Gayle Trent

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Gayle Trent Page 13

by Between a Clutch


  She fell silent, and I didn’t say anything either. I mean, what do you say to that? After a few seconds, she went on.

  “When he graduated high school, he signed right up for the armed forces. I told him that was a mistake, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He saw some terrible things in the Korean War, and when he came home, he was happy to have me near him again. For a long while—thirty-five years, to be exact—life was wonderful. Jim got a good job, and I was our homemaker . . . the way it should be. About five years ago, I took a job working a few hours a week at the library. Jim and I were truly content.” She frowned. “Oh, he’d get ornery at times and wish me gone, but I never took him seriously. Never, that is, until a couple of years ago when he started seeing Dr. Moorefield.”

  “Dr. Moorefield?” I echoed.

  She nodded. “Yes. He’s some sort of psychiatrist. He told Jim he had ‘internalized imaginary companion disorder’ or some such nonsense and tried to get Jim to drive me away.”

  This really was Jim. I reached out and touched Flora’s face. It felt rubbery, and I drew back. “You need some help,” I whispered.

  “Oh, no, dear; I’m fine. You’re the one who needs help. You see, Jim heard you talking with Tansie earlier and he knows that you think he might’ve killed me. I wanted you to know that isn’t true. He has a dear friend in you, and I don’t want you to be driven away.” She chuckled. “That’s literally what he tried to do when he abandoned my car—drive me away.” She shook her head. “I know you found the note I put in my purse—the purse I took to Marcia’s. I recognized it the minute I saw you at the dance that night.”

  “You were there with Jim? At the dance?”

  “Of course. I’m always with Jim . . . whether he realizes it or not.” She smiled. “I’ll never leave him. Not completely.”

  She touched my hand, and I caught my breath.

  “But just so you’ll know,” she said, “I put the note in that purse to be mean. I wanted to punish Jim for wanting to be rid of me. After I did it, I regretted it . . . especially after I met you. I’d hate for you to spurn our friendship—Jim’s and mine—because of some silly, misguided note.”

  “I understand.” I looked at my watch. “I’d better be going now.”

  “It was nice chatting with you, Myrtle, dear. We’ll see you soon.”

  “Um . . . sure. Okay.”

  I stood and gave Matlock’s leash a slight but insistent tug. As we started walkin’ away, I noticed a pair of crutches layin’ underneath the bench.

  “Don’t stay out in this night air too long,” I told Flora/Jim. “I’d hate for you to catch a cold.”

  “Thank you, dear.” Flora had gone back to her knitting and didn’t look up.

  * * *

  As soon as I got back home, I called Sheriff Norville. He wasn’t in, of course, so I left him a message telling him about Jim, Flora and Dr. Moorefield. Then I went and took a long hot bath. I felt drained.

  When I got out of the bathtub and went into the bedroom, Matlock was already in bed waiting for me. I got under the covers and took the remote out of the nightstand. “Let’s see if we can find something funny.”

  As I was clicking from one channel to the next, the phone rang. I figured it was Sheriff Norville, so I picked it up right away. It wasn’t the sheriff. It was Faye.

  “Hi, honey,” I said.

  “Hi, Mother. Listen, I want to apologize for what I said last night. I’ve given what you said a lot of thought, and I don’t think Barry is really right for me after all.”

  “I just want you to be happy,” I told her.

  “I know. Hey, Crimson and I wondered if we could come over for dinner tomorrow evening. We’ll come early and help fix the food. We’d just like to spend some time with you . . . both of us would.”

  “Why don’t I come over there? I know you’re allergic to Matlock, and—”

  “I’ll take an allergy pill. I’d really like to have dinner there with you.”

  “Okay. What’ll we have?”

  “How about spaghetti and meatballs?” she asked.

  “Sounds good to me, honey. I’ll look forward to seeing you.”

  “Maybe we can stay with you a little while . . . maybe watch a movie or play a game or something.”

  “Great.”

  I hung up the phone and felt so much better that I went right to sleep.

  * * *

  “I’m becomin’ plumb newfangled,” I told Matlock as I took a loaf of Italian bread out of the bread machine. “But these things are as handy as can be.”

  The meatballs were still a hundred percent homemade, though, and by the time Faye and Sunny got there, the house smelled like an Italian restaurant.

  Sunny ran and gave me a squeeze around the waist. “Yum, Mimi! Everything smells great!”

  “Let’s hope it will be.” I let a reluctant Matlock outside while we ate and promised to save him some spaghetti and meatballs and even a slice of buttered bread.

  We fixed our plates and sat down and said grace. Just as we dug in, the phone rang.

  “Want me to get it?” Sunny asked.

  “No, sweetie,” I said, “let’s eat. That’s what the answerin’ machine is for.”

  The machine’s message played: “Hello, Ms. Crumb. This is Sheriff Norville. Thank you for calling me with the information about Jim Adams yesterday evening. I talked with Dr. Moorefield today and he confirmed that Mr. Adams has an imaginary internalized companion named Flora. Naturally, this clears him of murder and closes this case. Since I have you to thank, I’d like to take you to dinner tomorrow evening. What do you say? Give me a call. I’m looking forward to talking with you.”

  Sunny laughed and started making circles with her fists. “Go, Mimi! Go, Mimi! Go, Mimi!”

  I grinned. “Quit that and eat before your supper gets cold.”

  “Does anybody wanna let me in on this?” Faye asked.

  “Mimi’s been detecting again,” Sunny said, “and this time, I think she detected the sheriff.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “If you’ll recall, the last man I dated was . . . um . . . too wrapped up in himself.”

  Sunny giggled. “So? You gonna go out with the sheriff?”

  “Not yet. I think I’ll play hard to get for a day or two . . .make him pay for not giving me a temporary badge.”

  Faye took a drink of her iced tea. “I wanna hear all about this sheriff . . . and this other guy, too.”

  “It’s a long story,” I said.

  “I’ll make time,” she said.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Gayle Trent is a full-time writer/editor/mom/wife/chief cook and bottle washer. Like Myrtle, I live in Southwest Virginia. As a matter of fact, some of Myrtle’s stylish personality was derived from my grandmother, Marilyn Hicks. Still, this is a work of fiction; and any similarity to persons living or dead is merely a coincidence—with the exception of Grandmother, who loved to sit in her recliner and watch “The Young and The Restless.” I once was able to video actor Doug Davidson (who plays Paul Williams on the show) waving to her and saying, “Hello, Marilyn! How are you?” I still have the tape. Though Grandmother had a run-in with a German Shepherd when she was a little girl and didn’t care for dogs, Matlock is based on my good friend Jake, a Chocolate Lab who lives with his owner Michael in our neighborhood. Jake knows where to visit when he wants a hug, a piece of ham or a doggie treat. As a matter of fact, every animal in the neighborhood does.

  Visit Gayle online at http://www.gayletrent.com.

 

 

 
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