The Flying Cutterbucks

by Kathleen M Rodgers

  Time slowed. Trudy felt her throat close up as she jumped up from the table and managed a raspy, “I need some air.” She rushed for the nearest exit.

  Outside on the sidewalk, the cold air slapped her in the face as she looked around and headed toward the gazebo. Fluttering in the crisp cold air, the three flags she passed earlier were lit up under a bright spotlight. The silhouette of a man and barbed wire called to her as she cut across the grass.

  At the base of the flagpole, she huddled in her thick cardigan, Dub’s glasses still in her pocket. Craning her neck, she called to the man on the flag: “Did you feel that way, too, when you were dropping bombs over a war zone? That some people just need killing?”

  The face on the flag rippled in the night.

  Fingering the sock in her pocket, she called again, “Daddy, can you hear me?”

  Nothing.

  Ever since her mother received the phone call from the Air Force, Trudy could no longer hear his voice. He’d gone silent.

  With tears clouding her vision, she heard a flap of wings as a black-billed magpie landed on top of the flagpole. It yakked a second then took off, flying across the plaza toward Bridge Street. Choking back tears, she cut across the park in the same direction until she came to the red and blue Santo of the Virgin Mary.

  At the foot of the sacred statue, a tall wood carving sculpted from a tree trunk, she saw where people had left offerings: prayer candles, stuffed animals, photos of loved ones encased in plastic covers. Through blurry vision, she pulled the sock from her pocket and dropped the mangled pair of glasses into the heap of items left at the Madonna’s feet.

  “You okay?”

  She whirled at the familiar voice. There, wringing her hands like a mirage stood Georgia, her coppery hair tumbling over her shoulders like that night long ago. “Sis, we’re getting worried about you. Gil was being funny. He has no idea about the night Dub died.”

  Reaching for Georgia’s hand, Trudy felt her sister’s strength as she guided her back up the walkway across the park. As they drew closer and crossed the narrow street in front of the hotel, Trudy spotted Gil next to her aunt. The actor who’d played dozens of killers over the years had one arm around the old woman, patting her attentively on the shoulder.

  Georgia tapped the window as they passed by, giving them a thumbs-up.

  Aunt Star twisted in her chair and gazed out the window, the concern in her eyes turning to relief as she motioned for Trudy to come in out of the cold.

  Right before they went inside, Georgia poked Trudy in the back and whispered, “Sis, just ’cuz you took down a monster didn’t turn you into one. You did the right thing.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Woman in the Lexus

  December 9, 2016

  TRUDY HAD been dreading this visit to the nursing home to see Uncle Manifred since she’d hugged Aunt Star goodbye three weeks ago and returned to Pardon. As Trudy and Jewel dropped off the birthday cake and a bouquet of balloons in the dayroom, they paused in front of the big screen TV. CNN was reporting the death of United States Senator John Glenn of Ohio, at the age of ninety-five. Someone had turned the volume on high.

  “Now there was a great American,” Jewel crowed, adjusting her red beret and talking over the newscaster. “Not only was he the first American astronaut to circle the earth, but he was a genuine war hero, a fighter pilot, like your daddy.” She glanced sideways at Trudy.

  “Bogey worshiped both of them,” Trudy reminded her mother as they shifted their attention back to the television.

  An elderly woman shuffled by in a yellow housecoat and slippers, eyeing the cake and balloons. “Is everyone invited to the party?” she asked, looking hopeful.

  “Yes, indeed,” Jewel reassured her. “Stick around. We’re going to fetch the birthday boy.” She paused again to look up at the television screen. John Glenn’s image had been replaced by an ad for easy weight loss. “Ads today are dumb. I sure miss those old Palmolive commercials where Madge dipped a woman’s fingertips in green dish soap.” She looked back at Trudy. “You remember that ad, honey?”

  “Sure do. Georgia and I acted it out, taking turns playing Madge.” Trudy nudged her toward the doorway to the hall, smiling at the woman in the yellow housecoat as they filed past. Trudy’s chest felt heavy as they headed down the hallway. How was she going to look the old man in the eye after learning how he and Aunt Gladys shamed Aunt Star into silence?

  Love has no need to settle scores, Priest Gracie’s words darted in front of her as she made her way down the hall. But what happens when love is used to manipulate others? Trudy wished she’d asked the priest.

  And then there was that other matter…the one involving Dub’s death.

  But today, on Manifred Hurn Senior’s one-hundredth birthday, Trudy couldn’t weasel her way out of this visit even though she’d been avoiding him for years.

  Rounding the corner, she squared her shoulders and put on her best flight attendant face. Jewel belted out, “Happy birthday to you,” as they entered his room. She stopped singing when they saw the old man slumped over in his wheelchair, a line of drool hanging from his bottom lip and pooling onto his shirt. His thick wire-rimmed glasses hung halfway down his nose.

  “Oh dear, we’ll have to wake him. Can’t have him sleep through his party.” Jewel shed her coat and laid it on the bed, along with her purse.

  Trudy walked over and smelled a bouquet of flowers placed by his bedside. “Did you send these?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. “They’re beautiful.”

  Jewel shook her head and ambled toward the wheelchair. “Most likely from someone he’s done business with. Open the envelope and see who they’re from.”

  Trudy pulled out a signed placard and read it out loud: “Happy hundredth birthday. Best wishes, Madeline.” She inserted the note back into the envelope. “Oh, wait, she included her business card.” Trudy lifted it from the envelope and relayed the information to her mother.

  Madeline T.

  Million Dollar Broker

  Caprock High Plains Realty & Land Co.

  Lubbock, Texas

  “Nobody I know,” Jewel said, motioning Trudy over. “Come feel his skin. Do you think he feels cool? Honestly, I can’t tell if he’s breathing.”

  Trudy stuck the business card in the envelope and walked toward the window where her great uncle was parked in his wheelchair. She wrinkled her nose, detecting a foul odor. “Do you smell that?”

  Sniffing the air, Jewel scrunched her face. “Oh dear. That can’t be good. You know that happens sometimes when a person dies. All their sphincter muscles relax and their bowels cut loose.”

  Trudy reached down and barely touched the back of his gnarled hand. His fingernails had yellowed with age like the pages of old paperbacks, the skin on his face and forehead mottled like autumn leaves. “He feels cool to the touch.” She withdrew her hand, the unpleasant task over. She wasn’t put off because he was old, she was repelled by some of the things he represented, like the abuse of power.

  She stepped back a few feet and stared at him, at the pajamaclad legs where his bony knees stuck out through the material. She remembered the stocky businessman in dress shirts and suits, the slicked-back hair he was always combing. The polished wingtips he paid a shoeshine boy to buff twice a week. The stocky man with a broad shiny face and apple cheeks that resembled Dub’s, only Dub had a sinister sneer where the senior Hurn had a ready smile and easy handshake for wheeling and dealing.

  “I better go get a nurse,” Jewel said, backing out of the room. “You stay here with him. I can’t believe he skipped out before attending his own party.”

  “I don’t think he had a choice,” Trudy said dryly, curling one finger under her nose.

  After Jewel pattered out of the room, Trudy gazed out the window and tried to ignore the stench permeating the air. From the corner of her eye, she saw a tall woman in a headscarf and dark coat, wearing low-heeled pumps, exit the main entrance of the nursing home. She loo
ked like the woman who had vandalized Dub’s grave.

  Trudy stepped closer to the window to get a better look. Sure enough, the woman climbed into a champagne-colored Lexus with Texas tags and pulled out of the parking lot, turning left onto Curry Avenue and heading east, toward Texas.

  Slowly, Trudy turned to stare at the bouquet of flowers on the bedside table. A second later, she dashed across the room, tore open the envelope, and reread the unusual name on the business card: Madeline T. Leaving her business card equaled leaving her calling card as her mother used to refer to those name placards she left in the entryways of colonels and generals when she and Daddy had to put on “face time” and socialize.

  Pocketing the card, Trudy whispered, “Madeline T., who are you?” before she shifted her focus back to the once powerful man whose body was cooling off fast. Soon rigor mortis would set in.

  Muffled voices in the hallway caused her to look up.

  A certified nursing assistant in polka-dotted scrubs breezed into the room, a stethoscope dangling from her neck. The young black woman approached the wheelchair. Trudy stepped aside and glanced at her nametag.

  Donita acknowledged her with a polite nod then bent over the old man to check his vitals. “Mister Man, you still with us, baby?” Her voice was soothing as she reached for his bony wrist to feel for his pulse. “Hmm…” She pursed her lips as she inserted the ends of the stethoscope in her ears and placed the bell on his chest to listen. After several seconds, she shook her head and pressed her lips together, wrapping the stethoscope back around her neck.

  “Is he gone?” Jewel asked from the doorway.

  Donita nodded. “Poor Mister Man, looks like he won’t be attending his birthday party after all.” She walked to the bed and pressed the call button for a supervisor.

  Trudy took a step forward. “He must’ve died right before we got here.”

  Donita nodded, looking sad. “Poor thing. I always liked Mister Man. Felt sorry for him when he told me how his son died.”

  Trudy swallowed and didn’t comment, thankful the woman didn’t elaborate. Jewel walked back across the room and hugged Trudy from behind. Reaching around, Trudy embraced her mother, realizing at once Jewel’s dilemma. Uncle Manifred had helped her out financially years ago, and yet he covered up and protected his son from taking responsibility for a horrible crime he committed. No telling how many either.

  A nurse supervisor and a social worker entered the room. After the head nurse checked the old man’s vitals, she offered her official condolences. Jewel asked the social worker to contact the mortuary and Uncle Manifred’s attorney, whose name and number were on file. As the social worker went to leave, she stuck her head back into the room and said the coroner would be along shortly. “Would you like me to cancel the party?”

  “Absolutely not,” Jewel said, directing Trudy to go text Aunt Star and Georgia then head straight to the dayroom to start serving cake.

  As Trudy strolled down the hallway, her mother stuck her head out the door and hissed, “Be gentle on them. They get upset when another resident dies.”

  Trudy spun on her heels, walking backward. “I was a flight attendant for forty years, Momma. I know how to talk to people.”

  Outside the dayroom, Trudy leaned against a wall and typed a group message: Hey, Aunt Star and Georgia, Mom asked me to text y’all and let you know Uncle Manifred died this morning. We found him slumped over in his wheelchair. We thought he was sleeping.

  The party will go on without him! About 20 residents are gathered in the dayroom. Headed there to serve cake. I’ll send more details soon. Mom’s supposed to speak with his attorney this morning. If he left anything for me, it’s all yours, sis. So you can pay off your student loans.

  Sad news about astronaut John Glenn…Bogey sure worshiped him.

  I love you both,

  Trudy

  For now, she decided not to mention the woman in the Lexus. Until she had more facts, it could simply be a coincidence.

  Before she put her phone away, she sent Clay a text about her uncle. He fired right back: I’m sorry for your loss, babe. He the uncle whose son got killed by a train? You girls come hang out with me tonight. Bring Zia so Hercules will have someone to talk to. LOL Tell your mom I’ll build her a warm fire. There hasn’t been any more vandalism reported at the cemetery so that should put her mind at ease.

  Back in the dayroom, Trudy introduced herself and announced matter-of-factly, “Thank you all for coming. Manifred Hurn Senior passed away in his sleep sometime this morning.” After a few audible gasps, Trudy added, “On behalf of the Hurn family, please stay and have cake and punch. We appreciate you being here.”

  As residents and caregivers lined up for cake, an image of the orange man with straw-colored hair flashed on the television screen. His smug lips puckered up, he yelled like a carnival barker, “Lock her up!”

  “Somebody shut him up!” Jewel Cutterbuck’s shrill voice trumpeted through the air as she walked into the dayroom and glared at the television.

  Trudy stood frozen, the cake knife suspended in the air as she stared at her mother in her red beret and matching blouse, her dress slacks flared at her ankles as she twirled around on her ballet flats, searching for someone to help her find the remote.

  An elderly gentleman set his paper plate down, rose from his chair, and walked over and picked up the remote. With quivering hands, he aimed it at the television and cut the power. Trudy watched her mother thank the man then wave at a few familiar faces.

  An elegant woman with short red hair and emerald earrings clapped as she approached the table. “See, there are still a few good men around.” She smiled, thanked Trudy for the cake, and then joined the others already eating. Trudy assumed she was referring to the lovely gentleman who turned off the television.

  Jewel mingled for a few minutes before she walked up and whispered to Trudy, “The funeral home is here to pick up his body. Apparently, he wanted to be cremated and didn’t want a service.”

  “For a man of his standing in the community?” Trudy watched a male nursing assistant push a shriveled up woman in a wheelchair into the room. Shrouded in a quilt, the woman pointed her finger impatiently in the air as she directed the young man where to park her wheelchair.

  Something about the woman’s voice sounded familiar, a highpitched trill Trudy was certain she’d heard before. The male caregiver locked the wheelchair in place and approached the table. Trudy passed him two plates of cake. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “Miss Vivian says thank you for the cake. She would tell you herself but she’s rather shy and hard of hearing.”

  Trudy and Jewel glanced over at the lady in the wheelchair. Miss Vivian was arranging her quilt on her lap and didn’t look their way.

  “Tell Miss Vivian we’re delighted she’s here.” Jewel smiled and handed him forks and napkins. “Is she a new resident? I’ve never seen her around. But then it’s been a while since my last visit.”

  “She’s been living here about two months.” The caregiver smiled politely, balancing the plates in his hands.

  “Is she from here?” Jewel absently ran her finger through a frosting rosette.

  “I’m not sure, ma’am. But her daughter’s some big shot real estate agent in Lubbock. She visits a couple times a week.”

  Trudy felt the blood rush from her head as he walked off. She glanced sideways at her mother.

  Jewel sucked the frosting from her fingertip. “You’re not looking so swift, darling.” She paused to smack her lips. “Didn’t you say the lady realtor who sent those flowers is from Lubbock?”

  Trudy nodded and poured two cups of punch and handed one to her mother. “Drink up. Too bad it’s not spiked.” She hadn’t told her mother about seeing the woman in the Lexus leaving the nursing home.

  Lifting a cup to her lips, Jewel murmured, “When I spoke with his lawyer by phone moments ago, he told me there might be a few surprises.”

  “Surprises?” Trudy turned to ca
tch her mother glaring at the lady in the wheelchair, practically smothered in a quilt.

  “That old bird, Miss Vivian…she and her daughter better not try to pull a fast one. I warned Uncle Manifred a long time ago that some woman might come along and try to swindle him out of his money.”

  Reaching into her pocket, Trudy fingered the business card. If Madeline T. turned out to be the woman driving the Lexus, Trudy had a hunch she wasn’t after Uncle Manifred’s fortune.

  She was after something else, something that involved Dub.

  By the time they pulled up to the house, it was late afternoon. Trudy and Jewel were both exhausted from dealing with the lawyer for Uncle Manifred’s estate. Hector and a helper had left for the day after installing new cabinet doors in the kitchen and bathrooms. Tomorrow they’d return to touch up a few areas and build the island from scratch.

  After Trudy got her mother settled for a nap, she made a mug of hot tea, grabbed her laptop and a handful of dark chocolates, and moseyed into the sunroom where she curled up on one end of the chuck wagon with Zia and began to compose an email:

  Subject: Meeting with the lawyer

  Hello, Aunt Star and Georgia,

  Once again Mom asked me to relay what’s going on with Uncle Manifred’s estate. I decided to put this in an email rather than calling. That way you can refer to it as needed. Fasten your seatbelts, girls. We’re in for a bumpy ride.

  Today, in a meeting with Uncle Manifred’s lawyer, Mom and I learned some shocking news. First, the old man left all of his money and vast land holdings to Madeline T., a real estate broker from Texas. Madeline T. is Manifred Hurn Senior’s illegitimate granddaughter, the same woman Mom and I saw at the cemetery vandalizing Dub’s grave. Second, she was born sixty-three years ago to a twelve-year-old girl named Vivian who was sexually assaulted in an alleyway on her way to the library by Dub when he was about fifteen.

  Vivian was returning a library book when he attacked her. Because Dub threatened to kill her if she told, and because she was so young, she didn’t tell anyone about the assault. Her parents were poor, she lived on the wrong side of town, and they accused her of being promiscuous when she turned up pregnant. She didn’t know the name of her attacker until three years later when she saw Dub’s senior photo in the Pardon Gazette. And still, she told no one.