The Red-Hot Chili Cook-Off (15 page)

He laced his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

Bridget barely knocked before she entered. She shut the door, drew the blinds shut, and straddled his lap.

“Are they signed, darling?” she asked.

“Signed and on their way to the courthouse.”

“I'm the happiest woman on earth. Can we go look at rings tonight?”

“Mother says that we'd better wait the full sixty days for the final decree before we do that. It would be bad for business if we rush things,” he whispered into her hair.

She locked her lips on his, unbuttoned his shirt, and ran her hands across his broad, muscular chest.

He pretended he was kissing Macy, and her soft little angel hands were on his chest. His fantasy soon made him very uncomfortable, especially the way Bridget had hiked up that short little skirt, leaving so much soft thigh for him to touch.

His desk phone rang and he quickly reached around Bridget to answer it. “Sherman Autoplex. Lenny Lovelle speaking,” he said.

“Lenny, I think I'm coming down with the flu so I'm going home early and taking tomorrow off. I sure hope you don't get it. Don't eat any of the cake in the lounge. Bridget sneezed in there today and she might be getting it, too,” his secretary said.

“Get well and we'll hope it's just allergies,” Lenny said.

He picked Bridget up and set her to one side. “Are you sick?”

“No. I had a little sneezing fit in the break room but I'm not sick. My skin is warm because I'm hot as hell for you,” she giggled. “I'll make supper for you tonight at your house. I've got a great recipe for clam chowder and we can eat it naked in the middle of the living room floor. I'll pick up wine to celebrate your divorce.”

Lenny had always been quick on his feet when it came to fabricating a good lie and he was so sincere about it that it came off as gold-plated truth. “I'd love to, darlin', but Mother has planned a dinner at her house. And since she's given me the money to get rid of Carlene, I really do owe her.”

“I could come with you,” she suggested.

“That would be wonderful but Mother thinks we should be very careful until the final decree is done. But won't it be fun to sneak around?” he said seductively.

Bridget giggled. “We're professional at that, aren't we? Oh, well, the weekend belongs to me. We are going to just hole up at your house and play role games until Monday morning. I've got the cutest little nurse outfit and you are going to be my patient.”

She sneezed twice and she barely covered her nose with her hands. Lenny reached for a tissue and handed it to her and ushered her right out into the showroom.

***

Candles provided the only light in the living room and takeout Chinese had been shared from the coffee table. Patrice popped the cork on the bottle of wine and poured two glasses. She looked at Alma Grace who shook her head from side to side.

“I cannot, in all good faith, celebrate the divorce that I've been praying so hard would not come about,” she said with her chin tilted up a notch.

Patrice shot a dirty look across the square coffee table. Lord God Almighty, Sweet Jesus, and the angels! Didn't praying open her eyes to understand a damned thing?

Carlene raised her glass and clinked it against Patrice's. “To a bright future. May we all three find happiness within ourselves.”

“Hear, hear!” Patrice said.

There was a faint knock on the door and Yancy threw it open before anyone could even yell “Come on in.” He kicked off his boots and sat down on the sofa beside Patrice.

“Mind if I join the celebration?” he asked.

Patrice handed him her glass of wine. “We'll share.”

He sipped the wine and said, “I understand that the papers are filed and Bridget is already after Lenny to go look at rings.”

“You've got to be kidding me. Is he going to get engaged on the very day he gets divorced?” Alma Grace gasped.

Carlene slowly shook her head. “He'll feed her some line of pure old bullshit. Speaking of which, I understand that Kitty sent his trophies off to a professional place to have them fumigated. He's not going to marry her. I doubt if he ever gets married again. The only reason he stayed with me was because I gave him an excuse not to marry his women. Now it'll be some other reason. Probably that his mother needs him. Too bad he didn't think of that one before he married me.”

“You got that right. Bridget told her friend that they have to be very secretive until the whole thing is final.” Yancy chuckled.

Carlene glanced at Alma Grace just in time to see her raise her head from a silent prayer.

“And I heard that he's already sending flowers to another girl at the dealership,” Yancy said.

“I did not go within fifty feet of the dealership. I did it all with cash money out of my own pocket.” Patrice poked Alma Grace on the arm. “You want to try to top my stunt.”

Alma Grace put on her prissy, pious face. “I most certainly do not!”

No one was in the kitchen.

The aroma of Clawdy's pancakes or omelets did not come from the direction of the trash can in the corner. There was no bickering or giggling among the Fannin sisters. There was a balloon bouquet tied to the back of a chair. Carlene stopped and read the card. It was from a lady in Sugar's Sunday school class who had a son-in-law in the Smokin' Bobs Team whom she did not like. She was sending her best wishes for the Red-Hot Bloomers to win the cook-off.

One thing for sure, their all-woman team had a hell of a lot of support. Carlene wished that Alma Grace supported her as much as the women in town were showing love to the Fannin sisters and their team. She put the card back in the envelope and heard footsteps, running not walking; the bathroom door opening but not shutting; groans and loud whining.

Dear Lord, either Gigi or Tansy had died in the bathroom, and Sugar had found them. They'd better hope they were already talking to St. Peter because if they came back to life and told a single person what Sugar looked like with no makeup, she'd finish them off for sure.

Carlene's foot was on the first step when her phone rang. She pulled the phone from her pocket and answered, hoping it was her mother saying that they'd all overslept or that maybe they'd celebrated her divorce and all had hangovers.

It was Josie and she sounded like hell.

“It's the damned flu. I won't be in today. Hopefully, I'll be better by Monday if they let me out of the hospital tomorrow. Don't come up here. They won't let you in without a mask,” Josie said.

Carlene stopped and sat down on the steps. “Hospital?”

“Crazy, ain't it? I passed out from the car to my house and my sweet little neighbor called 911. They brought me to the emergency room and admitted me. Said I was dehydrated but I'm beggin' y'all. Don't come see me. I'm contagious. I just hope no one there gets it. That damned Violet Prescott sneezed when she came to give Patrice money the first of the week. She probably infected me.” Josie's voice was weak and she didn't even use one Mexican cuss word, so she had to be very sick.

“I'll call this afternoon and evening both to check on you. Should I call your kids?”

“Hell, no! I'll be out in a day or two. I don't need them hovering over me. Don't call them unless the doctors say I'm dying and then call my preacher instead of the kids. And tell Patrice and Alma Grace that Violet sneezed on them, too.”

“Okay, call me if you need anything and I'll bring it up to the nurses' station. Promise?”

“I promise. Here they are with more medicine. I swear the nurses are even wearing masks. Hope it's an easy day at the shop. Bye now.” Josie's cough sounded like she was trying to bring up her toenails.

***

Alma Grace stopped right in the middle of the kitchen and stared at the empty table. Where was her mother? She was always up with her makeup on and her devotional book in front of her by this time. All right, so nowadays, it was recipes instead of godly advice but still she was up and ready for the day.

She heard footsteps upstairs and hurried out into the foyer. Maybe her mama had forgiven her father and they'd all gone home. That would be a glorious answer to a prayer.

Or would it? That would mean she'd have to go back to her house and she really liked living at Patrice's place.

“Carlene?” she asked.

“Josie is in the hospital with the flu and she says we're not to come visit her because it's contagious.”

“Should I send flowers? I'll definitely put her on the prayer list down at the church,” Alma Grace said.

“I don't know about flowers. They might not let her have them if she's really sick. And Alma Grace, I'm really, truly tired of all this praying shit. Mama, are y'all awake?” Carlene yelled up the steps.

“Don't you dare take another step,” Gigi hollered down in a weak voice. “We've all got the flu up here and we've been taking turns in the bathroom all night. We are feverish and achin' all over and there's nothing left to throw up. We don't want you to get it. We'll be fine. Just call the pharmacy and…”

“She's gone to the bathroom,” Sugar said. “Alma Grace, are you there?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Call your daddy and tell him he's forgiven. If I die, I don't want him to think I left this earth without telling him,” Sugar said weakly.

Alma Grace quickly jerked her phone from her hip pocket and called her father. “Daddy, Mama has the flu and so does Aunt Tansy and Aunt Gigi. And they've put Josie in the hospital with it, so it's serious. Yes, sir. I agree.”

Tansy's feeble voice floated down the steps. “We'll be fine soon as this wicked diarrhea and vomiting stops.”

***

Patrice heard voices and didn't even stop in the kitchen. She went straight to the foyer and raised an eyebrow. “What in the hell is going on in here?”

Alma Grace pointed upward. “They have the flu and so does Josie. Josie is in the hospital with it and our mamas think they can scare it off with something from the pharmacy. Daddy is on the way to get Mama. He says Mama is going home today.”

Patrice stood at the end of the staircase and raised her voice. “Mama, do you have a fever?”

“Patrice Cordell, don't you come another step. Sugar sweated off all her makeup and doesn't have the energy to put more on. If I die, my will is at Tip Gordon's.” Tansy's voice was barely a whisper.

Patrice flipped open her phone and called her father.

Carlene did the same.

And they said in unison, “Daddy, we need you to come to the shop right now.”

When they finished talking, they stared at the phones.

“We did get our flu shots at Walmart that day, didn't we? I'm not just dreamin' it, am I?” Alma Grace asked.

Patrice nodded slowly. “Yes, we did and I hope they work.”

“We did?” Carlene frowned.

“Remember? We ran into you there. You were with Lenny and we were in line for the flu shot and we talked you into it but Lenny has always been afraid of needles.” Patrice reminded her.

“Just like his mother. Yes, I remember it well, now. I teased him about not taking care of him if he got the flu since he was too big of a baby to take the shot. But I was just joking. I would have taken care of him. I wouldn't now but I would have then,” Carlene said.

***

There was a knock on the door and Alma Grace opened it to find Kim on the porch. “You don't want to come in here. Mama has the flu and we're stalling opening the doors to the shop until Daddy gets here to take her home.”

“I've had the flu shot but I won't take long. I just wanted to tell your mamas they might not want to make chili today or for a few days. Folks are dropping like flies so they won't be interested in tasting it for them. I've got a cousin who works in admissions at the emergency room…”

Was
the
girl
kin
to
someone
in
every
working
environment
in
the
whole
state?
Alma Grace wondered.

“…and she said that Violet Prescott and Agnes both showed up at the same time. They only had one room and Agnes said she'd die before she shared it with Violet. So they moved the flu patient out of Josie's room and put Violet in there and put Agnes with the lady who'd been in Josie's room. You think the hospital will still be standing with all three of them in there? Tell your mamas to go on down to McKinney if they get too bad because there are no hospital rooms left in Sherman. They say there are two kinds hitting people. One kind is fever, vomiting, and diarrhea and lasts about twenty-four to thirty-six hours and the patients are weak for a few days. The other one is worse and lasts longer and is a lot more serious.”

“Dear God Almighty,” Alma Grace whispered.

“Who died?” Patrice gasped.

“Nobody, but Violet is in the same hospital room with Josie. Agnes refused to share a room with her.”

“Lord, help us all,” Carlene said. “Josie says Violet sneezed on her and gave her the flu. She's liable to poison the woman.”

Jamie pushed his way into the place without a word. His face was ashen and his long legs took the steps two at a time. He was a blur and there was no arguing when he told Sugar she was leaving. He carried her out, wrapped like a baby in a big quilt with the top edge flipped down over her face.

“Don't take her to Sherman, Daddy. Kim says they're full and sending people to McKinney,” Alma Grace said.

“She's going home. I called a private nurse on the way over here and our doctor will make a house call every day that she is sick. I'll be in touch as soon as he tells me what we need to do.”

“Did you see her face?” Patrice asked.

“I didn't even try,” Alma Grace answered.

***

When Hank arrived he stopped long enough to drop a kiss on Carlene's forehead. “Gigi, get your shoes on. You are going home,” he shouted as he started up the stairs.

“I am not. You get your ass out of here, Hank Carmichael. I'm not leaving.”

“You can walk or I'll take you out over my shoulder like a bag of chicken feed. Your choice. God, you look like hell, woman.”

“You don't want to catch this. Go home.”

“I got a flu shot, remember? You refused to get one because you and both your sisters are afraid of needles.”

“Mama, they put Josie in the hospital and Violet and Agnes, too,” Carlene yelled.

“My God!” Gigi said.

“That's where you belong but Jamie hired a nurse who's going to make the rounds among the three of you. So shoes or over my shoulder?” Hank asked.

“If you put me over your shoulder, I'll throw up again. I can walk if you'll just hold on to me real tight.”

“I didn't know they hated needles,” Patrice said.

“Neither did I.” Alma Grace wiped away a tear. “I thought they were all ten feet tall and bulletproof.”

“Well, we aren't,” Gigi said. “And you'd better not tell a soul how bad we look, either.”

***

Alex Cordell whizzed through stop signs and both red lights on Main Street. If anything happened to Tansy, he was holding Lenny Lovelle responsible. Damn that sorry bastard's hide anyway. Every bit of the past two and half weeks was his fault. He was stupid from the bone marrow out to his skin. Hell, even his aura, as Tansy talked about when she was spouting off her pseudo-psychic abilities, was probably stupid.

He slammed on the brakes and slid into the empty driveway beside the house. He'd gotten the call when he was out in the horse stables rubbing down his favorite animal after a long morning ride across his land. His boots were dirty and his jeans faded but he didn't give a damn. Tansy was sick and all he could think about was that he hadn't seen her in two days.

The door flew open when he crossed the porch and he hugged Patrice. “Where is she?”

Patrice glanced up. “Uncle Jamie and Uncle Alex have already rescued Aunt Sugar and Aunt Gigi. I don't think she'll give you much sass.”

“She had better not give me any sass,” Alex said.

“I can't leave,” Tansy whined. “What about the cook-off?”

“Right now you are my top priority. Now get out of that bed,” Alex said.

“I can't. I'm too weak to stand up,” Tansy said.

“Well, darlin', we can damn sure fix that problem.”

She went out just like Sugar had, minus the quilt.

“I'll come see about y'all this evening after work,” Patrice yelled. “Mama, listen to the doctor and nurse, and behave.”

“You stay away from the house until it's not contagious anymore,” Alex called out as he loaded Tansy in the car and drove away.

***

Carlene inhaled deeply. “Now what?”

“I vote that we put a note on the door that says we are closed until Monday and start wiping everything down with a disinfectant. I'll get on the Internet and see how long the flu germ lives in the air. I think it has to be transmitted by sneezing, kissing, and that kind of thing,” Patrice said.

“I'll go to the store and get supplies,” Alma Grace offered.

“Thank goodness the house came with a washer and dryer. We'll be doing laundry all day,” Carlene said. “I'll start stripping beds.”

“I'll gather up towels for the first load,” Patrice said.

Carlene opened a window to let fresh air into the bedroom to replace the sick smell filling her nostrils. She stripped down the bed, tossed the whole bundle down the stairs, and went to Tansy's room to repeat the process. When she finished there, Patrice had gathered up the first bunch and the landing at the bottom was free so she hurled another bunch downward.

She had Sugar's bedding raised over her head, ready to throw, when Alma Grace breezed across the foyer. “Whoa!”

“Stand back. I'm going to let it fly and then you can come on up,” Carlene said.

Alma Grace wore a cute little short skirt, high heels, and a top that fit like a second skin. She'd clamped her curly hair up into a ball of springy tendrils, part of which fell around her perfectly angelic face.

“Set the cleaning supplies on the table and go to Patrice's. Put on some sweats and a work shirt. And look in the bottom drawer of my dresser and bring me some of the same. I bet Patrice wants some, too. This is going to take all day and we're closed so we might as well be comfortable.”

Alma Grace whined like a sick kitten. “I have never cleaned in my life. Can't we call in a fumigation company or cleaning ladies?”

Patrice tapped her on the shoulder. “Move and let me pick up the last of the laundry. And we're not calling a cleaning service. They'd be afraid to set foot in here just like any customers will be. You can bet your sweet little ass that the whole town knows our mamas have been taken home and not a single person is going to come in here until the first of the week. Hell, we probably couldn't even pay someone to steal the chili cooker again.”