Read Biggie and the Quincy Ghost Online
Authors: Nancy Bell
Biggie and the Quincy Ghost (9 page)
“Oh, yes I will.” Biggie spooned sugar in her coffee. “After Alice LaRue’s planter’s punch, I’m falling asleep on my feet this very minute. Now, Mary Ann, what time are they scheduled to eat?”
“Twelve noon!” Miss Mary Ann wrung her hands. “We’ll never make it!”
“We can, if we get us some help,” Willie Mae said. “You got anybody you can call?”
“Well … Hen Lester owes me a favor. I catered her daughter’s sweet sixteen party on one day’s notice. She was taking the girls to Shreveport for lunch and a show, but the weather turned off bad. She was so grateful at the time, she promised to pay me back if I ever needed her … .”
“It’s payback time,” Biggie said. “Go call her right now. In the meantime, we’d better all be off to bed. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.”
I stood behind Biggie while she turned the key in her door. “J.R., what are you doing here? It’s late.”
I followed her into her room and held the purse high for her to see.
“What’s that?”
“It’s Annabeth’s purse. Me and Rosebud found it out in the courtyard, right next to the little-bitty door.”
Biggie took the purse and sat down on the bed. “What little-bitty door?” She didn’t look at me.
“There’s a little door that goes into the side of the house. It’s hid behind some bushes.”
“Hmmm,” Biggie said. It was clear she wasn’t interested in the little door. She pulled a blue slip of paper out of the pocket inside the purse and looked at it, frowning. “What in the world …”
“What is it, Biggie?”
“It’s a check,” Biggie said, “a check from Hen Lester to Annabeth for one hundred dollars! What in the world do you suppose this is for?”
I shrugged.
“We’ve got to take this to the sheriff tomorrow,” she said, snapping the little purse shut, “just as soon as we get done with the wedding party.” She reached over and gave me a hug. “You did good, honey. Now, scoot off to bed. We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”
R
osebud knocked on my door bright and early the next morning. “Get up,” he called. “Miss Biggie wants you down in the kitchen.”
osebud knocked on my door bright and early the next morning. “Get up,” he called. “Miss Biggie wants you down in the kitchen.”
I put my pillow over my head and pretended not to hear. Everything was quiet. I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking Rosebud must have gone on off. I went back to dreaming the dream I’d been having about a giant dog kicking a boy. The boy was rolled up in a ball on the ground trying to cover his head, but the dog kept on kicking him with his back legs. Finally, the dog stopped kicking the boy and raised up his hind leg and went to the bathroom on the boy’s feet. That’s when I woke up. Something wet was running down my feet, which had been sticking out from under my blanket. I sat up. There was Rosebud, grinning like a cat eating briers and pouring water from a paper cup on my feet.
“Ee-yew,” I said. “Quit that!”
Rosebud just grinned and walked to the door. “Get up,” he said. “Your Biggie wants you in the kitchen.”
Well, as you might imagine, I was in a pretty bad mood when I got downstairs—not that anybody cared. Biggie and Mrs. Hen Lester were seated at the kitchen table chopping raisins and cherries for the Lane cake. Miss Mary Ann was arranging pink roses and baby’s breath in crystal vases at a table next to the wall while Willie Mae stood at the counter rolling out piecrusts. Even Lew Masters was helping. He was cutting the rind off a big wheel of Brie cheese.
“Get you a cinnamon roll off the stove,” Willie Mae said over her shoulder. “Then I want you to peel these here shrimp in the sink.”
I poured myself a glass of milk from the fridge and took two cinnamon rolls off the pan on the stove. “Can I go outside and eat these?”
“Sure,” Biggie said. “Just make sure you come back. We need all hands on deck.”
I went out into the courtyard and sat on a bench. I thought about the dream I’d been having. I was pretty sure it had something to do with Brian and Rosebud’s cousin, Daniel P. Both of them had been mean to dogs because someone important had gone off and left them. At least that’s what everybody seemed to think. Well, plenty of people had left me. First my daddy died, then my mama shipped me off to live with Biggie on account of she couldn’t take care of me, her being high-strung and all. But, try as I might, I couldn’t think of one single reason why a thing like that would make a person mean to animals.
I was nice to animals. Well, all except Prissy Moody, the poodle who lives next door to us and is really obnoxious. And all I’d ever done to Prissy was to tease her a little. I just didn’t understand it. I shrugged my shoulders and popped the last bite of cinnamon roll in my mouth. Maybe Biggie’s right. She says I think too much, just like my daddy, who was a very deep person although not many people knew that about him because he kept it hidden behind a devil-may-care attitude. Biggie said that, not me. Myself, I can’t hardly remember my daddy.
I was nice to animals. Well, all except Prissy Moody, the poodle who lives next door to us and is really obnoxious. And all I’d ever done to Prissy was to tease her a little. I just didn’t understand it. I shrugged my shoulders and popped the last bite of cinnamon roll in my mouth. Maybe Biggie’s right. She says I think too much, just like my daddy, who was a very deep person although not many people knew that about him because he kept it hidden behind a devil-may-care attitude. Biggie said that, not me. Myself, I can’t hardly remember my daddy.
I got up and went back into the kitchen, where Willie Mae tied an apron around my waist and set me to peeling shrimp at the sink. They were little-bitty, the kind that, when you take the heads off, there’s not much left. “This will take all day,” I said. “Where’s Butch and the Thripps? Why aren’t they helping?”
“They’ve gone over to Shreveport to them gambling boats,” Willie Mae said. “Don’t let none of them shells go down the sink.”
Peeling shrimp is a slow and stinky business. Some shrimps let go of their shells real easy; others stick on like glue and you sometimes have to tear up the shrimp to get the shell off. I was concentrating on my work and not paying much attention to what the others were saying until I heard a loud crash and a scream. Miss Mary Ann had dropped a vase on the floor and the glass had shattered. When she bent down to pick it up, she cut her finger real bad.
“Now look what I’ve gone and done.” She stared at her finger while the blood dripped on the floor.
Willie Mae dried her hands with a clean towel and
came over to examine the cut. “Come on in here with me,” she said, leading Miss Mary Ann out toward the dining room. “I’ve got some salve in my room that’ll fix you right up.”
came over to examine the cut. “Come on in here with me,” she said, leading Miss Mary Ann out toward the dining room. “I’ve got some salve in my room that’ll fix you right up.”
“I’m just nervous, that’s all,” Miss Mary Ann said. “Lord, lately, seems like I can’t do anything right.”
“Now, hon, that’s just not so.” Lew Masters came over to give her a quick hug. “You go with Willie Mae. I’ll clean up this mess while you’re gone.”
I watched while he got the broom from the closet and swept up the broken glass.
“Take a damp paper towel and wipe down the area after you sweep,” Biggie said. “It will take up all the little slivers.”
“Is that so?” Hen Lester said. “I never heard that.”
Biggie nodded. “I learned it from Willie Mae.”
“Willie Mae knows everything,” I said. “Biggie, these shrimp are hard to peel.”
“I know,” Biggie said. “We all have our crosses to bear.”
“Biggie, stop teasing.”
Biggie ignored me. She was asking Hen about Annabeth. “What can you tell me about the girl? Anything you can remember might be helpful—even if it seems unimportant.”
“Well, let me see.” Hen got up and washed the sticky off her hands. She picked up a Baggie filled with pecan halves and brought them back to the table. “They’re a strange family; keep to themselves. They live out by Caddo Lake, nothing but a tumbledown old farm house and some ratty outbuildings. The old man and old lady
had a raft of children. Some went off from home, but a few still live there with the parents. I heard the oldest boy got sent to the pen for something, I forget what. And, let me see, it seems there was a girl, lots younger than the others, retarded I think.” She laughed. “Of course, they’re all so dumb, I don’t see how they could tell.” She poured the pecans out in a pile on the table and commenced breaking them up with her fingers and putting them in a Pyrex bowl. “They’ve lived in the county for generations, but because they’re country folks, we don’t have much to do with them. Not that there’s anything wrong with living in the country, you understand. Nowadays, it’s gotten quite chic to own a country place. But back in the old days, well, most country people were farmers and not very well educated, if you know what I mean.”
had a raft of children. Some went off from home, but a few still live there with the parents. I heard the oldest boy got sent to the pen for something, I forget what. And, let me see, it seems there was a girl, lots younger than the others, retarded I think.” She laughed. “Of course, they’re all so dumb, I don’t see how they could tell.” She poured the pecans out in a pile on the table and commenced breaking them up with her fingers and putting them in a Pyrex bowl. “They’ve lived in the county for generations, but because they’re country folks, we don’t have much to do with them. Not that there’s anything wrong with living in the country, you understand. Nowadays, it’s gotten quite chic to own a country place. But back in the old days, well, most country people were farmers and not very well educated, if you know what I mean.”
Biggie opened her mouth to say something, then closed it with a snap. She nodded and waited for Hen to say more.
“When I was a child,” Hen said, “I used to see them come into town on a Saturday. The old man would be driving the wagon. The back would be piled high with animal pelts and kids. He was a trapper, you see. That was back before every creature that walks the woods was an endangered species.” She curled her lip when she said that.
“Would that be Annabeth’s father?”
“Oh, my no. That must have been her grandfather. My soul, he was old back when I was just a tot. Her father may not have even been born then. And there was always a woman with him, a wife—or sister, I don’t know what. I do know she was crazy, or retarded, or something. I do
remember that. I only saw her once. She was riding on the wagon with the kids, her bare legs hanging out the back. She wore nothing but a feed sack with holes cut for the arms and head. It wasn’t even sewed into a dress—just a plain old Burress Mills feed sack with the label still on it. And her hair was down to her waist, gray and wild. My mama took me by the hand and yanked me into the drugstore before I got a very good look. When we got home, I asked Mama about the woman and she said she was just a poor old crazy lady, and I should feel sorry for her. Later I heard Mama and Papa talking, and they were saying how beautiful she used to be when she was young and what a shame it was.”
remember that. I only saw her once. She was riding on the wagon with the kids, her bare legs hanging out the back. She wore nothing but a feed sack with holes cut for the arms and head. It wasn’t even sewed into a dress—just a plain old Burress Mills feed sack with the label still on it. And her hair was down to her waist, gray and wild. My mama took me by the hand and yanked me into the drugstore before I got a very good look. When we got home, I asked Mama about the woman and she said she was just a poor old crazy lady, and I should feel sorry for her. Later I heard Mama and Papa talking, and they were saying how beautiful she used to be when she was young and what a shame it was.”
“What was?” Biggie asked.
“That’s what I asked.” Hen pushed the Pyrex bowl toward the middle of the table. “But they never would tell me. It’s funny, I haven’t thought about that incident until this very day. What do you suppose they meant?”
“I don’t know,” Biggie said. “But I have a feeling it might be important. By the way, do you know any reason Alice LaRue might not want to talk about the Baughs?”
“Alice not want to talk about them?” Hen Lester laughed. “Why, Alice has something to say about any and everything. Ooh, I just thought of something else. I don’t guess it’s important, though. Isn’t it funny how, when you get to talking about things that happened long ago, memories you’d forgotten come popping back in your head?”
Biggie nodded. “Everything is important. What was it you remembered?”
“Well, I was just a little girl, playing with my paper dolls in the parlor after dinner. Papa was reading, and Mama was listening to
One Man’s Family
on the radio. Remember that show?”
One Man’s Family
on the radio. Remember that show?”
Biggie put down her knife and nodded again. “Go on.”
“Well, Mama waited until the commercial came on, then turned down the radio and turned to Papa. ‘Lloyd,’ she said. ‘Lloyd, I heard something right strange at Missionary Society today.’ Papa, of course, never liked to be interrupted in his reading, but he put his finger in his place and closed the book. Well, Mama went on to tell about how the church ladies were getting up Christmas boxes for poor families and they were fixing one for the Baughs out by the lake. Papa looked impatient like he was prone to do when Mama took a long time getting to the point.”
Personally, I thought Mrs. Lester was doing a pretty good job of making a short story long, but Biggie just kept waiting for her to get to the point.
“Anyway, what Mama had to say was that some of the ladies were saying that the Baughs had found Diamond Lucy’s baby and taken it to raise. They said that the crazy lady was that child. Maybe Lucas is right and they are descendants of Diamond Lucy.”
“Could be, I suppose,” Biggie said. “Still, I don’t think Diamond Lucy’s baby would still be alive when you were a child.”
“Well, that’s probably right. I never thought of that. Still, if it were true, it could explain why some, like Annabeth and that woman, turned out pretty while the others
are ugly as mud.” Hen Lester set down her knife. “Do you think we should pour the fruit and nuts in a bowl together, or let Willie Mae do it?”
are ugly as mud.” Hen Lester set down her knife. “Do you think we should pour the fruit and nuts in a bowl together, or let Willie Mae do it?”
Biggie got up and found a large bowl in the cabinet. “Let’s mix it in …”
“Stop!” Willie Mae had just come back into the kitchen. “You gonna make a mess. I got to sprinkle sugar and flour on them fruits so they won’t all be stuck together. Y’all go on out in the dining room and get the flowers ready. I’ll finish the cooking.”
I stepped away from the sink and started to take off my apron.
“Where you goin’?” Willie Mae had scooped up the bowl of fruit and was wiping the table with a rag. “You just set your fine self down here and start takin’ the veins outta them shrimps. Here, use this knife—and don’t cut yourself. After you get through with that, I need for you to grate up this fresh coconut for the cake. After that, you needs to go out in the courtyard and help Rosebud sweep.” She opened the oven door and took out a pan of little tiny angel biscuits, which she set on the table. Next, she took a baked ham out of the fridge and set it beside the biscuits. “Mr. Lew, I reckon you better take this here knife and start slicing up that ham. Thin slices now. No, not like that. Lemme show you.” She took the knife from him and cut off a slice so thin you could pretty near see through it.”
Lew Masters tried again, and finally got one that satisfied Willie Mae, who then turned to Biggie. “Now, then, Miss Biggie, you open these here biscuits and put a piece
of ham in each one. No, not hanging over the sides like that. Fold it first. There, I reckon that’ll have to do. Miss Hen, you’d best finish them flowers Miss Mary Ann done started.”
of ham in each one. No, not hanging over the sides like that. Fold it first. There, I reckon that’ll have to do. Miss Hen, you’d best finish them flowers Miss Mary Ann done started.”
We worked for about five minutes without talking, then Biggie, setting a ham biscuit on the silver tray Willie Mae had provided, turned to Mr. Masters. “I guess one of these days soon, you and Mary Ann will be having a wedding party.”
Mr. Masters looked sad. “I can only hope and pray,” he said.
“I’m surprised,” Biggie said. “You obviously care for her, and she seems fond of you. What could stop you from marrying?”
“Many things.” Mr. Masters put down his knife. “Is this enough ham, Miss Willie Mae?” When Willie Mae nodded, he turned back to Biggie. “For one thing, you may not know it, but Mary Ann was abandoned by her first husband, that worm, Quinton Quincy. Even though I’ve told her I’ll be true to her until death, she has trouble believing me. She says she doesn’t know whether she can ever trust a man again. Frankly, I don’t know what to do. I’d do anything to prove my love for her.”
Biggie patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, honey. Right now, she’s worried about the murder, and how Brian’s taking it. If you’ve never been a mother, you couldn’t understand a mother’s feelings. I’m sure she’ll come around. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”
“Really? You think she cares?”
“Sure!” Biggie said. “Just give her time.”
“Oh, I will, Miss Biggie, all the time in the world. I’ll wait for her forever.”
“That’s the spirit.” Biggie got up and went to the fridge, and took out a bowl of washed parsley. She began putting it around the tray of ham biscuits for a garnish. “How are we doing, Willie Mae?”
“We gonna make it.” Willie Mae was beating batter for the Lane cake.
And, somehow, it did all get done. Before the wedding party arrived from the church, I took a peep out at the courtyard. A long buffet table had been set up next to the ivy-covered wall. It was spread with a pink cloth and in the middle stood a big silver bowl full of pink roses with fern leaves and baby’s breath. Silver trays were piled high with quiche and ham biscuits. A crystal bowl held fruit salad with a smaller bowl full of poppy seed dressing next to it. And, right in the middle, stood a four-layer Lane cake covered in white icing. All around the base of the cake was a wreath of sugared fruit: strawberries, green grapes, kumquats, and black cherries. It was the most beautiful cake I’d ever seen. Another table was set up with bottles of champagne iced down in a big silver punchbowl. I glanced around at the smaller tables, also with pink cloths and rose bouquets in little silver vases. These were for the people to sit at while they ate. I looked at the fountain with its statue of a young girl. Somebody had floated white gardenias all over the top of the water. It was beautiful. I wondered what the wedding guests would think if they knew that just two nights ago, Annabeth Baugh had lay dead in that very fountain.
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