Stay At Home Dead (8 page)

Authors: Jeffrey Allen

BOOK: Stay At Home Dead

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The next day, I did what any man accused of a crime he didn’t commit would do.

I went to the park and played in the sand.

Carly didn’t have school, and I didn’t have anywhere I had to be. We spent the morning at the park down the street, Carly running wild on the slides and climbing walls and swings, me watching her out of one eye and catching up on some reading. She helped me clean the house in the afternoon, and then, after her nap, she assisted me in the kitchen, getting chicken tacos and a salad together for dinner, which we had on the table just as Julianne walked in the door. We had a pleasant dinner and did three laps around the block this time before calling it a night. Julianne was asleep by the time I came down from putting Carly to bed, and I crawled into bed next to her, smiling at our uneventful, normal Winters day.

The next day, however, wasn’t so normal.

Sharon Ann and Deborah were waiting for me outside Carly’s classroom. Sally Meadows gave me a look like she was sorry, but there wasn’t anything she could do. I signed Carly in, gave her a kiss good-bye, and walked out into the hallway to face the powerful WORMS.

There were no fake or forced smiles this time. They were both serious, dressed in similar workout outfits. Black Lycra tights, Sharon Ann in a red tank top, Deborah in an aqua one. Serious, aerobics-doing women.

“Have you thought about headbands?” I asked. “Olivia Newton-John made them fashionable.”

They looked at each other, confused, missing the irony of their outfits. As usual.

“Deuce,” Sharon Ann said, getting right to it. “There is a special meeting tomorrow night. You’ll need to be there.”

“I’m busy,” I said. “Stevie Wonder’s coming over to show me his new hairdo.”

“It’s in your best interest to be there,” Deborah added, ignoring me.

“What’s the meeting about?”

They exchanged another glance, this one nervous, their confidence eroding.

“About you,” Sharon Ann said.

“Me?”

“We’ve petitioned the school and parents advisory board to have you removed from your position as Room Dad,” Sharon Ann said.

The anger cut through my gut. “You what?”

Sharon Ann held her ground. “Deuce. Don’t take this personally.”

“How should I take it?” I shut my eyes, gritted my teeth, and waved my hands. “Hold on. Back up. What is your reasoning behind this little male witch hunt?”

“We told you yesterday,” Sharon Ann said calmly. “With the cloud surrounding you, we feel it would be best if someone relieves you of your duties.”

“Temporarily, of course,” Deborah added flatly.

By temporarily I was pretty sure she meant permanently.

“There is no cloud,” I said.

They looked at each other and laughed, like I was one of the kids and I’d said something cute and silly.

“Deuce,” Sharon Ann said. “Really. We know what’s going on. Everyone does. First, Benny’s body ...”

“Nothing is going on,” I said through clenched teeth.

“And now the whole stalker thing with Shayna,” she continued. “Really. We don’t think this is good for the kids.”

“Shayna called me and told me you showed up out of nowhere,” Deborah said in a disapproving voice. “My sister tells me everything.”

I was reaching my boiling point fast, and I needed to cool off. I was certain that screaming at them in the school hallway would not look too good.

“First off, I’m not stalking
anyone.
Get that through your thick, empty heads. And the kids are finger painting and putting glue in each other’s hair,” I said. “They have no idea what’s going on.”

“But, then, you do admit something is going on, correct?” Deborah said, smirking like she’d solved a riddle.

Sharon Ann nodded her approval. Like they were Batman and Robin. Or Dumb and Dumber.

I could hire a nanny. I could go back to teaching and coaching. Leave this freaking circus behind.

Wrong. There was no way I was going to let these two fake-breasted exercise Nazis run me out of my daughter’s preschool classroom. Not now, not ever.

“Don’t come to the meeting, then,” Sharon Ann said. “Might be easier for you to save face that way.”

“I’ll be there,” I said. “You can count on it. No way I’m giving up my spot.”

Deborah made a tsk-tsking sound and pursed her lips. “It could get ugly.”

“Whatever,” I said, backing away and heading toward the parking lot. “Oh. And you wanna know something else?”

They both straightened their posture as if they were being judged.

“You’d both be better suited to working out in loose-fitting clothing,” I said, smiling. “Neither of you has the ass to wear tights.”

The new minivan showcased its handling as I tore out of the school parking lot, irritated and on fire. I’d made last-second touchdown grabs. I’d faced down arrogant teenagers. I’d changed dirty diapers in public. There was absolutely zero chance I was going to let Sharon Ann and Deborah impeach me.

My stomach rumbled, and it wasn’t just from the anger. I’d skipped breakfast, and my little confrontation had apparently spurred my appetite. So I headed toward Rose Petal Square.

Rose Petal Square was actually a street. The original downtown area hadn’t actually formed a square or rectangular area, but the powers that be had wanted a town square that would draw locals and lost tourists. So they’d come up with the brilliant idea of naming a street Rose Petal Square in hopes of confusing everyone.

And it worked.

Right in the middle of the six-block length of Rose Petal Square was Delilah’s, a diner that also served as the unofficial town hall. You wanted to get the proverbial pulse of Rose Petal, you had a little breakfast and eavesdropped at Delilah’s.

It was also where my father, official town council member, had breakfast every day.

I found him at a back table with Cedric Cobb and Sheldon Monaghan.

He raised his eyes as I approached. “Well, well. If it isn’t my son, the stalker.”

I grabbed the empty chair next to him. “I will stab you in the eye with that spoon on the table if you keep it up.”

Cedric chuckled and Sheldon laughed into his mug of coffee.

“Hear you got a little get-together tomorrow night, too,” Cedric said, pointing at me with a forkful of egg.

“Jesus. How do you already know that?”

All three men just shrugged.

“What’s all this business with Shayna?” my father asked.

“There is no business with Shayna,” I said sharply. “It’s garbage.”

“Restraining order ain’t garbage, Deuce,” Sheldon said, then took a sip from his coffee.

Sheldon Monaghan was my father’s oldest friend. They’d played ball together at Rose Petal back in their day, and they’d remained close ever since. Sheldon had parlayed his role as the town’s most prominent Realtor into an eleven-year stint as Rose Petal’s mayor. With his shock of white hair and ever-present bifocals, he looked about ten years older than my father. He compensated for that by dating women half his age.

“No idea why she filed it,” I told them. “She called me and asked me to come over. Nothing happened at her house.”

“I’ll give Gerald a call,” Cedric said. “See if he’ll spill anything.”

Gerald Kantner was the judge in Rose Petal. Normally, he occupied the chair I was sitting in.

“I’d appreciate that,” I said.

The waitress came, and I ordered pancakes, bacon, and orange juice.

“What’d Julianne say?” my dad asked.

“About what you’d expect. Told me to stop doing stupid things.”

“Smart girl, that Julianne,” my father said. “Excepting, of course, her choice in husbands.”

The other two men nodded.

“Your dad was asking me about this thing old Benny was involved in,” Sheldon said, adjusting his bifocals.

“Know anything?”

“I know Odell Barnabas is about as dumb as a dead fish,” he said with a frown. “That boy is several crayons short of a full box.”

We all laughed.

“He was trying to buy a couple of acres out near the lake,” the mayor said, resting his elbows on the table. “Problem was, he didn’t have any money.” He grinned. “Wanted to know if he could finance without a down payment. He said he was working on finding investors.”

“Did he have any clue what he was doing?” I asked. “Did he even have a plan drawn up? A design of the building? Anything?”

“My guess would be that he had it all drawn up on a couple of cocktail napkins.”

“Let me ask you guys something,” I said, looking at each of them. “Benny ever strike you guys as being dumb enough to get dragged into something like this?”

“Not really,” Cedric said, speaking for his friends. “But Benny, he didn’t exactly have it easy since that night he hit you.” He shifted his weight in his chair. “He didn’t handle it as well as you did.”

My food arrived, and I dug into the pancakes. I wasn’t aware that I’d handled the end of my football career all that well. I’d sat around and moped for six months, nearly flunked out of A&M at the end of my first year, and put on about twenty pounds, most of it from beer. It was only after I met Julianne that I got my act together and stopped feeling sorry for myself. And, to be totally honest, there were days when I saw kids going to practice or I caught a game on TV that I still had a twinge of self-pity.

“But if he gave this fella Barnabas any of his money,” Cedric said, shaking his head, “well, that woulda been an all-time low for even Benny.”

“Not your problem, son,” my father reminded me. “Now, those tough women at Rettler-Mott? They are definitely your problem.”

The three of them laughed loudly, and I stifled a smile by shoving more pancakes in my mouth.

They moved on to other topics. I loved hearing them talk. I always had. The ease of their friendship was evident in their words; the way they needled each other—and every other resident of Rose Petal—was born of sheer affection. There were much worse ways to age other than to sit around yakking with good friends.

Sheldon sat up a little straighter as I was polishing off my bacon. He adjusted his glasses. “You wanna have a chat with Odell Barnabas?”

I remembered Julianne’s advice. “No, I guess not. Don’t see the point, really.”

Cedric started to laugh and looked down at the table.

The mayor jutted out his bottom lip. “Well, Deuce, you may not have a choice. Because he just walked in and he’s heading our way.”

The first thing I noticed about Odell Barnabas was his hair.

The thick black hair was greased and combed up into a massive, oily pompadour that protruded off his forehead, making him look a bit like a rooster. Thick sideburns crept down his cheeks, beneath his ears, and almost to his jawline.

His eyes were wide set and bright blue, so blue I was certain that he was wearing contacts. His nose was flat and crooked. I tried to locate his neck but failed to find it, his oblong-shaped head sitting squarely on his rounded shoulders. Maybe six feet tall, minus the hair.

He wore a black leather jacket, a stark white T-shirt that showcased a nice little paunch above his belt, and blue jeans rolled over the top of black boots. A cigarette was tucked behind his left ear, and he walked with his chest out and a bounce in his step.

But there was something about the hair that just creeped me out.

He nodded at my father and his two friends, then looked at me. “I’m Odell. Hear you been askin’ about me.”

It was part Fonzie, part Vinnie Barbarino, part “I saw a guy in a movie talk like this once.”

“Uh,” I said, unsure how to answer. “I guess.”

He lifted his chin. “You want in?”

“In?”

“On the thing.”

My father and his friends were all squirming in their chairs, doing their best to keep from laughing.

“The thing?”

“I got it outside,” he said. “Come on out. I’ll show ya.” He turned back toward the front of the restaurant, like he was checking to see if something was out there, then looked back at me.

And that was when I figured out the hair.

When he turned, the hair sort of wobbled on his head, didn’t really move in sync with the rest of his body, like there was a brief delay.

The great big pompadour was a great big toupee.

And now I was having difficulty taking my eyes off it.

He pulled a comb from the back pocket of his jeans and ran it front to back through the side of his hair. I found it to be a gutsy move, because unless the rug was rubber cemented to his head, there was a fifty-fifty chance it was coming off with a single pull of the comb.

“I got it out in my truck,” he said, now pulling the comb through the other side.

Why would you risk combing a toupee? Wasn’t that what all the grease or mousse or whatever it was in his hair was for? Don’t you style it before you leave the house and then put up a force field around it? Or, better yet, don’t you order it that way from wherever you get them? Toupees-Mart?

My father’s elbow found my ribs, and I managed to look away from the hair. “Uh, sure. I guess. Remind me, though. What exactly are you showing me?”

He shoved the comb back in his pocket and tugged on the lapels of the leather jacket. “You’ll see, Ace. Follow me.”

He turned on his boot heel and strutted to the front door.

I looked at the other three men at the table. “He doesn’t bite, does he?”

My father shook his head and glanced over his shoulder. “Odell, no. But that hair very well might have teeth in there somewhere.”

Teeth. Maybe that was how it stayed on.