Murder Gets a Life (9 page)

“Pawpaw?”

“He had the opportunity. But so did Eddie and Howard. They each hugged me when I went in Howard’s trailer.” Mary Alice thought for a moment. “But you know, Mouse, it could have happened any time we were crowded around listening to the sheriff. It could have been anybody there.”

I suddenly remembered the smell of grape-jelly breath, of someone’s whispering that Sunshine had crawled out from under a rock. “What time is Ray’s plane?” I asked.

“Around seven. Why?”

“Because he’s walking into a mess.” I reached into the nightstand, got a notepad and a pencil. “Okay. Let’s start with Sunshine. What do we know about her?”

“She looks like a Barbie doll.”

I wrote down
Barbie
. No one looks like a Barbie doll naturally. Or cheaply.

“She’s a nursing student at Jefferson State, lives with her grandmother because her mother’s a porn actress.”

“Aha!” I wrote down
Frances Zata
. My best friend and recently retired counselor from Robert Alexander High had just taken a part-time counseling job at Jeff State. Said she wasn’t cut out for retirement. Frances doesn’t mind sharing a little information occasionally.

“Lives in a trailer with her grandmother,” I muttered. “What about clothes?”

“What are you talking about?” Mary Alice asked.

“Where does Sunshine keep her clothes? I didn’t see much closet space in that trailer.”

“Maybe she doesn’t have many.”

“At twenty and looking like she does? Get real, Sister. Besides, I’ve got an idea that Kerrigan makes a lot of money. A whole lot.” I wrote
clothes
and
money
. Then I added
car
. “Her car doesn’t fit either.”

Mary Alice yawned. “The main thing is she’s missing and left a bloody nightgown by a body.”

I looked up from my notes. “The nightgown was
by the body? I don’t remember seeing a nightgown, do you?”

“No. But I wasn’t paying much attention, to tell you the truth, to anything but the Indian guy. Anyway, that’s what Eddie Turkett said, and he could have been wrong.”

Nevertheless, I wrote down
nightgown
.

Mary Alice yawned again. “Look, I don’t think I got a wink of sleep last night. All I want you to do is tell me if you think I ought to call the sheriff about this note.”

“I said probably.”

“Then maybe I will.”

“Okay.”

“It could be a joke.”

“Could be. Not likely.”

“I’ll see.” Mary Alice stood up. “You know what, Mouse?”

“What?”

“We know Meemaw’s name now.” She ambled out of the door. I hoped she made it home before she went to sleep.

Frances Zata is the most elegant-looking woman I have ever known. Hair a beautiful color of blonde pulled back into a chignon, face unlined, eyes round and blue, she’s a sixty-year-old paean to chemistry, cosmetics, and surgery. She’s also a dingbat at times. She’s currently madly in love with a pink Victorian house on Choctawhatchee Bay in Destin, Florida, and its owner. In that order, I suspect. He’s grieving over the death of his fiancee and Frances is keeping close tabs on which step he’s on in his grief. I’m predicting a spring wedding as he seems to be bearing up very
well. In the meantime, Frances has taken the job at Jeff State. I picked up the phone and called her.

“Hey, Patricia Anne,” she said. “Good thing you called today. I’m off Fridays and Mondays so I can go to the coast.”

“How’s Jason?”

“He’s way past denial and anger. Getting into acceptance.”

“That’s good.”

“Coming right along. What’s up with you?”

“You got an hour or so?”

“I think I’m the only one on the whole campus today. Tell me.”

So I told her about Haley and Philip. Frances commiserated with me; her only son lives in London. Then I got into the Ray-Sunshine story, described the dinner party, the snooping trip Mary Alice and I took, and Chief Joseph.

“You were there?” Frances interrupted. “My Lord. I read about that in the paper. A hog-butchering knife?”

“Stuck to the linoleum.” I heard Frances gasp as I segued to Sunshine’s disappearance, the bloody nightgown, the search through the woods.

Frances is a good listener which makes her a good counselor, but I didn’t want to push my luck. I left out a few details like Gabriel and the Port-o-John and the porn movies. Interesting details that she would enjoy someday soon when we had an afternoon to visit.

“Anyway,” I finished, “I wonder if you could look Sunshine’s record up for me. See what kind of student she is, if she’s in any kind of extracurricular activities, if she cuts class much.”

“I’ve already pulled her record up, Patricia Anne. These used to be confidential, you know. Now any
body with a computer can get to them. We’ll probably have to go back to the old-fashioned manila folders in file cabinets someday. Give me a minute. Let me see what we’ve got.”

I could hear clicks from her computer.

“Pretty good grades,” Frances announced. “Came for tutoring in chemistry.”

“Did she cut class much?”

“My Lord, Patricia Anne. They don’t have that old three-cuts-and-you’re-out rule like they did when you and I were in school back in the Ice Age.”

“They don’t keep attendance?”

“Nope. Not like we had to, girlfriend.”

“Extracurricular activities?” I waited for the search.

“Don’t see any. That’s not unusual, though. These are day students who go back to jobs or their neighborhood pursuits.”

“The only thing to pursue in her neighborhood is rabbits.”

“In Redmont?”

“She lives in Locust Fork, Frances. In a trailer. Are you sure you have the right girl?”

“How many Sunshine Marie Dabbs would be enrolled here? It gives her address as 30535 Redmont Crest. Now isn’t that up on Red Mountain close to Mary Alice? One of those fancy houses?”

“Maybe they moved,” I said lamely.

“Well, she’s a pretty girl, even in this school picture. Reminds me of Audrey Hepburn. Remember how we all went out and got Audrey Hepburn
Roman Holiday
haircuts, Patricia Anne?”

“She’s got short dark hair?”

“She did last fall.”

I’d read somewhere that hair grows a half inch a month. It was possible, I supposed, that Audrey
Hepburn could have turned into a blonde Barbie in eleven months. Though if you were an Audrey Hepburn, why would you want to?

“Do you see anything else interesting? Who’s listed as her father?”

“They don’t have to give that anymore, Patricia Anne. I guess they think people might be snooping in these records.”

God forbid.

“She does say in case of emergency to contact Edward Turkett.”

“That’s her uncle.”

“Well, he’s listed at that same address she gave on Redmont.”

“That’s strange.”

“Not so strange. A lot of these kids live with relatives.”

I wasn’t about to explain Meemaw and the trailer to Frances. I thanked her for the information and promised that I would give Haley her love and wish her every happiness. Lunch soon.

Lord! None of the pieces of this jigsaw puzzle fit. Who in the world were the Turketts? What I needed was a Gabriel to tell me. I closed my eyes and thought of all I would ask him.

I
t was a mistake closing my eyes. When I woke up, it was three o’clock and my morning headache had come back full blast. I groaned and went into the kitchen for aspirin. The television in the den was still on, and in the corner of the screen the temperature was posted, 103 degrees.

I heard a car door slam, and a moment later Haley came up the back steps. I opened the door and told her to bring Woofer in, ’tweren’t fit for man nor beast out there. Haley grinned. When she was in the sixth grade, she had a starring part in the class play, a melodrama. Her brothers loved it, mimicking her “’Tain’t fit fer man nor beast” until Fred put his foot down.

She was back in a minute, pushing a reluctant Woofer. “He was all the way back in his igloo, Mama. He didn’t want to come in.”

I set down a bowl of water with ice in it. Woofer took a few laps and then stretched out on the floor. “I feel better with him in.”

Haley looked at me suspiciously. “Have you been crying?”

“Nope. I’ve just had a nap that lasted way too
long and I have a headache. You want some tea? I’m having some.”

“I’ll get it. Why don’t you go sit in the den, Mama?”

I got my aspirin and did what she said because I felt like I was going to cry again and that wouldn’t do. I had to be happy for Haley. I
was
happy for Haley.

“I talked to Debbie,” she called from the kitchen. “I know what happened this morning.” She came into the den and handed me a glass of tea and a napkin. “What do you think’s going on?”

“I don’t have any idea. That’s a strange bunch of folks, honey. They’ve even got Sheriff Reuse sweating.”

“Lord, I can’t believe that.”

“It’s the truth. Kerrigan Dabbs says the sheriff thinks he’s Sunshine’s father.”

“Really?” Haley thought about this a moment. “Did she say whether he was or not?”

“She said she didn’t know.”

Haley was truly shocked. “Was she serious?”

“Seemed to be.”

“Well, Lord have mercy.”

I laughed at the expression on Haley’s face. “She’s a gorgeous woman, Haley. Elizabeth Taylor eyes. Very little makeup.”

“And a porn star.”

I nodded yes.

Haley put her tea down and sat back on the sofa. “I want to hear some more in a few minutes, but let me bring you up to date on the wedding. For starters, it’s not going to be in the judge’s chambers; it’s going to be in the little chapel at Trinity Methodist.”

“Uh huh.” Somebody, namely Mary Alice Crane,
had been busy with more than looking for a missing daughter-in-law. Why was I not surprised?

“And I’m not going to wear my linen suit. Aunt Sister had the personal shopper from Parisian bring over some dresses for me to try on. There was one—you’ll just love it, Mama—that’s a pale pink silk that I just fell in love with. The lady called it blush, but I don’t think they should call it that. It’s not dark enough.” Haley stopped for a moment, envisioning the dress. “It’s pretty simple. Short. But it’s got about a half an inch of pearl beading around the neck and the sleeves. But the unbelievable thing”—she held up her foot, a foot encased in dirty white canvas Keds—“is that there are shoes to match. Pale pink shoes with beading around the toe and heel.

“And then we’re all having lunch at the Merritt House. Aunt Sister said she would have asked Henry to do it at her house, but Saturday is his busiest day at the club. We’re going to have chicken Kiev.”

“Chicken Kiev,” I repeated, almost out of breath. Here sat my intelligent daughter totally oblivious to the fact that her every wedding plan had been changed by her aunt. Awesome.

“Little new potatoes, those green beans they do so good.” Haley droned on while I thought about what the world would be like if Sister had been born a man. Boggled the mind.

“What do you think, Mama?”

“It sounds lovely.” It really did. And my daughter was happy. So I hadn’t been included in any of the planning. So what? I had a sudden memory of Mama saying, “
Remember, Patricia Anne, your sister always means well
.” I didn’t know about that “always” bit, but in this case, she had. I let go of my resentment
and asked what kind of wedding cake Sister had planned. I couldn’t resist.

Haley, bless her heart, laughed. “She
has
sort of taken over, hasn’t she?”

“And done a good job, it sounds like. Just remember it’s yours and Philip’s wedding, though.”

“I will.” Haley leaned over and patted Woofer. “Mine and Philip’s wedding.” She was tasting the words.

There was a long moment of silence. Then Haley jumped up. “The dress is being altered, but the shoes are in the car. I want you to see them, Mama.”

I grabbed a paper napkin and mopped up a few fresh tears while she ran to the car. The phone rang and I answered it.

“You’ve been crying some more,” Sister said.

“No, I haven’t. I just woke up. Haley’s here.”

“She tell you about the wedding?”

“Every little change.”

“It’s a lot nicer, isn’t it? Who wants to get married at the city hall?”

“A lot of people. Didn’t you and Roger get married at the city hall?”

“And we shouldn’t have. It was by far the least memorable of my weddings. The main thing I remember is the judge had about three hairs pulled all the way over from one ear to the other. I swear, I can’t figure out why men’s wives let them get away with that. I told Roger right after the ceremony that I didn’t care how much balder he got, he wasn’t going to pull his hair all the way over his head.”

“I’m sure he appreciated that.”

“He seemed to. I hope Ray doesn’t get prematurely bald like his daddy did.”

“Prematurely bald? Roger was sixty, Mary Alice.”

“He’d been bald a long time. Has Haley got her outfit with her?”

“She’s gone to the car to get the shoes; the dress is being altered.”

“Well, listen. I’ll pick you up around six-fifteen.”

“For what?”

“To go to the airport to pick up Ray.”

“You want me to go with you?”

“Ray wants you there. When I called to tell him we’d heard from Sunshine, he said for me to be sure to bring you to the airport.”

“When did you talk to Ray?”

Haley came in with a shoebox, sat down, and began to pull off her Keds.

“This morning.”

“How could you talk to him this morning? He was forty thousand feet over the Pacific Ocean.”

“I picked up the phone and dialed him, Mouse. Simple. Anyway, I’ll pick you up around six-fifteen. Tell Haley I want to see her outfit.” The phone went dead.

Haley held up a beaded shoe for my admiration.

“Beautiful,” I said, nodding. “You know what? Your Aunt Sister says she called Ray on an airplane halfway across the Pacific. Doesn’t that boggle your mind? Forty thousand feet up there in the air and the phone ringing?”

“They just bounce it off a satellite.”

Yeah. Just bounce if off a satellite. She was dealing here with a woman who still hasn’t figured out how they squeeze all the voices onto the wires.

“Aren’t these pretty?” Haley got up and walked around. Even Woofer looked up to admire the shoes.

“They’re awesome.” They really were.

“I’ll bring the whole outfit by in the morning for
you to see. Or tonight. I’m picking up the dress around five.”

“Call. It seems I’m going to the airport with Sister to pick up Ray at seven. She said he wants me there. I can’t imagine why. I’ll be glad to see him, though.”

“Ray knows his mama. He wants you there so he can find out immediately what’s going on with Sunshine.”

The answer pleased me, but I felt I had to take up for Mary Alice just like our own mother had. “She means well, Haley.”

“I know she does, Mama. But you hone right in. In Aunt Sister’s version, Sunshine would just get lost in the story somewhere between Gabriel, Pawpaw, and Chief Joseph.”

I swear the correction just popped out. “Among, Haley. Sunshine would get lost
among
. You’ve got three people.”

Haley grinned. “I rest my case.”

“I could not leave him another Lean Cuisine. The man needed vegetables, Sister. Green leafy vegetables like collards.”

“You got Fred collards? They’ll never make it past his hiatal hernia.”

“They will if he walks around during the Braves game. I left him a note to do that.”

“Walk from the television in the den to the one in the bedroom?”

“He just has to keep moving.”

“Lord.”

It was a couple of hours later and we had plenty of time to get to the airport, but Sister was acting a fool. Absolutely. Just because I had run to the
Heights Cafe to get Fred some supper and she had to wait five minutes for me.

“That’s probably Ray’s plane coming in now,” she said.

We were hauling down the interstate with a clear view of the runways. A Cessna was landing. Not another plane was in sight.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

One of the things that surprises first-time visitors to Birmingham is the fact that the airport is practically in downtown. Granted, it’s on the left of Interstate 59–20 if you’re heading to Atlanta, and the downtown high-rise buildings are on the right, but runways and interstate run parallel. Somehow, thanks to chain-link fences and flashing arrows, it works. And it’s convenient.

This late August afternoon, Jones Valley, where downtown and the airport are located, was simmering. You could see the heat rising from the pavement and fogging around the buildings. The sun setting to our left was a smoky red.

“What did it get up to today?” Mary Alice asked.

“A hundred four, they said on the five o’clock news.”

“Did they say anything about Chief Joseph’s murder?”

“Didn’t mention it. Mainly talking about a couple of banks got robbed. And the heat.”

“The dog days. Have you ever noticed how many banks get robbed during the dog days?” Mary Alice took the airport exit and turned left.

I’d never noticed a connection so I changed the subject. “We’ve got plenty of time,” I said as she swung into the parking deck. I looked at my watch.
“We probably have time for a sandwich. I’m hungry.”

“You are not. You’re never hungry.” Mary Alice slowed down. “Watch for a place. I swear I wish they hadn’t done away with Saint Christopher. He always found me a parking place.”

“I don’t think they did away with him. Just demoted him.”

“How can you demote a saint, Mouse? Besides, what did the man ever do to deserve demotion anyway?”

I shrugged. I sure didn’t know.

“Just confuses people,” Mary Alice grumbled.

I thought about advising her to write to the Pope and complain but decided it would be wiser not to since she was already peeved about having to wait while I got Fred the collards.

Fortunately a car was backing out on the second level. We parked and walked across to the terminal. It was a short walk, but it was still over a hundred degrees and we were sweating when the doors slid open and cool air rushed out to greet us.

Ray’s flight, Delta 180 from Atlanta, was listed as being on time. It may seem strange that someone flying in from the west has to fly to Atlanta, change planes, and come back west to Birmingham. It seems strange to us. A favorite expression in Birmingham is that you can’t go anywhere, not even to hell, without going through Atlanta. Having flown over my house numerous times on the way to Atlanta, I believe it.

The Birmingham International Airport is a pleasant place, not hustle and bustle like Atlanta’s. More shuffle and pause. But that’s fine. We rode up the escalator and made our way to the waiting area for
Concourse C where a few people sat watching
Wheel of Fortune
.

“How come they call this an international airport?” Mary Alice asked, sitting in one of the connected chairs and dropping her purse on the floor with a thump. “You ever hear of an international flight coming in here?”

“Maybe one stopped one time on their way to Atlanta. Hijacked or something.”

“Yeah, sure. Can’t you just see a hijacker bursting into the cockpit and demanding that the pilot take him to Birmingham, Alabama?”

“It’s a nice place.”

“It is,” Sister agreed. “Maybe Ray will decide to stay.”

“After he meets his new in-laws? Dream on, Sister.”

“They’re just a little eccentric.”

No way I was going to touch that one.

Across from us and down a couple of seats, a young woman sat knitting a green afghan.

Mary Alice leaned forward. “Our mother was a hooker,” she informed her.

The woman looked up in surprise.

“She means she hooked rugs,” I explained. “Beautiful ones.” I turned and frowned at Mary Alice.

“Well, she knew what I was talking about. Good Lord, Mouse.” Sister turned back to the young woman. “You knew what I was talking about, didn’t you?”