day. “Out of curiosity, why do you refer to her as a ‘psycho-bitch?”
Nicky put her cup back on the table and smiled. “Not really fair, you’re probably thinking. After all, I only met her a few times when my cousin hooked up with her.”
“So the interactions must have been pretty intense then, for you to come to that conclusion. ‘Psycho-bitch’ doesn’t leave much room for ambiguity, does it?”
Nicky shrugged. “What can I say? She’s one of those hardcore, granola crunching, sandal-wearing, tree-hugging, militant eco-nuts. Would be as happy as a pig in shit, excuse me, to be up against Japanese whaling boats in a dinghy, or against the seal culling crew up north with a cross-bow.”
“That was four years ago though, Nicky. People change.”
Nicky swallowed coffee and shook her head. “No. Not her.”
“You seem sure.”
“Julio has been dropping hints. The short emails. Nothing explicit, but the subtext has been around getting back to a normal, mainstream lifestyle. And he couldn’t do that with Mary at his side. She wouldn’t stand for it.” She finished her coffee, picked up her cup and Eamonn’s and stood. “Where do you want these? Where’s your kitchen?”
“Ah, yes. Good. Give me those, and let’s get going. You have the address, right?”
Nicky started reciting a street address in Homestead. Eamonn put up his hands, surrendering. “Wait a minute dear. Wait until we get in the car and I can setup my ‘digital’ bitch.”
Nicky looked quizzical. “Who?”
“My onboard GPS. She’s a bit of a nag.”
--oOo--
Forty-five minutes later, comfortably ensconced in the air-conditioned comfort of Eamonn’s car, the onboard GPS instructed them to take the Campbell drive exit off 821 toward Homestead. “Getting close, Nicky.”
Five minutes later and Eamonn looked around at the neighborhood they ended up in. “You’re positive you’ve got the address correct?”
“This is the place. They were living together in a doublewide. That one.” She pointed out a well-maintained trailer on the end of a cul-de-sac.
Eamonn raised an eyebrow. “Nice. It has a certain style.” He shrugged. “Actually, maybe not.” He pulled into the empty drive. “Nobody’s home?”
He turned off the ignition and they looked through the windscreen at the residence in front of them.
It was, indeed, a doublewide trailer (or caravan, as he thought of it). A porch had been built on the west side, enclosed with mosquito screening and outfitted with a small table and four chair set, a bar fridge and a two-burner barbeque. A brilliant peach colored awning served as the porch roof. It would be a very noisy place to be in a heavy rainstorm.
To their left was the drive to a smaller trailer. The drive was occupied with an electric golf cart, the latest model. A Miami Dolphins pennant flew high above the cart’s roof, at the end of a 6-foot long fiberglass shaft. The trailer curtains parted and a wizened face looked out at them.
“We have an audience, Nicky.” Eamonn pointed at the window. “I wonder if she witnessed anything the day Julio died.”
“We should ask.”
“Maybe.” He opened the door, letting in the humid heat, and levered himself out of his car. “But first…” he pointed at Julio’s trailer. “We need to talk to Mary and, if at all possible, have a look inside.”
Nicky got out of the car and closed the door. There was a brick planter built at the front of the trailer around where the hitch would normally be. The bricks were painted, alternating between the predominant brilliant white, salmon and sea green. It looked like an ad for Crocket and Tubbs’ Miami Vice, 25 years on. In the planter were a number of what looked to like herbs and spices; thyme, parsley, possibly rosemary. Nicky stepped around the planter and joined Eamonn at the front door.
He checked the porch screen door. It was unlocked. He knocked on the aluminum frame, then again a few seconds later, harder. They heard a voice call out to them to come around to the back.
“Was that Mary’s voice?” Eamonn lead the way to the north side of the trailer.
“Sounds like.”
At the back, on a smallish plot of land, a woman in her mid to late forties, long ash-blond hair in a braid down to the middle of her back, dragged a hoe between rows of vegetables, or herbs, or something in that general family of plants. She was wearing a pair of cut-off denim shorts, a loose New England Patriots t-shirt, and Birkenstocks. Madrids, if Eamonn remembered correctly. White. Originally white, that is, and now stained by the garden dirt.
Eamonn looked at Nicky, raised an eyebrow and nodded toward the woman “Mary?” he whispered. Nicky nodded.
He cleared his throat. “Excuse me. May we have a word with you?”
Mary turned and smiled a small, sad smile. “Nicky. So good to see you. Who is this?” She dropped the hoe on the ground and removed her gloves.
Eamonn extended his hand. “Eamonn, ma’am. An acquaintance of Nicky’s. Can we have a minute or two of your time?”
“Wow. Is that a Scottish accent? It really sounds sexy.” She lightly hugged Nicky and pecked her on the cheek.
“I’m Irish, Mary. Irish. The Scot tongue is far more vulgar than mine.” He nodded toward the trailer. “Do you mind if we go in? I’m fairly hot and could use some ice water, if that’s okay with you.”
“Certainly.” She led them back to the porch door, pausing to look at Eamonn’s car. “Nice Jag.” She opened the porch door and held it for her guests. “Wipe your feet please. And have a seat out here. It’s too warm inside. The air conditioner isn’t working properly. I’ll be right back with something cool to drink.” She stepped up into the body proper of the trailer and closed the door behind her.
“Well, Nicky, she appears to be nice enough.”
Nicky frowned. “Too nice. Nicest she’s ever been to me. She’s up to something.”
“More than likely, lass, she’s feeling some pity for you and your recent loss. Don’t try and find an ulterior motive. I doubt there is one. Maybe Julio really had a heart attack.”
Nicky was emphatic. “No. I don’t trust her.”
The door opened and Mary appeared with a tray of drinks. Eamonn stood to help.
“Oh, and a gentleman. Thank you!” She turned to Nicky. “I haven’t seen one of those in a while.”
Eamonn took the tray and placed it on the table. “Thank you, Mary.” He poured glasses of iced lemon tea for Mary, Nicky and one for himself before he sat. “I’m so sorry to hear about your loss.”
Mary smiled, sadly. “It’s a terrible shock.” She shook her head. “I’d been telling him to exercise more. He wasn’t eating well either. A ticking time bomb. It wasn’t a total surprise, I’d have to say.”
Eamonn looked at Nicky, and spoke before she had a chance to light into Mary. “So, greasy burgers? Too many donuts?”
Mary shrugged. “Red meat. I’m a vegetarian, but could handle him eating fish. Fish is healthy. But lately…”
“Sneaking the odd steak?” Eamonn smiled.
“It’s not funny, Eamonn. Red meat will kill you.” She took a sip of iced tea, folded her arms and scowled. “I lost my husband. This is difficult for me.”
Nicky placed her glass back on the table a bit too forcefully. “Were you here when he – you know…”
Mary shook her head. “No. I was up north visiting family. In Boston.” She smiled. “Well, just outside of Boston. Not actually in the city.” She made a face. “Not sure why anyone would voluntarily live in a city.”
“When did you get back?” Curt. Nicky was curt. No other way to describe it. Not friendly, sympathetic or understanding. Curt
“He was already dead. I discovered him.”
“Here?” Nicky pointed at the table.
“Yes, of course. Where else?” Mary sniffed. “Horrible.”
“It was the day before yesterday. I’m surprised you’re still here, so soon after an event as cataclysmic as that.” Nicky had left curt far behind
and was closing in on hostile.
“Listen, Nicky, I have nowhere else to live. I still need to tend to the herbs and homeopathic remedies that are growing here. I need to make a living.” She looked to Eamonn. “You understand, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Was he inside or out here in the porch?”
“What? Oh, inside. At the table.”
“While he was eating a greasy burger?”
Mary shook her head. “No. There was nothing at the table except a book. Listen, I hate to be short, but I need to get back to work.”
Eamonn stood. “If I could use the men’s room first? It’s a long drive back.”
“Okay. Turn left and it’s half way down on the right.”
“Thanks.” Eamonn entered the double wide, closed the door behind him and stood still, head only a few inches from the low ceiling. The layout was no different than thousands of other doublewide trailers. The kitchen was to the right, at the front of the trailer. A table cantilevered out from the back wall directly opposite the door, supported by a single ‘Y’-shaped leg, angling from the two corners of the table to a single leg on the floor. Bench seats lined either side of the table.
Eamonn took a closer look. The hinge along the back wall that supported the table was loose at one end. Fresh wood chips lay on the floor below the table and one, no two, screws were loose. As he leaned over to pick up the shavings his foot nudged the leg. It, the table leg, fell off, the table sagging to the floor.
“Ah, fuck.” He grabbed the table before it ripped out of the wall completely and placed the leg back underneath, balanced
October Moon - An Eamonn Shute Short Story Page 2