by Anne George
“Let’s dance,” I told Fred.
He looked at the dance floor. “There’s no room.”
“All the more fun.”
He got up reluctantly, promising Kenneth that he would return in short order to finish their discussion.
“Nice, sensible man,” he said as we headed to the dance floor. “I think Haley likes him.”
“Good,” I said. “Let’s go get some supper.”
“Thought you wanted to dance.”
“There’s no room on the dance floor.”
He looked a little puzzled, but he followed me out of the tent.
Supper was set up not only in the dining room but also in the den. Desserts were arranged on an adjacent glassed-in porch. We got plates and were trying to decide where to start when Katie McCorkle came out of the kitchen with another casserole. She was dressed in a simple black dress and pearls. Her hair was pulled back into a becoming French braid.
“Good,” I said. “You’re feeling better.”
She put the casserole down and shook hands with Fred after I had introduced them. “Yes, thank God. That’s the only thing that gets you through a migraine, knowing that every moment you’re getting closer to the end of it.”
I pointed to the loaded tables. “Surely you didn’t do this.”
“Some of it. And Sara did some, too. Most of it came from a caterer in Birmingham, though.”
“Tell us where to start.”
“With the shrimp. And try the remoulade sauce.”
We started down one table.
“Just come on around me,” said a beautiful red-headed woman who was also filling her plate. “It all looks so good, I can’t decide.”
“Looks to me like you’re doing a pretty good job,” said Katie, who had emerged from the kitchen again.
The woman looked at the abundance of food she already had on her plate and giggled. “Guess you’re right, Katie.”
“Doris,” Katie said, “these nice folks are Patricia Anne and Fred Hollowell. And this is Doris Chapman.” Katie turned back to Doris. “Mrs. Hollowell’s sister bought the Skoot.”
Doris’s eyes, which were round, seemed to get rounder. “Oh, my. There’s been a lot of trouble up there, hasn’t there?”
“Lots,” I said. I was trying to relate this drop-dead-gorgeous woman with the Doris whom Henry and Bonnie Blue had described, the nondescript, plain waitress.
Doris reached over and took a hefty helping of the casserole Katie had brought out. She obviously wasn’t into calorie-counting. Nor did she need to be. She was wearing a lavender knit column dress that ended just above her ankles. A generous slit to mid-thigh facilitated walking. Not that one would do a lot of walking in that dress. The dress bumped, rolled and wiggled just the right amount in all the right places. I kicked at Fred as she leaned way over to spear a pickle. Like I said, most of our communication is nonverbal.
“Not guilty,” he whispered. But I knew he was. I’ve got that man’s thoughts pegged.
“Ed and then the tornado.” Doris paused. “Does the potato salad have mustard in it, Katie?”
“This one does; that one doesn’t.” Katie picked up a bowl of fruit that was about half empty and disappeared into the kitchen. Doris pushed the casserole over on her plate and put a spoonful of nonmustard potato salad by it. I studied her. Was it possible there were two Doris Chapmans here tonight? The red hair could have come from a squeeze bottle like mine. But the rest of her? Unless it had been darker in the Skoot ’n’ Boot than Henry and Bonnie Blue had realized.
I tested the waters. “You seen Bonnie Blue?”
“No. She’s out in the tent.” Doris selected a piece of ham. “I’m starving. I’m going to go surprise her soon as I eat. She had to come to the party early, so she left my coat with the McCorkles.” Doris laughed. “They didn’t know who I was. I’ll bet she won’t, either.”
So something was different. “Why not?”
Doris held her loaded plate away from her and turned slowly, pointing. “Hair red, nose job, chin, forehead heightened, face-lift, boobs, hips, tummy tuck, liposuction on my thighs and the fat put into my butt.” She turned so we could see a nicely rounded derriere that was made out of fat thighs.
“Good God,” Fred said. “It looks great.”
Doris smiled. “Doesn’t it?” She seemed as delighted as a child, which was fine. I’ve never been tempted to go the cosmetic-surgery route myself; I’ve earned every wrinkle and sag.
“Y’all come eat with me. The steps in the foyer would be a good place, okay?”
“We’re right behind you,” Fred said. And he meant it. He didn’t give a damn if God or a plastic surgeon was responsible for the way Doris looked in the lavender knit dress. It was the result that he liked. Men!
The steps turned out to be a good place to eat. We had an unobstructed view of the front door and saw when Richard Hannah, Sr., and Jackson arrived. Richard, Senior, was in a wheelchair, the result of a small-plane crash during his second campaign for governor. The accident had killed his wife. A large man who looked like he might be a professional wrestler helped Richard, Junior, get the chair over the threshold, and then he left. Jackson, who entered behind his brother, stood for a moment, looking around. He saw us on the steps, gave a wide grin and started toward us.
“Daddy Dick!” Sara had left her duties at the door for a moment, but now she entered the hall. “Daddy Dick!” She ran to the man in the wheelchair and leaned down to hug him. That was when I first saw that her dress had no back to it. Jackson had turned away from us when Sara appeared and now was watching her and his brother.
“Daddy Dick,” Doris murmured. “That has interesting connotations, doesn’t it?” She crossed her leg so the slit in her dress fell open against the step, much to Fred’s admiration.
“Do you know a Wanda Sue Hampton?” I surprised myself, blurting it out like that.
“No. Why?”
“I thought you might.”
“I know a Wanda Sue Eddington.”
“Could she have been Wanda Sue Hampton before she married?”
“That was before she was married. Let’s see. Her name now is Ellis, I think, or maybe Ellington. Something like that.”
I took a bite out of an angel biscuit and wondered why somebody didn’t come up with a solution for women’s names.
“What did you say her name is?” Doris asked.
“Wanda Sue Hampton.”
The tableau in the doorway had changed slightly. Sara was now leaning over Daddy Dick, her cheek against his balding head. Daddy was beaming and son was smiling, too, standing over them, one hand on his wife’s head and the other on his father’s head like a blessing.
“I see Paris, I see France.” Jackson was standing by the stairs, gazing at the way Doris’s skirt fell to the side.
“I don’t have on underpants.” She giggled.
He twirled an imaginary mustache. “Let’s rush to the gazebo, my dear.”
“After a while. Let me finish my supper.”
Jackson patted her leg and walked toward the tent. Fred and I must have had startled looks on our faces.
“My boyfriend,” Doris explained. “Jackson Hannah.”
Well, that explained the mink coat, the town house and the plastic surgery.
“Is Wanda Sue a friend of yours?” she asked.
I told her the truth, about the boot and the marriage certificate being hidden, about Henry (“He’s an angel,” she interrupted) being under suspicion. I didn’t have anything to lose, and after all, she had worked at the Skoot. Maybe she could add something.
While I was talking, she was devouring her food with her perfectly capped teeth.
“Druggies,” she said when I had finished.
“I think so, too.” It was the first time Fred had opened his mouth in ten minutes. Doris and I both jumped.
“Personally,” Doris said, “I think that macho Swamp Creature, that Kenny somebody, might have something to do with Ed’s
murder. He’s stoned half the time. Dealing, too.”
“You sure?”
“Saw him. The sheriff knows it. I told him.” Doris stood up and brushed the crumbs from her dress with a napkin. “Thanks, y’all. I enjoyed supper.”
At the front door, Sara had left Daddy Dick’s side and was greeting more guests with her husband. Richard, Senior, had disappeared, probably into the dining room.
Doris stepped over us. “Would you mind taking my plate back?”
“Sure,” Fred agreed readily.
“I’m off to the gazebo.”
We watched her slide through the line of guests at the buffet tables.
“She’s not at all what I expected,” I said.
When we got back to the tent, Debbie and Henry had arrived. When Henry found out we had been in to supper, he immediately wanted to hear about the food.
“Some kind of rice,” Fred said, “and a real good casserole.”
“And ham and angel biscuits,” I added. “Fruit.”
Debbie laughed. “I think we better go check it out for ourselves, Henry.” She turned to Haley and Kenneth. “Want to go?” They did.
Jimmy Gerald and the boys in the band were huffing through “I’ll Be With You in Apple Blossom Time,” and Mary Alice and Bill were still dancing. “Want to dance?” I suggested.
Fred groaned. “Good God, no. You shouldn’t have let me eat that last roll, Patricia Anne.”
I reached into my purse and handed him a Tums. “Please forgive me.”
The music ended and Sister and Bill came back to the table. They were red-faced, out of breath and happy.
“Where are the kids?” she asked.
“Supper.”
“Haley likes Kenneth.” The wooden fold-up chair groaned as Mary Alice sat down.
“Good. We met Doris Chapman.”
“She’s here?”
“She’s Jackson Hannah’s girlfriend.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Good-looking girl,” Fred chimed in.
“Doris?” Mary Alice looked surprised. “Do you remember Doris Chapman being good-looking, Bill?”
“I don’t remember Doris Chapman,” Bill said.
“You would now,” Fred said.
I gave him the schoolteacher look. “She’s had everything done that plastic surgeons know how to do.”
“She’s gorgeous,” Fred said.
This time I pinched his leg. The secret is in the twist.
“What?” he asked. “What?”
“Well, good for her,” Sister said.
“And she’s definitely not Wanda Sue Hampton.”
“Who?” Sister asked, and I remembered I hadn’t told her about the marriage certificate and the picture.
“It’s a long story,” I said. “I’ll tell you later. Right now I want to know more about Haley and Kenneth.”
Mary Alice was happy to oblige. She sipped her white wine and gave me a total background check including a glowing financial report on Kenneth Singleton. She finished with “I had him picked out for Debbie, you know” and a shrug.
“Henry’s a doll,” I said.
“Henry’s a cook.”
“A chef,” I corrected her. “An artist. He’ll do well.”
“Birmingham does need an elegant new restaurant,” she said. I saw where this was going and wondered how it would sit with Henry. “Snow peas like little flowers…” I tuned her out.
The bar’s business had slowed down. Many people had brought their supper back to the tent, and Bonnie Blue and her helpers seemed to be pouring more coffee than anything else. The band had taken a break and it was relatively quiet in the tent. The lack of sleep from the past two nights was beginning to catch up with me.
“Wouldn’t it, Patricia Anne?”
I jumped. Mary Alice looked at me and frowned. “Well, wouldn’t it?”
“Absolutely,” I said, wondering what the hell I had just agreed with.
“And lamb. I always said if somebody in Birmingham knew how to cook lamb, they’d make a fortune.”
“I love lamb gravy,” Bill said.
“Patricia Anne bought some mint jelly in Gatlinburg one time that was the best I ever put in my mouth.”
This was scintillating party talk. I looked around at the other tables. What were those people talking about? From the looks of the plates, food probably. I sighed.
“Want to sneak out to the gazebo?” I asked Fred.
“What’s out there?” Bill asked.
“Doris Chapman and Jackson Hannah.”
“Really?” Mary Alice seemed intrigued.
“Well, they were. Cold as it is, they’d be gone by now,” I said.
“Maybe.” Fred grinned.
Bill got up. “Want us to bring you anything?”
“We didn’t even look at the desserts, Patricia Anne,” Fred said.
“I’m sorry, Fred. I can’t let you eat dessert.”
He stuck his white-coated tongue out at me. “Let’s go look.”
The Hannahs had moved away from the front door and were circulating among their guests. Dick introduced the four of us to his father, who was holding unofficial court in the front parlor. I remembered him as a vigorous young governor and it was painful to see him so disabled. He was still a handsome man, though. It was easy to see where his son had got his looks.
“Are you by any chance the Hollowell who owns that steel-fabricating place right off Arkadelphia?” he asked Fred.
Fred said he was, pleased that Richard, Senior, was familiar with his business.
“I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you. We’re looking for some competitive bids on roof bolts for the mines. You handle that kind of thing?”
Fred had died and gone to heaven. We left them ten minutes later, chatting about A-36 carbon steel and rods and shafts.
“Thy rods and thy shafts, they comfort me,” Mary Alice said.
“Well, they give us this day our daily bread.”
“That’s not funny, girls,” Bill said. Mary Alice rolled her eyes at me.
Bill and Sister went into the dining room and I headed for the porch, not that I was planning on getting dessert, but to see what was there. The spread was unbelievable, ranging from pecan pie to chocolate mousse to fruit tarts. I hoped Henry had brought something to take notes on.
I couldn’t resist a small helping of blueberry trifle, telling myself I would just pick the blueberries out of the whipped cream. I took the bowl and wandered over to the window. The backyard was dark, probably because the Hannahs didn’t want their guests tromping around on their storm-soaked grass. By the light of the full moon, though, and the lights that streamed from windows, I could make out the swimming pool, the children’s swing set and, in the background, what must be the gazebo.
“Mrs. Hollowell?”
I turned to see a beautiful young woman in a short, strapless black sheath. Her dark hair was pulled back into a French braid and caught with a black bow. Her eyes were such a pale blue, they were startling against her tanned, olive skin. Someone I had taught, I thought, and smiled at her.
“Yes,” I said.
“I’m Fussy.” She saw I didn’t have a clue to what she was talking about. “Fussy Moran. We met at your sister’s? The Swamp Creatures?”
“You’re Fussy?” I almost said, “The bag lady?” but I caught myself in time.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How did the anniversary party go?”
“It was fine.” Fussy held up a plate with a piece of cake on it. “This is for Granddaddy. He loves lemon pound cake.”
“Your grandfather’s here?”
“He’s Richard Hannah.”
“Good Lord,” I said.
Fussy giggled. “I know. My mama says I’m climbing fool’s hill with the Swamp Creatures, but I really enjoy it. She’s Dick’s older sister, by the way. Maryann. She and my daddy are both around somewhere. Let me take this to Granddaddy and I’ll find them and introduce you. You
aren’t here by yourself, are you?”
I shook my head. “My husband and your grandfather are discussing bolts and rods.”
“Oh, Lord. I might as well eat the cake myself, then.” Fussy broke off a piece of crisp crust and popped it into her mouth. “Great!”
It was all I could do to keep from staring at her. I still found it hard to believe that this was the same girl I had met at Mary Alice’s.
“Sara and Dick know how to do parties,” she said. “They’ve got a great pool. I wish they could have used it tonight. Some designer did it so it fits into the landscape. It even has a little creek that runs into it.” Fussy took another bite of cake and put her plate down. “Come on, I’ll show it to you.”
“You sure it’s all right?”
“They won’t care. I want you to see the stones in the waterfall. I’ve never figured out if they’re fake or not.”
“I don’t want to mess up my shoes.” Fussy might be a Hannah who didn’t have to worry about things like that, but I was a Hollowell and had spent seventy bucks on these red heels.
“We’ll go through the pool room. There are all kinds of slippers and flip-flops out there. I don’t want to get mud on these, either.”
I looked down and saw what looked like glass slippers on Fussy’s feet. I just hoped when she pulled them off she didn’t turn back into a Swamp Creature.
It felt good outside, a crisp October night. Fussy turned on the lights in the pool and we walked across the lawn to the spot where the water dropped over a shelf of rocks and into the pool about three feet below. Fussy was right. It was a beautiful pool that Mother Nature would have been proud of.
“Feel those rocks and see if you can tell if they are real.”
I pushed up the sleeve of my dress and leaned over.
“Oh, my God,” Fussy said. “Oh, my God!” She turned so quickly that she bumped against me and both of us nearly ended up in the waterfall. By the time I had recovered my balance, she was running to the other end of the pool. I could see what she was running toward, though—a large, dark, floating form.
I got there just as she dived into the water. She surfaced, grabbed the man (I could tell now it was a man) and started swimming toward me.
“Help me!”
I jumped in and swam toward her.