by P. B. Ryan
But Cora Mae never had children and she loaded up three of the gravesites with dead husbands. Life turns out funny. Not ha ha funny—funny as in weird and unexpected.
Stonely doesn’t have a cemetery. You have to go to Escanaba or Trenary to rest in eternity. Most folks around here prefer the Trenary cemetery because it’s closer, and because nobody cares what you put on the graves for decorations. The Escanaba cemetery is fussy, and they’ll yank off whatever you put down as soon as your back is turned.
When I go, I want to be gussied up in my old hunting jacket and cap for a showing at Lacken’s Funeral Home, and I hope the whole county comes and gets good and drunk afterwards at Herb’s Bar. Then I want to be cremated and have part of my ashes buried with Barney and half scattered to the wind on Bear Creek behind my house.
When I told Blaze my plan, he said it was against the law to scatter ashes. Littering, he called it, in his righteous, sheriff voice. Cora Mae and Star know what I want, and it’s going to be done like I say. I even wrote my request down, had it witnessed by Cora Mae and Star, and Cora Mae locked it in her safe deposit box.
Of course, those plans are a long way off.
I thought about how much I missed Barney as we headed toward the cemetery. A car approached and Cora Mae waved.
“Who was that?” I asked, snapping out of my daydream.
“Bill Lampi.”
“The same Bill Lampi we just left?” I yelled.
Cora Mae almost launched from the truck when I slammed on the brakes and accomplished a perfect U-turn.
“Hold your hat,” I called to her. “Who was Barb talking to back at the house if Bill wasn’t home?”
Cora Mae didn’t answer. She clutched the dashboard as I slammed on the brakes again. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
The magenta sedan, the same purple car that had spied on me at the river, streaked past us heading the opposite way.
“That’s the car,” I shouted. “The one that followed me to the river.”
I didn’t know which car to chase.
I made a quick decision and swung around again to pursue the purple car. My U-turn wasn’t quite as perfect this time.
Cora Mae screamed as we headed for the ditch.
o0o
“There’s a piece of barbed wire stuck on your front bumper,” Little Donny said when I pulled into the drive. He was headed to the shed with George, but he stopped and removed the wire.
“Can’t imagine where that came from,” I lied.
“Gonna help George,” Little Donny said. “Grandma Johnson’s in the house.”
“How’d she get here?”
“Blaze dropped her off.”
The battle between Blaze and me had entered the second round, and he was hitting below the belt.
The house smelled like old-lady-dried-out-prune-skin odor hiding out under cheap flowery perfume. From the smell of the house, Grandma Johnson had been waiting a while.
“Where you been while I been sittin’ here all day?”
“I went visiting with Cora Mae. You should have told me you were coming.”
“Didn’t know I was coming,” Grandma huffed. She was sitting in the rocker with her arms folded across her chest, her face scrunched like she was sucking on a lemon. “Blaze just dumped me off.”
I sat down and looked helplessly at the woman with the snake tongue.
“I’m glad he did,” she continued, “because me and you have to have a little talk about your behavior. You’re embarrassing our family left and right and we can’t stand for it anymore.”
“I’m embarrassing the family?” I couldn’t believe it. Grandma Johnson’s front yard has a toilet filled with plastic flowers, and in her garden are wood-carved people bent over picking vegetables. Their underpants are showing. Grandma would win a most-embarrassing-relative contest hands down.
“Traipsing around with that Cora Mae, who’s a disgrace to Stonely, and causing all kinds of commotion. I hear that poor deceased man’s son and daughter-in-law were attacked right there at the funeral home by ‘that orange-headed woman.’ Who ya suppose they were talking about?”
I touched my hair with my hand. I was getting used to my orange curls and toying with the idea of keeping the color, if for no other reasons than to annoy certain relatives.
Grandma Johnson went on and on, and after awhile I managed to tune her out without her knowing what I was doing. Outside, a squirrel intent on stealing every last kernel of birdseed in the feeder made six trips back and forth carrying seed away before Grandma ran down. I hope I learn to shut up better when I’m ninety-two.
I excused myself, found Little Donny in the barn, and informed him that Grandma Johnson could be taken home, and right now. I would have liked to stay out there and talk to George awhile, but in my hurry to get away from Grandma, I had run outside without my jacket, and I was freezing.
“I enjoyed our little talk,” Grandma Johnson said while Little Donny helped her out of the house. “Maybe we should make a point of doin’ this every Sunday. Sorry our visit was cut short on account of you feeling under the weather.”
“Malaise,” I muttered under my breath using my word for the day.
“What do you mean ‘my legs’? If your legs hurt so much, you better take an aspirin.” She peered into my eyes. “You don’t look so good. Worse than usual even.”
As I watched Little Donny and Grandma Johnson pull away, I had a face twitch I couldn’t control.
After I slipped into my jacket I took a jar of Vaseline out to the birdfeeder and greased up the pole real good. There’s nothing I hate more than squirrels stealing bird food. Raccoons and grackles are right up at the top of my list too, but squirrels are the worst nuisances.
I filled up the feeder, then sat at the window to watch two of the little rodents take turns jumping up and sliding down the pole. When a squirrel clamps onto an idea, he never quits. They must have slid back down that pole ten or twelve times until the Vaseline wore away. Then, triumphantly, one sat on top of the feeder stuffing his face and grinning at me.
o0o
At dusk, Little Donny came in from the blind, deerless again. Soon after, George arrived, looking dapper in his tight fitting jeans, blue flannel shirt, and snake-trimmed hat.
“Joining us for Poker?” he asked me, while Little Donny wolfed down half of a pot roast and three pounds of mashed potatoes.
“Whose house this week?”
“Blaze’s.”
“He and I aren’t getting along. Think I’ll pass.” I watched Little Donny dip into the apple pie.
“Since when did you two ever get along, and since when has it ever kept you away from a good card game?” George tilted his hat back before delivering his challenge. “You’re letting him win.”
That did it. George had a point. Why should I let Blaze drive me away?
Which reminded me of my off-the-road experience and the two cars that escaped. I couldn’t believe my bad luck. I touched my tender temple lightly with my fingers. I never realized before that driving was hazardous to your health. I’d have to call Cora Mae later and check on that knee she banged up.
“Count me in,” I said to George. “But Poker isn’t my game.”
o0o
“Rummy,” I said to the group, fanning my last cards across the table and grinning. “That’s it. I won again.”
Little Donny counted his cards. George shoved back in his chair and stretched his legs. Sourpuss Blaze scowled and studied his own cards.
“I called no cheating, Ma. At the beginning of the game.”
Sometimes, just for fun when the kids were young, we would allow cheating. It had to be called at the beginning of the game, agreed on by all players, and you lost points if you were caught. I miss those days.
“I heard you call it.”
“Then why,” Blaze said, “is the last card you played from another deck of cards.” He reached over and turned the card over. Sure enough, it didn’t match the other deck. “I can�
��t believe you cheated.”
“Don’t know how that card got in there,” I lied.
“Have you been cheating from the start?”
“Yup,” George said, grinning at me.
“Well if you knew it all along, why didn’t you tell us?” Blaze complained to George.
“I’m through playing, anyway.” I gathered the cards in front of me into a neat pile. “Go ahead and play Poker. I’m walking home.”
“I’ll drop you off,” George offered. “It’s pretty dark out.”
“I think I can manage to make it down the road without help. I’ve been walking this road my entire life and I need the exercise.” The spare tire around my middle needed some work, but I didn’t say that.
Swinging a flashlight ahead of me, I walked through the brisk night air enjoying the sounds of nature. A pack of coyotes howled in the distance. An animal scampered across the road beyond the beam of the flashlight, and I could smell fallen leaves, oaks and maples, crunching underfoot.
I sensed something wrong when I put my foot on the first porch step. I knew for sure something was wrong when I opened the door and saw the destruction. What I didn’t know for sure was whether or not the intruder was still inside.
Fear rippled up and down my spine as I backed quietly down the steps and stumbled through the dark toward the safety of Blaze’s home.
Chapter 7
Word For The Day
DINT (dint) n.
Force, exertion.
COLORED LIGHTS FROM BLAZE’S truck streaked through the night and the sound of the siren pierced the air. I couldn’t help wondering if stealth on our part might have been a better way to go. Why does law enforcement always have to warn the world they are coming? Doesn’t that give the bad guys time to pack up and mosey out?
Blaze and George went in first, guns drawn, cautious. Little Donny and I waited in George’s truck, strobe lights slicing through the windshield, exposing our frightened faces. Keeping Little Donny inside the truck wasn’t an easy task; he wanted to be with the men. But nineteen years old is too young for taking risks, and this was one area Blaze and I finally agreed on. So Little Donny and I sat.
Finally, Blaze and George trudged out, Blaze’s weapon holstered, George’s rifle pointed toward the ground, grim sets to their jaw.
Little Donny and I hurried over. “I’m going in,” I said.
George placed a hand on my shoulder. “It’ll keep for another day, Gertie. It’s a mess in there.”
But I had to see for myself.
The devastation was extensive—drawers upended, bedding slashed, lamps smashed, drapes ripped in shreds. The rage it took to accomplish such a violent act frightened me with its intensity.
“Who knew you were out for the evening?” Blaze wanted to know.
It was a good question, one I didn’t have an answer to. No one I knew could possibly be capable of such viciousness, such hate.
“Anything missing?” George asked, following me as I wandered, speechless, through the house.
I shook my head, nothing obviously missing. I was fleetingly grateful that I’d buried my money under the apple tree instead of in the box spring, which lay shredded in ribbons.
“No sign of forced entry,” Little Donny observed, studying the front door.
“Of course, it wasn’t forced. I didn’t lock it.”
Little Donny lives in a big city where you lock your doors and windows and have security systems tied into the police department. In the U.P. most of us can’t remember where we put the key to the door and don’t particularly care. The only time we even think about locking up is if we will be out of town for a while and we don’t want our friends and family borrowing things without our knowledge.
Blaze, unusually quiet, waited by the door with me. George straightened a chair and scooped pillows from the floor and tossed them on the sofa.
“You okay, Ma?” Blaze took my arm, his voice gentle, and I nodded, resigned. “You can’t stay here tonight.”
I already knew that, and my choices weren’t good. I couldn’t go to Star’s place. She has cats and I’m deathly allergic to cat dander. Just thinking of going to Grandma Johnson’s house made the nerve in my eye start twitching, and I’d rather eat nails than stay with Blaze.
“You take Little Donny with you,” I said to Blaze. “I’m going to Cora Mae’s.”
o0o
The next morning I showered and wrapped Cora Mae’s black silk robe around me. She had a pot of coffee ready and was made up for the day, every hair in place, like a soap opera star. I bet she went to bed with her makeup and hair done up. She probably slept on her back with one of those little rolled pillows tucked under her neck and a black mask over her eyes to screen out light.
I had slept in a tiny spare bedroom on a day bed with a white comforter and ruffles around the bottom. On a shelf above the bed were two porcelain dolls decked out in wedding dresses.
While I sipped coffee I glanced around. Cora Mae lived in a dollhouse. Her home was tiny, but uncluttered and spotlessly clean, and everything was white—white walls, white sofa, white kitchen table. Cora Mae was sheathed in black armor in a pearly white house.
I’ve known Cora Mae most of my life. In the past, her tastes always ran white; white car, white fence, white rugs. The black clothes are a new addition, which I chalk up to her post-menopause phase.
“What are you going to do, Gert?” she asked. “You can stay here as long as you want, you know that. I have plenty of room.”
“Thanks, Cora Mae, but I don’t want to put you in danger.”
“Danger’s my middle name. I thrive on it.” Jane Bond put a plate of blueberry pancakes in front of me and I dove in. “Still think it’s the mob?” she said between bites.
I shrugged. “It’s pretty scary. I can’t figure it out. I must be getting too close to Chester’s murderer and someone’s getting nervous.”
“Maybe you should listen to them and back off. It isn’t worth getting hurt over.”
“We need to stock up on weapons,” I said. I refused to let anyone scare me away. “Someone’s playing rough. I need to go into Escanaba to the Assessor’s office. Then we can shop for ammo.”
“Gertie, why are you doing this? Don’t you want to hand it over to Blaze?”
“No, I don’t. He won’t do a good job.”
“So you’re doing this because you feel you have to?”
“Cora Mae, I’m doing it because I have to have a reason to get up every day. I’m doing it because I’m living alone for the first time in forty-some years and I can’t wake up in the morning and get excited about playing cards with the seniors or going to bingo.”
Cora Mae, who buried a lot of men and had to get used to living alone more than once, patted my hand and said, “I understand completely.”
I looked down at Cora Mae’s silk robe. “I need to get dressed.”
“I threw your clothes in the washing machine, but never fear, I have just the thing and it’ll fit perfectly. I even have shoes for you so you can get out of those boots”
I scowled and shook my head, but gave in when I saw how disappointed she looked. “Okay,” I said, grudgingly.
Cora Mae clapped her hands like a big kid, delighted that she was finally getting the opportunity to dress me.
I squeezed into a pair of black stretch pants, which showed off my thigh lumps. Cora Mae didn’t own any flat shoes so I chose a pair of her black boots with the smallest heels and a gray cotton sweater. We found an orange moon necklace that matched my hair and Cora Mae pulled a blue and black plaid three-quarter-length coat out of a back closet.
I looked like I should be on a street corner. I almost refused to go out until my clothes were dry, but I didn’t want to hurt Cora Mae’s feelings.
The things we do for our friends.
o0o
We were in my truck ready to go, when, in the rearview mirror, I spotted the magenta sedan pulling into Cora Mae’s driveway.
“
Duck, Cora Mae,” I warned her, throwing my body across the bench seat and hauling her down. “Shhh… it’s the car that’s been following me. Stay down.”
A few minutes later we heard pounding on Cora Mae’s kitchen door, and I hazarded a peek out the side window. I jerked up straight, releasing Cora Mae, and jumped out of the truck.
“Kitty, what are you doing?” I demanded.
Startled, Kitty let out a shriek and raised a plump arm to her throat. “Where did you come from? I just walked past your truck and you weren’t in it.”
Ignoring her question, I pointed to the purple car. “When did you get that?” My eyes sighted down my extended arm where I realized she had a driver along with her. The driver was the same creepy character I’d noticed at the bar. “And who is that?”
“Jeff, get out of the car and come meet my friends,” Kitty called out, and he rose out of the car and walked forward, flicking ashes over his shoulder from a cigarette dangling between his fingers. “This is my third cousin on my father’s mother’s side. He’s visiting for hunting season.”
Cora Mae popped into the middle of the group like a tartlet and elbowed me aside. She had on her stalking pose, breasts forward, eyes rolled so the whites of her eyes showed beneath her pupils. I grabbed the back of her coat and pulled. She stumbled back, but didn’t break her gaze on Kitty’s cousin.
“These two have been following me around,” I said to her. That’s the car I spotted at the Escanaba River.”
Jeff, apparently wanting no part of a confrontation, turned back to the car. “I’ll let you work this out, Kitty. I’ll be waiting in the car.” Then he coughed.
“That’s it,” I shouted. “That’s the voice of the guy who called my house and threatened to kill me and throw me to the fishes. That’s him. Call Blaze, Cora Mae. Go on.” I gave her a shove toward the house. Kitty blocked the way.
“Settle down, everybody,” she said. “It’s not what it looks like. We were only trying to help.”
“Help what? Help kill me? Go on, Cora Mae. Don’t let Kitty stop you. Call for backup.”