by Lawton Paul
“Okay, I’m on it. When can we get together and brain storm?”
Angela sidesteps the invitation, instead tells him she doesn’t think Jesus is a suspect anymore, but she holds back on the part about how Jesus, her, and now Carl, have recovered from a major illness right after getting close to Mrs. Kaufman’s house. It was too much.
Greg is a scientist. Like Walt, he needs facts. All she had was a good story, nothing more. He wouldn’t buy it until he has a bunch of numbers on spreadsheet that proves her right.
The next morning at breakfast Bo weighs in on Kaufman’s brown hair. “She had brown hair back in the day. Back when I’d see her around town now and then. Always just her and the dog.” At that Dog looks up at her, tongue out. “I started going gray late 90s. I figure Marlina was around the same time. She’d go over to the Sahlheimer’s once a week and they’d play cards. Tried to get me to go but I never was much for parlor games. Waste of time.”
“So… Kaufman and Sahlheimer. Kaufman and Sahlheimer.” Angela looks at Bo, waiting for a response.
Bo chops the head off a croaker. The heavy cleaver goes THONK on the old wooden cutting board, the fish head shooting straight into the sink. “What?” she says.
“They’re both German names,” Angela says.
“Naw. Just two neighbors playing gin rummy on Friday nights while the rest of us proper Chickasaw rednecks were taking a boat out to Sand Island to get drunk.”
“Yeah, but Walt went to Germany. Walt spoke German.”
Bo takes her fish cleaning gloves off, washes her hands in the sink, and sits down next to Angela. She was the old, tired mother again. She’s going to give it to me, thinks Angela. Bo puts her hands gently on either side of Angela’s face. “Honey, I haven’t known you very long. But I feel like I known you forever. Feel like I knew Walt. Knew his heart. He was a good man. And I love you both. But you gotta let him go. Let him go and move on with your life, Child.”
Angela is silent, but one idea dominates her thoughts: there’s a link between Walt, Kaufman, the power, and Johnny’s arrest, and I’m going to find it.
Later in the day Angela takes Dog for a walk down to the park but they make it as far as the Sahlheimer’s. Angela can’t shake the idea of Mrs. Kaufman actually out and about, having fun, drinking wine and playing cards with Anna and Bill Sahlheimer.
So Angela knocks on the door and they are happy to let her in. As dark as Mrs. Kaufman’s house was, theirs is bright with all the windows open and a clear view of the river. Anna is gray haired, but vibrant and pretty with green eyes and remarkably clear skin for a woman she guessed to be in her 70s. She and Angela sit on the back porch and drink sweet iced tea while Dog runs around sniffing the back yard, finally getting to see what it’s like on the other side of the big fence.
“Marlina was a good friend early on right after she came, all during the 80s. She came about once a week to play gin rummy. Sometimes we’d play poker and invite Bill’s older brother. He’d lost his wife years before so we were kind of trying to set them up, but Marlina didn’t bite. But after awhile she just faded away from us,” Anna says. Bill is slumped into his lazyboy chair, feet up, two fingers resting on a tumbler of whiskey. He’s watching a soap opera with the sound off and hadn’t moved a muscle since Angela had arrived.
“Why’d she stop coming?” says Angela. Anna reaches for her cup, looks out to the yard. Dog is chasing a squirrel, a tiny gray flash darting up a big live oak. Dog just sits under the tree and stares at the squirrel flicking its bottle brush tail.
“Go on, tell her why,” says Bill. Anna is quiet so Angela takes a long sip of tea. Then after about a minute of silence Bill says, “Okay. Here’s the deal. One day I said to Marlina, ‘You look young and beautiful.’ But it wasn’t a come on or anything. Honest.” Bill looks at Anna for support but she’s suddenly in a tea drinking contest, suddenly interested in squirrels in the back yard. Bill slumps back into his chair.
“She thought you wanted her so she did the right thing,” says Anna finally.
“That ain’t it, Anna-baby,” says Bill. “Marlina looked at me like I’d hit her or something. I wasn’t making a move for God’s sake. It was a compliment to a lonely woman. But she up and cut our ass off. I wanted her to marry George.”
“Older brother,” Anna whispers.
“But she wasn’t having none of that. But she was pretty.” He goes back to watching TV, then quickly adds, “Angela, you are pretty and look young.”
“Thank you, Bill,” says Angela.
“See, easy peasy. Oh, and Anna, my dear, you are far more pretty than Marlina ever was, God rest her soul.”
“Bill, is there anyone else you’d like to compliment?” says Anna. “How ‘bout the damn dog?”
“Dog!” Bill yells suddenly, sitting up, ice cubes clinking. Dog’s hind leg is sticking straight into the air like a flag pole, his snout buried in his crotch. He looks up at the house, a glistening string of drool hanging down one side of his mouth. “I think you are a fine animal and am proud to have you licking your nuts in my back yard,” says Bill. Dog takes a few tentative steps forward, then tilts his head, snapping off the drool trail.
Anna just stares down at the floor. Angela thinks maybe it’s time to go but then Bill says, “You ain’t tole her ‘bout Jimmy!” His head, once again, aimed at the TV.
“The poor girl is raring to go, I’m sure,” says Anna.
“No, not at all,” says Angela. “Hearing stories about Mrs. Kaufman really gives me closure. Please continue.”
“Okay. Well, how could I forget that one,” says Anna, reaching out to touch Angela’s arm. “My little grandson, God bless him, got sick when he was seven. My daughter was in Jax and her husband was away in the Gulf war. And Bill and I were leaving to go see him because Lilly, that’s my daughter, called and there was something in her voice. She said, Momma, you better come now. And that scared me. And I had gone outside, just waiting on Bill to come and get in the car and I heard something going on in Marlina’s back yard. Couldn’t see over the dang fence,” she yells this last part at Bill. He remains a statue of Bill watching TV. “So I said to hell with it and went into her backyard and there was Marlina planting flowers.
She had on a big hat and it was so good to see her I just gave her a big hug. I think she was happy, too, but something wasn’t quite right. Honey, she looked beautiful, but it was like she was ashamed of something. Like she didn’t want me to see her. Anyhow, I told her about Jimmy and she did a 180 and asked if she could come along.” Anna takes a sip of her iced tea.
“What was I to do? It was odd, after not seeing her all those years, then suddenly we are taking her to see my sick grandson. Anyhow, I said come on, and off we went. Bill not saying one dang word the whole drive into town,” aiming the last part at Bill again.
“You don’t just stop talkin’ to people unless they done somethin’ bad wrong and all I said was ‘you’re pretty’,” says Bill to the TV.
“Anyway, when we got to St. Vincents we thought he was gone. Lily and her husband’s parents were already there outside his room in the ICU and the doctor and about three nurses were in there working on him.” She took another sip of tea. “It was terrible. They were ripping open those sealed white packages with big needles and the doctor was barking out orders and the nurses were running around doing God knows what and in the center of it was my little baby.”
She takes a sip of tea, puts both hands to her face, then keeps going: “There was a big nurse in front of the door with her hands out like a bouncer at a nightclub. And we couldn’t go in and I just wanted to touch him, to tell him I loved him. Or at least let his momma in there. But that bitch held us back and I suppose that was the right thing to do.
And then here comes the crazy part. Marlina stepped up to her. I’d forgotten she was there. She had one hand on her chest and she put the other on the nurse and said, ‘Get out of my way.’ And the way she said it, powerful and strong. And that big, mean, nurs
e stepped aside, opened the door and everything. And Marlina walked right in to the operating room.”
And then Bill took up the story. “The little porthole windows were so high Anna couldn’t see. But I saw everything. The doctor was trying to get the tube down his throat and then he’d stop and the nurse would come in and pump air into him with the ventilator thing. And then I looked at the heart monitor and it went from a few sharp peaks to a bunch of little hills and then almost nothing. So the doctor has a huge syringe and he does a few little practice jabs like he’s lining up and right when he raises his hand to jam that damn thing in Marlina yells STOP and I swear to God my heart stopped, the doctor stopped, everyone in the hospital stopped, maybe the cars outside stopped, and then she stepped up to Jimmy with one hand on her chest and then she put her other hand on him and instantly the little heart meter thing started going up and down again and he took a deep breath and the doctor jumped back like he’d been electrocuted.”
Anna starts crying and Bill hands her his glass and she takes a sip. “Ain’t you supposed to add a little water to that?” she says with a red face.
Bill looks at Angela. “Marlina saved the boy. I’m glad she did it. Jimmy is healthy as they come these days. Playing high school ball, chasing girls. He’s a big, strong kid. But I just don’t know.” Bill shakes his head, takes another pull on the glass of whiskey.
“God works in mysterious ways, you heathen,” Anna says. “And, of course, we didn’t see Marlina much after that.”
“Yeah, but we seen that blue Ford a bunch, recently,” Bill says, laughing.
“It was green,” says Anna.
“Anna darling, that was a blue, 1971 Ford. I know them cars. Four doors. Dual exhaust. I’ll admit I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout gardening, so don’t lecture me on cars.” Bill moves back to his chair.
“It was green,” she whispers. “Anyhow. I have no idea what was going on, but a gentleman caller would come at all hours of the night, usually on random weeknights.”
“Come on, Anna, you know what they were doing,” Bill says, grinning.
“Well, at least she had some sort of social life. That poor woman never got out.”
“Me and Bo never saw him,” says Angela.
“That’s because he parked up right next to Marlina’s house so the bushes blocked most of the car. He’d come rolling up with his lights off, but I could hear the engine. Eight cylinder, prolly a 351 or maybe a 302 with a dual exhaust. It rumbled like cars used to back in the day,” Bill says.
“How long has he been coming?”
“Not too long,” says Anna. “Since late last year, maybe.”
“Did you guys tell the sheriff?” says Angela.
“Well, he never stopped by to ask us anything,” says Anna.
The dog comes up to the back porch steps, ready to go.
“You got all the squirrels treed?” says Anna.
“Well, I better head home now, I suppose. Thank you for your time,” says Angela.
“I hope we didn’t scare you off with the wild tales of two old people,” says Anna.
“No, it was great. And you guys aren’t old, you look young and healthy.”
“You gonna tell her our secret to eternal health and longevity?” says Bill with a grin.
They know, thinks Angela. They know about the power!
On the way out Anna hands Angela a small package with strange writing all over it.
“Green tea,” says Anna. “Imported from Japan. I swear we been drinking this stuff forever and we been real healthy. We lived in Baker County for awhile and we got sick pretty regular, Bill especially, but then the Post Office moved us up here and we started drinking the tea and have been super healthy. Its like magic.”
'71 Ford
Angela types in ‘1971 Ford’ and hits enter. Old cars start popping onto the screen as the page loads on her laptop. She prints it out, runs next door again and has Bill circle the exact car. “That’s it,” he says. “I remember that body style. Clean lines, round headlights, sort of a sporty grocery getter. Had a little Mustang Fastback in it.”
“What’s it called?” says Angela.
“Oh, what the hell they call that one? They dropped the name in the 70s. It didn’t hold like Mustang or Thunderbird.” He stood there on the front porch staring up into the trees with his hands on his hips. Then he fidgeted around, stared down at the grass for a minute. “I’m sorry, Angela, it ain’t coming. You’ll have to look it up.”
Angela says thanks and starts back to the house. Before she gets back to the cottage she hears Bill yelling out his window. “Torino! It’s a Torino!”
“Thanks, Bill,” she says. And then stops in her tracks. Where have I heard that name? Walt’s log.
She runs upstairs, starts rifling through the logbook. And there it is on page 43 under the Jan. 27th shrimp entry.
Torino at night. Again. I worry about her. Is this the right course of action?
Walt knew about the guy coming at night in the blue Ford, Angela thought. And he was worried about her. I’ve got to find that car. Now I got something to chew on.
The next morning she’s standing in the Chickasaw Sheriff’s Office in a gray pant suit with a box of Bo’s blueberry muffins. The young deputy who carried her to the house the morning when Mrs. Kaufman died is there, but no sheriff. This is a long shot, but she has a chance as long as the sheriff isn’t there. Carl said he filled his truck up in the morning at the gas station across the street at around 8am and the sheriff’s truck was never there.
“Mrs. Fleetwood, right?” says the young cop. “I’m Milford. You remember when we met at your place?” he says.
“Of course, Deputy,” she smiles at him. Look him in the eyes, hold it for a second, like I might be interested, but not too much. “I fainted, I didn’t fall on my head. And you can call me Angela.” He leads her to a small desk, holds the chair for her and sits down. A gentleman. I’ve got a chance here.
“What can I do for you, Ma’am? Is this official business?” he says, opening his laptop.
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. I just wanted to stop by and say thanks to you for your help the other day. And I know the last time I saw the sheriff we had a heated exchange so I just wanted to apologize if I said something stupid. It’s been real, uh, hectic, of late.” She hands him the warm box, and the whole office starts to smell like a bakery.
She gets up to go and he thanks her. “Too bad the sheriff’s not here,” Angela lies.
“He’ll be in soon,” says the deputy, leading her to the door. “Well, I’ll relay the message to him, and I’ll try not to eat all the muffins myself.”
He opens the door for her and says, “Thanks for stopping by Mrs. Fleetwood, uh, Angela. I’m here if you need anything.”
“Actually,” she says. “Maybe you could help me with one little thing. Bo’s friend, Carl, the shrimper, you know, he spotted an old car the other day and can’t get his mind off of it. He’d like to make an offer on it but we don’t know the owner. Could you help us?”
“Well, that’s not public record but I don’t see how it could hurt.”
“71 Ford Torino,” she says. “Can you call me if you find anything?”
“Sure.”
Angela and Dog head back in the truck. She runs through the gears between stop signs, left hand on the wheel and right on the stick. She wonders if the deputy will come through.
The pant suit and muffins were Bo’s idea. Angela had on her usual jeans, t-shirt, ponytail ensemble and Bo sized her up and suggested she change clothes.
“You want me in heels and something slinky?” said Angela.
“No. How about something professional, but shows your hips a little. Something that says I am beautiful and I mean business and wouldn’t you like to help me out.”
“I don’t have anything that says all that.”
“Yeah, you do. Put on some makeup and run a comb through your hair—and for God’s sake no ponytail! Wear something b
usinesslike, but shows your ass a little.”
“Bo!” It was Angela’s turn to do the whole gasp thing.
“Listen, Girl, Sheriff is playing for keeps. If we need this information, let’s get it.”
Angela didn’t question the move after that. She went to the cottage, found a nice pant suit that was just tight enough to accentuate her figure, yet still professional. Then she sat down in front of her mirror and did her face. She reached for a necklace she kept in a bowl on the table and found Mrs. Kaufman’s pendant. She held the heavy cone close to her and suddenly she was warm all over and felt calm and light. She put it in her pocket with her keys and headed to the kitchen.
The phone starts ringing. “Hey, Dog, maybe the deputy came through for us,” she says. Somehow the dog can sleep in the old truck, squeaky springs and all.
It’s the sheriff. “Mrs. Fleetwood,” he says, “the sheriff’s department is not your personal car finder service. That’s not public record and Milford knows better.”
“Well, sorry to have bothered you, Sheriff,” she says in her best light, yet professional tone. “I’ll tell Carl we’ll have to find it another way.” And you can kiss my ass.
“Carl don’t want that car, does he?” Oh shit.
“Oh, he sure does.” I gotta work on my lying.
“Naw. What this sounds like is Angela Fleetwood doing unauthorized investigations again. I thought you were done with that, Angela. Why that specific car? Why not a real Ford, like a Mustang? Nobody wants a four-door Torino. You oughta know, you can’t lie to a cop.”
“A man in a 1971 Ford Torino was visiting Marlina at night recently. You don’t know this because your idea of police work is to take one look at the scene and call it an accident and be done with it.”
There’s a long silence on the other end. Then finally the sheriff speaks. “I’ll look into it.” Then he hangs up.