The Fame Equation

by Lisa Wysocky

  “Me too, but it will give us a chance to catch up.”

  Jon thought about it. “West Nashville or Ashland City?” he asked.

  We were located almost equal distance between the two.

  “Either,” I said.

  “If we go to the Walmart in Ashland City we can stop at the Co-op. I was going to pick up feed tomorrow morning, but could do it today.”

  I got my purse, turned on the headlights to combat the increasing gloom of the day and we headed down the drive, Jerry Reed singing “East Bound and Down.” Before I had a chance to make a right onto River Road Jon said, “Okay, what’s up?”

  I sighed, turned the radio down, and filled Jon in on the text and on my phone situation.

  “So I’m your safety buddy,” he said.

  “For now.”

  Jon considered the information, and then nodded.

  At Walmart, we selected a phone, and Jon put the number into his cell.

  “Put it in your address book as ‘Sally,’” I said on impulse. “Just in case.”

  “In case what?” he asked.

  “In case the killer gets your phone, or taps into it somehow.” I had no idea if a phone could be hacked, but I did not want to take a chance.

  We then picked up a few groceries, and my eyes scanned the darkening parking lot as we walked back to the truck, Jon carrying the bags. To my great surprise, I spotted a familiar man pushing a cart several rows away. I took stock: sunglasses, ball cap, and a jacket that was too large for his frame. He looked suspiciously like Mr. Clean Cut. Without thinking I darted between two cars and began to run toward him.

  Unfortunately, the man was near his car. He jumped into an older, dark green Honda and sped away. I just had time to see that when he started the car, and when the headlights came on, one light was yellower than the other.

  I stopped running, placed my hands on my knees and bent over, gasping.

  Jon ran up beside me. “What was that all about?”

  I waved my hand at him, indicating that I’d tell him as soon as I had enough air to form words. Before long I stood up and filled him in.

  “And you haven’t mentioned all this before because . . .”

  “I thought it was coincidence, that I was making something out of nothing. But now that I know Mr. Clean Cut drives the car that has been behind me a lot, it’s probably something.

  “You have to call Martin,” Jon said.

  “I know, but let’s get the grain first.”

  We drove west on Hwy. 12 to the center of town, but instead of making a left on Hwy 49 toward the Co-op I kept going. Jon just raised an eyebrow.

  “I forgot. I want to stop in at Mayfield’s Books,” I said.

  John Mayfield had a great used bookstore and gave all the proceeds to local charities. Besides, I wanted to see if he had a Goosebumps book for Bubba. As I had loved the pseudo scary books when I was younger, I thought Bubba would, too. There was a copy of a classic, Night of the Living Dummy, on a crowded shelf so I paid John his dollar, then drove the half mile or so to the Co-op where Jim Ed rose from the bench in front of the store to greet us.

  Jim Ed was a chatty member of the Giles family who held court every day from the Co-op, as a way keep his marriage intact. Since his retirement a decade or so ago, Jim Ed had wandered down to the Co-op just about every morning, and stayed most of the day.

  Store management figured out early on that having Jim Ed ensconced on the bench out front was the equivalent of thousands of dollars worth of advertising each week. Fact was, Jim Ed was the town’s biggest gossip and a lot of people came by just to hear what news Jim Ed had to share. Today he wore his usual white undershirt, dark blue work pants, black suspenders, white tube socks, and black lace up shoes with thick soles. He’d added a heavy, thigh-length green raincoat dotted with yellow flowers to ward off the chill. Jim Ed had a habit of borrowing his wife’s coats.

  His thinning hair, usually blond, had recently been dyed dark brown, and spots of the dye hadn’t quite been scrubbed from his neck. When it came to his teeth, Jim Ed once joked that he used to have “summer teeth.” “Some’re here, some’re there,” he said. But he’d gotten those pulled a while back and now sported a full set of sparkling white dentures.

  “Holy reintarnation, if it ain’t Jon Gardner and Miz Enright,” Jim Ed said, holding out his large, bony hand. Jim Ed welcomed everyone as if they were the King and Queen of England. When he stopped shaking my shoulder out of its socket he took off his hat and held it over his heart. “Miz Enright, I am truly sorry for the loss of your dear friend. You must be de-viled.” I was pretty sure he meant devastated.

  “Thank you Jim Ed,” I said. “She left us far too soon. Life can sometimes be unfair.”

  “Well, expecting life to be fair is like expecting the bull not to make a run at you because you’re one a them vegetarians.”

  I smiled. “True, Jim Ed. Very true.”

  “Say now––,” Jim Ed could be as windy as a sack full of farts, but fortunately another truck pulled in and the occupants pulled his attention away from us. Jon and I took the opportunity to dash into the Co-op. Before I knew it, five hundred pounds of feed had been loaded into the bed of the truck and we were back at the farm by the time raindrops started to fall.

  “I’ll unload,” Jon said when we pulled up to the barn.

  I wasn’t above lifting a few feedbags, but we’d called Martin as soon as we left the Co-op and his unmarked car was already in the drive. This was the second time Detective Giles had shown up in mere seconds. I was beginning to think he was related to Flash, the speedy superhero.

  I told the story of Mr. Clean Cut for the second time. “Bill Vandiver saw him too, in the café after the reading of the will, and Buffy saw him when we had lunch at Provence,” I added.

  Martin had a long fuse, but I could tell his anger was close to bursting. He stomped around my kitchen dispelling energy right and left. “Did you ever think if you called me as soon as he drove out of the parkin’ lot I could have sent someone to look for him? By this time we could’ve stopped him and we’d know who he was.”

  Darn. I hadn’t thought of that.

  “It’s just that I like you,” he said, sticking his hands into his pockets, then just as quickly pulling them back out. “My brother likes you. Even my mother likes you.”

  “Now that’s going too far,” I said. By this time I was mad and on my feet, too. “Your mother hates me. Call it for what it is, Martin. She’d rather have her son date a pig goober than me.”

  We were both surprised by the honesty of my words and stopped to take stock. Sometimes it was hard for me to differentiate the brother of my boyfriend from the law enforcement official. Right now I wasn’t sure which hat he wore.

  Martin spoke first and his words were soft. “It’s not that she doesn’t like you. She actually thinks highly of you.”

  I snorted.

  “She just thinks you are not a good match for Brent.” Martin held up his hands before I could protest. “She thinks Brent needs someone who is more of a homebody. That’s all. Other than that, she really does like you as a person.”

  I didn’t want to argue the point. Mama Giles might even be right. But even if she was, it wasn’t any of her business.

  “I have a new cell number,” I said. We’d called earlier from Jon’s phone. “I’m using the buddy system. I promise not to go anywhere on my own until the murderer is in custody. I promise to use caution, and to be careful.” Then I drew on my fine command of language, and shut my mouth.

  “Okay,” he said. “But if anything, and I mean anything the slightest bit out of the ordinary comes up, you call me. Now lock all of the doors and windows after I go, and don’t be stupid like you were a few months ago and open the door without first seeing who’s on the other side.”

  I did make that teensy mistake once and ended up getting myself kidnapped. I’d learned from that experience though, and added no door opening and not getting kidnapped
to the list of promises that I made to the detective.

  Brent was on call that night and was staying close to home. I still had not had time to tell him all that was going on. Soon, though. I would do that soon.

  Darcy had gone home with her friend Amber after school. The two had been close since kindergarten and were going to treat Amber’s mom, who was going through her second divorce, to dinner and a movie.

  Even though it came in spurts, sometimes Darcy’s generosity and compassion amazed me. She was going to stay at Amber’s that night, then in the morning head to her dad’s. Mason had set up a meeting with a college prep counselor. Darcy had wrinkled her nose distastefully when she heard that news, but she walked the line with her dad pretty well. She regularly pushed his boundaries, but never too hard.

  That left me with the choice of having dinner alone, or with Jon. I often ate by myself, but the day’s events had made me jumpy.

  “Dinner?” I asked when I called him. “Six thirty?”

  Jon and I ate a jumbo lasagna that I had picked up at Walmart, along with a salad. We were just finishing up some double fudge chocolate ice cream for dessert when a knock sounded at the back door. Jon and I exchanged glances, then I called, “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Bubba.”

  “You stay here. I’ll go to the door to be sure no one else is with him,” Jon said. He pulled back the blind on the window and peered out, then cracked the door open with the security chain still latched. All must have seemed secure, because Jon took the chain off the hook. Bubba trudged in with his backpack and a plastic grocery sack. Clothes spilled over the top of the sack.

  “My dad, he had to go away again. Said I could stay with you,” Bubba said.

  I looked at Jon, my eyes full of worry for Bubba, anger at Hill, and concern that I might inadvertently put Bubba in danger. There was, after all, a killer gunning for me. Bubba, however, misinterpreted the look and dropped the plastic sack as he ran back out the door. I saw the look on his face and realized that Bubba thought he was not welcome.

  Before I knew it I had jumped up to go after him, but Jon caught my arm. “You stay here,” he said. “Lock the door after me. I’ll find him. I promise.”

  Cat’s Horse Tip #14

  “Every day, the average horse eats a minimum of 1 percent of his body weight in forage (grass or hay), so a 1,000 pound horse would eat ten pounds of hay. Active horses in training might eat up to three times that amount.”

  23

  I SPENT THE NEXT HOUR pacing the lower level of my house. Kitchen to living room to office and back again. So many thoughts swirled through my brain that I couldn’t catch a single one of them. Never in a million years did I want Bubba to think he wasn’t welcome. Twenty years ago I had been that kid who didn’t have a place to go. I didn’t want Bubba to ever go through what I’d had to.

  When it came to Hill Henley, I understood that everyone was entitled to be stupid sometimes, but Hill abused the privilege. Why did Hill think it was okay to send Bubba over here without asking me in advance? Hill had been working for several months now with a social worker. He’d been taking parenting classes. He should have learned something. What if I had been out of town?

  When I was making what seemed like the four hundredth circuit of my downstairs, my new phone finally rang. I hadn’t taken time to add any phone numbers into it so it took a moment for me to look at the number and figure out who was calling. Jon.

  “Found him,” he said. “He was in the hay stall. He’s going to bunk with me tonight.”

  I was surprised by the amount of relief I felt. Tomorrow I’d talk to Bubba, tell him he was always welcome here. Then Hill would come back in a day or so and I’d talk to him, too. Martin was working hard and would catch Melody’s killer, and then life could get back to usual, or as usual as it would ever be without Melody.

  Those were my thoughts in that moment. I’d quickly find, though, that if I imagined life was going to improve soon, I was dead wrong.

  Right after I got up the next morning I checked my email. There were only two of any importance. The first was from Jenn at Horses in the Morning, who asked if I would talk to their listeners about Melody and her love of horses. I wanted to, I really did, but I wasn’t ready.

  LOTS GOING ON. AFTER THANKSGIVING OKAY?

  That would buy me a few weeks time. The other important email was one from Buffy, who asked if I was interested in being on a committee to help plan Melody’s public memorial service.

  WE’RE MEETING AT THE HOLY CHURCH OF THE MIGHTY HAPPY AT 3 THIS AFTERNOON. SORRY FOR THE SHORT NOTICE. THIS IS ALL COMING TOGETHER QUICKLY. WOULD REALLY LIKE YOUR INPUT.

  EMILY, RUTHIE, DAVIS, CHAS CHADWICK, AND I ARE ON THE COMMITTEE––AND YOU WE HOPE. WE’VE ASKED KEITH, TOO, BUT HAVEN’T HEARD BACK. KNOW HE IS OUT ON TOUR UNTIL THE THANKSGIVING BREAK BUT THOUGHT HE MIGHT BE ABLE TO SKYPE IN IF HE IS NOT BUSY WITH A SOUND CHECK. WE NORMALLY WOULDN’T MEET ON A WEEKEND, BUT WE’RE ALL PULLING IN EXTRA HOURS ON THIS.

  I gave Buffy’s email some thought before I answered. Of course I wanted to be there. Melody would want me to be involved. But would a meeting such as this seem to the killer that I was snooping? It was an excellent opportunity to get closer to the key players in Melody’s life, though.

  My fingers clicked on reply before I was even aware that I had made up my mind.

  LOVE TO BE INVOLVED. COUNT ME IN. CAT

  While I typed, another email came in. It was from Brent saying that his schedule had changed and he was on call through the weekend. I sighed. Between Melody’s murder, and the schedule at Brent’s clinic, we hadn’t been able to spend much time together lately.

  It was still early when I went out to feed, and the air was crisp with the smell of fall. This was one of the first really cool mornings of the season, although the temperature was supposed to reach sixty later in the day.

  Hank met me by the feed room, and helped me give each horse a little hay. Then I measured and ladled grain and supplements for all of the horses. Each horse had a specific mixture of feed that optimized health and performance. The result was that I fed three different formulas, plus a variety of bone and joint, and skin and hair and hoof supplements. Wheeler also took allergy meds.

  After the horses finished eating, I put Reddi and Wheeler into the big pasture in the front. Reddi pranced and snorted her way around the field, while Wheeler put his nose down and got to the business of eating the brown November grass.

  Gigi got to go into the round pen and she, too, took the opportunity to snort in the cool air. Ringo went into a paddock with Sally. This was his first turnout at my place with another horse. Sally was sensible, and would also teach him the rules. As a former race and halter horse, it probably had been some time since Ringo had been allowed out in a pen with other horses. He needed to be re-socialized, and hanging with Sally Blue was a great way to start.

  I stayed by the fence rail for a few minutes to be sure they got along, and after a few nose to nose squeals, and a strike or two with her front foot, Sally wheeled around and kicked at Ringo twice, then they settled down companionably to graze. I noted that Sally didn’t kick Ringo, but kicked at him. There was a difference. This round of kicking was a warning. If Ringo didn’t follow detailed equine societal rules, then the next kick could make contact.

  By the time I got back to the barn, Jon and Bubba were coming down the wooden steps from the loft. Jon gave me a thumbs up, so whatever he said to Bubba must have eased his mind. Now it was my turn.

  “Breakfast?”

  Jon shook his head. “No thanks. I’m good.” Jon was not a breakfast person.

  “Then I think Bubba and I should go to McDonalds.” Bubba’s face lit up. McDonalds was, hands down, his favorite restaurant.

  “Can I have one a them Egg McMuffins with hash browns and a triple berry smoothie?” he asked already running toward the truck.

  I told Jon we’d be back within the hour and that I’d be very aware of our surroundings. Bubba wou
ld be my safety buddy. Then I drove west on River Road, up and over the hill and across the Cumberland River. We went through the drive-in, then I swung into Sycamore Park where we found a picnic table near the river. Even though it was a chilly morning, I mixed an orange juice and sprite together, my usual summertime drink. McDonalds did offer hot chocolate, but this morning I decided to pass.

  “So,” I said, “you and Jon have a good night last night?”

  “Yep. Me an’ him, we has us a boys night.”

  Oh boy, I thought. I envisioned a night of action movies and burping contests. Although, I had a hard time picturing Jon as a serial belcher.

  “What, ah, what did you do during your boys night?”

  “We played Go Fish, an’ we drank us some root beer.”

  I also had a hard time seeing Jon as a Go Fish kind of guy, but life is full of surprises.

  “An’ he told me that you an’ him, you guys wanted me to come over whenever I could.”

  “That’s true, Bubba. I was just a little startled last night, that’s all. I’d had a rough day and I was worried, because your dad usually tells me when he is going out of town.”

  “This was one a them last minute kind of trips,” Bubba said. His Egg McMuffin was long gone, as were the hash browns.

  “Well, I just want you to know that no matter what, you are always welcome at my house,” I said, as I gathered up cups and wrappers. I meant the words, but I also hoped I wasn’t opening the door to something that would become problematic. I had enough difficulty in my life already. Then Bubba smiled, and I thought, what’s so difficult?

  By the time we got back to the farm, Jon had Petey’s harness on and Bob tacked up in western gear.

  “I thought Bubba could ride Bob while we worked with Petey,” Jon said.

  “Can I?” Bubba asked me.

  “Get a helmet first,” I said. “Look in the tack room, to the left of the door.”

  Even though Bubba was the son of a horse trainer, Hill had neglected to teach his son how to ride. What riding experience Bubba had came from my letting him sit on a horse now and then, along with a few informal lessons. Hill had made it quite clear that he didn’t want me putting my “silly girl” notions about horses into Bubba’s head. He also didn’t like the way I fed or trained my horses, or how I managed my pastures. The way Hill found fault with me, he must think there was some kind of reward.