Temple Secrets: Southern Humorous Fiction: (New for 2015) For Lovers of Southern Authors and Southern Novels (21 page)

“You worry too much, sweetheart,” Jack says. “Who knows, something good could come out of it.”

“Must you always be so optimistic,” she says, realizing how crazy this sounds. “We need this income, Jack. Your teaching job doesn’t bring in that much money and the girls will be going to college soon. It’s never a good time to lose one of our incomes, but especially right now.”

“Take a breath, Vi. We’ll figure it out.”

Violet knows he’s right, but this meeting has her on edge. To her surprise, however, her shoulder hasn’t warned her of anything horrible about to happen. She feels perfectly fine.

“If I do lose my job, I can probably find something else. But seriously Jack, how much call is there for someone who specializes in how to cook rattlesnake, buffalo and kangaroo? Not to mention the other wild things that have come through my kitchen over the years.” She laughs a short laugh and Jack smiles.

“Maybe it’s time to follow that dream of yours,” he says. “I can get a second job or a third one if I have to. Then you can open your tea shop.”

She pauses, thinking how much she loves this man, before her fear clicks in again.

“Oh Jack, people like us don’t get to follow our dreams. We’re too busy taking care of people who can afford to have them.”

This is gloomy, even for her. Violet needs to get this meeting over with so she can think straight again. She holds up two dresses and he points to one. She slides it on before stepping into her low heels.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

“At least I don’t have to wear my uniform today,” she says.

“You look beautiful even in that.”

She rolls her eyes at him, thinking he should be more worried. Although it seems she carries enough worry for both of them.

Later that morning when Violet arrives at the Temple house, Queenie is already downstairs making coffee. Everyone assumes the house and property will revert to Queenie, who has basically taken care of Miss Temple for almost 40 years.

Not a task for the faint of heart,
Violet thinks.

Even Violet has heard Miss Temple’s promise, telling Queenie the different things that need to be done to keep the Temple mansion in pristine shape.

Savannah owes Queenie a lot. If not for her, Miss Temple might have aimed all that spite at other people.

Above all else, Miss Temple valued loyalty, and Queenie has been more than loyal. Not only to the Temples, but to Violet, too. After Violet lost her mother so young, Queenie always found time for her. Not only is she Violet’s aunt, but a friend.

“Why are you so dressed up?” Queenie asks.

“The meeting later,” Violet says.

Queenie gives a slow nod. She seems distracted, but Violet can’t quite put a finger on why. Sometimes she can read live people, as well as dead ones, but this isn’t one of those times.

“I lost sleep worrying about it,” Violet says.

“Rose must have, too,” Queenie says. “I heard her up early this morning.”

Violet straightens her linen summer dress bought ten years before when Jack received the Teacher of the Year award at the community college. It pleases her that she can still fit into it, but the heels feel ridiculous. She excuses herself and slips them off in the laundry room before putting on a pair of her work shoes.

Not the best look
, she thinks, but at least she’ll be able to still walk by the end of the day.

After returning to the kitchen, she opens the fridge to look for something to make for dinner. With Miss Temple gone, she’s relaxed her strict menu planning and now takes a more spontaneous approach.

“Don’t be surprised if Iris drops a bombshell today,” Queenie says. “Mama called this morning and predicted it.”

“Then I don’t doubt it’s true,” Violet says. She pulls two chicken breasts from the freezer to thaw.

“Coffee’s ready.” Queenie pours herself a cup as Violet makes some English Breakfast tea.

Queenie refuses to be waited on and it was only after Violet’s insistence that Queenie allowed her to prepare her evening meal. They trade sweetener and then half-and-half before sitting at the kitchen table. For decades now they’ve sat at this same table together, long before Violet even began drinking tea. She tilts her head to check in on the psychic energy in the house. The haunting has calmed over the last few days, the ghosts abandoning their usual patterns. Since her death, Miss Temple’s energy has come and gone like power surges flickering the lights during a storm.

Thankfully, the protestors haven’t returned. She doesn’t know if she could take another day of that chant.

“I’ve been thinking about Iris all morning,” Queenie says. “It’s strange to not be bossed around anymore. It’s like having a toothache for thirty-five years that suddenly disappears.”

“You were kind to put up with her for so many years,” Violet says.

“I’m no saint,” Queenie says. “I had good reasons for sticking around.”

“Like what?” Violet asks, her curiosity genuine. Her aunt has been acting strange lately. The more secrets that get released, the more secretive she becomes.

Queenie takes a gulp of hot coffee and then runs to sputter it into the sink.

“Are you okay?” Violet asks.

Queenie wipes coffee from her blouse that blends in with the colorful jungle pattern. “Do you want eggs this morning?” Queenie blows her coffee with gusto now, like she’s trying to blow off Violet’s question.

“Wait a minute. What just happened?” Violet says. “It’s not like you to avoid a subject.”

“I guess I’m worried about what Mama said. She’s usually right with her predictions.”

Violet decides to drop it for now as Queenie take eggs from the fridge and breaks several into a bowl. A hand on her wide hip, Queenie scrambles the eggs in the skillet. Why won’t she answer such a simple question?

“It’s just so quiet without the old gal,” Queenie begins again, as if they were talking about Miss Temple. “By the way, I’m wearing
scented
deodorant today,” she says with a wink.

Violet laughs and then looks around the kitchen for things she should be doing. Until now, she didn’t realize how all-consuming taking care of Miss Temple was. For years Violet had a set routine. First thing in the mornings, after she arrived at work, she read the critique from the day before and made adjustments to the day’s meals. Between cooking, she cleaned the house, a never ending process.

“I don’t think any of our neighbors will miss her,” Violet says. “I’ve gotten an earful from every housekeeper in Savannah. None of their employers liked Miss Temple, though most everybody feared her.”

“Nobody escaped those letters of hers,” Queenie says. “If she disapproved of anything you did, she wrote whoever she thought was your superior a letter, whether it was the Governor, the President of the United States or the Pope. Iris took being a tattle-tale to an international level.”

Queenie delivers the scrambled eggs to the table.

“Did you get the newspaper this morning?” Queenie asks. “It wasn’t there when I looked.”

“The delivery boy seems to have missed us,” Violet says. “Either that or somebody took it.”

“Are things still disappearing off the front porch?” Queenie looks concerned.

“Three potted plants yesterday,” Violet says, “but they left two very full doggy poop bags. Whoever is leaving those must have Dalmatians.”

Queenie grins. “Is this ever going to stop?” she asks, turning serious again.

“I hope so,” Violet says. “The whole neighborhood seems effected. I’ve heard from more than one housekeeper on the block that arguments have increased since the newspaper started running those secrets.”

The door opens and Rose comes in from a long walk. She looks wilted, like an azalea blossom cut from the main bush and left to languish in the heat.

“An old lady in a purple bathrobe just called me a traitor,” Rose says, her face flushed.

“That’s nothing,” Queenie says, “I’ve been called the a-word, the b-word, and the c-word, all in one sentence.”

“Wow, that’s creative,” Rose says.

“I guess we’re all in this together,” Violet says. “In fact, this may be the perfect time to do the sea gypsy’s secret handshake.”

Without hesitation, the three women gather in the center of the kitchen and begin the handshake: two claps, three arm rolls, a hip bump and then ending with arms akimbo while shaking their heads up and down. They laugh.

“Not bad after thirty years,” Rose says.

“Not good either,” Violet says, but the silliness is what she needs on such a serious day.

“Come to think of it, there isn’t even a handshake as part of it,” Queenie says. “I never noticed that before.”

“I don’t know how I would have survived growing up without you girls,” Rose says.

“Me, too,” Violet says. “Even without parents around, I felt like I had a family.”

“I need Mother to show up with one of those cool blasts of air.” Rose fans herself.

“Be careful what you ask for.” Queenie smiles.

“Miss Temple hasn’t made an appearance since the reception,” Violet says. “I think she’s saving up for something big.”

They agree that this can’t be good.

That afternoon, Violet and Queenie ride together to Bo Rivers’ law office in downtown Savannah. Violet has never been in this building before. With equal amounts of white marble and glass, it is one of those places built by rich white people to impress other rich white people. On the ground floor, they get into the elevator, the doors close and they take a slow ride to the third floor. A secretary lets them wait in Attorney Rivers’ office. They are the first to arrive.

Portraits of old white men adorn the walls in dark wooden frames that match the furniture.

“Just once I’d like to see black men and women on the walls,” Violet whispers to Queenie, even though nobody else is in the room. But it is Savannah, after all, and despite its problems, she loves this city.

“I know what you mean about the white faces,” Queenie says. “Sometimes I have fantasies about asking Rose to do my portrait so I can put it in the foyer of the mansion. Then my smiling face will greet everyone who enters.”

“You should do that,” Violet says, with a smile.

“I would, but I’m afraid Iris might do more than roll over in her grave. She might send me to mine.”

Violet and Queenie sit together on a large leather sofa in front of an entire wall covered with floor to ceiling bookcases holding law books.

“Those must be hell to dust,” Violet whispers again.

Queenie agrees and picks up the newspaper on the coffee table to read since theirs never arrived.

Being in Bo Rivers’ office is like stepping into that walk-in cooler Queenie talked about earlier. Violet crosses her arms over her chest to hide her body’s reaction to the cold. She should have known better than to dress for summer. Air conditioners in Savannah could keep an igloo from melting. The thermostat at the Temple house was guarded religiously by Miss Temple, who kept it set at 76 degrees. But this office must be set in the low 60s. Violet half expects to see her frosty breath in front of her.

Despite the frigid temperature Violet breaks into a sweat. She doesn’t want to be here. “If I’m going to be fired, I wish someone would just tell me,” she whispers again. “Why make such a big production out of it?”

“You’re not going to get fired,” Queenie whispers back. “Iris had a wicked mean streak, but she wasn’t that horrible.”

Queenie turns to the classifieds and within seconds lets out a muffled scream: “Oh, my living God!” She points to the newspaper as Violet reads:

HELP WANTED:

People of Color, Housekeeper willing to Slave all day

and Sleep with the Master of the House

Call Iris Temple: 912-944-0455

“Who the hell is doing this?” Queenie says.

Violet assures her that she doesn’t know, but it doesn’t help that the ad is for a housekeeper. Perhaps whoever is planting these secrets knows her job is in jeopardy. Or maybe she’s reading too much into it. She’s been known to do that, too.

It’s now weeks since the first secret was released and they are still clueless as to who is behind it. Whoever it is not only has access to the
Book of Secrets
, but to the newspaper, too. Otherwise, why would they ever agree to run them? Although, she imagines those secrets have sold more than a few newspapers.

The door opens and Spud enters. They exchange looks of surprise. He leans over and hugs Violet and then shakes Queenie’s hand. Oddly, his outfit matches hers. Queenie’s jungle motif goes with his white suit that looks like it might be a leftover from the 80s, and his shirt is lime green. They look like they are both on a safari and want to blend in with the jungle. Spud stands against the wall and except for the periodic straightening of his purple bow tie, looks about as uncomfortable as Violet feels. She has never seen him this nervous.

Queenie shoves the newspaper under a stack of
Georgia Now
magazines like the will is all she can deal with for now. Violet feels the same. This time last year her life was totally predictable and more than a little boring. Now, she can’t imagine what might happen next.

“Where in the world does he get all those ties?” Queenie whispers to Violet. “Do they even make those things anymore?”

“They must,” Violet says, thinking how Queenie and Spud are much more alike than they are different in their preference for bold colors.

“Does anyone know why we’re here?” Spud asks, his voice full amid their whispers.

“Evidently for the reading of the will,” Queenie says.

“Then why am I required to be here?” Spud straightens his tie, looking perplexed now, as well as uncomfortable.

The question goes unanswered. Silence fills the room while the discomfort settles.

What if her grandmother is right about Miss Temple dropping a bombshell? If so, they are all standing at ground zero.

Rose enters, says her hellos, and sits in a leather chair to the left of the desk. Since she was running late, she told them to go ahead and drove herself. Her short, thick hair still looks wet from her shower. She shakes Spud’s hand and introduces herself before silence settles in again. She gives Queenie and Violet a wink, as if she is familiar with their secret code.