Cold Tea on a Hot Day (19 page)

“Jaydee’s wife?” Belinda peeked around the paper. “Did he marry that twenty-one-year-old girl he’s been goin’ around with?”

“Uh-huh. A week ago Sunday.”

“Welll…he’s at that age for men.”

Marilee frowned at the comment, which she found highly sexist. She also found Belinda highly lacking in her attitude about the situation with her parents. She was tired of being the one to shoulder all the care about all of this.

“This is pretty much of a surprise about that dead guy being Fayrene’s first ex-husband, isn’t it?” Belinda again peeked around the paper. “How many husbands has she had?”

“Three, I think.” Marilee plopped a brownie in the dish and licked her fingers.

“Well, it sure is a good thing Fayrene read that back issue of the paper, isn’t it? If she had just thrown it out, no one might ever have known about that guy bein’ her ex-husband.”

Marilee leaned back against the chrome cabinets. “Belinda, we need to get your father to call your mother.
The longer they stay split like this, the harder it will be for them to make up.”

“I don’t know what we can do about it.”

“What if your mother does not go home, Belinda? What if this turns out to be a permanent split?”

Belinda peered around the paper. “Well, I told Daddy that I’m gonna hire somebody to come in here to work this counter during the day. Just because he had Mama doin’ it for thirty-five years, doesn’t mean I’m gonna. I’ll work four nights a week, like I have, and that’s all.” She disappeared back behind the paper.

Marilee stared at the wall of newspaper, and then her gaze went to the pharmacy window. She thought of her aunt’s face whenever speaking to or about Winston Valentine. She looked down at the box of brownies, took a second one and plopped it into the dish.

Belinda said, “I knew all this about Fayrene’s ex-husband. Lyle was over there at the station Friday afternoon when Fayrene came in, waving the picture of the car in the paper. He went with the sheriff to take her up to identify the body. He said when she saw the man, she went nuts, just flipped right out. I guess she had really been countin’ on seein’ this guy, and not dead.”

Dropping an enormous scoop of vanilla ice cream atop the brownies, Marilee thought that people counted on so much in this life, such as finding a mate and staying in love. Being able to find happiness. Being able to at least know what life was about. High expectations that appeared to be a mistake.

“It sure is funny about this guy using an alias. John V. Smith…Wonder what that
V
was for.”

“It was a made-up name,” Marilee pointed out with an energetic tone she felt necessary to combat Belinda’s one-way train of thought, as she scooped warm fudge over the ice cream.

“Well, that was the whole trouble with why they couldn’t identify him. They were runnin’ searches on a John V. Smith, not a Dan Kaplan,” Belinda said, as if the fact needed stating. “Lyle said the sheriff mentioned right off that it was strange this guy just had a driver’s license and no credit cards or anything. What did Fayrene say about her husband using a fake ID?” She peeked out with a raised eyebrow. “Lyle never saw her after she flipped out.”

“I only talked to her a minute. She wasn’t in any shape for me to ask questions.” Marilee said, taking up the can of whipped cream, shaking it. “I got what’s in the article from the sheriff.”

She aimed whipped cream at her sundae and thought that it would be a waste of effort to talk to Belinda about her mother’s probable infatuation with Winston; Belinda would not be able to bring her head out of the newspaper.

Fluffy cream spurted out, and then only a dribbling stream. “Are you all out of whipped cream?”

“I don’t know.”

Marilee walked to the refrigerator in the storeroom and returned shaking a fresh can of whipped cream, the ball inside clinking like a piston.

Belinda was saying, “Lyle says fake drivers’ licenses are real easy to get. You can get ’em at a lot of flea markets, if you know who to see. I don’t know why any
of us bother to go get a real driver’s license, if that is the case.”

Why, indeed? The whipped cream shot out of the can with a velocity that caused her to jump.

“Well, Fayrene will be sittin’ pretty,” Belinda said, “if she gets the fifty thousand.”

“What fifty thousand?” Marilee paused in the act of opening the jar of cherries.

Belinda peeked around the paper. “The fifty-thousand dollars that was in the guy’s trunk. You didn’t know about it? I thought maybe you knew but the sheriff didn’t want you to put it in the article. Lyle says he wants it kept quiet right now.”

“No.” And if the sheriff wanted it quiet, he shouldn’t have told Lyle.

“Oh, well, I guess Neville is still lookin’ into it. I don’t think they’ve even told Fayrene. Lyle just told me this mornin’. Lyle thinks Fayrene could end up gettin’it, since her ex doesn’t have any relatives. But that’s only if it isn’t stolen. This Dan Kaplan could have just robbed a bank or something.”

Belinda disappeared behind the newspaper again.

Marilee stood there with the jar of cherries, wondering if she ought to go down there and get the scoop from Neville.

But she really didn’t want to. Lord knew she had a story she was supposed to be writing right that minute, and here she was making a gigantic sundae. She wanted to sit down with the sundae and eat every scrap of it. Besides, there was little need for a write-up in the newspaper; with Lyle knowing about the money, likely half the town would know by the end of the day.

She twisted the top off the jar of cherries and fished out a stem with her fingers, while Belinda commented on the sinkhole.

“Wonder where all that dirt went?” she said. “Maybe it fills up the hole where they have pumped out oil somewhere else. Holes do have to be filled.”

Marilee plopped the cherry in her mouth, twirling the stem and tying it in a knot with her tongue. Stuart had taught her that trick. It took concentration and settled her mind.

Chocolate Sundaes

T
he bell over the door rang out. It was Charlene MacCoy. She came over to the soda fountain and ordered two barbecue sandwiches and three fountain Coca-Colas to go.

“The sandwiches are for me and Oralee,” she said. “Dixie doesn’t touch barbecue. I wish I wouldn’t,” she added with a sigh.

“Marilee will make the sandwiches for you.” Belinda sat where she was. “You’re already workin’ around, Marilee.”

Marilee reached for the container of buns. While she began making the sandwiches, Imperia Brown came in to discuss another month of weekly Blaine’s Drugstore ads in the newspaper with Belinda, since Vella, who usually handled the store’s advertising, wasn’t available.

Belinda refused to do anything about the advertising. “I’m not takin’ on that job. You’ll have to talk to Daddy.”

Imperia, who never minced words, said, “Girl, talkin’ to Perry is like talkin’ to a stump.” Then, “Marilee, that barbecue smells good. Would you make me one?” Imperia was a big-boned woman who deemed worrying about eating schedules and calories and cholesterol harmful to health.

Marilee got out another bun.

Imperia, who sported fire-engine-red fingernails, admired Charlene’s manicure, and Charlene said that it was the work of the new nail technician who had just begun that week.

“I’m getting too old to be doin’ nails,” Charlene sighed. “It is a young woman’s job.”

“Oh, listen to you, girl,” Imperia said, waving her away. “Age is a matter of mind.”

“Age is a matter of eyes, too, and mine are starin’ down the barrel of the far side of forty-five. You can do all sorts of things to look thirty-five forever, but there is just no way to make your eyes see like they did at thirty-five.”

Imperia, who was in her midthirties, cast Charlene a startled look.

“I don’t imagine you need to work, anyway, bein’ married to Mason MacCoy now,” Belinda said, not at all concealing envy.

“Well, I still have a life,” Charlene pointed out. “I’ve gone back to school for a license in therapeutic massage. I’ll do that in a dim room anyway, and we’re planning to put in a salon at the retirement community. Iris is going to finance it, and Dixie and I are goin’ to run it, and we’re goin’ to offer massages and all sorts of herbal treatments.”

Marilee, who had been listening idly and who now handed Charlene her sack of sandwiches, thought how lovely Charlene was. Attitude, she concluded. Since marrying Mason, Charlene seemed to get younger every day, which was a mark in favor of marriage, Marilee thought, her gaze drifting to the mirror to check out her own appearance.

There were deeper than normal circles under her eyes, and her hair was limp. She was just about ready to fall off the vine, and then who would want her? Would she bloom, as Charlene had done, if she married Parker?

Just then Charlene said, “I got your note last week, Marilee, and I meant to call and tell you that we’ll be there for Parker’s birthday party on Saturday. I’ll bring my sour cream dip.”

The party was a casual affair that Marilee had somehow fallen into organizing each year for the past five. She had sent out the reminder notes to Parker’s small group of friends at the beginning of the month and then forgotten about it. She started just a bit when Charlene mentioned it.

“I have to get the cake,” she said, checking the calendar. “I forgot about it.”

“How old is Parker gonna be?” Belinda wanted to know.

“Forty-three.”

“Has he ever been married?”

“Once…for six months when he was twenty.” Marilee wondered why she always answered Belinda’s intimate questions.

Just then Iris MacCoy entered the store and came
forward with rapid steps, even in platform shoes. She gave Charlene, her sister-in-law, a kiss on the cheek like she always did, whether she saw her once a week or three times in a day, and showed them all a poster she wanted to put in the window, announcing the grand opening of the Green Acres Senior Living Community.

“See…we are emphasizing the word
Living.
The chamber is putting advertisements in national magazines, too.”

Going gung ho on working with her husband Adam on building a full-service retirement community, Iris had taken a position on the board of the chamber of commerce. It was widely agreed that Iris could get men to do what they had set their minds not to do. In point of fact, her husband Adam had told everyone he did not intend to build a community for retired old farts, and a week after Iris worked on him, he was contacting architects.

“Iris designed the poster herself,” Charlene pointed out.

Each woman made appropriate compliments over it. Iris really had a flare for color and design. She was herself very much of an eye-catcher. Her personal style of bimbo pretty much camouflaged the fact that she had an intelligent brain. Marilee, who had known Iris moderately well for eight years, had an idea that both libertine and intellectual existed inside the woman, and she envied Iris for being able to contain such conflicting natures with apparent peace.

Marilee put Imperia’s barbecue sandwich in front of her on the counter. She saw Iris, setting herself on a stool, eyeing the plate.

“Do you want one?” Marilee asked her.

“Well…what I’d really like is one of those hot fudge sundaes.” She pointed her silvery-nailed finger in the direction of Marilee’s carefully constructed sundae.

Marilee stuck a stainless-steel spoon in the ice cream, now softened just the way she liked it, and plopped the dish in front of Iris. She wondered if she might get some tips.

Belinda was up and leaning on the counter, reading aloud the list of activities for the opening. “All day buffet…bingo…pinball…pool tournament…golf tournament…poker…gospel and country music bands and dancing in the evening.” She looked up. “You sure better have paramedics on-site…you are gonna kill these people with all this activity.”

Marilee watched Iris stick a spoonful swirled with vanilla and chocolate into her mouth. Turning to the shelves, she took down another sundae dish.

Outside on the sidewalk, Tate Holloway looked up and saw Parker Lindsey approaching from the opposite direction. It was plain that both of them were headed to the drugstore.

Tate stepped up his pace, ducked into the alcove just ahead of Lindsey and got a drip on the top of his head from the air conditioner just as he pushed open the door.

“After you.” Tate motioned Lindsey onward. He also got another drip, as he was standing in the correct place for it.

“After you.” Lindsey stood his ground.

“No, please…” Tate gestured magnanimously.

Lindsey kept standing there, so Tate gave in and
stepped forward to enter, but Lindsey picked that second to move, too, so they ended up jostling themselves through the door.

At the bit of commotion at the door, the women at the counter quit talking, and Marilee lifted her eyes from the box of brownies to see two figures entering. With the glare from the bright light through the glass, it took her several seconds to recognize Tate Holloway. Then, with surprise, she saw Parker step out from behind Tate.

Marilee took in the two men. Tate Holloway whipped off his hat, saying, “Good afternoon, ladies,” and his blue eyes met hers. She jerked her gaze downward, pulled a brownie from the box and plopped it into the sundae dish.

“Hello, gals. Havin’ a conference?” Parker asked.

Each of the other women said hello.

Marilee, occupied with arranging two brownies in the dish and avoiding the temptation of stuffing a third directly into her mouth, did not realize she had not offered a greeting until well after the time to do so had passed. Her lapse, however, obviously had not been noted, possibly because of the welcome so evident in the other women at the counter.

It was as if an energy swept them, each woman coming just a little bit more to life as a female will when confronted with powerful male energy, and in this case, it was two very vibrant men suddenly dropping into their midst. Even Belinda, who had been about to lower herself onto her stool, stood straight, brushed a hand through her hair and hid her slippers by tucking them beneath the front counter.

Charlene, moved by the disruption and possibly by
Tate Holloway addressing her as “The most beautiful Miss Charlene,” suddenly remembered that she had to return to the salon. “My gosh, Oralee wants this sandwich!”

She cast a wave. “Marilee, bring the children out to see the ponies. Parker, I’ll see you on your birthday. Bye, y’all.”

Tate was sprinting to open the door, and this set Imperia into motion. She jumped to her feet, leaving her half-eaten sandwich on the counter, saying for Tate’s benefit, “I have customers to visit,” and hurried after Charlene.

Like a knight from a storybook, Tate bowed to each woman as she went through the door. Observing, Marilee thought that there was not a single man around Valentine who behaved as Tate Holloway did. His antics had Iris laughing gaily of course. Iris laughed quite easily anyway. Men just loved the way Iris laughed, with her head lifted and her hand sometimes touching her bare neck, or them. Marilee noticed Tate wink at Iris, not that it was any of her business, and she focused on building herself another sundae.

Parker, who thought Holloway a stupid show-off, nevertheless determined to show off in his own way. He rounded the counter and went about getting himself a Coke out of the fountain machine. He wanted Holloway to see this, to see that this was Parker’s place first. Parker had been here for years and years, and Holloway was a latecomer.

“Would you like somethin’, Tate?” Parker wiped drips off his foaming glass.

“Thank you.” Holloway had sat himself on a stool next to Iris. “I came in for the wonderful iced tea. I miss Miss Vella, but the cold tea is still good.”

“Yes, it is, because it comes from the iced tea maker,” Belinda told him. “It’s made from packets. The only thing Mama did was put the packet in the machine.”

She pushed the button that opened the cash register drawer with a ding and counted away the money Charlene and Imperia had left. Belinda liked to count money. She didn’t like to make food for customers and was inclined to encourage anyone to help himself. She reminded Parker that he needed to pay for his Coke, though.

Parker scooped ice into a glass and poured the tea from the pitcher, then plunked the wet glass in front of Holloway, who said, “Thank you. I appreciate you servin’ me. Pay the lady, too, will you?”

Annoyed to find himself being treated like a servant, Parker grandly told Belinda, “Put the editor’s drink on my tab.”

“I’m not runnin’ a tab like Mama did. I’m not keepin’ track of it.”

He pulled a couple dollars from his pocket and passed them to her outstretched hand.

“Thank you, buddy,” Holloway said with that annoying grin of his. “Could you hand me a slice of lemon there?”

Parker got the lemon slice and threw it so that it plunked with a splash into the man’s glass. “Hey, I’m sorry,
buddy.
” He used Holloway’s term back at him. “Let me wipe up that mess I made.” Parker grabbed a cloth, lifted Holloway’s glass and, with elaborate motions
wiped the counter, setting up to accidently dump the glass in Holloway’s lap.

The next instant, however, Holloway reached for the glass. “Thank you, sir. That’s just fine now.”

Parker, feeling thwarted, stepped back and sipped his Coke a couple of times, and then his eyes lit on Marilee, who was busy shaking a can of whipped cream, and thus causing her neat bottom to shake in a nice manner.

Stepping close behind her, he put both hands on her waist and bent his lips near her ear. “That sundae is lookin’ awfully good. Think you could make me one?”

He was thinking: See this, Holloway. This is my place.

Marilee wriggled away from him, saying, “You are perfectly capable of gettin’ it yourself.”

Parker stood there, his back to those on the other side of the counter. Thank goodness Marilee had spoken in a low voice that only he could hear.
What in the hell was wrong with her?
He reached for his soft drink glass and casually turned, checking the faces of those at the counter. He was relieved to see that no one was looking his way. He looked again at Marilee, wondering what had gotten her back up. He was getting darn tired of her prickly manner.

This thought caused an uneasiness inside him, and he drank deeply of his soft drink, then ran his gaze down Marilee’s profile. He found himself caught between being afraid of her breaking off with him, and being afraid she would say she wanted to marry him. He kept hoping if he left it alone, it would all work out somehow.

Marilee plopped a cherry on the top of her sundae. She wished for more, but by eating them and putting them on
sundaes, she had used them all up, and she didn’t want to risk this sundae by taking time to go get another jar from the storeroom. She felt certain that she had annoyed Parker—and she didn’t know why she had done that, except that she didn’t like him putting his hands on her in front of everyone, as if he had ownership.

Of course, surely he did have some sort of ownership, with their pending engagement. Although it might not be pending. Parker had not said one more word about it. Maybe he wanted to just forget he had ever asked, and that he did not tell her this annoyed the living daylights out of her.