Thoroughly 10 - What Are You Wearing to Die? (3 page)

I felt like somebody had stolen all my air.

“Oh, no! First his wife—how long has it been since she died? Six or seven years?”

“Something like that. With her death plus all the stuff Trevor has already gone through with Starr, you’d think he’d had his share of troubles.”

“Not to mention what he went through before he ever got married.”

Trevor Knight was the best living example I knew of somebody who had been to hell and back. He’d grown up in town and gotten drafted before he finished college. He came home from Vietnam wracked by nightmares and addicted to drugs and alcohol. For ten years he had cut a wild swath through middle Georgia. He had been intimately acquainted with the Hope County jail. But during his last incarceration, thirty years before, Trevor had found faith, which helped him lick his demons. Sober and clean, he had returned to Hopemore and gone to work for our local taxidermist. In the past twenty-five years, he had bought out the business and built it up until he now had two people working for him.

In the process, he had become known for compassion toward people the rest of us might give up on. That very morning he had chaired the breakfast meeting of a committee that helped turn around local teens headed in the wrong direction.

Unfortunately, his own daughter had been one teen he’d been unable to help. After her mother died, Starr had spun out of control. She started wearing a lot of makeup, provocative clothes, and flashy hairdos. At fourteen she was drinking. By fifteen she was a drunk. At sixteen she was pregnant. For a while after the baby came, she had cleaned up her act. She got a job at the Bi-Lo grocery store and was working a rehab progam. However, in recent months she had slid downhill again. I’d seen her several times sashaying down Oglethorpe Street wearing a soiled skimpy top, skintight jeans, and too much makeup—which was unsuccessful at covering the deterioration of her pretty face.

From the speed with which Starr had been losing her looks, I guessed she’d been using methamphetamine. Like many small towns across the United States, we were drowning in meth. Nobody knew where it was coming from or how to stop the deluge.

Her little boy, Bradley, nearly broke my heart, tagging along behind his mama with dirty hands, torn jeans, matted hair, and a bewildered look on his face. Two weeks ago the authorities had taken the child away and placed him with Ridd and Martha, who had completed training to become foster parents. Trevor had petitioned to get the child, and a court date had been set. Meanwhile, Cricket, who was five, had taken the four-year-old Bradley under his wing.

How would Martha explain to the two little boys that Bradley’s mother was never coming back? As sorry a mother as Starr had been lately, Bradley still cried for her every night.

I realized Ike was talking again. “…must have driven somewhere to get drugs and was too high to make the curve on her way back. Kids picking up trash for community service saw the truck bed sticking out of the kudzu and called the sheriff. Hold on a minute.” I heard somebody speaking to him in the background.

While I waited, I wondered what Starr had been doing out on the bypass. She lived in an apartment in town, and her daddy lived in the other direction. And why would she miss a shallow curve she’d been driving all her life?

Isaac came back on the line. “The truck is Robin Parker’s and it was reported stolen Monday afternoon. It’s totaled. Robin won’t be driving it again.”

“That’s awkward. Robin works for Trevor. What a mess.”

“It’s gonna get messier before it’s over. Ms. Parker claimed her truck was stolen out of Trevor’s yard while they were working. His workroom doesn’t have any windows out back, where it was parked. Well, I’d better get back to work.” Before he hung up, Isaac added, “Oh, Judge? Don’t leave town today, okay?”

“That wasn’t funny. I’m in pain over here.”

I was talking to air. Ike had already gone.

After that conversation, getting out of the cuffs moved down to the second most urgent issue in my life. The most urgent was letting Martha know what had happened.

Ridd answered the phone. Until I heard his clogged “Heddo?” I’d forgotten he was recovering from a bad cold and had taken the day off from teaching math. He didn’t even try to hide his disappointment at hearing my voice. “I thought you might be Bethany.”

As hard as it was for me to believe, my older son was now forty-two and was normally a well-balanced adult whom folks looked up to. For the past three weeks, he had been an emotional mess. His little girl had gone to college, two hours away. My maternal take on his head cold was that he had gotten run-down from worry.

My own worries made me speak more sharply than I normally would. “No, this is your mother, and I have some very bad news. Starr Knight has been found dead in a car that went over the embankment out on the bypass.”

No point in beating around the bush when you have that kind of information to impart.

“Oh, God.” From Ridd, that was a prayer. Unlike his younger brother, he didn’t swear. “You’re sure?”

“What’s the matter, Daddy?” I heard Cricket in the background. I had expected him to be at school and Bradley to be in day care.

“Are both boys in earshot?” I asked.

“Yes. Cricket’s got my cold, so everybody stayed home today. We’re playing Go Fish and they are whaling the tar out of me. Let me take the phone to the kitchen.”

In another second he asked softly, “There’s no chance this is only a rumor?”

“I had it straight from Isaac James.”

“Her poor dad!”

I could appreciate why Ridd would identify with a father who had lost his daughter, but I hauled him back to the other priority on his plate. “I’m wondering what this will mean for Bradley. You all may have the task of telling him. I don’t envy you a bit.”

There was a long pause. He apparently hadn’t considered that part of it. Then he asked, in a falsely cheerful voice, “You guys looking for a snack?”

I heard the boys clamoring for juice and Cricket Dog, Lulu’s son, yipping for a treat. I might as well let Ridd discuss his favorite subject until he could get rid of them. “When did you hear from Bethany last?”

“Yesterday. She loves her classes, loves her roommate, hates the food, and was fixing to give some football players a ride to Wal-Mart. Can you believe that? She knows not to give rides to strangers. And football players? You know what they’re like.”

“Your brother was a football player.”

“I wouldn’t have trusted my daughter with Walker at that age, either.”

I sighed. When you have kids, you think you’ll get them into elementary school and your major work will be done. Then you think if you can get them into high school—or into college, or out of college—surely by then they will be grown-up and your worries will be over. Yet there I was with a son old enough to have a daughter in college, and he still expected me to bear his burdens.

“She’s a grown-up now,” I reminded him, “and she’s a sensible girl. Stop worrying and let her enjoy her freedom.”

“Easy for you to say.” He sounded as gloomy as Eeyore. “You never had a girl. They worry you to death.”

“I didn’t need a girl for that. I’ve got your daddy. You will not believe what he’s done to me this afternoon.”

For the first time since he came on the line, Ridd laughed. “He carried through? I heard what he was threatening to do.”

If you live in a city and depend on television, radio, or a newspaper for news, you might wonder how Ridd had heard. If you live in a small town, you take it for granted that news floats on the breeze. All you have to do is cock your ear and listen.

“How fast can you bring a tool over to cut me free?”

“Not on your life. I suspect Daddy could still whup me if he tried.”

“Pop can whup anybody!” Cricket boasted in the background.

Martha came on the phone. “What’s up, Mac? Why’s Pop going to whip Ridd?”

I heard Ridd say, “Hey, boys, would you like to take your snack out onto the porch?”

For a moment I had a wistful longing for that wide screened porch with a table placed to get the best view of the yard. I pushed regret down where it belonged and promised, “I’ll tell you about that in a minute. First, Starr Knight has been found dead in a car out on the bypass.”

Martha caught a quick breath, and her immediate reaction was the same as mine. “Poor Bradley! How on earth are we going to tell him? And Cricket? He dotes on that child.”

We discussed that for a few minutes, and then she asked, “Why was Ridd saying his daddy can still whip him?”

When I told her, she gave a gurgle like a mountain stream. Given the prickles in my left leg, I would have preferred a mountain stream at the moment—preferably an ice-cold one with my foot dangling in it.

“Put some lotion on your ankle,” she advised. “That will help it slide up and down easier.” Martha supervises our hospital emergency room, and was at home only because she was working a weekend rotation. “I hate to say it, Mac, but I understand where Pop is coming from. You’ve put yourself in danger too often lately.”

“I don’t put myself in danger,” I protested. “I do my best to avoid it. It just happens sometimes.”

“Like every time you get too close to a murderer.”

That stung. “I don’t cozy up to them, but I can’t sit by when somebody I care about is in danger, or asks me to use what common sense and local knowledge I have. You know good and well I don’t thrust myself into investigations out of curiosity. But like Mama used to say, ‘We don’t have to go looking for trouble. God puts enough trouble in our path to keep life interesting.’”

“If you think God puts murder in your path to keep your life interesting, you’re skating on real thin theological ice. The closest I’ll come to agreement is that you have been providentially placed sometimes to figure out some stuff the police haven’t.”

“Why can’t Joe Riddley see that?”

“Because he loves you more than life itself, and he doesn’t want to lose you.”

“He doesn’t have to insult me. You should have heard him. ‘There’s been a body found out on the bypass and I don’t want you haring over there to take a look at it.’ I don’t go haring anywhere simply to look at a body. Besides, Starr wasn’t murdered. I’m not going to get involved in investigating her accident.”

“Of course not, but cut Pop some slack right now. He’s worried about the business, which means he needs you worse than ever.”

“I wish he had cut me some slack. My leg is going to sleep. I may have to have an amputation.”

She gurgled again. “Like I said, put some lotion on your ankle. He won’t leave you there long. You know that as well as—oops! I’ve got to go. Ridd’s gone down to the barn, and I hear Cricket laying down the law to Bradley about how many cookies he’s allowed. Poor Bradley. He must think he’s got three parents sometimes.”

“Instead, he’s got none.” That sobered us both. “Are the boys getting along all right otherwise?” I asked.

“Beautifully, most of the time. Cricket’s done pretty well at sharing his toys, and Cricket Dog, he doesn’t even seem to mind that he’s no longer the littlest, but I have to watch him to make sure he doesn’t boss Bradley around. I really do need to go. Bye.”

The only lotion I had in the office was in the top drawer of a filing cabinet halfway across the office. When something is out of reach, it doesn’t matter if it is a mere five feet away or two hours, like Bethany. Having had my philosophical moment and shared a smidgeon of sympathy with Ridd, I punched the buzzer on my phone. Evelyn Finch, the store manager, picked up. “You need something, Mac?”

“Yeah. I need you for a second. Are you busy?”

“I wish. It’s deader out here than a bar on Sunday morning.” Before I could ask how she knew what a bar was like on Sunday morning, she added, “I’ll be right there,” and hung up.

Evelyn was nearly as short as me and a little plumper, but she was also twenty years younger and faster. She poked her head through my door in three seconds flat. “What do you need?” Her voice sounded kind of thick, like she was coming down with a cold, too.

I bit my tongue to keep from saying, “I need for you to pick one hair color and stick with it a few weeks so I can get used to it.” Evelyn frequently experimented with new shades from the drugstore. She had been born with a bushy head of hair in the shade of red that fades to pink and goes gray early. Recently, she’d been trying every red known to CVS, claiming she was trying to match her freckles. This week’s color came close. She looked like she’d shampooed in carrot juice. To avoid mentioning the fact, I said, “Your eyes look pink. Are you sick?”

She brushed one cheek and I realized she’d been crying. “I just heard about Starr Knight She wasn’t even twenty. Her whole life was in front of her.”

I knew Evelyn was connecting Starr’s death to her husband’s. Fifteen years before, when Evelyn and Jack Finch were both thirty, he had met a timber truck head-on. We had hired her afterwards in order to help her keep her home until she decided what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. To everybody’s surprise, including hers, she had taken to our business like a wasp to molasses. She had a good head for selling and was blessed with a soft heart and a caring nature that brought in a lot of repeat customers. In fact, Evelyn was the main reason Joe Riddley didn’t want to close the store. He wanted to hold on until she had enough in her pension fund to give her a decent retirement.

“The accident was awful,” I agreed. “I heard who it was from Officer James.” To other people Joe Riddley and I called law enforcement officers by their titles, to show respect.

Evelyn blinked back tears. “Was that why you wanted me? To tell me about Starr?”

“Not really.” I hated to admit my real reason, but I was in pain. I pointed to my ankle. “Joe Riddley is playing a joke on me. I want you to fetch a crowbar and see if together we can lift this dratted desk high enough to slide the cuff out from under. Ask Gladys to help, too.”

Gladys was a part-time employee we’d hired after Bethany went to college. She was roughly the same age as Methuselah and her arms resembled cooked noodles, but I was beyond being choosy.

“I’m sorry, Mac, but the boss said I wasn’t to mess with those cuffs unless there was an emergency. I promised I wouldn’t.”

Fifteen years she’d worked for us and Joe Riddley was still “the boss”?

We’d deal with that later. I had figured out what Joe Riddley had meant when he said he had emergencies covered.

“Dang it, woman, you work for me as much as you do him. I even sign your paycheck. Go get that key he left and let me out of here!”

I spoke loud enough to wake Lulu. She looked up from her snooze, flapped her tail against the floor in protest at being interrupted, then resumed her nap.

I was still waiting for Evelyn to head for the key. Instead, she shook her head. “Can’t. You aren’t big enough to beat me up. He is. I can stay back here and keep you company, if you like. There’s no action up front, and Gladys will be here another hour.”

I wanted to yell loud enough to blast the carroty hair off her head, but I spoke as mildly as I could. “Then reach in that top drawer and hand me the lotion. Martha said it might keep the dratted thing from chafing.”

Evelyn not only fetched the lotion, but she knelt and rubbed it into my ankle. “I’m ruining your stockings.”

“They’re ruined already.”

She maneuvered the cuff on the leg of the desk up a bit and fixed the stool so it was under both my feet. I sighed. “That feels so much better. Thanks. Do sit down and stay a while. I don’t feel like working anyway, and nobody is going to complain if they get their invoice late.”

Evelyn started for the small wing chair we keep under the window for guests, thought better of it, and backed up to Joe Riddley’s leather desk chair. “Can you see me over here without breaking your neck?” I appreciated her thoughtfulness, considering that her feet didn’t reach the floor in that big old chair and would soon be needles and pins. Short people are going to need a lot of compensation in heaven to make up for the discrimination we go through down here. On the other hand, while I appreciated her concern for my neck, it was my leg I was currently concerned about.

“Ignore that old bat’s instructions and get me out of here.” I tugged at the cuffs again. All I accomplished was widening the hole in my panty hose.

“I can’t. I gave him my word, and I have my reputation to think of.”

“What about my reputation?”

She snickered—which I thought was pretty sassy, considering that she depended on my goodwill for her daily bread.

I picked up my Hershey bar and held out what was left. “You want some candy?” I wasn’t offering her a bribe. I was obeying Mama’s injunction not to eat without offering some to anybody who might be around. As long as I had to endure the cuffs, I might as well finish up the treacherous offerings that had come with them.

“No thanks, he already—” Evelyn’s face turned so pink that her freckles blended together.

My jaw dropped. “He brought you candy, too? So much for your blameless reputation. Now that we both know you’re amenable to corruption, woman, how about if I let you go home early? You don’t even have to come in tomorrow.”

I could tell she was tempted. I should be free in two minutes flat.