln Town Car parked just outside?”

  “Well—uh, I—it sort of is.”

  “I see.” He took a sip of tepid coffee. “Well, we just got a call reporting it stolen.”

  “I can explain!”

  The big brown eyes regarded me calmly. He didn’t seem about to slap cuffs on me, despite his tough talk. I sat down.

  “The car belongs to a friend of mine—Peggy Redfern. I was only borrowing it.”

  “Did you have her permission?”

  “No, but I’m sure she wouldn’t have minded. She was asleep already, you see. Besides, Peggy borrows things from me all the time.”

  “She minded enough to report it missing.”

  I muttered something unkind under my breath. Believe me, it was justified. The woman couldn’t help but notice that I was missing along with the car. Even Peggy can add two and two.

  “I didn’t quite catch that,” the sheriff said. I think there was a twinkle in his eye.

  I held out my hands, palms up. “Book me.”

  He laughed, displaying perfect white teeth. Considering the amount of sugar in his diet, teeth that perfect had to be caps, which meant that either Pennsylvania sheriffs were paid a lot more than their Carolina counterparts, or the Marlons had family money. Either way, being arrested could have a silver lining.

  “Relax,” he said. “I’ve sent my deputy out to pick up your friend. They’ll be joining us here in a few minutes. Maybe then we can settle things a little less dramatically. By the way, how do you like the Motor Coach Motel?”

  “You mean the Roach Motel? Although, come to think of it I haven’t seen a single roach there. But the Southern Pennsylvania Metalworks Company, on the other hand—”

  “So you like it?”

  “Well, it probably beats sleeping in a drainpipe somewhere—but just barely. Confidentially, the manager looks like he crawled out of drainpipe. Talk about weird!”

  “Robert’s my brother.”

  “Oops! Sorry!”

  I never knew until then that it is possible to be so embarrassed that one can actually feel faint. I clutched at the sticky table edge for support.

  “I hear he rented his car to you.”

  “That was very kind of him.”

  “It used to be mine.”

  “Well, I just love it.”

  “It’s a piece of junk,” he said, brown eyes twinkling. “And you’re right, Robert is weird.”

  By then I didn’t care if Sheriff Edward Marlon carted me off to jail in shackles. In fact, I was beginning to wish he would.

  Peggy was delighted to get her car back. There was no doubt about that. And I honestly don’t think it had even occurred to her that I might be the thief.

  “Well, where did you think I was?” I demanded. “Out walking the streets?”

  Peggy shrugged. “Face it, Abby, you’re a strange bird. You could have been anywhere, up to anything. I just didn’t have you pegged as a car thief.”

  “I didn’t steal it.”

  “Of course I won’t press charges or anything, because you are a friend. Just make sure that next time do me a favor and ask first. All this worry and lack of sleep tends to be hard on a girl’s complexion.” She smiled coyly at the sheriff.

  “My Aunt Tina Marie was a streetwalker,” C. J. said, shaking her head. “Ooh, Abby, I would get out of that business if I were you.”

  “I’m not in that business!” I hissed.

  “That’s what my Aunt Tina Marie always said, but we knew better. You don’t make that much money playing church bingo. Anyway, she was—”

  “Give it a rest, dear,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “Why, Abby, what ever happened to freedom of speech?”

  I waggled my eyebrows in the sheriff’s direction.

  C. J. giggled. “Ooh, I see. Well, did you know that rice is the most popular breakfast food in the world? Of course, in much of Asia it’s served as gruel made with fish stock. I had some once. It tasted like the bottom of an aquarium.”

  Wynnell pushed her plate away. “Please,” she begged, “can’t we talk about something else? Anything—except food.”

  I reached across the table and patted her arm affectionately. The poor woman was as green as the sheen on her ham.

  Since the entire troop had shown up to accuse me of car theft, the sheriff and I had been forced to abandon our cozy booth for two tables pushed together in the middle of the room. Why the latecomers had even bothered to order was beyond me. They could have gotten a better meal just by chipping away at the table with their forks.

  “Speaking of food,” Peggy said, “this is, without a doubt, one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten. Don’t y’all agree?” The poor woman was serious.

  As if sensing that her reputation as a cook was at stake if we answered, Imogene materialized, a platter of sausage links in hand.

  “On the house,” she grunted.

  Sheriff Marlon glanced at his watch. “Thanks, Imogene, but I’ve got to run.”

  “So soon?” Peggy looked up from her plate to the man, to the platter, and back to her plate. Sausage or sheriff, it was a hard choice.

  Imogene plunked the platter directly in front of Peggy, thereby making the decision a whole lot easier. “We still on for tonight, Edward?”

  “You bet.”

  Imogene smiled broadly and disappeared in a cloud of grease.

  Sheriff Marlon stood up. “Miss Timberlake, may I speak to you?”

  “Sure.”

  C. J. nudged me. “I think he means alone.”

  I stood up as well.

  “Hey, it was my car she stole,” Peggy said, but reached for the serving tongs. There was no need to worry about her interference, not until the platter had been licked clean.

  After everybody finished breakfast, the gals and I drove back to the Roach Motel with the windows wide open. The rain had washed the heat out of the air, and it was the kind of morning I’d order everyday if I could.

  “So, Abby, where were you all night?” C. J. asked with the special tactlessness of the very young.

  They say the best defense is a good offense, and despite my good southern upbringing, I can certainly be offensive if the need arises.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” I snapped, “so I went for a spin. What’s it to you?”

  I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I should have leveled with the gals at that point. Perhaps they had a right to know about Tommy Lee’s counterfeit antique operation. But I was too tired to rehash it all.

  C. J. gasped at my rudeness. “Excuse me for living!”

  Peggy was not so easily put off. “It was my car, damn it. I have a right to know where you took it.”

  I released a long, low sigh. It gave me time to think up a good lie. Thank God my kids had at least taught me that.

  “Okay, you got me. I drove into Pittsburgh, if you must know.”

  “Oh, really?” Peggy said brightly. “An old boyfriend perhaps? Someone you went to college with?”

  “I knew it,” Wynnell mumbled, “I just knew it. It’s because of the problems you’re having with Greg, isn’t it?”

  “Guilty on both counts.”

  “So tha
t’s where you’ve been sneaking off to,” C. J. squealed. “An old boyfriend in Pittsburgh! Oh Abby. Tell us all the dirty details.”

  I sighed again. “There’s really not much to tell. Turns out Tommy is a priest now. A Catholic priest. We just talked.”

  “Ooh, Abby! Dating a priest!”

  “But two trips to Pittsburgh in one day?” As the only other mother in the car, Wynnell had reason to be skeptical.

  I turned and smiled the hedgerows back into submission. “He had an emergency today. Last rites or something. We didn’t get a chance to talk. So we met at an all-night bowling alley.”

  “I see.” Clearly she didn’t.

  “The youth group was there with him. It was just a good-bye, damn it. You know—closure.” I swear, I was starting to choke up at the sad scene playing in my mind.

  “I dated a priest once,” Peggy said wistfully.

  “Wow, two trips to Pittsburgh just to talk to a married priest,” C. J. said. I suppose the admiration in her voice should have made me feel guilty.

  Peggy glanced down at her gas tank gage. Sometimes she’s slow to get the point.

  “You drove my Lincoln to Pittsburgh, Abby?”

  “I remembered to fill it,” I said quickly. There was no need to worry about the odometer. The woman thinks those little numbers are some kind of bonus points she’ll get when she trades in the car.

  C. J. leaned forward. “I bet it was just like in Casablanca.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You and the priest saying good-bye. Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart. Only it was a bowling alley, instead of a foggy airport.”

  “Sure,” I said. After all, it was one of her nicer fantasies.

  “But don’t worry, Abby, you won’t be alone for long. For some strange reason, men seem to be attracted to you. Take that hunky sheriff, for instance. He had the hots for you.”

  “He did not!”

  “Ooh, but he did. What did he want to see you alone about? Was he asking you on a date?”

  “C. J.!” Wynnell said sharply. She tapped me on the shoulder. “What did he want?”

  “It was about Dmitri,” I lied. My, how it was getting easy to fib.

  C. J. leaned forward and patted my shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

  I turned in my seat. “Why, dear?”

  “Believe me, Abby, I know how hard it is to lose a cat.”

  “But Dmitri—”

  “When Puddlejumper died, I cried for hours. You won’t believe the amount of salt I lost. The doctor said it was the worst case of sodium deficiency he had ever heard about.”

  “Give me a break,” Wynnell moaned.

  “No, really. Of course that was before my Aunt Lottie Mae got a job peeling onions on an Israeli kibbutz near the Dead Sea. They grow these especially strong onions there, and as soon as she started peeling the first onion, Aunt Lottie Mae began to cry.”

  “What’s so unusual about that?”

  “Nothing. But you see, Aunt Lottie Mae couldn’t stop. They say she cried her weight in salt in just three days.”

  “Gracious,” said Wynnell, who really has a soft heart, “did she see a doctor?”

  “The kibbutz didn’t have a doctor, so they sent her to one in a small town halfway between Sodom and Gomorrah.”

  “And?”

  “Nobody knows. She was never seen or heard from again.”

  “You’re nuts,” Peggy said. She turned to me. “So, Abby, was that all the cute sheriff had to say? Just something about your cat being dead?”

  “Dmitri is not dead!” I nearly screamed. “Sheriff Marlon simply wanted me to know that the Mushroom Man has agreed not to hassle me for what Dmitri did to his car last night.”

  “What did Dmitri do?”

  “Let’s just say you can be glad that I drove your car, and left Dmitri in the other.”

  Peggy was not amused. “I’d sue you, Abby. I don’t care if you are my friend.”

  “Yeah well, Mushroom Man wanted to do the same, but his brother talked him out of it.”

  Peggy gasped. “The Mushroom Man and that hunky sheriff are brothers?”

  “Lord have mercy,” Wynnell cried. No doubt she’d been entertaining fantasies that Sheriff Marlon, whom she clearly liked, was a transplanted southerner.

  I nodded. “It’s true. Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I think our motel manager is cute,” C. J. said, just to be contrary. She was obviously miffed that we had taken her Aunt Lottie Mae’s story with a grain of salt.

  “You think he’s cute?”

  “Not everyone has the same taste, Abby. Besides, he’s kind of sweet. Last time I was in the office he gave me a complimentary newspaper.”

  “That was the Pennysaver,” Wynnell humphed. “He gave us each one.”

  “So? Y’all are always after me to meet some nice young man, aren’t you? Well, maybe I have.”

  “Good, then you get to go in and pay the bill when we check out. Maybe he’ll give us a discount.”

  C. J. turned sodium white. “But I’m the youngest. I’m barely more than a kid. Y’all are always reminding me of that.”

  “Which means you should listen to your elders,” Wynnell said, and tapped the back of my seat so I would know she was in on the joke.

  Peggy may be irritating, but she’s no slouch. “Let me do your makeup first. We might not have to pay anything.”

  In a rare moment of solidarity, Peggy, Wynnell, and I began to tease C. J. mercilessly. Who knows how far we may have taken it—possibly even driven the poor girl to tears—had we not had to stop for a red light.

  Almost immediately the driver of the car beside us began to honk furiously.

  “What the hell?” Peggy growled. “These Yankee drivers…” Her voice trailed off and she stiffened.

  “Holy Moly!” Wynnell cried. “That’s you, Abigail!”

  “Jeepers!” C. J. gasped.

  Peggy shook her head. “Damn if it doesn’t look like you.”

  I pinched myself just to be sure it wasn’t. I said “ouch,” but my double didn’t.

  “It isn’t me,” I announced.

  “Of course not,” C. J. said. “That woman’s a gorgeous blonde.”

  I pinched C. J.

  25

  Adrienne Wheeler followed us back to the Roach Motel. All the way there my friends marveled at our resemblance.

  “Except that she’s blond,” C. J. said for the umpteenth time, patting her own dishwater blond hair. “And men prefer blondes, you know.”

  “Says who?” Peggy was a redhead—probably a natural redhead at one time, although only her hairdresser knew for sure, along with several dozen men.

  C. J. ignored Peggy. “See how you could look, Abby?”

  I tried to pinch her again, but she had wisely scooted out of reach of my short arms.

  “It’s definitely a bottle job,” Wynnell said loyally. “Besides, our Abby could be blond if she wanted to, but she’d rather rely on her personality, than on peroxide.”

  That wasn’t strictly true. Once—in college, when I undoubtedly had less personality—I gave the old bottle a try. Unfortunately, my hair did not take to the chemicals well and turned a sickly shade of green. No hairdresser dared touch such damaged tresses, so for six months I walked around looking like I had a dead plant on top of my head.

  In the motel parking lot the comparisons continued.

  “Y’all are even the same height,” Wynnell said, after she’d made us stand back to back, and balanced her pocketbook on our heads.

  “Two baby peas in a pod,” Peggy said, although I’m sure she meant it kindly.

  “Well, they’re not exactly alike,” C. J. said, and snickered.

  I turned and glared at her. “I know, dear. She’s blond, and I’m not.”

  “Yes, but that’s not what I meant.”

  “Then do tell,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Well, since you put it that way, Abby. Miss Wheeler here is b
lessed in the bosom department and you—well—your Wonder Bra is still wondering.”

  Peggy and Wynnell had to restrain me. Well, if the truth be known, I let them think they were restraining me. Wynnell couldn’t open a pickle jar if you unscrewed the lid for her, and Peggy never grabs anything tightly, lest she damage her perfect nails.

  “Just let me get my baby pea hands on you,” I shrieked.

  C. J. was hopping from one foot to another, like a boxer with a bad sense of timing. “Oh yeah, what would you do then? Reach up and punch me in the stomach?”

  “Ladies!” Wynnell said sharply. “We are not alone.”

  Adrienne Wheeler smiled gamely. She was a high school teacher after all.

  “I’d like to speak to Abby, alone,” she said.

  As might be expected, there was a good deal of grumbling, particularly from our junior member. I righteously pointed out that if we were to leave that day still, someone had to rent and load the U-haul, and it wasn’t going to be me. I had yet to buy a single thing in Pennsylvania that wasn’t digestible—if you don’t count my breakfast.

  “I’m normally much better behaved,” I said when we were alone, “but I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “You too?” Not that I cared what blondie did with her time. No doubt she’d been partying all night and was going to call in sick again today.

  She motioned in the direction of her car. “Do you mind if we sit down?”

  “Actually, I do.” How stupid did she think I was?

  “Fine, we’ll stand. Look, Abby—”

  “You can call me Ms. Timberlake. I saw you drive away from Leona’s house yesterday afternoon. All that crap about Leona Teschel being the devil with breasts, the virtual mother-in-law from hell, and there you were, consorting with the enemy.”

  She laughed, and take it from me, our laughs do not sound alike. Had there been a healthy male donkey within five miles, one of us would have been in trouble.

  “So that’s it! You won’t get in my car, because you’re afraid of me?”

  “Bingo, sister. Although I prefer to call it careful.”

  “I should have known. Magdalena tried to warn me.”

  I recoiled in shock. After a few false starts I managed to sputter a couple of coherent words.