The Middle Finger of Fate (A Trailer Park Princess Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by Kim Hunt Harris

  “How about you tell me the number and I dial?”

  I punched in the number and asked for Mr. Winslow. I tried to shut out the image of him putting down an embalming wand to pick up the receiver. He told me Lucinda wasn’t at his place, but as promised, he knew all the good stuff. Funeral was tomorrow at 2:00 p.m. at Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church; then the family would take her body back to Mexico. Lucinda had only a small contingency of mourners coming from Mexico, and half a dozen or so from Texas, he’d heard six one time, and one time he’d heard eight. He knew for sure they’d tried to find a high-necked dress to cover the strangulation marks, which wasn’t easy to find in West Texas in August, as he was sure I could understand, so they had to go with a scarf.

  I hung up because we were getting close to the Exodus building, and I could see Les and his ice cream truck out by the curb.

  “Oh…my,” Viv said. “Is that your new car?”

  Oh, dear God in Heaven. Please don’t let that be my new car.

  Les grinned widely and gestured toward what had maybe once been a turquoise green hatchback. It was now pocked with rust marks and the passenger door was held closed with wire. Viv circled it slowly and we both stared in silence.

  “I can’t believe it actually runs.”

  “Me either.” I hoped against hope that it wouldn’t start now. “Is it too late to pretend like we didn’t see him?”

  Since Les was, at this point, practically leaning inside my window, I already knew the answer to my own question.

  Viv pulled over. “Does that thing even run?”

  “Like a top. Most reliable car I’ve ever seen. I had this car six years and drove it all over the country – put about a hundred and twenty thousand miles on it – then I gave it to my oldest boy Randy. He moved to Houston and drove it back and forth almost every weekend. Then he got a new car and gave it to my younger boy, and he’s put another seventy-five thousand just in the last year and a half.” He looked at the car and beamed.

  “It looks it,” Viv said.

  I didn’t know what to say. The more I looked, the more wired-together things I saw. The passenger side mirror. The hatchback. Probably too many things to mention under the hood. There were big rust holes in the doors and the driver’s side window rose halfway up and stuck out two inches. The driver’s side mirror dangled from a foot and a half of gray wire.

  “I know she’s not much to look at, but she runs like a top. This car won’t ever leave you stranded by the side of the road. I guarantee it.”

  I chewed my lip. I forced myself to dredge up some gratitude. “Les, I can’t tell you how…how much I appreciate this.”

  Les grinned from ear to ear. “I’m just glad someone can get some use out of it. This car has been a blessing to everyone in my family and now I’m able to pass it on to my surrogate daughter.”

  I opened the door and crawled out of Viv’s very, very nice Cadillac. I owed it to Les to at least attempt to be gracious. “It looks like it would be…great on gas.”

  “Exactly! With gas so high you’ll save a bundle.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “You keep it as long as you need to, Salem. Don’t feel like you have to rush getting her back to us.”

  “Thanks.” I leaned over to look inside. Stump growled at the car. I pointed to where the driver’s seat should be. “What’s that?”

  “Oh, that’s a twenty-five pound pickle bucket. We had to take the driver’s seat out a couple years ago. Cody found this bucket and turned it upside down and bingo, just the right height.”

  “Bingo,” I whispered.

  “Oh, and I almost forgot the most important part.” He reached into his wallet. “We’re still carrying the liability insurance so you don’t even have to worry about that.”

  I blinked back tears. This was my new car. The answer to my prayers.

  Thanks, God.

  “Les, this is truly one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me. I don’t deserve your generosity.” That much was true. Anyone who felt this bad about something that obviously made Les feel so good didn’t deserve anyone to be at all nice to them.

  “Well,” I said. “I guess I’ll just get in and…give her a spin.” Gulp.

  Les proudly handed me the keys.

  Viv blinked back tears of her own and gripped my hand. “Good luck,” she whispered.

  “Thanks,” I sobbed.

  “And don’t forget your stuff.” Her sympathy already a thing of the past, she opened the trunk and back seat and stood by while Les and I loaded all Mom’s junk into the hatchback and back seat. It wouldn’t all fit so I put two small boxes in the bucket seat beside me.

  I got in and pumped the gas, then turned the key. It started right up. I could do everyone a favor and drive it and its cargo straight to the dump ground.

  “Okay, I’ll just be going then.” I waited for some last minute reprieve to drop from the sky. There are times when that Second Coming seems like it couldn’t come too soon. When the skies remained placid and no sinkhole opened beneath me, I said, “Thanks again, Les. I’ll get it back to you just as soon as I can arrange for something permanent.”

  “Like I said, no rush. Take all the time you need.” He reached in and handed me the seat belt. “Don’t forget this. Don’t want to get a ticket.”

  I fastened the seat belt, although it was obviously a formality since my pickle bucket was, I was fairly certain, not quite up to the DMV minimum standard.

  I gave a feeble wave and rattled across the parking lot onto 34th Street. The… “car” pulled hard to the right, so I had to keep the steering wheel turned twenty-five degrees to the left just to keep it on the road. The bucket tilted under me every time I shifted even a little, making my heart jump every time. Good grief, this day had worn me out.

  I drove to Flo’s and asked my co-worker Becky if I could switch early days with her so I could be off in time for Lucinda Cruz’s funeral. She acted a little put out, but agreed. I asked Flo if I could be sure to be through with my dogs by twelve-thirty so I’d have time to get cleaned up and go to the funeral.

  From there I headed home, wanting to crawl into bed and hide from the world. Frank was waiting on the front deck. He laughed when he saw me get out of the pickle-mobile.

  “Where’d you find that thing?”

  “I’m tired and I don’t want to talk about it. Les loaned it to me, and I’m very grateful to have it.” I was, at least, grateful I didn’t have to walk anymore. Almost.

  I sank to the deck and groaned. My legs felt like logs. “I have to go to a funeral tomorrow and I can’t take Stump. Can you swing by Flo’s after work and bring her home with you? I’ll give you dinner.”

  “No prob, man,” he said. “That dead body girl you found?”

  “Yeah.” I ran my hand through my hair. “Do we have any Star Crunches left?”

  “Oh, umm…” He looked guilty. “Maybe not.”

  I shook my head. “No big deal,” but I admit, I kind of wanted to cry.

  Frank wasn’t hungry and must have gotten tired of hearing me complain about how tired I was, because he left not long after that. I curled up with Stump and a bowl of Ricearoni, waiting for it to get late enough that I could justify going to bed. Finally, around eight o’clock I gave up and went anyway, even though the sun was far from setting. I was exhausted, and my mind was tangled. I couldn’t think straight and I felt guilty that in the midst of everything, I’d still found the strength to feel sorry for myself that I had to drive perched on a pickle bucket.

  I dropped down beside my bed and tried to pray, but couldn’t even think what to pray for. I’d asked God for a car and I got a moving junkyard. I’d asked God for help with Tony and I got Viv committing crimes and giving me information that only confused everyone.

  “God,” I finally said. “I’m sorry, but I’m tired and I don’t know what to do next, and I don’t know if I can help anyone here so it looks like I’m just going to keep on being a mooching charity case that’
s fortunate to have a pickle bucket to sit on.” I wrinkled my nose. “Sorry, I know that sounded very bitter. I’m just tired. I’ll be more grateful tomorrow, I promise.”

  After ten thousand mental repetitions of the conversation between Tony and me, I finally fell asleep. All I could remember from my dreams was that something kept flashing by me, too fast for me to catch.

  I woke up in the middle of the night wondering why they would need to cover strangulation marks on Lucinda’s neck if she’d died by blunt force trauma to the head.

  I couldn’t be sure the form Viv saw was an autopsy report, and I couldn’t even be sure the blunt force trauma had been to her head. Maybe I’d put together the words Viv read with memories from too many TV crime shows. I supposed a person could have blunt force trauma elsewhere, but “to the head” just seemed to naturally follow. Strangulation marks, though? That did not.

  I got a couple more hours of sleep, then got up. My legs screamed at me as soon as I stood. “Holy mother of…!” I muttered. I froze at the edge of my bed, not sure I could make it to the bathroom. I forced myself to move, saying “Ouch, ouch, ouch,” each step of the way.

  A shower helped my soreness, and afterwards I dug through my closet for something appropriate to wear to Lucinda’s funeral. The pickings were slim, especially since I’d gotten too big to wear almost everything in there. Too bad I didn’t have the time or money to go shopping.

  I finally settled on a denim skirt I’d bought at Walmart last winter and a brown t-shirt. Not exactly your typical mourning attire, but since my only black was the wind suit pants I wore to work, I figured it would have to do.

  I chewed my lip as I sifted through all the clothes I couldn’t wear. There was a good twenty-five pounds jiggling between me and most of them, and more like thirty-five or forty between me and the smallest of the clothes. I wanted to cry when I looked at my skinny jeans.

  I had promised to be more grateful after a good night’s rest, and I approached my prayer place with resolve. I was blessed to have what I had. I was blessed with a day to do some good.

  Even as I sank to my knees, though, different muscles screamed and I felt all sense of hope drain from me. Was this really doing any good at all? Was I just putting myself through pain for nothing?

  “God is faithful in all he does,” Les says.

  I sighed and said, “Look…I don’t mean to complain, but…” But I don’t really care for the way you’re answering my prayers. Was that what I wanted to say? I wasn’t even sure anymore. I just knew that hoping for one thing and getting something entirely different was beginning to wear on me.

  “I’m going to a funeral today. There are a lot of people in pain, and some people I care about who are scared. I’d appreciate it if you could give me some direction or something to say or… or something. Just something. Please.” I started to ask again for a new car, but really what was the point? “And please, don’t let my pickle bucket turn over while I’m driving down Slide Road.” Surely that wasn’t asking too much.

  Turns out, it was. I left the PakASak with breakfast burritos for me and Stump, pulled out onto Slide and the freaking thing tilted into the handbrake. I panicked and kicked my legs and succeeded in knocking the bucket completely over, with me sprawling into the back floorboard. I felt the car rolling across the middle of the street, saw my legs sticking straight up into the air. My muscles screamed, I screamed, and Stump jumped into the middle of my chest and growled.

  I don’t think I’ve ever moved that fast in my life. I threw Stump back over into the passenger seat and scrambled up as fast as I could. The bucket was still on its side, and I perched on it and steered the car away from the light pole it was headed toward.

  My heart thundered in my chest as I looked around at the other cars. Fortunately there were only three others on the block, and all three drivers stared at me. I pretended like nothing was out of the ordinary and headed for Bow Wow Barbers.

  My heart didn’t stop pounding till I was halfway through my burrito. If that had happened an hour later the street would have been packed and I would definitely have hit someone. Normally I would just chalk it up as one of those things, but I had asked God specifically not to let the bucket overturn while I was on Slide…man! I wonder what Les would have to say about that.

  I called Viv and told her I’d need her to pick me up. I was scared to death of driving that stupid car and there was no way I was going to take it to the funeral. She said she was surprised I’d made it to work at all.

  I did get a break in that none of my dogs scratched, bit, or peed on me, so I looked fairly presentable when Viv picked me up. I kissed the top of Stump’s head and told her to be good for Frank while I was gone. She snorted at me and moved to sulk with her back to me in the back of her cage.

  “Is that what you’re wearing?” She, of course, looked like she’d just stepped out of the Wealthy Matron section of a fancy department store.

  “It’s all I have,” I said. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  She shrugged. “Been there, done that. We really need to take you shopping, though. I’d hate for you to show up at my funeral wearing that.”

  “If you give me six or eight months to lose some weight, I have a nice little black number that would do you proud.”

  “Can do. You know, I saw a coupon for Fat Fighters where two friends can join for the price of one.”

  The funeral was at a little Catholic church just a couple of blocks from our big church. Cars surrounded it, and I recognized six or eight people from Tony’s family milling around outside. I hoped nobody would spit on me, although I did get a few dark looks. I tried to hide behind Viv as we made our way into the church, like Bluto hiding behind Olive Oyl.

  In the Methodist church it’s called the sanctuary; I’m not sure what it’s called at the Catholic church, but it was about a quarter full. I hadn’t been inside a Catholic church since Tony’s and my baby died. Viv and I sat near the back and scoped out the crowd.

  Viv leaned toward me and said, “I see three or four girls that age. They’re going to be our best bet for good information.”

  Sylvia came in looking solemn, and Rey tagged right behind her. I felt my lip curl up and told myself that that was inappropriate at a funeral. I should let bygones be bygones, or at the very least put my disgust aside for the forty-five minutes or so I needed to be in the same room with the creep.

  The place was small, all dark wood pews and window frames. It seemed like everything had a sponsor. This stained glass window graciously donated by the Felix Ramirez family. This pew graciously donated by the Oscar Martinez family in memory of Rosalinda Martinez.

  I could read the inscriptions on four of the stained glass windows and finally found one of St. Christopher, graciously donated by the Maria Solis family in memory of their loving husband and father, Anthony Solis.

  “Are all the Saints, Saints of something?” I whispered to Viv.

  “Huh?” She drew her head back.

  “I mean if they’re a Saint, are they the Saint of something in particular?”

  “I don’t know. I’m Methodist.”

  “Aren’t there Patron Saints of all kinds of different things? I remember one time it was St. Something day. He was the Patron Saint of animals or pets and all these people brought their dogs into be groomed so they could be blessed on that day.”

  “That’s just weird.”

  “Shh.” It wasn’t cool to be insulting Catholic customs inside a Catholic church. I had thought it was sweet.

  “I’m just wondering what St. Christopher is the patron saint of?”

  Viv shrugged. “Hmmp.”

  “It could be a clue. If it was in the police report it could be important.” I told her what Tony said about giving Lucinda his St. Christopher necklace.

  “Maybe he’s the patron saint of lovers.”

  “I don’t think so.” He’d worn it the whole time we were married, and never offered to let me try it on, b
ut then, it wouldn’t take much for him to think more of Lucinda than he had of me.

  I studied the window to see what St. Christopher was the Patron Saint of, but it didn’t give me any clues. A man with a walking stick carried a kid on his back. I guess both the man and the kid were Saints, because they both had those halos on their heads. It looked like they were going somewhere.

  A priest walked down the short aisle sprinkling water at everybody, chanting something in Latin, I assumed. The service was kind of a blur for me because I didn’t really know what was going on except when Lucinda’s cousin read the Twenty-Third Psalm. The priest talked about Lucinda’s promising life cut short, and the tragedy that the baby she carried would never take her first breath, but they were both with God in glory now, and the baby would also never know sadness or the heartbreak everyone there was going through. Then it was over.

  “Let’s corner that girl with the purple dress first. She looks like she has inside information.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “She’s crying, so she knew Lucinda. They look to be about the same age, so they might have been friends. And, she’s wearing a pretty purple dress to a funeral. She’s self-centered enough to be concerned about how she looks, maybe even wants to get some attention. So we’ll give her some.”

  Whatever. I followed Viv’s lead mostly because the girl in the purple dress was going the opposite way from Mrs. Solis.

  The church was set on a hill and concrete steps flanked the front, angling down to the street. Clusters of people stood on the steps and down by the parked cars. I trailed after Viv, trying not to look out of place. It was kind of hard, though. Out of thirty or forty people there, we were two of the six who were not Hispanic.

  Viv angled up to the girl in the purple dress as she stood talking to one of the other white people. The girl’s eyes were red and swollen. It wasn’t until then that I realized the guy she was talking to was George, the building supervisor. Of course he would be at the funeral. He’d probably worked with Lucinda.