by Amy Metz
Deciding she could stand the heat for a little while longer, she scooted herself down the path, shifting from sitting to kneeling. The first thing that caught her attention was the small flowerbed under her office window, where small patches of purple, white, and yellow coneflowers were planted. Noticing some of the normally upright stems of the flowers were lying horizontally, she edged closer and saw that a portion of them had been trampled. She immediately thought of her dog, since he used to get into her previous garden almost daily. But I don’t have a dog now.
Tess tenderly picked up the trampled stems, looking to see if they were salvageable and noticed two fresh cigarette butts in the dirt.
Standing up to take a better look, she froze. Rain the previous night had made the garden slightly muddy, which made the footprints planted directly beneath the window particularly noticeable.
She stepped back as if she had seen a snake. Cold chills ran up her body. Someone had been watching her.
They Ate Supper Before They Said Grace
nemmine: interjection nem-mahyn never mind
Aw, nemmine. I don’t have any proof.
[ 1935 ]
It just seems s’picious,” John Hobb whispered to his brother Trevor, three years after the bank robbery. They’d met for coffee at the local diner, and John couldn’t help using his brother as a sounding board. “I know what Nate Hunter makes, and it’s not enough to support the fancy new suits of his and the new Desoto. How’s he swingin’ all that?”
“Beats the heck outta me, John. I don’t know the man.”
“I’ve been thinkin’ more about the day of the robbery.” John leaned forward conspiratorially, even though there was no one around them to hear. “Know what seems strange to me? About a minute before the bandits came into the bank, I remember seein’ Nate goin’ over to the window and lowerin’ the shade.”
“So? Maybe the sun was too bright,” Trevor said, shrugging. He pulled a flask out of his pocket, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and poured an amber liquid into his coffee.
“See, the thing is, nobody’s ever pulled that shade down before or since. So why then?” John was deep in thought and didn’t notice the flask.
“Hmmm . . . I see what you’re gettin’ at. He was givin’ ‘em the green light to go ahead with the robbery.”
“And another thing: why would they take him as a hostage? It woulda been much easier to control a little lady like Tallulah than a man as big as Nate.”
“Now there might be somethin’ to that—” Trevor tried to interject, but his brother was on a roll.
“There are too many red flags. I don’t want to think poorly a Nate, but it just doesn’t add up.” John shook his head and looked out the window.
“That’s ‘cause you’re a bookkeeper,” Trevor teased. “Why’s everythin’ gotta add up? Maybe some things ya just cain’t explain.” He narrowed his eyes and looked closely at his brother. “I know that look a yours, though. Whatta you thinkin’?” He took a sip of coffee and winced.
“You know what I’m thinkin’,” John replied. “Aw, nemmine. I don’t have any proof. I can’t accuse a fella worker of wrong doin’ just ‘cause he’s got some new duds, and he pulled a shade down. Long as I’ve known him, he’s been straight as string. He couldn’t do somethin’ like that now, could he?”
“I don’t know him, John. But it sounds like you ain’t got no call ta accuse ‘im of anything.”
“Yeah, you’re right. But I think I have to put these questions to him, just to clear my mind. Thanks for listenin’, Trevor. You comin’ over’ta house tonight? Maye’s fixin’ pot roast and coconut pound cake.”
“Shoot, John, pot roast or no pot roast, if you’re invitin’, and Maye’s gonna be there, I will be too, sure as a cat's got climbin’ gear.”
“Trevor! That’s my wife you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”
“Yeah, well, if anything ever happens ta you, I’m first in line.” Trevor brought his coffee cup into the air, in a mock toasting gesture.
* * *
“He’s getting’ wise to me, Brick. What am I gonna do?” Sore Thumb hissed. The two men were again at Humdinger’s, their favorite meeting place. There were only three other people in the bar, and they were too drunk to think, let alone listen in on a conversation. The men were far enough away from the bartender, too, but still they kept their voices low.
“I say it’s time ta start spinnin’ some yarn about one Mr. John Hobb,” Lynch answered.
“Whatta ya mean?”
“What I mean is, you spread the word, that you think durin’ the hold up, he hepped hisself ta the till. And you say maybe he was in on it from the beginnin’. We spread enough out there ‘bout his possible guilt, and we let the waggin’ tongues take it fumm’air.” Lynch took a swig of his beer and licked the foam from his mustache.
“Have you taken leave a your senses? Who’s gonna believe that about John? He’s salt a the earth kind of people. Not ta mention that he’s tighter ‘n bark on a tree. Who’d believe he was in on a robbery or that he had money to spend?” Hunter said, skeptical of Jenning’s plan.
“Man’s gotta put shoes on four kids. Maybe he needed the money.” Lynch belched, then his thin mouth curled into an evil smile.
“Hmmm . . . “
“And ain’t you ever heard the expression, ‘Cold as a banker's heart’? All we gotta do is plant the seed.” Lynch scratched the back of his neck. “You can lie like a dirty cur dog, so I know you can pull it off.”
“All right, I guess we can try it your way.” Sore Thumb was still skeptical.
“And after the hens get a cluckin’, you and me’s gotta have us a private meetin’ with ole Johnny boy,” Lynch said, before letting out a huge belch.
[ June 2010 ]
“Of course I’m sure they’re not my footprints,” Tess insisted into her cell phone. “There are two clear footprints underneath my window that look like someone was standing there, looking in my office, and there were cigarette butts next to them. Plus they trampled my flowers. I’m telling you, this is getting weirder every day. I’m starting to get scared.”
Tess needed to confide in someone, and she didn’t dare call John Ed again, so she’d called her son as she walked to work. She knew John Ed would just laugh at her. Lou would overreact. And she didn't want to call Jack. He was trouble.
“I’m almost at Stafford’s, sweetie. I have to go. Yes, I’ll keep you posted. No, you don’t need to come. I’d love to see you, but I know it’s hard for you to get away. I’m fine . . . really. Okay, sweetie, bye-bye.”
Holding a plate of chocolate chip cookies she’d made for her co-workers, Tess slipped her phone into her purse and walked into the bookstore a few minutes before ten o’clock. Pickle was already hard at work. Unfortunately, he was standing right behind the door, and she didn’t see him until she stepped inside and closed it. At that point, she jumped a mile, and in trying to hold on to the cookies, fell backward into a table of books.
“Oh Good Lord, Pickle, you scared me half to death,” Tess said, trying to stand up straight again.
“Sorry, Mizz Tess, all I did was stand here,” Pickle said feebly. He stood there in baggie shorts, a black t-shirt, and black Chuck Taylor's, looking completely confused.
“It’s all right. I’m just on edge lately. Here, have a cookie.” She pulled aside part of the plastic wrap and held out the plate of cookies to him.
“Good save, Miss Tess. You may have knocked the books off the table, but you saved the important thing—that plate a cookies.”
“I’m glad you like them,” she said, reading his shirt, which said in large letters, “FEDERAL WITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM” and underneath that, in smaller lettering, said, “You Don’t Know Me.”
“So is that how you got the name ‘Pickle’? It’s your Witness Protection name?” she said jokingly.
“Uh . . . no ma’am,” he said in all seriousness, grabbing another cookie. “This is just a t-shirt. I’
m not really in the Witness Protection Program.”
He’s either really clueless or really good at acting. Tess patted his arm and took the cookies to the back room, where she also put her purse away. After a quick chat with Lou, she went out to fix the table of books on which she’d wreaked havoc.
The morning went by quickly, due to the steady flow of traffic in the store. Lou had been on the phone in her office for most of the morning; when she came out she was not her usual jovial self.
“Is everything all right, Lou?” Tess could see the worry lines on her face. They didn’t match the cheerful hot pink dress she had on.
“What?” she said, distractedly.
“Is everything all right?”
“Oh, yeah, honey, everythin’s all right. I’ve been talkin’ to my daughter. She gave me a little bad news.”
“Oh.” Tess didn’t want to pry, but didn’t want to appear apathetic, either.
“She’s gettin’ a divorce, so she and my granddaughter are gonna come live with me. Least fer awhile.”
“Oh Lou, I’m so sorry. How old is your granddaughter?”
“She’s nine. Ya know, selfishly, I think it might be nice ta have them around the house. I mean, I wish she weren’t gettin’ a divorce— that’s just awful—but it’ll be nice ta see ‘em everyday. Nothin’s more important than family. Martha Maye knew all she’d have ta do was ask, and I’d say come on.”
“Lou, do you mind me asking how long you’ve been a widow?”
“Course not, honey. It’s been eleven years now since Vince has been gone, bless his soul. He was a keeper, and I miss ‘im everyday.”
Lou drifted off into the store as another customer came up to the register.
Tess was arranging a book display in the store’s big picture window later that morning, when she glanced outside and did a double take. A very striking woman was walking down the sidewalk with Jack. She watched as they stopped to talk to someone.
“She’s his ex-wife.” Lou sidled up next to her.
“Esmerelda?”
“Ezzie? Lord, that’s funny!” Lou laughed, smacking her hand down on the table. Tess looked back out the window. She wondered what was so funny. “No, her name is Corrine.”
The woman was tall and slim, with jet-black hair that she’d combed back into a chignon. She was dressed in a beautiful knee-length yellow linen dress and two-inch mules. Her legs were tanned and toned. Every man who passed by took a second look.
“She’s a knock-out,” Tess said.
“Oh . . . she’s hotter than the sun, but not as bright.” Lou was still standing next to Tess, with her arms crossed in front of her. They both stared out the window.
Tess moved to get back to work when she realized she'd been staring, but when she turned she sent two stacks of books flying to the floor. She and Lou picked them up and Tess quickly got back to work, saying, “I didn’t mean to stare . . . she’s just so . . . so . . . sleek and beautiful.”
Tess tried to inconspicuously look out at Jack and his ex-wife, who were still standing across the street, chatting. She wondered if Corrine was the reason she hadn’t seen Jack lately.
Another man joined them on the sidewalk. Finally, Lou spoke, and Tess realized that Lou had probably been watching her, while she'd been watching Jack.
“Don’t worry. That’s her boyfriend. Them two ate supper before they said grace,” Lou whispered.
Tess didn’t have the foggiest idea what she was talking about, since it was only mid-day. “I’m not worried. Um . . . supper? Are you talking about last night, or—”
“Living in sin, a course,” Lou broke in. “Them two ate supper before they said grace. Ain’t you ever heard that expression bafore?”
Tess laughed. “I’ve heard a lot since moving here, but that one I have not heard before.”
“Ya know, I don’t see why Jack ever married her in the first place. They’re like two cheeks on a big butt . . . “ Tess furrowed her eye- brows in an, ‘No, I don’t know’ expression, and Lou finished her thought. “ . . . the only thing they have in common is a fart.”
Tess laughed and playfully hit Lou’s arm. “Oh, you . . . “
“What’s so funny?” Pickle came up behind them. His hair was sticking up from the cowlick at the back of his head, and he had chocolate on the side of his mouth.
“Oh, Peekal, never you mind!” Lou took him by the arm and led him away. “You better go and get yerself some more a Tess’s cookies for fortification. I’m expectin’ a delivery any minute, and I’ll need your help. With any luck, we’ll get ten big boxes today.”
They walked off toward the back room, and Tess turned back to the window. Jack and Corrine had moved on. She looked down at the table and then quickly back out the window. How long had he been there? The would-be handy man. She didn’t remember seeing him when Jack was standing there, but there he was—sitting on a bench across the street and looking directly at the bookstore, one denim-clad leg propped on the other knee while he drew on a cigarette. He saw her through the window and slowly raised a hand to tip his hat in greeting. She waved quickly and finished up her work at the table. She was arranging a display; she had no intention of being the display.
* * *
Tess didn’t realize the time until she overheard Pickle ask if it was all right if he went home for the day. She left for the day too, but stopped in the diner for a quick bite to eat before going home. She’d just sat down in the red vinyl booth at the front window when Buck slid in across from her.
“Evenin’ Mizz Tess. Would you allow me to join you?”
“Oh. Hello, Mayor . . . I suppose so. How are you?”
“I’m exemplary, thank you! I saw you come in the restrunt, and thought it would be a good time to stop and catch my breath.” He squinted his eyes at the chalkboard list of daily specials. “What looks good today?” Buck looked back at Tess for a brief moment, giving her a leer, and added, “Besides the obvious.” He winked at her before returning his attention to the menu board. Tess cringed.
“The lemon meringue pie looks good to me, but I suppose I can’t have that for dinner,” she said, trying to fill the silence but not babble, too.
Just then, Junebug appeared at the table. She was a pretty woman, even in her seventies, with long white hair that she always kept up in a bun. Thin, and genteel, she always wore just the right amount of makeup, and she wore casual, stylish clothes underneath her apron. The only deviation in her appearance was whether the bun was on top of her head or at the back of it. Slick liked to joke that she was feeling frisky when she put it on top.
“Hireya’ll?” She plopped her order pad on the table so she could use both hands to fix the knot on the back of her head.
“Junie, if I was doin’ any better, I’d have ta hire somebody to help me enjoy it!”
“Aw, gwon, Buck, nobody can be doin’ that good.” Junebug lightly pushed his shoulder. “’Specially in this weather. It was hotter’n blazes all day, and now it's comin' up a bad cloud out there.”
“We shore do need the rain,” Buck said. “It’s sa dry, the trees are startin’ to bribe the dogs.”
“That it is.” She ducked her head down for a better look outside, then stood up straight. “Okay, enough chit-chat, Chet. I got other customers to wait on. What kin I gitch y’all?”
Tess said, “I’ll have the tomato soup, a corn muffin, and sweet tea with lemon, please.”
“And I’ll have some a Slick’s liver’n onions, please, ma’am,” Buck said, adding, “Oh, and some coffee, too, please, Junie.”
“Okeedokee,” Junebug said, writing on her pad. She looked up at him over her reading glasses. “You don’t usually order coffee, Buck. By gonnies, the whole town’s turnin’ upside down. Would you like a little cream with your coffee, or do you want it unadulterated?”
“Unadulterated,” Buck said, decisively, without a hint of a smile. Tess propped her elbow on the table, and her chin on her fist, partially covering her mouth to m
ask her smile. She worked some multiplication problems in her head to keep from giggling at the southern vocabulary. A boom of thunder directed her attention outside, and she noticed the rain coming down hard.
Junebug started off toward the kitchen, and Buck started to talk, but Tess didn’t hear him; she was listening to Junebug give the order to Slick.
“Walkin’ in! Gimme a splash a red noise. Put the lights out and cry. Mud and a sweetie, and sour it. The sweetie, not the mud.”
“Sorry.” She realized Buck had said something to her. “Say that again?”
“I asked how the renovatin’s comin’ along.” Buck sat back, folding his hands on the table.
“Slow but sure. It’ll take me a while to do everything I want to do. But I’m enjoying it.”
“Good, good. Do ya need any hep?”
“Oh gosh, no . . . thanks, I’m doing fine.”
“I used to play in that house as a boy. My mama was friends with Lou’s mama and she’d go over thar for coffee and take me along. It’s some house.”
“I hear you’ve lived here all your life, and your family’s been here for how long?”
“Ya know, I don’t rightly know exactly when my kin first came here, but I know they at least go back to my great great-grandparents.”
“This is certainly an interesting town.”
Junebug came over with the coffee and iced tea and set them on the table. She pointed out the window. “There goes Peekal, bless his heart. He dudn’t have the sense ta get outta the rain. My stars and garters, he couldn’t find his rear with his hands in his back pockets.”
It was still pouring down rain, but Pickle didn’t seem to be in a hurry; he was sauntering down the sidewalk, hands in his front pockets, rain pelting his red baseball cap. Junebug shook her head. “That boy’s just like his daddy. Neither one of ‘em have the good sense God gave ‘em.”
“That kid’s a good’un, Junie, you know that,” Buck said, watching Pickle.