Wool Over Your Eyes

by Violet Patton

  Lost track of time: Threw my threadbare nightie over my sparking crystal ball. Do not ask about that thing. I was working my crossword puzzle book when Philly stuck his head into the door, saying there was someone outside who wanted to talk.

  And here I am—tortured, humiliated and needing a glass of sweet iced tea real bad.

  Signed: Bunny Winters AKA Queen of the Oasis.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sweetie Bastard

  Philly’s eyes brimmed tears when I fell into his arms.

  “Hunny. Hunny.” Mumbling, he smothered his face into my neck. His breath felt warm against my skin and he smelled of man musk, scotch and fear.

  “I’m fine. No worries. I have an attorney.”

  Ned Newly wasn’t worth a shaker of salt. I hadn’t been charged with murder. At least, I hope they don’t have a shred of evidence against me.

  Wayne talked on his cellphone at end of the hall near the soda machine. He hadn’t bothered to change his Larry the Cable Guy costume before coming to the police station.

  Standing to one side of us, Madonna acted peevish, grabbing my elbow. “They brought in Trudi.”

  I stepped from Philly’s arms. “Good, she’s guilty. Let’s blow this joint.”

  Her expression clouded and for once I couldn’t read her mind, but she said, “I don’t think she did it.”

  She peered slanty-eyed like she might believe I had killed Sissy. Why would I? Crocheting granny squares wasn’t my ideal fun time, but I wouldn’t kill over it.

  Madonna broke off our stare and shook her head. “C’mon. Ann brought her car. We can ride home with her. Are you hungry? Did you get to pee? I’ll be right back.” She headed toward the ladies’ room without waiting for my answers.

  Philly and I trundled down the police station steps like teenagers in love, holding hands and smooching kisses. Getting questioned by the police made me more attractive. Bad boys love their bad girls.

  Alice sat in the passenger seat of Wayne’s truck, and she waved as we headed for Ann’s car.

  I climbed into Ann’s beat-up Taurus’ backseat and Philly got in beside me, cradling my shoulders, hugging me close.

  “You sure know how to make waves, don’t you?” Ann asked over the front seat.

  “Guess so. I had no idea someone killed Sissy, did you?” I was as surprised by Mack’s arrival to take me to the police station as anyone. Having my neighbor ladies, Wayne, Alice and Philly come to the police station to support me was nice. I’m sure Philly rang the alarm over the possibility of me committing murder. I’ve threatened to kill him enough times, he would be the first to believe I had killed someone.

  “No idea. Word got out through the grapevine, and we missed the news.”

  Thinking back, I hadn’t even heard a siren or any ruckus whatsoever. Megaphones or tapped out in Morse code text messages should’ve heralded another strange Oasis death, especially so soon after Dan’s accident/drowning.

  I snuggled into Philly’s warmth happy to be warm. The interrogation room was freezing and with my nerves itchy, my attitude pissy, I was chilled to the bone in no time.

  After Ned informed me of my rights and I penned my confession, the police defectives—sorry the detectives questioned me. They asked me the same questions over and over, but the security tapes had tracked my every movement within the Oasis. Wasn’t security all about clearing an innocent person? According to the tapes, I left the knitting classroom, ordered burgers and left Bob’s before their three o’clock closing time. If need be, I’d call in Connie to confirm my whereabouts, but only if I can tell her not to mention the creepy ivory palmistry hand.

  Everyone corroborated my story. In my statement, I hadn’t mentioned Trudi’s damning meltdown and her attack on the prize-winning afghan. It had nothing to do with my whereabouts, even if the event thoroughly entertained the yarn crawlers. The Oasis Others will be laughing about her fit for years to come.

  If you asked me, her fit was enough to convict her of several crimes and knock me off the top of the Oasis booboo list. If she would like to be crowned Queen of the Oasis, I will gladly give up my plastic throne and deliver it to her, although, she’s not getting my Sleep Number bed.

  Wayne came out of the police station clomping his untied boots, yelling. “Hey, y’all. We need supper. Hunny Bunny’s murderous activities put a kink in Alice’s cooking plans.”

  Rolling down the window, Philly asked, “How about Elmer’s?” He whispered in my ear. “Do you mind?” He knows I’m not too keen on eating there often.

  “No, it’s fine.” My stomach still held much of my late lunch, early dinner Bob’s burger. When my nerves get too ticky, my digestion slows to a damming crawl.

  “Thought you’d never ask.” Wayne climbed into his truck, kicked over the ignition, the old truck spewed black carbon into the air.

  Alice rolled up her window, nodding and fastened her seatbelt. “Hey ya’ll?”

  Madonna came rushing out of the police department’s glass doors, yelling too. “Are you guys gonna leave me here?”

  Philly waved at her. “C’mon, we’re headed to Elmer’s.”

  She crossed through Wayne’s truck exhaust blow and dropped into the passenger side of Ann’s Taurus, coughing. “Thanks a lot. Can’t even go to the bathroom without getting left by my friends.” She smirked, squinting over the seat with a glint in her eye.

  We caravanned to Elmer’s.

  Wayne led the way inside clomping with his sleeveless flannel shirt stretched across his belly. “Oh goodie, it’s fried chicken night.”

  Alice tagged along walking with us. “He knows good and well it’s fried chicken night. I don’t like Elmer’s chicken. He needs to change his old oil.”

  “He musta been planning this all along.” Philly chuckled walking between us.

  Madonna and Ann followed us inside and in no time, the hostess had us sitting at a big round table in the center of Elmer’s—a table fit for the Queen of the Oasis.

  Philly naturally ordered the fried chicken. Wayne placed two orders, one to eat and the other to-go. The womenfolk hem-hawed over what to eat while the waitress shifted back and forth giving us the evil eye.

  I don’t like Elmer’s iced tea, tastes like they ran it through the coffeemaker.

  “Hot water and a tea bag.” Hot tea would help me defrost, and I would nibble on Sweetie Bastard’s French fries.

  “Herbal?” The waitress asked.

  “Naw. Lipton if you got it.” I needed real tea, nothing frilly or fruity.

  By the time we all finished ordering, my nerves hadn’t settled. I needed one of Ann’s chill pills, but I would not ask in front of Philly. He’d have me sent to detox. He’s afraid of anti-anxiety medication. After his prostate surgery the doctor insisted he have chill pills to keep him from being too antsy-pantsy about his stitches down below. It was better than putting a plastic collar around his neck to keep him from licking his wounds.

  An uncomfortable achy silence settled around the table. What topic do you discuss after they have interrogated you as a possible murderess? I have no experience to draw on at this point. “They made me write a confession.”

  Wayne squirmed squeaking his chair. Philly held his breath. All three women’s expressions froze.

  Good icebreaker.

  The waitress arrived with our drinks and no one spoke until she finished handing them out.

  “I wrote down my whereabouts and what transpired between me and Sissy.” I dunked the off-brand tea bag into the hot water and focused on its steep. I’d need more than one cup of hot tea to make the warmth stick to my ribs. With the other hand, I reached under the table and ran my hand along Philly’s leg. He winced, but put his warm hand over my cold one.

  He still believes in me.

  “They think I was the last person to see Trudi—I mean Sissy alive. It’s a cryin’ shame I didn’t know she would die.”

  Philly kneed my knee. I glowered and went on. “She was so sweet helping me w
ith the granny square afghan instructions, hook and yarn stuff.” I must learn to crochet a granny square afghan if only to honor Sissy.

  Ann wiggled in her chair, opening and closing her mouth. “They found her dead in the bathroom. Stabbed with knitting needles.” She pointed her fingers into her neck like the needle’s trajectory.

  “Did you see her? What kind of needles were used?” There are many unanswered questions about Sissy’s death. The one thing I forgot to mention was the running water like the toilet was stuck in semi-flush mode. Was someone waiting until I left to kill Sissy?

  Weird.

  “No.” Ann shook her head. “Diane Maple was at the library, she said she heard shrieking. By the time she got to the knitting room. Many people crowded around, she couldn’t see what happened.”

  Alice chimed in. “Who told Diane about the knitting needles? How were they placed?” Alice pointed two fingers at her neck. Trying to figure out how the knitting needles stuck into Sissy’s neck was a conundrum.

  Wouldn’t she fight off her assailant? I know I wouldn’t just stick my neck out there and let somebody stab me with two needles. One might’ve done damage, but I would not sit still for the second stab.

  “Guess that contaminated the crime scene.” I puckered and sipped my tea. “Gadh, that’s nasty! Hand me the honey.”

  Wayne passed a bear-shaped honey bottle to Philly, and he sat it in front of me. I squeezed a good dollop and watched it sink to the bottom of the teacup. I held tight to Philly’s hand, he’s my rock stirring the honey and tea one-handed.

  I mumbled over the evil concoction wishing I was at home near my sweet iced tea jug. “I might need some milk.”

  “It’s a mess. Whoever stabbed her caught the artery. Blood spurted out everywhere.” Ann added, nodding pleased with the visual she presented.

  “Gruesome. Don’t say anything else.” Madonna cut her eyes at Ann, and she sat back.

  “So, Diane told you about the needles and blood,” I asked.

  “No, not Diane. Delbert told me. Remember him? You know the banana cozy thingys.”

  She made a circle with her thumb and pointing finger and slid her other finger into it rapidly. I wasn’t the only person who thought Delbert, the banana cozy crochet master, had other uses for his banana cozies in his pockets.

  Wayne choked on a chicken leg he was skinning and spewed. “Stop it you’re killing me talking about arteries, spurts and obscene gestures.”

  Ann frowned until her chin disappeared into her neck. “What’d I do?”

  Alice put her hand over Ann’s hand. “Nothing, honey. Eat your soup.”

  I pushed my tea aside. “I know one thing is for sure. A lot has happened in the Oasis since we moved in.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Elmer’s Crimes

  “What time is it now?”

  Outside Elmer’s the sun had set. This was the first time we’d—correction I’d been out after dark since going to the two-step dance at the community room. Philly’s frequent bouts of domino obsession take him tootling around the furrows late at night.

  “‘Bout eight-thirtyish.” Wayne rubbed his protruding belly.

  I picked at fries off Philly’s plate. “What happened to Trudi after she left the contest?”

  The girls smirked, shaking their heads. Wherever she went or whatever Trudi did afterwards should be subject to investigation. Considering Sissy died after I saw her, I wasn’t the only person who saw her before she died. There had to be a knitting needle wielding culprit amongst the Others, and maybe they were sitting at this table. Until someone was charged with Sissy’s murder, everyone is suspect.

  Eyeing my three neighbor ladies, I sized them up for their murdering abilities.

  Ann wasn’t a killer. She’s too homespun to be capable of murder. It’d take glitzy guts to stab someone with one knitting needle, much less two, which was a tad bit of overkill. Madonna’s not the killing type either. She’s much classier than Ann, but gore doesn’t fit into her neat and tidy lifestyle.

  I glared at Alice, but nixed her off the list. Alice doesn’t knit, crochet or swim. She’s almost as nonconformist as I am, and she wouldn’t kill a knitter. She didn’t care enough to kill.

  Philly dug into his chicken without answering. Wayne shrugged, smacking a chicken thigh and probably didn’t hear my question.

  “Trudi hasn’t been the knitting group’s… ahem leader for long,” Madonna added.

  “Leader?” Trudi was overzealous wanting to sign me up for classes.

  “What’d they ask you? The detectives?” Wayne asked with a mouthful of mashed potatoes. Potatoes are much easier to talk around than oily fried chicken.

  “Same-o regular detective stuff. Where was I at such-in-such time? Things like that.”

  “Did they hook you to one of those machines? The lie-detector thingy.” Wayne whirled a chicken leg gleefully while questioning me.

  Philly let go of my hand since he was having a hard time maneuvering his chicken legs with one hand. I patted him and put my elbow on the table.

  “You’re getting quite the reputation.” Alice giggled. “A fortune telling booth might be just up your alley.”

  “I can’t tell a fortune from a fart.” I glowered at Alice. She smiled and showed me her palm. Madonna gazed at Alice. Did Madonna gossip about my feeble attempt to read Trudi’s palm? I was dead wrong about her prize-winning future.

  Philly squinted and swiveled, giving me a you better not do that look.

  “Pass the ketchup.” I sprayed Philly’s limp French fries with a good dollop of red condiment. I pulled the nasty tea toward me, sipping to cover up my puckered lips.

  These girls might cause more trouble between me and Sweetie Bastard.

  I am tempted to learn to read the tarot cards and gaze into the crystal ball, but he shot a warning across my bow. I know my man well; he’s sunk my ship before.

  Unfortunately, I am armed with more firepower than one husband can take. If I want something bad enough, I will eventually get it. For example, he is building me an entire room for my Sleep Number bed. From which I will reign over him—my peasant servant and the Others who will bring gifts to lavish upon their beloved monarch, the unofficial Queen of the Others. Problem is, nobody, but me, knows I’m royalty.

  “Do you have to go back?” Ann asked, smartly changing the subject.

  “Back where?” I would go back to San Fran in a heartbeat.

  Ann smirked. “The police department.”

  “They didn’t say, but I wasn’t charged with murder… yet.” I covered my giggle with my hand.

  “They know how to find you.” Wayne said, wiping his chin with a paper napkin.

  “That’s the truth. Two murders since you moved in.” Madonna twinged, and I knew she had something else to say. “People will think you’re a witch, casting spells and brewing trouble.”

  “Pfft. You know better than that. Now if I saw a goatsucker, I’d think somebody was hexing me and the Oasis.” My giggles continued since Philly especially dislikes my belief in mythical creatures and West Texas witches.

  “Hush,” Philly said, kneeing me under the table. He no more believes in goatsuckers than I do, but he had a healthy fear of the unexplainable.

  “I heard,” Wayne chewed, leaning back in his chair, “I saw a show on TV about women who murder. They always kill the ones they love. Yonna killed Dan.” He sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand.

  Alice glared at Wayne. “You watch too much television.”

  “Ump!” Madonna snorted. “She didn’t love Dan. She loved herself.”

  Ann tsked fiddling with her napkin. “My nerves can’t take any more murders; the everyday deaths are hard enough.”

  Nobody said anything because everyday someone does die and leaves the Oasis.

  At first when I heard the saying, I thought it was a joke, but some geezer was always kicking off before his ol’ lady, leaving a plethora of available Oasis widow women. “You
know, she left the water running in the bathroom while I was there. Odd I didn’t think of that.”

  “Maybe you should call the detective. Did you get his card?” Wayne asked.

  “Yeah. He gave me his card.” Their expressions were super expressionless, trying to keep their thoughts and feelings hidden.

  They think I stabbed Sissy? My wiggly earthworm moved in the gray matter, digging deeper toward my cortex. Eventually she will sever my spinal cord from my brain, and in some ways, it would be a relief. Only, I hope I don’t die, I’d love to become a comatose vegetable to bug Philly for the rest of his life.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Witchcraft

  Wayne ordered pie. Not to be outdone, Philly ordered pie, and we had to wait while they dillydallied over cherry pie à la mode. I’m not a good waiter and fiddled with cold French fries, dreaming up a scenario. “So, what’s the thing about Etsy?”

  Madonna had ordered coffee, no pie, and she froze mid-lift of the cup and glared at me. “What did you say?”

  “I need to know what’s going on with Etsy.”

  Madonna and Ann shared glances, and Madonna slowly sat her coffee cup down.

  “What about Etsy?” Alice asked.

  She had declined her yawn... yarn crawl invitation without a reason. Knowing Wayne’s dental problems, she had to take care of her old man. All men get wimpy when they are sick or in pain, and as burly as Wayne was, he was probably extra wimpy.

  “When Trudi had her meltdown.” I contained my giggle in reverence to the dearly departed Sissy. “I heard the women saying Etsy this and that. When I last saw Sissy, she said she and Trudi had a big secret, but she wouldn’t talk about it.”

  Alice knitted her brows. Ann leaned over, whispering in Madonna’s ear. Madonna whispered in Ann’s ear and she gasped, leaning back with bulging eyeballs. “I never!”