The Devil Has Dimples

by Pepper Phillips

  I think I needed an aspirin. I grinned back at him, a weak grin. This was going to be trying. Grant gave my arm a little squeeze with his hand. Whispering in my ear, he said. “You can do it.”

  I hope so.

  T-Jack walked around his desk and taking my hand and arm guided me to one of the two folding chairs in front of his desk.

  “Your story comes out in tomorrow’s paper. You’re gonna love it.” T-Jack said.

  I rolled my eyes. Grant grunted. I didn’t dare look at him.

  I took out my notebook and turned to the quote sheet tucked inside.

  “So, what you got there, girlie?” T-Jack asked.

  “Just a couple of questions.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows at me. A delightful grin on his face, he seemed charmed by me asking questions.

  “Shoot!”

  I rechecked my list. I wanted to ask the most important question first, just in case he didn’t want to answer the later questions.

  “What does ‘Je vous aimerai pour toujours’ mean?”

  T-Jack scratched his head. Then held out his hand for my paper.

  I handed it to him and he studied it for a minute.

  “Your pronunciation is horrible.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  He pointed to the paper with his finger. “This means ‘I will love you forever.’”

  He from Grant to me, then back again. “You kids want to tell me something?”

  “No!” We both said in unison. I prayed that I wouldn’t blush and give anything away.

  I reached for the paper and T-Jack handed it back to me.

  I checked my notebook. “What was happening in Boggy Bayou during the last weeks of February and early part of March in nineteen hundred and eighty-four?”

  He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, then he jumped up and said. “I’ll be back.”

  He trotted off toward the back of the building and disappeared down a hallway.

  “Didn’t quite sound like Arnold, ’I’ll be back’.” Grant said.

  His irrelevant remark make me laugh.

  “Want a cola?”

  “Sure,” I said. Who knew how long T-Jack would be gone?

  Grant walked over to an old-fashioned chest cooler in a corner. Deposited some change and came back with two drinks.

  I gazed around the office. It was a mess. Just like Maudie’s, and which I still needed to go through. I wonder if she had any old newspapers at the store. Now that was a thought. I didn’t see them when Margie and I were redecorating, but that didn’t mean much. They could be in the kitchen area. Or in the office from hell.

  We heard a commotion from the hallway and eventually T-Jack came into view.

  He was pushing a cart, a rickety cart, with a huge newspaper binder stacked on top.

  He stopped the cart at a nearby table, and motioned for us to come over, which we did. “This is what you’re looking for.” The phone rang then and he went to answer it.

  I ran my fingertips over the top of the first binder. January - June 1984 was embossed in gold lettering on the cover.

  Grant picked it up and moved it to the table. He gently opened the cover and there were the old newspapers. It seemed strange to look and read articles of interest before I was born. Probably before I was even conceived.

  We read over each page.

  The new water tower was being built on the south edge of town. The sheriff was arrested and locked up in his own jail for selling copper wire that was confiscated from a robbery. That story made headlines. The local society news indicated that Mrs. Edward Buford and Mrs. Roger Claudel motored to Baton Rouge. That was funny, “motored,” an archaic term if I ever heard one.

  We read about deaths, marriages, who obtained marriage licenses, who was being sued, and who announced to run for a vacated political office. All the town business was discussed on those dusty yellowing pages.

  T-Jack was busy on the phone and wandered over now and then, but Grant and I were on our own.

  The last newspaper in February had a banner headline done in red.

  “FIRE”

  Apparently, the water pressure was down due to the change over from one water tower to another, and a simple household fire managed to burn down three houses. Mrs. Roberta Guillot was severely burned and taken to the local hospital for treatment. “Bobbie” as she was known to her friends died a few hours later.

  “Bobbie,” I said.

  I had heard that name before.

  “Who’s Bobbie?” I asked Grant.

  “Got me. But I’ve heard the name before.”

  We both looked for T-Jack, but he was still busy on the phone.

  I grabbed Grant’s arm.

  “Bobbie was one of the girls in the six-pack picture.”

  “The one who died,” he said.

  “In a fire,” I said.

  “Maudie’s two sets of stairs, a friend of hers died in a fire. It must be the same person,” he said.

  We turned back to the paper to see if we could gleam any information from the pages, but there were no further details listed.

  Then we turned to the next week’s paper.

  The cover story was still the fire. My finger raced down the page as I was caught up in the details of the long ago event. Apparently the fire caught her unaware of the danger, her husband was able to rescue her, but she had burns over fifty percent of her body. She was a few months pregnant and died a few hours later.

  How sad. I felt for Maudie and her friend. What a tragic loss.

  When I turned the page I heard Grant sudden intake of breath.

  He reached over and put his index finger on a picture of a woman standing next to a man, holding his hat in his hand.

  “That’s Maudie.”

  Sure enough, there was her name. She was standing next to her friend’s husband at the funeral. They both looked so sad.

  “What does it mean?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  I ran my finger down the rest of the news, gossip, announcements, etc., through the rest of the pages of March, but we couldn’t find anything more that related to Maudie.

  T-Jack was still on the phone.

  I studied the picture of my mother. She was sad in the picture, but she was lovely. I couldn’t see any resemblance, but it didn’t matter. This was my mother. I wondered if she was pregnant with me, if she was, it was too early for her to know. I gave out a deep sigh. There was so much I would never know.

  Grant closed the binder and placed it back on the cart. We sat down on the folding chairs and waited.

  Whoever T-Jack was talking to on the phone must have been long-winded as all we could hear was an occasional, “Uh-huh.”

  I was lulled into a semiconscious state, wondering if the fire had anything to do with me, and if so, what?

  We heard T-Jack slam down the phone, then he yelled. “I gotta go. See you kids later.” And he left.

  Grant and I just sat there. Stunned.

  “I wonder what that was about.” Grant said.

  “Did you ever pick up on who he was talking to?”

  “No. But I’ve never heard him listen quite so long without talking either.”

  We left the building and stood outside for a moment.

  “An early lunch?” Grant asked.

  “Sure.” I looked at my watch. “I have to open in about an hour. Maybe Naomi knows something about the fire.”

  Grant laughed. “I’m sure she does.”

  Hank’s was hopping with business. For a diner with few visible parking places in front, it was amazing how many customers could crowd into his place during lunch.

  Grant was greeted with smiles, and when the gazes turned to me, the smiles turned to frowns.

  “What’s up?” I whispered.

  “You got me. But Naomi will tell us.”

  Grant looked around the Hole for our little waitress, as did I, but I couldn’t see her. A younger woman, in her forties, came over to our table.


  “Hey, Grant, what’ll it be today.”

  Her name tag said her name was Della.

  “Where’s Naomi?” He asked.

  “Oh, her and Bitsy took off for Hot Springs.”

  “Hot Springs, in Arkansas?”

  “Sure. They do that every year about this time. They swear by it. Spas, hot tubs, massages, the whole works. So what’ll be.”

  We both said. “The blue plate special.”

  “Sure ‘nuff.” And she walked off.

  “Well, at least we finally know where Bitsy took off to.” Grant said.

  “I was starting to worry,” I said.

  “Why the last minute, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Usually Naomi announces any trip she’s taking months before she goes. Even if it’s only for a weekend. We didn’t hear a word about this trip.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  * * *

  I felt like tackling the office after lunch, though a nap would be even better. A nap with Grant at my side. Though I don’t think we would nap much.

  When I opened the store, I really felt proud of the way it looked. Making some coffee, I heard the bell jingle and turned to see Margie coming inside. She wiggled her hand at me and gave me a smile.

  “Hi,” she said shyly.

  “Hi back at ya.”

  She laughed. “I came to shop.”

  “Wow. That sounds promising. Where are you going to start?”

  “The foyer. I want to be able to envision each room as I go from one to another. They should complement each other in color and style.”

  “You really should be a decorator.”

  She blushed. “No. I’m not that talented. But, I just want something that reflects my likes.”

  I waved my hand across the store. “Lead the way.”

  She put her purse down on the counter and walked over to a large circular walnut table. Lovingly, she ran her hands across the top. The pattern of the wood was distinctive and beautiful.

  “I dreamed about this the other night.”

  “That’s a new one. I’ve yet to dream of furniture.”

  Her gaze slid over to me, and she gave me a lopsided smile.

  “You’re young, I’m sure you’re dreaming of better things than furniture.”

  It was my turn to blush. I immediately bent over and studied the pedestal on the table. “This is a beauty. Looks heavy as the dickens, though.”

  “I would imagine so. Do you have a tape measure? This top looks large and I want to check the dimensions.”

  “Sure.” I’d seen a tape measure by the cash register, so I searched for it briefly. A good thing it was yellow, as it was easy to find.

  I stood on one side of the table and threw the other end at Margie.

  “Sixty inches. That’s five feet. A rather large piece,” I said.

  Margie stepped back from it and viewed it again.

  “I didn’t think it was that big,” she said.

  “You can always try it out, and if it doesn’t look good I can easily take it back.”

  “That would work. I also want the crystal bowl on top.”

  I laughed. “I thought you would. You moved it enough times when we ‘redecorated.’”

  “It is pretty.”

  “It’s three-hundred-and-fifty-dollars pretty,” I responded.

  “It makes a statement.”

  “That it does and I’ll be delighted to ‘write out a statement.’”

  Margie ran her fingertip down the cut glass. “I just love the way it catches the light. It’ll look lovely sitting in my foyer.”

  “Is that going to be it? Or will you be wanting something else? Your foyer is huge.”

  “That it is, but I want to start small and see what I have and then add something when it pleases my eye.”

  “When do you want it delivered?”

  “Today would be nice.” She looked eager.

  “Let me round up my moving boys. It will probably be late this afternoon after they get out of school”

  “That’s fine. I only decided this morning to get on a stick, so I need to clean the area first.” She hesitated, then said. “I’ll take the bowl now, if it’s convenient.”

  “Sure, let me wrap it up for you.”

  “No need. I’ll only unwrap it again in a few minutes.”

  I walked over and grabbed the bowl securely in both arms. It was certainly heavy. “Are you sure? It’s heavy.”

  “Oh yes, I dreamed about the bowl too. It’s coming home with me now.”

  “Well, open the door and let’s get this sucker safely in your car. I don’t want to ‘drop’ a sale.”

  Margie was grinning broadly as she drove off, waving at me.

  It was good to see her so happy. I looked up and saw Joanna coming my way, and she was definitely unhappy.

  “You!” She pointed her finger at me accusingly.

  Rats! It seemed like she was primed to fight.

  So I turned on my heel and went back into the shop. I could hear her yelling behind me. I poured a cup of coffee and placed some cookies on a plate. As she sputtered in, I held out both out to her. She was definitely taken aback.

  She looked at me suspiciously, but took the offered items.

  “Sit down,” I said, indicating the small settee with my hand. I poured out a cup of coffee for me, then grabbed a cookie and sat on a chair. She slowly followed and sat.

  I decided it was time to get tough.

  “Unless you have something constructive to say to me, Joanna, then I don’t want to hear it. You’ve insulted me enough today.”

  She snarled at me. “I lost my job because of you!”

  I took a sip of coffee to defuse the anger she threw my way. “Think about it, Joanna. You yelled at me. You made a scene. You called me a bastard. I don’t think any blame should be placed on me.”

  I took another sip of coffee. My hand shook so much there were ripples in the cup.

  She had the decency to look down. Ashamed, as well as she should be. She looked pitiful.

  Almost.

  I continued. “You know Joanna. We all make our own happiness. For some reason you are blaming me for something that I don’t even know about. Why don’t you tell me the truth?”

  Joanna glanced at me briefly, then looked down at the cup in her lap. A deep sigh emitted from her, as though she was defeated. “I guess it’s about time.”

  I waited for her to begin.

  “Maudie dated Harold in high school,” she said.

  “Harold?” I asked.

  Her expression was sad. “My husband.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t know if I wanted to hear this story, but somehow I knew it related to me in some way.

  She put her cup down on the table beside her, next to the untouched cookies, then leaned back, relaxing her tense muscles.

  “He was so handsome. Maudie always picked up the best-looking men. I hoped that he would ask me out. But he chose Maudie. They all did.”

  She pressed the ridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger, as though she had a headache.

  “No wonder. She was so pretty, always smiling, everyone wanted to be around her, including me.”

  She brought her hands down, and started to twist her wedding band around her fingers with her fingertips. It was painful to watch her. She seemed in agony.

  “She’d date a guy for a couple of months, then drop them, one day they were sweethearts, the next she couldn’t stand them. They were all crushed.” She looked up at me with pain in her eyes.

  “That’s when the rest of us would close in for the kill.” She shook her head. “It was disgusting. Vile.”

  She shuddered. “I…I couldn’t wait to get my hands on Harold.”

  She began to rub her hands together, roughly, as if she couldn’t stand her own skin.

  “Naomi. Bitsy. Me.” She looked at me with sadness in her eyes. “Your adoptive parents.”

  It took
me a second to understand what she was saying. “My father dated Maudie?”

  “Yes. For a long time. Six months, I think. We thought that Maudie finally found the right guy. But she dumped him too. Your mother was thrilled to get him.”

  “Do you have a clue as to why she would break up with all her boyfriends?”

  “I asked Harold once. He never would tell me. Just shook his head, then stood up and walked away from me.” She examined her fingernails. “I never asked him again.”

  “Why?”

  “I was afraid to, I figured he would leave me.”

  “Why did you think that?”

  A lone tear started in her eye, and slowly crept down her face.

  “He never stopped loving her. Never. I could see it in his eyes.” She broke down crying.

  I got up and retrieved the box of tissue from the checkout counter, pulled out several and handed them to her.

  She took them gratefully and dabbed at her face, then blew her nose. She smiled weakly, then wiped her eyes again. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. Is that the reason you don’t like me, because of Maudie?”

  She shook her head. “No, no. It’s because I think you might be Harold’s daughter.”

  Oh, no. My heart began to hammer in my chest. I felt a moment of panic. What had I started? Where would it end?

  “Have you asked him?”

  “No. I’m afraid.”

  That answer stymied me. What could she possibly be afraid of at this point in time?

  “Of what?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. He’s been different since Maudie died, and I don’t know why.”

  “Just ask him. Maybe he wants to talk to you, but doesn’t know how.”

  She looked at me with eager brightness in her eyes. “Do you think so?”

  “I don’t know. You should know him better than anyone else. Just talk to him.”

  “I will.” She stood up and brushed off her skirt. She looked at the wadded up tissues in her hand, confused as what to do with them.

  I held out my hand and she deposited them there. Joanna then gave me one of her rare smiles, and stepped forward and embraced me. She whispered in my ear, “I wouldn’t mind calling you stepdaughter if you’re Harold’s.”

  Then she hastily made her retreat. Leaving me in stunned silence. Tina the bitch could be my half-sister. I shuddered.