Guns, Wives and Chocolate

by Sally Berneathy

  I arrived home and started across the yard to my front porch.

  An old pickup truck rattled slowly down the street. We don’t have a lot of traffic. Nobody I knew owned a dilapidated pickup.

  But it was a public street. The driver had every right to use it. I didn’t need to know everything about my neighbors and their visitors.

  I curbed my curiosity, strode determinedly onto my porch, and unlocked the door.

  The truck rumbled past my house.

  Henry greeted me at the door and turned to lead me to his empty food bowl in the kitchen.

  The rattling from the truck ended with a huff.

  I looked over my shoulder.

  It had stopped in front of Grace’s house. I couldn’t tell if it stopped because someone applied the brakes or if it simply died.

  Henry came back and nudged my leg gently. Well, as gentle as a half-grown lion can nudge. I took the hint and followed him to the kitchen where I poured food into his bowl.

  He dove in, crunching and purring.

  Assuming the truck did not die of natural causes, who would be coming to Grace’s house? Could it be another wife?

  It didn’t look like a vehicle a woman would drive.

  But Chuck’s wives were not ordinary women.

  Was the truck driven by criminal cohorts of George and Howdy Doody? Were they planning to break into Grace’s house in broad daylight?

  Henry finished his food and went to the back door.

  I let him out.

  Last I heard, Grace was still in jail. Her house was unguarded. One of the terms of friendship was the protection of personal property, especially when that property included a stash of cash skimmed from drug deals by said friend’s deceased husband.

  It didn’t sound quite so noble when I thought of it like that so I decided not to think of it like that.

  I headed out the front door, cell phone in one hand and stun gun in the other.

  As I passed the truck, I glanced through the open window of the cab. Nobody inside. Dingy towels that might have once been white hung over the seats and covered some of the stuffing that protruded from the worn fabric. Fast food wrappers and soft drink cups littered the floor.

  I strode up Grace’s sidewalk. Her front door sported two shiny new deadbolts. Fred had been there.

  I stuck my phone in my pocket, held my thumb on the button of the stun gun, and grasped the door knob.

  It turned.

  My heart beat a little faster.

  Didn’t mean anything, I assured myself. The lock was old, unreliable. The new deadbolts were the main source of security.

  I pushed gently.

  The door moved.

  Somebody was in there. Fred would not have gone away and left those locks unlocked. He was way too OCD for that.

  Inside the house a woman screamed.

  Another wife?

  I sucked up my courage, shoved the door open, and charged inside.

  Chapter Twelve

  Grace stood a few feet away, eyes and mouth wide.

  I stopped. My heart was racing, and my eyes and mouth were probably as wide as hers.

  “Lindsay! You scared me! I thought somebody was breaking in.”

  I wasn’t going to admit she had scared me too. “I’m sorry. I was worried. I didn’t know you were out of jail.”

  She flushed and turned toward a grungy couple sitting on the sofa.

  “Lindsay,” she said, “come in and meet my in-laws.”

  “Your…in-laws?”

  “Chuck’s parents.”

  The wealthy folks from Oklahoma?

  In that truck?

  “This is Edwina and Leon Mayfield.” With her bright hair pulled back in a ponytail, no makeup, and a big smile, Grace looked like a child on Christmas morning.

  The couple on the sofa, not so much. I did not feel a warm welcome emanating from them.

  They rose slowly to their feet.

  Faded overalls hung loosely on the man’s tall, lanky frame. His overgrown dark blond hair and beard could provide shelter to any number of creatures. I was glad Henry wasn’t with me. He might get fleas.

  The woman was short and squatty. With her shapeless brown dress and morose expression, she resembled a toad wearing a slightly askew blond wig.

  “Lindsay’s my neighbor and my best friend,” Grace said proudly.

  I’d graduated from her friend to her best friend. More responsibility. More secrets.

  Leon’s beard moved. Could be smiling. Could be snarling. Could be the residents having a workout. “Anybody who’s a friend of our daughter is our friend.”

  Their daughter? Oh, puke.

  I closed the door behind me. “Pleased to meet you,” I lied.

  Was I being unfair?

  One cannot judge others by their appearance. If they lived in the country and drove regularly on dirt or gravel roads, an old truck made sense.

  But Mr. Mayfield could surely afford a razor, and shouldn’t Mrs. Mayfield have been able to buy a better wig? Bless her heart, maybe she didn’t realize how bad it looked.

  “I was just going to get drinks for everybody.” Grace fluttered. “I know you want Coke, Lindsay.”

  “Me too.” Until he spoke, I hadn’t noticed Rickie huddled on the far corner of the sofa.

  Mrs. Mayfield patted his head.

  Rickie cringed.

  For once, I was with him.

  “All right, Coke for everybody!” Grace started toward the kitchen.

  “Let me help you with that,” I said.

  “I don’t need any help.”

  “Yes, you do.” I followed her into the kitchen. “Those people out there are Chuck’s wealthy parents?”

  She beamed. “They want me to call them Mom and Dad.”

  Mom and Dad. They’d played the family card. Grace was putty in their grimy hands.

  “They’re not really your in-laws. I’m pretty sure your marriage to Chuck wasn’t legal.”

  Her bright expression dimmed.

  I have a knack for saying the wrong thing. It’s a talent. Takes up the brain space where some people store their musical ability. “I mean, you and Chuck had a spiritual bond but that doesn’t make those people out there your family.”

  She took five glasses from the cabinet. “They didn’t know I was in jail.” She kept her gaze averted from mine.

  Some friend I was. I burst in the door saying the wrong thing then compounded it with my remark about her marriage not being legal. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—it’s my big mouth. Words just fall out.”

  She touched my arm. “It’s okay.”

  Her ready forgiveness made me feel even more guilty.

  She opened the refrigerator and filled a glass with ice.

  I stopped her. “Pour the Coke in first then add the ice. Doesn’t bubble over as much.” Showing her how to dispense Coke the best way was small reparation for my actions, but it was something.

  She opened a two-liter bottle and began pouring. “They want Rickie to call them Grandma and Grandpa.” Her voice was as bubbly as the soft drink.

  “What does Rickie think about that?”

  “He’s a sensitive boy. It’s going to take him a while to get used to having grandparents.”

  Sensitive? Were we talking about the same Rickie? “How long is a while? They live almost five hundred miles away. They’re not likely to come back to visit every other weekend.”

  “They’re here for the funeral, and we can’t have that until the police let me have Chuck back.”

  I had a bad feeling I knew where this was going. “Okay, so that’ll be a few days, maybe a week. You think that’s long enough for Rickie to accept those people?”

  Grace turned her attention to adding ice to the half-full glasses of Coke. “I invited them to stay with me for as long as they want.”

  My bad feeling was right. I was becoming as psychic as Fred.

  I bit my tongue just in time to prevent the words Are you out of your fr
eaking mind? from spilling directly from my mouth, bypassing any seldom-used filter that might exist. “Do you think that’s a good idea? You don’t even know these people.”

  “They’re family,” she said firmly.

  “You’re not even completely unpacked yet. Do you have a guest room set up for your new family to stay in?”

  She added another ice cube to one of the glasses. Plop. Fizz. “Rickie won’t mind letting them use his room.”

  “Really? And where is he going to sleep?”

  Plop. Fizz. “The sofa?” Clearly she had not thought this through.

  “The sofa where Chuck died?”

  She flinched. “They can have my bed, and I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

  I placed both hands on the countertop and leaned against it. The primary purpose of that movement was to keep myself from strangling Grace, my new best friend. “Are you aware that George Murray broke into your house last night trying to find drug money? What if he comes back tonight?”

  She picked up three of the glasses at once, an amazing feat considering she had small hands. She had probably been a good waitress. “When Fred bailed me out of jail, he told me all about George. He put deadbolts and chains on both my doors. We’re safe.”

  Deadbolts and chains might protect her from George and his cronies, but they wouldn’t protect her from those creepy people in her living room.

  “Grace, how do you even know these people are really Chuck’s parents? Howdy Doody might have sent them to get into your house and find Chuck’s money. That truck doesn’t look like something wealthy people would drive.”

  “They’re not rich like fancy people. Chuck told me they were just farmers until somebody found gas on their land. Farmers drive old, beat-up trucks on the back roads because they’d ruin a new one.”

  “I know you want them to be family.”

  The corners of her eyes tilted down. She still looked like a little girl on Christmas morning but now it was a little girl who didn’t get the doll she wanted, a little girl who discovered there’s no Santa Claus. “I need them to be family.”

  “No, you don’t! You have friends and you have Rickie.”

  “That’s right. I have Rickie. Who’s going to take care of him if I get sent to prison for Chuck’s murder? His father?”

  I opened my mouth. For once no words fell out.

  “Can you get those other two drinks?” she asked.

  Somehow I would have to save her and Rickie from her newly-found family. I was her best friend. She was my responsibility. I had to keep her out of prison and get rid of the Mayfields while keeping her secrets about Chuck’s decongestant activity.

  I picked up the glasses. “Fred’s got an air mattress. I’ll ask him if you can borrow it.” I needed his help more than his air mattress, but it was a good excuse to get him over there.

  I followed her into the living room and handed Rickie a Coke.

  “Thanks.” He sounded sincere. And a little desperate, as if he knew I was his only ally. I’d been wrong when I thought that things couldn’t get any stranger than meeting Chuck’s wives.

  Grace and I sat in the chairs opposite the sofa, opposite the Mayfields.

  “You must be exhausted from your drive,” I said. “How long did it take you to get here?”

  “Almost eight hours,” Leon said. “Old truck don’t go as fast as it used to. Neither do I, but we manage okay back home on the farm.”

  Grace gave me a triumphant look.

  “Got a big farm, do you?” I asked.

  “Big enough,” Leon said.

  “I’ll bet it’s real pretty,” Grace said.

  Grace had never been to the Oklahoma Panhandle.

  “We think it is,” Edwina said.

  “Got me a nice little pond,” Leon said. “Anytime I need to get my head on straight, I just go down and see Dr. Catfish.” He slapped his leg and chuckled.

  Edwina giggled.

  Grace blinked a couple of times then joined the laughter.

  I looked at Rickie. He pointed a finger gun at the side of his head and pulled the trigger.

  Again we were in agreement.

  I waited for the laughter to die. “What do you grow?” I asked, wondering if he’d say something cutesy like gas wells.

  “Used to grow a little corn, but the dirt’s as worn out as me and that truck.”

  I looked at Grace who was no longer looking at me. “So how do you make a living if you don’t grow corn?” Yes, it was an incredibly rude question, but I needed to know the answer. Grace needed to know the answer.

  Leon leaned forward and put a hand behind him. “I’m down in my back. Government sends us a little money every month, but not much. Chuck used to send us money pretty regular.”

  Ding! So much for the gas wells lie. Did that count as one lie for the gas wells and a second lie for the wealth? One ding or two? At this point, who was counting?

  “Don’t know what we’d have done without that boy,” Edwina said. She dabbed at her eyes though I didn’t see any moisture.

  “That’s got to be tough,” I said, “losing your only child.” I expected his parents to say he had twenty siblings.

  Leon didn’t disappoint. “Only child? We got eight kids.”

  Ding! I was off by twelve. Math was never my best subject.

  “Seven,” his wife corrected.

  Leon’s brows drew closer together. “You sure?”

  Edwina counted on her fingers. “You’re right,” she said. “I wasn’t counting Chuck. He’s been gone a long time.”

  Leon nodded. “Yeah.

  “Dropped out of medical school, did he?” I asked.

  To my surprise, Leon nodded again. “Yeah.”

  “High school,” Edwina corrected. “Leon’s getting a little deaf.”

  “Yeah,” Leon repeated. “Dropped out of school when he was...I dunno...fifteen, sixteen.”

  “When you got that many kids,” Edwina said, “it’s hard to keep up with all of them. You don’t notice for a day or two when one of them’s gone.”

  I was beginning to understand Chuck a lot better. He hadn’t had a Leave it to Beaver childhood. More like Lady MacBeth meets Frankenstein.

  Grace sat rigidly, her horrified gaze fixed on the couple.

  Did she regret inviting them to stay with her? Surely she regretted any thoughts she’d had about them taking care of Rickie if she were sent to prison.

  “How did you find out about Chuck’s death?” If they weren’t sure when he left home, how would they know when he died? It hadn’t been long enough for them to notice the checks had stopped coming.

  “Sheriff Hawkins come by and told us. We didn’t even know he was married, but we got here as quick as we could to be with our daughter in her time of sorrow.”

  He hadn’t known his son was married? Did that mean he didn’t know about the other wives? How would this play out when the Mayfields realized they had six more daughters-in-law?

  The cell phone tucked in the right pocket of my jeans vibrated. I ignored it. This situation was far more important than any text message. “So you came here to find your...” I swallowed and forced myself to continue. “Your daughter-in-law.” That designation was bad enough. I refused to call her their daughter. “I guess you’ll probably want to get back home as soon as possible to...” To what? They didn’t need to plant crops anymore. They had no gas wells to guard or whatever one does with gas wells. They wouldn’t be watching the mailbox for a check from Chuck to arrive. “To feed your dog?” Please don’t let an innocent dog be dependent on these people for care!

  Grace appeared to be in shock. I couldn’t tell if she was pleased I was trying to get her out of her obligation to host these people or if she was horrified at all the revelations.

  Edwina and Leon looked confused, but they sort of looked that way all the time.

  Rickie fisted his hand at his side with the thumb extended upward.

  “We don’t have a dog,” Edwina said.
>
  “We’re going to be here with our new daughter for a nice long visit.” Leon leaned back on the sofa, settling in. That sofa would have to be burned when they left.

  If they left.

  “You got a real nice place here,” Edwina said.

  The house had lots of character, but I wasn’t sure I’d call it real nice. Matted gold shag carpet hid the hardwood floors. The paint on the walls had probably once been white or maybe beige or yellow. Currently it had varying shades of all those colors. Perhaps Edwina could see beyond the cosmetic makeover the place needed.

  Or perhaps Grace’s house in its current condition was nice compared to hers.

  If they thought she had a nice house, did they think she could afford to continue sending checks to them?

  Was I being paranoid, taking this best-friend job too seriously?

  Someone knocked on the door.

  Grace shot out of her chair and raced across the room.

  I was right behind her with Rickie bringing up the rear.

  Grace opened the door.

  “Good afternoon, Grace.” Fred looked dignified in his dark blue slacks and gray blazer. Except for the absence of an ascot, he looked a lot like Professor Walter Keats, an identity he’d assumed a few months ago. “I see you have visitors, so I won’t intrude. I just need to borrow Lindsay.”

  “No!” Rickie whispered.

  “Fred, I’m in the middle of something important.” I tilted my head backward, toward the Mayfields.

  “I texted to let you know we have an appointment across town,” he said. “And we need to leave now.”

  “We...do?”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “Are we going to see the puppet man?”

  “More or less.”

  That was a strange response, but Fred’s strange.

  “Go,” Grace said.

  “Stay,” Rickie said.

  Fred needed my help getting the truth out of Howdy Doody.

  Grace needed me to get rid of her in-laws.

  Howdy Doody could be the key to keeping Grace out of prison.

  “I’ll be back,” I said.

  “You don’t have to.” Grace didn’t sound certain.

  “You better be back.” Rickie sounded certain.