The Flying Cutterbucks

by Kathleen M Rodgers

  “Criminetly,” Aunt Star said, eyeing an old white mixer that came up to her chest. “Mother wasn’t exaggerating when she talked about this mixing machine being five feet tall.” She glanced over at Trudy. “Get a picture of me and Georgia so I can send it to Sister. She’ll never believe me otherwise. She’ll accuse me of embellishing the whole thing.”

  Georgia bustled over to the mixer and Aunt Star and Trudy took turns posing with her. Each time the camera flashed, Georgia flexed her right foot and pointed her toes, her signature pose.

  During the picture taking, Aunt Star wobbled as she snapped a photo of the sisters by the mixer, her cane hooked over her left forearm. “You’re definitely Shep Cutterbuck’s girls, right down to the firm jaw lines and stubborn chins.”

  Georgia elbowed Trudy. “What’s a stubborn chin? I’ve never figured it out.”

  Trudy giggled. “Means we’re part mule.”

  “Post it to Facebook and tag me,” Georgia said, fiddling with the tie on her apron.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Trudy said, tapping the keys of her phone as she posted a photo on Facebook. She wrote, “Star Hurn and Georgia Cutterbuck, mixing it up in the old kitchen of the historic Castaneda Hotel in Las Vegas, New Mexico.”

  Aunt Star gazed out the large windows above the pastry counter. “Look, girls, it’s snowing.”

  Georgia motioned for Trudy to join them at the window. “See that Italian-looking two-story building across the street, the one with the pressed metal façade and the display windows with transoms?”

  Trudy held her camera up and snapped a photo. “Lots of beauty hiding behind all that grime and neglect.”

  “That’s the Rawlins Building,” Georgia pointed out. “It was built around the same time as the Castaneda. That’s where Grandma Lily and the other Harvey Girls lived. It served as the dormitory in those days.”

  Back in the lobby, Aunt Star made a beeline for the straightbacked chair by the grand staircase. “You girls take all the time you need. I’ll play solitaire and people watch.”

  Halfway up the stairs, Trudy caught the glint in the old woman’s eyes.

  “Just kidding,” her aunt teased, pulling out her cellphone. “But can you imagine what this place was like during its heyday? Must’a been something.”

  Upstairs, Trudy and Georgia headed down the long hallway on the south wing. A few seconds into their tour, Trudy heard a noise.

  She spun around. “Did you hear that?”

  Georgia pursed her lips from side to side and raised her eyebrows. “It’s an old building, Sis. Stuff creaks.” She walked a few feet. “Did you bring the eyeglasses Zia dug up?”

  Nodding, Trudy moved down the hallway. Shafts of sunlight spilled from the open doorways of several rooms as they meandered down the narrow passageway, glancing left and right into rooms with peeling wallpaper and paint, some with ceilings caving in. “They’re in the trunk of my car.” Poking her head into a generous-sized room, Trudy strolled toward the bay window and gazed down at the depot. She glanced over her shoulder as Georgia entered the room. “Come here, I need to tell you something.”

  Georgia let out a heavy sigh and walked over and looked out the window. “What’s wrong?” She sounded peeved, obviously tired from a long day.

  Keeping her voice low even though they were the only ones upstairs, Trudy began: “Dub assaulted Aunt Star when she was thirteen…in the pool house at Uncle Manifred’s. Aunt Gladys saw it happen, covered it up, and told Aunt Star to keep her mouth shut.”

  Georgia drew back in revulsion, her eyes wide with shock over the rim of her aqua frames, as if she didn’t believe what Trudy said. As if her mind needed time to grasp it. “How do you know this?” Skepticism soured her voice.

  “Because she told me this afternoon over wine and cheese. I flat out asked her what Dub had done to her. Don’t you remember how he taunted her that night? He called her a heifer and said she wasn’t worth a poke.”

  Georgia began pacing around the room, fanning herself with both hands. “I don’t remember anything but that monster’s hand over my mouth. I couldn’t breathe. I thought he was going to kill me.”

  Trudy approached her, barely touching her shoulder. “You okay, sis? I’m sorry, but I thought you needed to know.”

  “Just give me a second. I need to calm down. Let’s go walk to the end of the hall then we better head back. I don’t like leaving Aunt Star downstairs by herself.”

  Shoulder to shoulder, the sisters made their way down the length of the hall, peeking in open doorways and commenting on the various guest rooms, at the beautiful old doorknobs and window configurations. To lighten the mood, Trudy bumped her hip against her sister and they giggled and broke into the monkey walk back toward the stairwell. Even during the saddest times in their life, they’d always found a way to have fun together.

  Standing under the huge skylight, they studied each other a minute. Finally, Georgia said, “I’m glad you told me. I don’t get it, though. Why would she reveal what Dub did to her as a kid, but she won’t talk to us about the night he assaulted me?”

  Reaching for the banister, Trudy took a deep breath then slowly exhaled. “Because she’s hiding something,” she whispered, her knees stiffening up as she descended the stairs.

  At the landing, Georgia pressed her finger to her lips as they rounded the corner. The top of Aunt Star’s head was visible, a shaft of sunlight from the skylight giving it a halo effect. She was hunched over her cellphone, texting. Swiveling in her chair, she craned her neck in their direction, squinting up at them. “You girls about ready to go see the lunchroom then call it a day?”

  “Unlike Grandma Lily, there’s nothing wrong with her hearing,” Georgia mouthed as she rolled her eyes at Trudy then breezed the rest of the way down and went to help Aunt Star out of her chair. “You meet anyone while we were gone?” Georgia chuckled, catching Trudy’s eye as she gripped the banister and took each step, one stiff leg at a time.

  “Heck no, but Sister sent a batch of photos showing off her new appliances. She said Hector starts installing next week.”

  A short time later, they made their way to the former lunchroom at the front of the building on the south wing. Trudy paused as she watched her sister maneuver, pointing out where the large lunch counter used to sit, the double doors where hungry passengers would flood in for a quick lunch. “The staff used all kinds of codes; even down to how coffee cups were placed on saucers, which helped run things more efficiently, especially during rush hour.”

  Striding across the room, Trudy pushed through the door and stepped out onto the arcade. Skipping down the snow-covered steps, she looked up and down the tracks, imagined a big locomotive still hissing and steaming after it squeaked and squealed to a stop.

  Aunt Star’s shrill voice pierced the cold air. “Trudy, you and Mother were no different really. You worked as an airhostess serving passengers on planes. Mother worked as a hostess serving passengers coming in off the trains.”

  Trudy pointed to a row of black and white birds perched on a nearby telephone wire. “What are those birds called? I’ve been seeing them since I left Santa Rosa and headed north on Highway 84. They’re so striking, but they sure make a ruckus.” Turning, Trudy mounted the steps where Georgia held the door open.

  “They’re called the black-billed magpie of Northern New Mexico,” Aunt Star offered, waiting by the door. “Mother told us a story about a cantankerous old cook that worked here. Anytime he caught them standing around chatting, he called them a bunch of gossiping magpies and told them to get back to work.”

  Trudy made a face and stuck her hand on her hip. “Wonder what he called a bunch of fellas standing around smoking and joking?”

  “Gents,” Georgia cracked with an eye roll.

  A floorboard creaked somewhere behind them. Aunt Star frowned then shook her cane in that direction. “Probably that cantankerous old cook, upstaged in the presence of strong women.”

  They all laughed.

&n
bsp; Aunt Star dug through her purse. “You girls go make a wish at the fountain.” She handed them each a penny like they were kids, then ambled outside and plopped down on a bench.

  Trudy followed Georgia down the steps and halfway across the courtyard to the fountain, nothing more than a sphere of cement, its murky water dappled with fall leaves. Snow dusted the grounds and the rooftop of the building, reminding Trudy of a giant Mexican gingerbread house sprinkled in powdered sugar.

  As tiny snowflakes danced through the air, Trudy and Georgia squeezed their eyes shut, each made a wish, and then they tossed their pennies into the fountain.

  Georgia glanced sideways at Trudy, her lips pursed in a coy smile. “What did you wish for?”

  “That Aunt Star tells us the truth. I’m going to hit her up about it tomorrow before we meet Gil.” She glanced around then peeked over at Georgia. “Do you believe in ghosts? I know we’ve been joking about it since we got here, but seriously, do you think our loved ones can communicate with us from the other side?”

  Georgia shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not something I sit around thinking about. Look, we better go. Aunt Star’s probably tired and I’m freezing.” She turned to leave.

  Trudy tugged on her sister’s sleeve. “Sis, that night in the kitchen when I picked up the skillet? I felt Daddy’s strength coming through my hands.”

  Georgia began to knead her reddened knuckles, and over the rim of her glasses eyed Trudy. “What are you talking about?”

  The dark thought that had nagged at Trudy’s conscious for decades exploded within her. “What if I killed him?” she hissed sideways, spittle spewing from her lips.

  Georgia stiffened, her back straight as the train tracks stretching before them. “Sis, stop it. That’s crazy talk.”

  Trudy leaned in closer. “What if Aunt Star’s been lying to us the whole time? What if he was already dead when we dragged him out the door? Look at her arms. She was always as strong as an ox.”

  Aunt Star pushed herself up from the bench. “You girls about ready? Charlie’s closes at six, it’s coming up on five now.”

  Georgia peeked over her shoulder toward the bench where Aunt Star stood waiting. “I don’t like where this is going. Look, I need to go take some Tylenol and lock up. I’ll meet you at Charlie’s as soon as I change and turn in my key.” With that, her sister strode off, the skirts of her Harvey Girl costume swishing as she made her way toward the arcade, up the steps, and through the lunchroom doors.

  Inhaling the cold air, Trudy stared straight ahead at the railroad tracks that ran north and south. The snow melted the second it hit the rails, but was already sticking to the ground. Tomorrow she would show her aunt the eyeglasses, no matter how upsetting it might be. She had to know the truth. Turning, she watched the old activist shuffle down the walkway and disappear around the corner, the thick soles of her shoes worn at the heels.

  Following in her footsteps, Trudy paused as a black-billed magpie flew right past her at eye level, its white wingtips fanned out, reminding Trudy of the black and white spectator pumps Grandma Lily always wore to church before she died.

  The bird landed on top of the bell tower and let out a harsh, raspy call, yakking and gossiping about something.

  CHAPTER 26

  Riddle Talkers

  TRUDY FIDDLED with the gym sock hidden deep in the pocket of her nubby cardigan. She was working up the courage to spring the eyeglasses on her aunt, and to demand an answer for why they were buried beneath the camper. But after Aunt Star’s revelation yesterday about the attack in the pool house, Trudy wasn’t feeling so brave. Or brazen.

  Seated next to Aunt Star on a bench by the gazebo at Old Plaza Park, Trudy gazed at the front of the historic Plaza Hotel, a grand three-story Victorian building overlooking the plaza. Georgia had phoned earlier saying she and Gil were both running late, but they were looking forward to meeting up at the hotel for drinks and dinner. Most of the snow from yesterday had melted, and the late afternoon sun warmed things enough that Aunt Star wanted to sit outside and “soak up the rays” while they waited for Georgia and Gil to arrive.

  Last night after their tour of the Castaneda, the three women chatted and giggled over chips and salsa and glasses of iced tea. Halfway through dinner, Georgia whispered conspiratorially across the booth to Trudy, “Gil and I are playing house. Aunt Star, close your ears.” Georgia went on to explain that a month ago she rented her tiny Italian villa — furniture and all — to a young college professor teaching at Highland University and she was staying at Gil’s place, a Southwestern-style hobby ranch with a couple of horses on a patch of land outside of town. No wonder she’d suggested Trudy stay with their aunt and not at her place.

  Aunt Star had looked up from her bowl of tortilla soup and chuckled, “You don’t need my permission to shack up. As for Gil, if he hasn’t figured it out by now…at seventy.”

  They all laughed, pretending they didn’t share a history with the predator buried in the cemetery near Bogey’s grave. Aunt Star regaled them with stories growing up with Jewel in Pardon, how they loved to hang out at their daddy’s shop, Stanley’s Garage, and drink bottles of Coca-Cola and eat Cracker Jack from the vending machine. Or visit the Pardon Zoo with their mother and make faces and throw peanuts at the monkeys, back when the zoo was nothing more than a clump of cages and a clanking miniature train with open-air cars that skirted the perimeter.

  After their coffee arrived and they split a decadent slice of chocolate cake, Clay had texted Trudy with the photo he took of them the other morning at sunrise. She’d blushed at his comment that he and Little Man went to get firewood and were wondering what she was doing for Thanksgiving the following week. Cinda and Roxy were flying to her parents in New Hampshire, and he and Hercules would sure love it if Trudy, Jewel, and Zia joined them for an informal dinner. Hector was bringing venison sausage and smoked wild turkey, and said Jewel’s kitchen would be out of commission until after the holidays.

  As she texted him back, Georgia kicked her under the table and teased, “We know who you’re talking to, sweetie, and it sure isn’t Mom.”

  Trudy had glanced up from her phone to find her sister smirking knowingly and Aunt Star stirring her coffee ever so slowly as she feigned disinterest. As soon as Trudy lifted her fork to take another bite of cake, Aunt Star cleared her throat and inquired, “Has Detective Cordova heard any more on the vandalism to Gold’s Department Store? I hope he nabs the bastards.”

  “The investigation is still ongoing,” Trudy informed her. “Although Clay suspects a hate group out of West Texas.”

  Someone honked a car horn in front of the hotel, jarring Trudy from her thoughts.

  Aunt Star shifted on the park bench next to her. “You know there are over nine hundred buildings in town listed on the National Register of Historic Places?”

  Clutching the gym sock, Trudy gazed around the oval plaza at the variety of architecture, from Victorian and Italian, to Moorish, Greek, Tudor, and California Mission Revival influences. People strolled around the park, some staying on the winding paths and others cutting through the yellowing grass where patches of snow lingered in the shade.

  “Aunt Star?” Trudy started to pull the sock from her pocket. Her voice thrummed in her ears as she began to grill her aunt about that night. “I’ve been having flashbacks since Zia dug up that pair of men’s eyeglasses under the camper.”

  Aunt Star looked away. “I hope you disposed of them like I asked.”

  Trudy gripped her fist tighter around the sock, still buried in her pocket. She could feel the outline of the frames as she rubbed her thumb over one end of the sock. “I saw them fly off his face and land on the floor.”

  Aunt Star took a few shallow breaths and rubbed her left kneecap. She studied the mottled trees overhead and said nothing.

  Trudy babbled on, frustrated by her aunt’s silence. “Later, I saw you leave the kitchen all bundled up with something in your hand. I think it was his glasses. Georgia an
d I have a couple of theories.”

  The old woman waited, her silence prompting Trudy to keep going.

  “One, we think you went outside to give them back and realized he’d already left. And if he was blind as a bat and couldn’t see without them, especially in a snowstorm at night, it’s possible he stumbled onto the tracks.”

  Aunt Star breathed deeply, the crook of her cane gripped in both fists. “How he died is immaterial. I’m glad he’s no longer a menace to society.” She sounded weary.

  Trudy licked her lips, her mouth dry as her heart thudded against her chest. She rushed ahead, despite a warning bell clanging in her head. “Our second theory is Dub was already dead when you went outside to check on him. That you waited until we were asleep…then dragged his body through the back gate and placed him on the tracks, knowing a freight train would come along and turn him into mincemeat. Then you found his glasses when you came back into the kitchen and buried them to hide the evidence he’d been at our house.”

  Slowly, Aunt Star turned her head and narrowed her eyes on Trudy. The look on her aunt’s face sent chills up Trudy’s spine. Made her question her own sanity. As if her suggestion was the most asinine thing Aunt Star had ever heard in her life. That maybe Trudy was as crazy as some of her aunt’s former patients.

  Rattled, Trudy’s hand went limp in her pocket. She released her grip on the sock and reached for her purse and a stick of gum. What she’d give for a cigarette right now.

  “Hello, lovelies. Sorry I’m late.” Georgia’s deep throaty greeting extinguished Aunt Star’s smoldering glare. One end of Georgia’s fringed neck scarf fluttered behind her as she strode across the park toward them in black tights that showcased her dancer’s legs and a peacock blue cape that swirled around her with each step.

  “She moves like a butterfly she’s so light on her feet,” Aunt Star observed, looking relieved that her other niece had showed up, interrupting Trudy’s probing interrogation.