by Lisa G Riley
Lily followed him into the office and took off her coat. After he’d hung it on a hook behind the door and they were sitting on opposite ends of a brown, leather sofa with a cigar-shaped back, she gave him a look of chagrin. “Let me guess. You heard it through the grapevine, right? My aunt to your mother to your father to you. Am I close?”
He grinned. “Close enough.”
“How long have you been managing this place, Kip?”
“Oh, I’ve been here since she started the place, but I was manager for her grandfather for four years before that. I finished the business program over at the community college and started working for Mrs. Popkin’s grandfather right after. I’ve been here ever since.”
Lily frowned, trying to remember if she ever knew any of what he’d just said. She remembered hearing about his breakdown, but she’d only been about twelve at the time, so everything was a bit vague. She was sure she hadn’t paid much attention to anything that didn’t have to do with her and her little world of friends back then. “Really?” she said now. “I don’t think I knew that.”
Another shy smile as he adjusted his long legs. “No reason you should. You’ve been gone and we’re not of the same age, but I love this place. I met my wife here, in fact.”
Lily smiled with pleasure, feeling genuine happiness for him. She’d always liked him. Of all of her cousins’ friends, he’d been the kindest. She remembered thinking that with his gentle bearing and artsy nature that he didn’t belong with them, a group of typical rough and tumble boys. He’d always dressed well, too. Even now she admired his gray cashmere sweater and black slacks. “That’s right. I heard you’d gotten married a couple of years ago. Congratulations! She’s from out of town, correct?”
He nodded. “She’s from Michigan, but she’s settled in pretty well here, and thank you. However, you didn’t come here to talk about me. Tell me what you need.”
“All right, let’s get started then. I’m going to record this, okay?” He nodded and she turned on her recorder and continued, “How often did you see Mr. Landry?”
“No more than once every few weeks -- for business, that is. Sometimes I might happen upon him on the Square.”
“Just hanging out?”
He shook his head and Lily was surprised when he released a light mocking chuckle. “No, no. Mr. Landry is not the type to just hang out,” he said, putting air quotes around the last two words. “He’d sometimes visit the chocolate shop, or the pharmacy, and a couple of times he was at the well taking photos. Once, he even told me he was going to the funicular, and I remember thinking that it was an odd choice because he doesn’t seem like the type.”
“Was he alone?”
“Oh, yes. I don’t think you’d ever catch Mrs. Landry riding it.”
“So you’ve met her, then?”
“Twice, no...three times. Twice they were coming from the pharmacy and another time they were on their way to dinner. I don’t know her well, or him either for that matter. Our relationship really is just one of customer to provider.”
Lily’s pen paused over her pad. That was the second time she’d heard a relationship with Mr. Landry described in that way. “So you and Mr. Landry never talked about anything of a personal nature?”
“No, not really, only polite, surface conversation -- the weather, weekend or holiday plans, things like that. And of course, we talked about cigars.”
“So did he talk to you about his plans for Christmas by any chance?”
“Yes, and that was the last time I saw him. He’d purchased Camacho Triple Maduro six by sixty, a whole three dozen, and then he talked about how much he was going to enjoy his Christmas vacation this year. He said it would be in Chicago, no sorry, “sweet home Chicago” is what he said. I remember because he sang the last three words as if he were singing the song.”
“Was that unusual for him? That little embellishment?”
“Yes, it was. He’d never done it before. I mean, he’s a friendly man, but rather self-contained. I was surprised by the singing, but just thought he was excited about the holiday being so near and about going back to the city for a while.”
“And the cigars?” Lily asked. “I noticed your emphasis on the number he purchased. Was that unusual for him as well?”
“Oh, yes, it was and it was a more expensive brand than his usual. The Camacho Triple Maduro six by sixty is fifteen dollars per cigar. Mr. Landry usually purchases the Camacho Corojo at about four dollars per cigar. But again, I just chalked it up to the Christmas holidays. I figured he’d be giving them to friends.”
Lily’s brow was lifted. Four dollars or fifteen, in her mind either price was ridiculous. “Has he done that before? Purchased an expensive cigar in that quantity around Christmas?”
“No, never – at least not from here.”
Lily looked up from her note taking. “Do you know that for sure? Couldn’t Mrs. Popkin have sold them to him?”
“Yes, she could have, but she didn’t. I do the books and I’ve not seen a purchase of that size from Mr. Landry before.”
Lily scratched off the note she’d made in the margin reminding herself to ask Mrs. Popkin if she’d ever sold such a purchase to Mr. Landry. “Didn’t you like Mr. Landry, Kip? I ask,” she said when he looked questioningly at her, “because when you were describing his social habits a few moments ago, you seemed not to – like him, that is.”
“Oh, that,” he said with an uncomfortable chuckle. “That has to do with my wife. She wanted me to invite him to our Christmas party – ”
“Why?”
Kip winced in embarrassment. “Because of whom he is. I’ve tried to explain to her how inappropriate that would be, but she refuses to listen. Her argument is that it would just be a few friends hanging out together and there’s no harm in it, and mine is that he’s not our friend, so there’s no reason why he would hang with us. We’ve been arguing about it for a couple of weeks now, so the phrase sets off a trigger. Sorry.”
“Hmm.” Lily was noncommittal as she wrote down Mrs. Beech = social climber. “Just to satisfy my own curiosity, Kip, what do the numbers you’ve mentioned refer to – the six by sixty?”
Kip smiled. “Oh, those numbers convey length and thickness respectively.”
Lily closed her pad. “Okay, I think that’s going to do it. Thanks, Kip – ”
“Don’t you want to know about the strange man I saw him with a couple of weeks ago?”
She did a double take. “What? What man?”
“It will be two weeks ago this coming Friday. I saw Mr. Landry and the stranger standing at the well. The man didn’t look like he was from around here -- had big city written all over him. He was rather large, my height, but not quite as wide. I didn’t see his face because he was wearing a Fedora of a chocolate brown. He also wore long coat of camel-colored wool. I can tell you, though, that I didn’t like his body language. It was too aggressive, dangerous. I saw a lot of that kind of thing when I lived in the city for school. Anyway, I could swear he was threatening Mr. Landry.”
“Really? And what did Mr. Landry look like?”
“He looked a bit nervous, which is why I was preparing to go out, you know, just to check and make sure everything was okay, but by the time I reached the door, the man was walking away. When I got to Mr. Landry and asked if he were okay, he was perfectly composed and denied that anything was wrong.”
“Young lady, I do not haggle over my cigars. The price is the price and that is final.”
Lily looked into Mrs. Popkin’s kind, but determined stare and knew this was one proprietor she wouldn’t be able to cajole into a bargain. “All right,” she said reluctantly, “but I’ll only take eight.” She’d been trying to get the other woman to give her a twenty percent discount off a dozen.
Undeterred, Mrs. Popkin asked, “Which kind?”
“The CAO Gold. Those are the kind I’ve seen him smoke before.”
Mrs. Popkin gave her a big smile, which Lily couldn’t ignore,
and scooped out the cigars. “You’ve made an excellent choice,” she told Lily as she took the cigars over to the counter.
Lily followed her, reminding herself that though she could probably find the cigars online at a pretty big discount, Kip – and by extension Mrs. Popkin – had been of great help to her and she owed them the sale. She looked at her watch. It was close to four. She’d head home after this stop and do a little research.
“I’m sure glad you came back,” Mrs. Popkin continued to chatter as she boxed the cigars. “For a while I didn’t think you would.”
“Why?” Lily asked in distraction as she handed over her credit card. She’d spotted a pipe display. She had another uncle who smoked a pipe and thought she’d found another perfect gift. “I told you I would,” she said as she began to study the pipes individually.
“I know you did, but that Mr. Cameron seemed like he could be pretty persuasive. I knew I shouldn’t have listened to him and tried to get you to leave without talking to Kip, but he’s just so—”
“Wait. Hold up.” Lily stopped her study of the display to fix a glare on Mrs. Popkin, who now looked like a deer caught in headlights. “That whole bit about the store getting busy was Smith’s idea?” Her eyes narrowed as she thought about him kissing her outside. “I’ll kill him,” she muttered, so angry that she actually felt her body temperature rise.
***
Smith inserted his key into the lock of his small rental home and pushed the door open. The smell of Texas chili hit him immediately and his stomach growled in anticipation. “Uncle Rowdy,” he called as he tossed his keys into a small wicker basket on a side table. “Something sure smells good!” Whistling, he followed the scents to the kitchen.
“Hey, Unc, what’s up?” he asked the short balding man who stood at his stove.
“Sit yourself down there, boy,” the man said gruffly without turning around from the stove. “You’re just in time for dinner. It’s my famous five-star chili. You always did like it.”
Smith first washed and dried his hands at the sink before sitting. He watched as his uncle turned from the stove and carried a stoneware bowl full of chili over to the small table. He took the bowl gratefully. “Thanks, Unc; I appreciate it. It smells delicious.” He began loading his chili with the condiments Rowdy had already set out on the table. He went with the shredded cheese first, added chopped onions and then the sour cream. He put a big heaping spoonful into his mouth and groaned when his taste buds exploded with heat and flavor.
Both he and his uncle ate quietly for a few minutes, the taste and smell reminding them of home. Finally, after swallowing one more spoonful, Smith said, “Ah, this is perfect Uncle Rowdy, especially after the day I had.”
“Well, it’s the perfect day for it, anyhow,” Rowdy said as he adjusted his wide girth in his chair. “I got up this morning and just had a hankering to make it, so I did.”
“Lucky thing we had the ingredients,” Smith said as he scooped up some chili with a tortilla chip.
“Don’t you try to fool me, boy,” his uncle grunted. “I know you brought most of them ingredients with you to this god forsaken tundra. They might have driven you out of Texas, but your mama told me that you made sure you had your essentials before you left.”
“Don’t want to talk about it,” Smith warned and rose to get more chili.
Rowdy ignored the warning. “Ain’t no point in not talking about it. That hateful gal drove you out and I’m just wondering when you’re gonna get your revenge and take care of the matter. My bones can’t take much more of this kinda cold, boy. It’s downright unnatural.”
Smith chuckled as he sat back across from the older man. He studied him. Rowdy Ballinger was his mother’s uncle and had lived with them off and on for as long as Smith could remember. The longest dry spell without Rowdy as a houseguest had been when the Cameron family had lived in Sheffield-Chatham. The most disreputable member of the Ballinger and Cameron family, Rowdy talked like a salesman, made promises like a liar and wandered the world – mostly Texas and the rest of the Southwest – like a rootless vagabond. He never kept a job long, always had unrealistic fantasies about wealth and never met a fast con or a get-rich-quick scheme he didn’t like. But he was, and always would be, Smith’s favorite relative. Rowdy was a generous man with a simple philosophy: live and let live.
He simply thought differently than the rest of the world. As a result, he’d come to be known in the family and the surrounding community as “special.” When Rowdy did something out of the ordinary, people would excuse it with, “You said Rowdy, Rowdy Ballinger did it? Oh,” they’d say with a wave of their hand before preparing to get back to whatever they’d been doing before they’d been interrupted, “it’s all right. He’s special.”
One hot, sweltering day, Rowdy had commandeered a school bus to take all the neighborhood kids to Six Flags. He’d been fined by the police and had spent a night in jail, but the response from the parents of those kids had been, “Old Rowdy’s special. He meant well, and besides, the kids had fun, didn’t they?”
There had been stories like that for as long as Smith could remember, and while he didn’t mind his uncle, he knew other people would. Rowdy was always welcomed in a Ballinger home, and the family took turns putting him up. Now, though, Smith worried that people wouldn’t be quite as tolerant as they once had been. Times had changed, but Rowdy hadn’t. His parents and aunts and uncles were getting older and at seventy-five, Rowdy could be a handful. He’d never married and had no children, so Smith gladly took him in as his own responsibility.
Smith knew that none of his cousins would be as patient with Rowdy, so when he had packed up his car and rental trailer to leave Dallas, he’d packed up Rowdy as well, along with everything else that meant something to him. “What did you do today, Uncle Rowdy?” he said to him now. “Did you get out at all?” His uncle had refused to leave the house since they’d gotten to Sheffield-Chatham, and this worried Smith. Rowdy was normally an active man, but now all he seemed to want to do was sit at home all day and watch television. That would be okay if he didn’t do it alone, but Smith thought Rowdy needed companionship, especially at his age.
Rowdy avoided his gaze, but Smith caught the hint of apprehension in the green eyes that were usually alive with mischief. “I done told you, Smith; that it’s too blamed cold out there for me. Even that fancy winter coat you bought me won’t keep me warm, and I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if I ever wear those earmuff things you bought. I’d look like a dang fool!”
In contrast to Rowdy’s excitable recitation, Smith was unruffled as he said, “All right, then, you don’t have to wear the earmuffs. Your cowboy hat will do just fine. I checked the schedule for that senior’s club they have down there at the community center. They’re starting up bowling teams. You love bowling.”
“Not in the mood,” Rowdy said irascibly. “I don’t know why you won’t just let me be about it.”
“‘Cause I don’t like the idea of you staying here all day just to clean up after me and cook and watch television.”
“I don’t see why it should bother you, when it doesn’t me. It’s my life, ain’t it? Besides, I like to cook.”
Smith sighed. “That’s all well and good, Uncle Rowdy, and I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you’re not all that great of a cook. A man can’t live on chili and tacos alone, which seem to be the extent of your culinary expertise.” They’d been sharing the cooking duties since they moved to Sheffield-Chatham, and every night but tonight, Rowdy had served tacos on his nights. They’d had chicken tacos, beef tacos, shrimp tacos, pork tacos, fish tacos. Hell, one night he’d even served scrambled eggs and beans in hard shells, saying when Smith looked puzzled, “They’re both a protein, ain’t they? Now shut up and eat.”
To which Smith had replied, “Maybe next time you’ll add bacon. You know it’s my favorite.”
“And I suppose you want me to serve a meal like you had the other night at Glenda and Peter’s,” Ro
wdy growled now.
“Of course not, but that reminds me, you could go visit them sometimes. They’re just a few blocks away, and they’d love to see you. If you don’t want to walk, I could drop you off and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind bringing you back here whenever you were ready to leave. Aunt Glenda is retired and Uncle Peter is semi-retired, so they’ve got time for visitors.”
“I haven’t seen those two in twenty years. I can’t just go barging in.”
Smith decided it was best to give in for now. “Just tell me you’ll think about it.”
“All right,” Rowdy said with a nod. “I’ll think about it. Now, back to you and your unceremonious departure from Texas.
“It wasn’t like I was run out on a rail,” Smith retorted, knowing if he didn’t say something, his uncle would just keep on him about it. “I didn’t have to go.”
Clearly Rowdy disagreed. “Humph. That’s not the way I saw it. They might as well have said ‘here’s your hat, what’s your hurry,’ as they shoved you across the flippin’ border. And it’s all that ornery little heifer’s fault. I told you not to get involved with that snakey bitch when you first met her. But would you listen to me? No! And now here you are – exiled. You’re a man without a country, hoss.”
Smith didn’t respond. He just continued to eat his chili.
“And what about Peter and Glenda’s gal? What’s her name? You’re always goin’ on about her.”
Smith lifted a brow. As far as he knew, he hadn’t talked to his uncle about Lily in years – when he was nineteen and his hormones had strongly brought home the point that she wasn’t actually related to him and that she was more than just a little girl. Frowning, he said, “What about her?”
“Why don’t you ask her out on a date or somethin’? It might take your mind off your troubles.”
“Hmm,” was all Smith said before going back to his meal. Lily had been on his mind for the rest of the day after he’d seen her and he didn’t need his uncle reminding him of her, especially since he knew Mrs. Popkin had probably blabbed to Lily about his lame idea to get rid of her and there would be hell to pay when he next saw her.