by Tara Sivec
Mo Wesley: I wasn’t killing Jed Jackson, that’s for damn sure. Can you also add that Payton Lambert is no longer allowed in the Gas N Sip unless she follows the rules like everyone else? You only get free coffee with gas, you don’t get to steal it like some sort of hoodlum. Those mean streets of Chicago have turned that girl into a thug, I tell you.
Deputy Lloyd: You’re saying Miss Lambert stole a cup of coffee from your establishment?
Mo Wesley: No, I’m saying she stole a cup of coffee from the Gas N Sip.
Deputy Lloyd: So, the business that you own. Right. Do you want to press charges?
Mo Wesley: Why would I want to do that when you can’t even understand it when I tell you she stole a cup of coffee from my business? How do you people expect to solve a murder when you can’t understand simple English? I bet you’re one of them Frenchies, aren’t ya? First a murder, then a stolen cup of coffee, next thing you know it will be the American Revolution all over again. My forefathers fought on this great land so you could-
Deputy Lloyd: Mr. Wesley, do you have anything you’d like to add about the night of May 31st, the night Jed Jackson was murdered?
Mo Wesley: Wait, yes! I almost forgot something really important. Payton Lambert shouldn’t be drinking coffee anyway on account of her being in the family way with Sheriff Hudson’s child. Caffeine isn’t good for the youngins I’m told. Why aren’t you writing this down?
CHAPTER 19
Coffee keeps me busy until it’s time to get drunk.
—Coffee Mug
“I send you into town for an hour and you’re already breaking more laws,” Emma Jo sighs as she holds the front door open for me and I smack the car keys into her outstretched hand.
“I had a lovely time at breakfast with my parents where the whole town almost dragged me out of The Hungry Bear by my hair and burned me at the stake in town. Oh, and I ran into Leo and he told us to try the blueberry pie, thanks for asking,” I reply, closing the door behind me and crossing my arms in front of me when Emma Jo looks at me nervously. “He told me to TRY THE BLUEBERRY PIE, Emma Jo. And then he winked at me!”
“He winked at you?”
“Well, he winked at my mother, but I was sitting right next to her so it was kind of in my general direction, and he did look really cute when he did it and those uniform pants hug his ass quite…dammit!” I complain, throwing my hands up in frustration and letting them smack against my thighs. “PIE!”
I scream that last word just to bring my point home, though I kind of forgot what my point was since I was picturing Leo’s ass in those khaki-colored dress pants. And now I’m hungry for pie since I didn’t eat the shitty oatmeal Andrea gave me instead of what I ordered, and I’m wondering if pie would taste even better being licked off of Leo’s chest and…
“I think we have more things to worry about than pie,” Emma Jo reminds me, breaking into my thoughts.
“THERE IS NOTHING MORE WORRISOME THAN PIE, EMMA JO! Pie that Leo knows about since he was all winky and shit, and I came home instead of going to the station like he asked because I don’t know how to answer questions about pie!” I tell her, freaking out more so than usual because I’m hot and sweaty and hungry and horny and just one hour in downtown Bald Knob was enough to remind me why I hate this place and everyone who lives here.
“I thought I heard your overly-loud voice, Payton.”
My mouth drops open when I look over Emma Jo’s shoulder and see Sally Plunkett walk around the corner from the living room.
“My mother is more worrisome than pie, in case you missed that memo,” Emma Jo whispers under her breath before turning around to face her mother with a smile plastered on her face.
“Thanks for the warning, asshole,” I whisper back before pasting my own fake smile on my face as Mrs. Plunkett stares me down.
At least I had the good sense to pack all my nice clothes when I scrambled around my house in Chicago and threw everything into a suitcase. Wearing a white and peach skirt that hugs my hips and flows out around my thighs and pairing it with a peach short-sleeved cotton top with white beading around the scooped neckline, I look casually professional and not at all like the Whore of Babylon that Mrs. Plunkett always thought I was when Emma Jo and I were growing up. Widowed when Emma Jo’s father died when Emma Jo and I were in fourth grade from complications with a ruptured appendix, Mrs. Plunkett spent her life grooming Emma Jo to find the perfect husband with the perfect job and the perfect medical records. She thought she hit the jackpot having the mayor of Bald Knob as her son-in-law and I hope to God the woman hasn’t been so blinded by the notoriety all these years that she didn’t see what was happening to her own daughter. She loves Emma Jo, don’t get me wrong. She just loved that everyone kissed her ass every time she walked through town almost as much. Let’s just hope she realizes I’m a grown adult now and I’m not always to blame for everything that happens to Emma Jo.
“I thought I’d stop by and help my poor baby girl during her time of need, especially when I heard you were back in town and all the trouble you’ve been causing since you’ve been back here. Starla Godfrey called me on my way over here to tell me you accosted her dog again this morning,” Mrs. Plunkett informs me.
Okay, so I guess I’m still an unruly teenager in her eyes. Good to know.
“It’s not my fault the coffee from Gas N Sip sucks. I took a sip and it came right back out. I didn’t do it on purpose, my mouth just naturally rejects things that taste like vomit,” I explain with a shrug.
Of course the entire town already heard about how I walked out of Gas N Sip after breakfast with my parents, hoping against hope that Mo Wesley’s coffee had improved over the years, only to spit it right back out as soon as it touched my lips. All over Bo Jangles as Starla Godfrey walked him through town. It didn’t help the situation when Mo came running out after me, claiming I stole a cup of coffee and screaming to everyone on the street that I was trying to rob him blind. He shouldn’t put a sign that says “Free Coffee” on his machine and he really shouldn’t write “With the purchase of gas” underneath it, so small that a house fly couldn’t even read it.
“Honestly, Payton, you’ve done nothing but harass the town since you’ve been back. I’m so upset I haven’t been able to stop crying about that sweet son-in-law of mine, and Emma Jo is incredibly distraught.”
Mrs. Plunkett pauses and when Emma Jo doesn’t say anything because she’s become an expert at tuning her mother out, I elbow her in the side.
“Oh, yes, yes, very distraught. So distraught I can’t think straight,” Emma Jo quickly pipes up, adding in a few sniffles and a swipe under her eyes for good measure. “Don’t worry, Payton has been taking very good care of me and she’s just as upset as I am about Jed.”
“PIE!” I shout, tuning everything out myself since all I can think about is what Leo said to me at The Hungry Bear earlier.
“You’re lucky you’re friends with Emma Jo and she has me for a mother. I’ve already spoken to Billy Ray about your case and he’s agreed to take it on under one condition,” Mrs. Plunkett informs me, ignoring my pie outburst as she pulls a tissue out of the purse draped over her elbow and dabs it under her eyes.
“Wait, case? What case? What are you talking about?” I ask, Mrs. Plunkett letting out an exasperated sigh.
“Soooooo, it looks like the entire town is blaming you for Jed’s murder,” Emma Jo mutters, quickly moving to head to the kitchen. “Are you hungry? You look hungry. How about I whip us up something-”
Grabbing her arm, I yank her back to me and cut off her words with a few of my own.
“PIE!” I shout again like an idiot, unable to come up with any more words to express just how mad I am right now.
“Pie sounds lovely. Emma Jo makes the best blueberry pies. Sweetie, why don’t you bake a few, you know baking always relaxes you, and I’m sure it will only be a matter of time before people stop by with casseroles and food during your time of need. Make sure you call me as soo
n as they start arriving and I’ll be here to greet everyone,” Mrs. Plunkett tells her, moving around me to give Emma Jo a kiss on the cheek.
“What’s the condition of Billy Ray taking on my case?” I ask when she opens the front door, quite proud of myself that I managed to ask a complete sentence and not scream about baked goods.
“You just have to go on a date with him and promise not to sue him if he loses your case. Emma Jo, don’t forget to call me.”
With that, Mrs. Plunkett walks out the door with a wave and right over to Starla Godfrey’s house, probably to let her know I only spit on her dog because I’m on drugs, which was evident by all the screaming about pie.
“The good news is, my mother still works as Billy Ray’s administrative assistant, so there’s that,” Emma Jo reminds me with a shrug when I slam the front door closed.
“How is that good news? How is ANY of this good news? The entire town now thinks I’m guilty of killing your husband, and don’t you say ONE WORD about pie!” I warn her, holding up my hand when she opens her mouth to interrupt me. “I’m the only one allowed to yell about pie here!”
Emma Jo slips her hand through the crook of my elbow and starts dragging me toward the kitchen.
“The good news is that since my mother works for him, I know he finally got that chronic halitosis taken care of and she refills his prescription for Viagra every couple of months, so your date with him should be one to remember,” Emma Jo informs me as we move into the kitchen.
“I don’t like you very much right now,” I mutter when she pushes me down into a chair at the table and starts pulling things out of the fridge.
“You’ll like me a whole lot better when I tell you all the gossip my mother filled me in on while you were with your parents. It turns out, there might have been a few people in this town who didn’t really care for my husband,” she tells me with a smile over her shoulder while she grabs a cutting board out of one of the drawers.
“So, not everyone is as dumb as they look. Good for them,” I reply sarcastically as she starts chopping vegetables and other assorted items.
“Payton, don’t you understand what this means? It means you aren’t the only suspect, even though that’s all the town is talking about right now. Well, that and you’re currently pregnant with Leo’s love child. And here my mother was right all along when I was in high school – just kissing a boy really does lead to pregnancy,” she muses.
* * *
“Okay, what do we have so far?” I ask Emma Jo as I lean back into the couch and take a drink of my wine.
After Emma Jo tried to butter me up with a lunch of homemade stir fry, she pulled out the big guns when I held my ground and pouted like a toddler for the rest of the day, refusing to talk to her – she grabbed a bottle of wine out of the fridge and said the magical words, “There’s more where that came from.”
It turns out, Mrs. Plunkett isn’t only good at making me feel like an asshole, she’s also excellent as the head of the town’s sympathy committee, stocking Emma Jo’s fridge with ten bottles of wine when she stopped by earlier. I’m starting to like that woman more and more.
“I’ve kicked your ass seven times in Tic-Tac-Toe, but I think one of those was a wash because we both used X’s instead of one of us using O’s,” Emma Jo tells me, lifting up the notebook paper from the coffee table and squinting at it while she holds it at arm’s length from her face and begins singing. “Ex’s and the oh, oh, oh’s they haunt me!”
I snatch the paper out of her hand and give her a dirty look even though that’s a catchy tune and I really want to sing it with her. We’re supposed to be compiling a list of possible murder suspects and granted, the games of Tic-Tac-Toe were my idea when I drew a stick figure of Jed with X’s for eyes and I got all excited about how we used to always play this game together when we were little, but we need to focus!
“There’s no time for musical theater, Emma Jo! We need to catch a murderer!” I remind her, looking down at the paper in my hand and wondering why everything is all turned around and nothing makes sense. “Jesus, your handwriting is atrocious.”
Emma Jo takes the paper back out of my hand, flips it around so it’s no longer upside down and pushes it back into my hand, all while holding her wine glass to her mouth and never spilling a drop.
“Ahhhhh, that’s much better.”
She drains her glass and leans forward next to me on the couch to refill hers and top off my own, which she then hands to me as she pulls her knees up to her chest next to me.
“Okay, remind me again whoosh on the lish,” she slurs. “I mean, whoosh on the lish. The lish. THE LIIIIIIIIIIIIIISH. That paper thing in your hand.”
Emma Jo points at the paper when I give her a look of confusion, having been distracted by her making a duck face and trying to look down at her lips when she spoke.
“Right, the list,” I mutter, taking a drink and trying to get the names to stop being so blurry as Emma Jo leans toward me and looks down at the paper.
“Justine Picker-Noser-Son,” she reads, including my awesome nickname for Justine Pickerson that I added in parentheses behind her name.
I snort and then clear my throat and attempt to be serious.
“You said your mom told you she heard Justine got into a huge fight about flowers with Jed a few days ago, the day he left for his business trip,” I speak, patting myself on the back for being able to decipher my notes by her name that said, “Flower power face punch”.
Emma Jo nods excitedly and repeats what she already told me.
“Correct! Justine wanted to plant new rose bushes in front of Pickerson’s bar, and Jed denied the request form she turned in at his office.”
“And your mother heard it at the tail end of the Bald Knob gossip line, so who knows who started that rumor or who we should question first, but it’s a start,” I say, putting a question mark next to Justine’s name.
“Why did you draw a stick figure with no arms or legs, upside down? Ooooooh, is that supposed to be Jed again? I liked it when you gave him X’s for eyes. Do it again, do it again!” Emma Jo shouts, clapping her hands together and forgetting all about the glass of wine she’s still holding.
It sloshes all over her arms and she does something that immediately brings a tear to my eye – she brings one arm up to her mouth and licks the wine off of her skin, then proceeds to lean forward and put her face an inch away from the paper.
“Wait, never mind, I see it better now. It’s a question mark. I should maybe stop drinking,” Emma Jo mutters when she sits back up.
“If I’m drinking, there’s less of a chance that I’ll start crying because everyone in this town thinks I’m a murderer.”
“PIE DEAD!” Emma Jo suddenly shouts.
“Yes, I know I baked a poison pie, and I know that technically I might be a murderer, but they don’t know that,” I reply, easily deciphering her drunk yelling.
“ME PIE DEAD TOO!” she shouts again, pointing at herself with her wine glass.
“Right, you made the pie too, but they’re all blaming me and aren’t giving you a second thought,” I remind her, sounding like an owner talking to his dog every time it barks and they act like they understand what the dog is saying.
What? Jed is dead? Who’s a good girl, Emma Jo, who’s a good girl?!
Emma Jo gives me a sad look and I feel bad about making her feel bad about the town’s opinion of me. After her mother left, she was hell-bent on marching down to the town square and announcing to everyone that Jed abused her to bring the focus off of me. Which would only put the bull’s-eye right square in the center of her poisoned-pie-baking chest, and I’m not about to let that happen. I’d much rather deal with the consequences of my actions than let Emma Jo take any more shit from anyone after having to live through her marriage to Jed. After making her promise not to do something crazy like that for me when she’d spent half her life hiding this information from the town, we sat down and put our heads together.
“I know! Let’s play a drinking game. I’ve always wanted to do that. Every time one of us says muskrat, we take a drink!” Emma Jo explains, pouring more wine into both of our glasses.
“You do know how drinking games work, right? You’re supposed to pick a word someone will use a lot, which then gives you more chances to drink,” I explain to her.
“Starla Godfrey, number two suspect because Jed filed a noise complaint about Bo Jangles and his barking. MUSKRAT!” Emma Jo yells, chugging half of her glass.
“And your mom told us she actually heard that argument outside of his office last week and Starla told him he’d regret the day he was born. MUSKRAT!” I scream, quickly understanding the genius of Emma Jo’s drinking game rules.
“Bo Jangles, because Jed kicked him when Bo Jangles wouldn’t stop going to the bathroom in our yard. MUSKRAT!” Emma Jo adds.
When I don’t join her in another chug of wine, she eyes my glass.
“What?” I say with a shrug. “It doesn’t feel right to put Bo Jangles on the suspect list. He’s a tiny little rat dog incapable of killing anyone.”
“He pissed on your leg,” Emma Jo reminds me.
“Death penalty for the Defecating Dog! MUSKRAT, MUSKRAT, MUSKRAT!” I shout, clinking my glass with hers.
My phone pings with an incoming text, and I groan when I grab it from the coffee table and look down at the screen.
“Who is it? What does it say? Is it my mom with more wine? Tell her I changed my mind and I’ll take her up on that Xanax prescription. I’m feeling frisky tonight,” Emma Jo says, letting out a sigh when I turn the screen around for her to read.
“Oh, no. You forgot to go up to the station and talk to Leo. Do you think he’s mad?” she asks.
I read the text again that only says, “Dammit, Payton…”
“I don’t know, does Leo normally use the word dammit when expressing glee? Like, ‘Dammit, Emma Jo, you look lovely tonight!’ And I didn’t forget to go talk to him, I avoided him on purpose because PIE!” I shout.