by Vicki Batman
The day’s events and the pain pills took hold. Weary beyond belief, I fell asleep.
All along, he knew.
Chapter Nineteen
While my arm and neck healed, I took time off from job searching. I sat around the apartment reading romance novels, which created unsatisfying female urges, and watched way too much television. With all the M*A*S*H* reruns, I relived the Korean War.
Eventually, my wounds mended, and the stitches were removed. I ate dinner with Mom and Dad. I ate a lot of chocolate. So much in fact, I considered—briefly—not liking it any more. All of my clothes were ironed and so were Jenny’s, who expressed her appreciation.
I didn’t feel like talking with anyone.
For several reasons, I decided not to share my parting with A. Wellborn. I didn’t want everyone to know how he’d betrayed me. How he wasn’t so perfect, after all. I certainly didn’t want Mom to know as I had concerns about how her longtime relationship with Shirley Wellborn would be affected. I didn’t want to hurt his sister, even though I knew, for my sake, she would disown him.
Parting was our business. What we did was separate from them. And if I didn’t talk about him, maybe the whole episode would fade away. Maybe, someday, I’d even forget he existed.
I didn’t want to answer questions from my friends, from my family, from anyone, but more importantly, from myself.
****
Jenny and I attended book club at Maggie’s apartment. After reading a hilarious murder mystery, we should have been in stitches. Instead, the Funsisters acted more subdued. I knew why. They understood my fragile state. They held back laughing and teasing, not wanting to upset me by accidentally talking about murder and death.
I consumed a great deal of mimosa, and as a result, sprawled in an unladylike fashion on the sofa. With Trixie and Maggie’s help, I managed to weave my way to the car so Jenny could drive us home. Outdoors, the fresh air perked me up. I looked at my friends with renewed affection and gushed, “You’re so great.”
Trixie and Maggie smiled. “We know.”
“No, I mean it. I really, really,” I hiccupped, then smacked my lips, “mean it. You’re sooo great. I loovve you.”
I broke from their grasp and waltzed like a drunken sailor around the parking lot, eluding hands. “I love the Funsisters. I love Mom and Dad. Wheee!”
A thought sidetracked me. My ballet imitation halted. I frowned. “I almost loved Allan.”
Champagne—the great revealer of truth.
Trixie and Maggie shared a look I didn’t comprehend. I hiccupped. “But he hurt...” I sulked, “…me.”
My funsisters shoved me in the passenger seat of Jenny’s car and strapped the seat belt across my body, mostly to hold me upright. I waved bye-bye to them. As the car jolted forward, my forehead smashed against the window.
****
A. Wellborn didn’t come back into my life. When I’d felt better, I met another detective who interviewed me for what seemed like hours about Buy Rite, Lester, and Opal. And cars, settlement checks, and claims. And murder.
The interview process and the stress of reliving the unbelievable nightmare drained my body. My head throbbed so much, I seriously considered going back on the pain pills. The detective reassured me he wouldn’t have to come back.
He didn’t, but the nightmares and headache did.
As did the heartache.
The coverage in The Sommerville Express reported Lester Johnson’s arrest within hours of Opal’s death. He confessed to the settlement check scam. He told the police he engineered the swindle because he wanted more retirement money in the bank for his no-good son to inherit.
Lester suspected Opal killed June, but didn’t know for certain why. He didn’t ask, and she didn’t tell. He told the police he thought of Opal as a “guardian angel,” attentively attending his needs which allowed the scam to perpetuate. The police thought her motive protective, like a mother hen hovering over her baby chick. Or an obsessed lover.
Really, Lester was a big turkey.
The investigative story told how Lester specifically had requested the parts or cars stolen belong to Jeeps. With Jeeps being a highly desirable car, he thought no one would think anything about the model being targeted when a few other SUVs were thrown into the pot. A connection had been uncovered between the guys stealing the parts and him.
Detective Allan Wellborn with the Sommerville PD was interviewed, as well. He said a gang had been directed to steal the parts. A shady associate collected the pieces and sent them overseas. This enabled the crooks to make money off the parts, and Lester to set up the scam.
The customer would make a claim with Buy Rite for a stolen car or parts. The claims adjuster would write the estimate for repair value. The paperwork was turned over to Lester for processing the checks. Lester wrote the customer’s checks for a lesser amount. Once a month, he wrote a check for the difference to himself which he deposited to another account. When Buy Rite customers had complained about the difference, Lester explained cheaper parts or labor were available for the customer to utilize.
The Express followed with a story about Buy Rite letting Lester operate on his own terms and didn’t do any backup audit to spot potential problems. Buy Rite felt Lester’s reputation impeccable, and no internal investigation had been required.
Now, a new guy had been installed at Buy Rite, and everything was being examined with a fine-tooth comb.
The police thoroughly searched Lester’s home and business office. They questioned his family. And audited his accounts, but no trace of the money could be found.
What a big, fat mess. Forensic auditors would have a nightmare figuring this one out. And what a difficult time for the insurers. Who knew when they would, if ever, get any of their money back?
At last, I received a claims check from Buy Rite for the missing taillights and bumper. I suppose Lester received his final share as the check hadn’t been written for the proper amount. After what had taken place, I didn’t care to know.
Once I’d replaced the parts, my carbaby looked brand spanking new. I wanted to disconnect from anything to do with Buy Rite and moved my insurance to another company. Maybe with time, I would forget the tie my car had with a murder.
Mom called morning, noon, and night. She pestered me with wanting to know how I fared, lecturing me on proper health care, fretting about whether or not I ate properly, took my vitamins, and slept enough. One morning, she shared a piece of news, “Did you read the obituaries in the Metro section in today’s paper?”
“No.” Thinking, how I wished she would go away.
“Lester Johnson died.”
Her words caught my attention. “Really.”
Mom read the story and funeral arrangements aloud.
Out on bail, big, fat, chain-smoking, Lester Johnson died of a heart attack while showering. What a surprise. His wife found him flopped on the tile floor, water cascading around his body. The overflow seeped into the hallway, soaking the carpet.
In my opinion, his obese size, cigarette consumption, and guilt over what he’d done were what did him in. Services would be held at The Sommerville Friendship Church. “Good riddance,” I said, which sounded callous. “I don’t really care, considering what he did, and the murder he’d condoned.”
“Hattie!” Mom said. “You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”
“Mother, his cohort nearly killed me.”
“I know, my darling, I know. Just be…nice.”
“I think I’ll go to the funeral,” I heard myself say.
“Probably not the best idea. After what happened, why would you want to be anywhere near those people?” she asked.
“I suppose I’m kinda curious.”
The truth? Curious to know who allied themselves with crooks. Maybe I’d find some closure. And…just curious.
“I’m not thrilled with the idea of you going.”
Big surprise. “I’ll be fine, Mother. I’ll carry the pepper spray you gave
me.”
“Good. I knew the keychain size would come in handy. By the way, how’s Allan?” Mom asked, changing to her favorite subject. “Have you seen him lately?”
“No, Mom, not lately.” And never would again, either. I fingered my lower lip and then lied, “He’s probably very busy with wrapping everything up.”
Well, maybe it wasn’t totally a fib.
“Behave yourself and be careful.”
Mom always parted with a mom-ism. Clicking end call, I let loose a long, relieved sigh and dropped the phone by my side. I would be careful. What if Lester’s family came after me? Once in a lifetime had been enough.
Justice hadn’t been served, in my opinion. Opal was dead. Lester was dead. June Short was dead. Someone really needed to pay for June’s death, but how did one point fingers when all the bad guys were dead?
****
A couple of days later, I went to Lester’s funeral. I sat on the back row of the Sommerville Friendship Church, tucked discreetly into a corner, far away from the other mourners. The sanctuary had plenty of carved, wooden pews, but only the one in the front held people.
I wasn’t too shocked.
Maybe a few family members were present, but I didn’t know them to recognize any. Even after seeing Lester’s son’s picture, I couldn’t identify him.
Ordinarily, a funeral for a person with Lester’s status in the insurance industry would have brought forth lots of colleagues. I thought a few participants came because of a small sense of family or because of curiosity like me. I also thought most people stayed away because of shame, the whole guilt-by-association thingy.
The flower arrangements were limited to two items: a large spray of flaming orange gladiolas slightly wilted and tied with a matching ribbon, which lay on the oversized coffin. And a sickly yellow-green potted plant, probably over-watered, placed at the foot of the pulpit.
Let’s be nice and blame the heat.
While waiting for the service to begin, I glanced around the sanctuary. “Oh dear,” I murmured barely aloud when I spotted someone I knew.
A. Wellborn stood off to the side, leaning somewhat inconspicuously against a column. He must have arrived earlier than me. My heart pounded harder. My teeth bit into my lower lip. I felt so not ready for this, and yet, wondered if Lester’s funeral could be a kind of closure for him, too.
While the service progressed, I observed him. Golly, he looked handsome, good enough to eat. He’d dressed in a charcoal suit, bright white shirt, and a navy striped tie. Proper funeral attending attire.
I crossed my legs at my ankles, and my hands lay folded in my lap. A longing ache grew deep in my stomach. I resisted the urge to call out and say something...anything. Almost desperately, I wanted to. But I didn’t.
After the service ended, he turned to leave and spotted me. Pausing at the opposite end of my pew, he stared, his gaze locking with mine. We both acted as if we wanted to make a move, like teenagers mooning over heartache. Neither of us knew where—or how—to begin.
So he left.
He’d taken me at my word to stay away. And he took my heart with him.
Another door in my life closed.
****
Several weeks later, Trixie placed me in a new job. She told me I needed something undemanding. “Someplace where you can put your life together.”
But I heard safe in her unspoken words.
I began working as a sales clerk at Buttons & Bows Stationary Company. Located in the mall not far from my apartment, the beautiful little store sold a variety of greeting and note cards, letterhead, invitations based on vintage styles, and provided custom printing. The owners were keen to hire me because of my extensive retail background.
Gradually, my life improved, and I truly enjoyed working at the stationary store. I would receive a significant commission on top of my regular salary for placing a large order of wedding invitations and other related items. For the first time in a long time, an overwhelming euphoria consumed me. On my lunch break, I called Jenny to relay my news. “Hey girl, you want to help me celebrate?”
“Sure. What do you have in mind?”
I heard a distinct perkiness in her voice. “How about we do dinner?”
“I’m dying of hunger. What sounds good?”
“Since I haven’t been out to dine in a long while, I’m thinking Mama’s and Pappa’s Italian Bistro. I’m craving lasagna, wine, and lots of giggly girl laughs.”
“Mmm, I like it and you know how much I love Italian food. You want me to text the Funsisters?”
We hadn’t had a good girlfriend time in a long while. And I missed it. “Sure.”
“I’ll tell them to meet us at six-thirty at the restaurant, and we’ll celebrate in style.”
“Thanks. See you then.”
It dawned on me why Jenny had sounded chipper: I was at last coming out of my despondency. I’d lost my life is an adventure, go and live philosophy and had passed through the days, not getting too excited, not committing myself too much.
A psychologist would say I’d had a depression problem, which is common with victims of violent crimes. Somewhere, I’d read or heard time healed all wounds. After a couple of months, my physical and emotional wounds had faded, and I’d found myself again.
Mamma and Pappa’s Italian Bistro was the perfect restaurant for a celebration or a cozy twosome. The interior walls had been stenciled with a faux stone motif. Antique window frames and silk vines with scarlet and yellow climbing flowers provided a corny ambiance. Votive lights placed in sparkling glass holders sat in the center of the starched table cloths and lent an air of intimacy. Garlic and yeasty bread permeated the air.
Jenny had made a reservation for our party. Like she’d promised, she rounded up all the Funsisters—Maggie, Trixie, and Kellar. Excitement gathered in the air as we chatted and circled the table. I felt elated with my news, and they expressed interest in hearing everything about my first big commissioned sale at Buttons and Bows Stationary.
We ordered our entrees and two bottles of cold Pinot Grigio. After decanting the wine, the waiter poured a glass for each of us. Together, we raised a toast with Maggie saying, “To good news!” We merrily shouted “to Good News” back and touched our glasses in salute.
As I lowered my glass, I spied a couple seated across the room, gazing deeply into each other’s eyes. With a wistful look, I watched them for a bit. They appeared to be in love. Maybe I had nostalgic feelings, wanting what they had. I wanted to be a part of a loving relationship.
I didn’t mean to be snoopy and stared again. Due to the candlelight, I had to squint harder to focus. My body went still as I recognized someone familiar. A. Wellborn. A. Wellborn with a date, a small, beautiful blonde.
It can’t be—can it?
Close to two months had passed after I’d ordered him out of my life. I hadn’t spotted him around town at all, except at Lester’s funeral. At the grocery store over tomatoes, The Mothers Always Know Network had reported he was deep into a new case and traveled with it.
He had taken me at my word to stay away and maybe it was for the best.
The truth was, perhaps, I was almost certain I’d fallen in love with him. The all-consuming kind of love which would have deepened into love everlasting. A true Happy Ever After, just like in the romance books I’d read when recuperating.
As I watched in secret, I felt my stomach clinch. A. Wellborn and friend seemed to genuinely enjoy each other’s company. Her head drew close while they talked as lovers do. Her hand rested on his and crept up his forearm. With a light touch, his finger stroked her long hair from temple to ear.
Oh God. He’d touched my hair the very same way. I looked away and swallowed. The empty ache returned. I squished my eyes tight to quell the growing waterworks before looking his way again.
The Funsisters’ chatter fell into the background. I tilted my head slightly while I studied the girl who looked different from me, similar to high school cheerleaders, the same o
nes I’d always envied. Her blonde locks had been styled into Texas big hair. She wore a tropical print sundress with tiny straps and high heels. Picture perfect.
When I noticed A. Wellborn’s glance went around the restaurant, I quickly cut my gaze away. However, my body was possessed, and I turned back. Our stares locked. Tears formed, and I tried, tried hard to suppress them. But nothing worked. The old familiar anguish had set in, and crying seemed to be the only way to rid myself of the pain.
I pressed my napkin to my eyes and stood. Motioning toward my face, I said brightly to the Funsisters, “Excuse me. Contact trouble. I’ll straighten this out in the girl’s room.”
Instead of going to the restroom, I detoured out the exit. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deep breaths to shed the tension which had ratcheted within me. After a few drips, I let my body relax. I opened my eyes and located a Victorian-styled bench parked in front of two retail shops.
The sky had darkened. My eyes shut again as my head tipped backwards, letting the gentle breeze blow on my face. I sensed fall in the air.
I ought to be doing better than this. Like a balloon stuck with a pin, totally deflated, all energy and life evaporated from my soul.
Apparently, A. Wellborn had moved on.
I should move on, as well.
A few minutes later, Jenny and Maggie passed through the restaurant doors and turned in my direction. I patted places on the bench on either side of me. As they sat, Jenny handed me a to-go box containing my uneaten lasagna and my handbag. “Hi.
“We were concerned when you took so long in the ladies room,” she said, breaking the silence hanging over us. “I figured it out when I saw Allan and his, uh, friend.”
“Jenny told us, and we decided to give you some space,” Maggie said.
My head rested against Jenny’s shoulder. I loved my Funsisters. “Hmmm. Fall’s coming.” Deflated.
Jenny, Maggie, and I sat on the bench and watched A. Wellborn and his date leave.
He had indeed moved on.
So should I.
Chapter Twenty
So much for celebrating. I flopped across Grammie’s old iron bed, staring at the ceiling fan going round and round. Ordinarily, time spent in my room seemed enjoyable, especially so when putting on ’jamas and climbing under the bedcovers to read or watch television.