Antiques Knock-Off (12 page)

“Yeah,” chimed in blond Jennifer. “And maybe get out of this s-word-hole … even for a
little
while.”

(Jennifer didn’t say “s-word-hole,” either. But I do regret having to omit it. After all, “s-h-i-t” is
my
favorite expletive!)

Pudgy Angela offered eagerly, “In high school? When the guy who was supposed to play Sancho Panza in
Don Quixote
got sick?
I
did that role … so I can play male parts okay.”

“Me, too,” said crew-cut Carol with a shrug. “In fact, I prefer it.”

I beamed at my new children; they had not let their mother down.

A possible exception, however, was Rhonda, who remained her usual silent, sullen self. (Didn’t she know those frown lines would become permanent, making her poor complexion even more problematic?)

“What about
you,
my dear?” I asked her, trying to draw the woman out and in. “Any experience trodding the boards?”

The frown lines became smirk lines. “If you mean acting in a
play
… then, no, thank God. I don’t want anything to do with your stupid, harebrained idea.”

Sarah once again rode to my rescue. “What’s eating you, Rhonda? You’ve been
terrible
to Vivian—I mean, Mother—ever since she got here! What’s your problem?”

Rhonda rose from the table, her face flushed with fury, and pointed a finger right at me, like Uncle Sam in full recruitment mode.
“I’ll
tell you what my problem is! It’s
her
fault I’m
in
here!”

I looked quizzically at the woman. “I don’t understand, my dear. How can I possibly be responsible for your incarceration?
I don’t even know you. We had never met before today.”

Rhonda came around the table to plant herself next to me, jabbing my chest with the finger. “You batty old bat.
I
was robbing the house across the street from the Grimes woman when all the cops came around … and they caught me!” She jabbed some more. “So it’s
your
damn fault!”

“Well, my dear,” I answered cooly, “perhaps you should have been more careful in your chosen profession….”

And I grabbed her finger, twisting it back until she yelped.

(This might not have been wise, but as I learned from
Bad Girls,
the Top Dog must never lose face or back down, least she be found strangled with a bedsheet. And, anyway, the finger-twist had worked very effectively for Bea on
Prisoner: Cell Block H.)

Luckily, before the altercation went any further, Patty’s voice sounded over the intercom.”
Vivian! Sheriff Rudder wants to see you!”

Which only confirmed my position as Top Dog … that is, Mother Hen.

Rhonda retreated to her table where she sat, defeated, nursing a sore finger. Sometimes children need a firm hand (perhaps I should have tried that with Brandy).

Jennifer called out, “Hey, Mother—ask for some sci-fi paperbacks instead all this romance doody! I’ve read everything that’s in here.”

“And Sudoku puzzles,” Sarah said. “I’m bored out of my gourd!”

Angela intoned, “And how about some Hispanic food once in a while—I mean, who
doesn’t
like a taco?”

“I shall do my best,” I promised. “Carol? Don’t
you
have a request?”

She shook her head.

“Oh, come, now … surely there’s something you want,” I asked, as if coaxing a Christmas wish from an undecided child.

“Well,” Carol said, staring at the floor, “I
would
like a book on gardening. ‘Cause when I get out of this dump I’m gonna have one.”

“Ah!” I said. “Very worthwhile
and
therapeutic. Vegetable or flower?”

“Herbal.”

“All right then,” I said to all of my children, clapping my hands once, “I’ll do what I can.”

“Vivian!
Now!”
Patty was standing just inside the common room, by the security door, her expression rather cross. At least her eyes were open.

This time she took me through three security doors to a room much larger than the cubbyhole visitor’s station, but just as stark—cement block walls, tan tiled floor, one rectangular metal table (bolted down), and two chairs (similarly secured). On the wall near one chair was a shackle, to be used for the more dangerous inmates.

To my great surprise—and delight—there were two people waiting for me! Whatever had I done to deserve so much attention?

Next to Sheriff Rudder—a tall confident man who reminded me of Randolph Scott, except that his eyes were just a trifle crossed—was Chief Cassato! What luck that I should have such an audience for the presentation of my requests for prison improvement … and to pitch my theater program.

Patty deposited me in the chair next to the shackle, while Rudder and Cassato stood a short distance away behind the table. Rudder had on his usual tan pressed uniform with shiny sheriff’s badge, while Cassato wore his
version of a uniform—crisp white shirt, dark pants, and black wing-tipped shoes. Both wore stern expressions.

I said, “How good of you, Sheriff, to see me so promptly! And how nice of you, Chief, to drop by for a visit. I assume it’s out of respect for all of the cases I’ve helped you clear up.”

When neither man gave me even the teeniest of smiles, I pressed on. “I know you are both busy bees, so I won’t take much of your—”

“Shut up,” Sheriff Rudder said flatly.

Well, dear reader, I was quite taken aback by this rude outburst, and began to sputter protestations.

“I said,
be quiet!”
Rudder snapped. “Chief Cassato has something to say.”

The chief leaned on the table, his bulk supported by fists. He smiled now, but it didn’t seem very friendly.

“I got the autopsy report on Connie Grimes back from the DCI today,” he said, then cocked his bucket head. “Interested?”

“Not particularly,” I said. I was studying my nails. I really could use a manicure….

Still, I glimpsed the chief’s smile turning nasty.
“Really?
Vivian Borne not interested in confidential police reports …?” He laughed but it seemed to me rather forced. “That’s a new one.” He leaned even closer. “Could that be because you already
know
what the autopsy showed?”

“I have no idea what you could be referring to,” I said innocently. The back of my neck itched terribly and I just had to scratch it.

He slammed the tabletop with a fist.

I jumped a little.

“You don’t, huh? Vivian, I now know what you’ve known all along—that Connie Grimes was
already dead
when you stabbed her!”

And that, precious one, is the small detail I kept from you by not thinking about it. I hope you’ll forgive me this stratagem.

The chief was saying, “You found the Grimes woman dead with a knife in her chest. You removed it, wiped it for prints, and stabbed her yourself, leaving your prints behind to lead us astray.”

“I plead the Fifth,” I said.

Chief Cassato straightened. His chest was heaving. “Who are you protecting, Vivian?”

I said nothing.

Sheriff Rudder finally spoke. “Vivian, you’re already in trouble. Please cooperate, before you get yourself in even more of a jam—who are you protecting?”

I stared at the shackle on the nearby wall.

Several interminable moments passed, then Chief Cassato said to Rudder, as if I were no longer present, “Well, she can’t be covering for Brandy.
She’s
in the clear.”

Rudder turned to Cassato. “What about the other daughter—the Hastings woman? Peggy Sue?”

He shook his head. “Not a chance. Her story’s been checked and rechecked.”

Something must have flickered in my peepers, because Cassato suddenly leaned on the table again.

“But it
is
Peggy Sue, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes! I, mean, no!” I blurted, then, “You’re trying to
trick
me! I saw this on
Perry Mason!”

Cassato came around the table, planting himself in front of me. “Vivian. Listen to me. Believe me. Peggy Sue is
not
a suspect. She has an unshakable alibi.”

I felt my eyes growing wet. “I don’t
believe
you….”

The chief placed one hand on my shoulder, saying gently, “Peggy Sue was playing bridge at the country club all that morning—surely you knew that.”

I nodded. “But … she could have
left
and come back.”

The chief said, “She
didn’t.
A dozen witnesses swear Peggy Sue remained at her bridge table the entire morning. Viv, she didn’t even use the ladies’ room.”

“But … but … I saw—” I was about to say that I thought I’d seen Peggy Sue’s car leaving Hidden Pines just as the trolley dropped me off …

… but thought better of it.

Cassato frowned. “Saw
what,
Vivian?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. I’m just a foolish old woman who hasn’t been herself lately. Did you know I’ve been off my meds for some time?”

(Normally, I would never say such ridiculous things about myself, but I needed to end that line of conversation. After all, Peggy Sue was not a suspect, so I must have been wrong about seeing her car. Mustn’t I?)

Whatever trouble I might be in personally, nonetheless a great relief washed over me, a carefree tide. I felt giddy, and began to weep and laugh all at once.

Tony Cassato gallantly offered me his handkerchief, which I used to wipe my eyes, then blow my nose, with an embarrassing Harpo-like honk.

“Excuse me,” I said winsomely. I handed the hanky toward him.

“Keep it.”

(Over the past few months Brandy had collected several of the chief’s handkerchiefs, but this was my first.)

When I had composed myself, I asked, “What happens to me now?”

Sheriff Rudder said, “You’ll be released, pending new charges.”

That brought me to my feet.”
What?
That’s ridiculous, just plain foolish. I’m here
now.
I’ve obstructed justice— tampered with a crime scene. I want to start serving my time!”

The chief sighed. “That isn’t how the system works, Vivian. You have to go through due process again. And who knows, maybe you
won’t
be back—maybe you’ll get probation, community service….”

“No! Book
me,
Danno! I insist! I’m guilty. Give me the longest
possible
sentence.”

I had plays to produce!

Rudder looked behind me to Patty, who had been waiting quietly by the security door. “Get this Fruit Loop out of here.”

That wasn’t very nice at all!

Patty moved forward, and grasped me by an arm.

“Wait!” I said, digging my heels in. “I’m not finished yet. We women have demands—we need more nourishing food, better books, some exercise equipment, HBO—not just basic cable! And, uh … conjugal rights.” I threw that last one in as a perk. It had been a big topic on
Bad Girls.

“Get her
out
of here!”
the sheriff hollered.

Patty had opened the security door and was dragging me through, but I grabbed on to the door’s handle long enough to declaim, “I will be back! Don’t think you’ve seen the last of Vivian Borne!”

Sheriff Rudder put one hand to his forehead. “I could always poke my eyes out,” he said.

What an odd thing to say.

Mother’s Trash ‘n’ Treasures Tip

Be wary of stories attached to antiques, sometimes used by a seller to enhance the value of an item. Like the tall tale I once fell for—“It belonged to President James Buchanan’s second wife.” Buchanan never had a
first
wife!

T
he morning Mother was released from the county jail, I threw a little party for her at the house, inviting only Peggy Sue (and Sushi). I had baked a white sheet cake, slathered it with white frosting, then added black liquorice-stick jail bars, and red lettering reading: WELCOME HOME FROM THE POKEY. (I thought about putting a file in the center, but decided that might be a trifle unsanitary.)

The antique Duncan Phyfe table in the dining room was set with our best mismatched china, and at Mother’s place, I’d set a Monopoly “Get out of jail free” card.

Peggy Sue, wearing her signature Burberry (a pink-and-tan plaid cotton shirtdress), did not seem particularly taken with these festivities … but Mother whooped with glee when I conveyed the cake in from the kitchen (“Ta
dah!”).

Just in case any of us had avoided a sugar coma from the sweet dessert, I also served chocolate mint ice cream (Mother’s favorite) and tart lemonade.

Peggy Sue and I were so thrilled that the murder charges against Mother had been dropped, neither she nor I felt much like reprimanding her. I’m sure, however, at a later date, Sis and I would have our scolding say.

For now, we were all smiles at the table, happy to have among us again our very own jailbird (a cuckoo joke here would be pushing it, don’t you think?).

Peggy Sue was saying, “Mom, I’m sorry to get into such unpleasantness when we’re having such a nice homecoming … but why in heaven’s name did you think
I
had killed Connie?”

Mother, in the process of slipping a morsel of cake under the table to a begging Sushi, replied, “Because, dear, I thought I saw your car leaving Hidden Pines when the trolley dropped me off, which was about the time that awful woman was murdered … may she rest in peace. And you certainly had a motive to rid the world of Connie Grimes.”

Peggy Sue wasn’t about to go into that. Instead she just shrugged it off, saying, “Well, mine isn’t exactly the
only
blue Escalade in town, you know—that’s a very popular model.”

Otherwise she wouldn’t own it.

“Besides,” Peggy Sue went on, stiffening a little, “I can’t help but be offended that you could
ever
imagine that I am the kind of person who’d do such a … a
brutal
thing. Now, if you’d thought it was
Brandy—
“

“Thank you so very much!” I said. I was almost wishing I’d put that file in the cake and let Sis bite her perfect teeth down on it.

Mother’s fork, loaded with cake, dripping in green-chocolate ice cream, paused on its path to her mouth. “Are you
sure,
dear, that your car wasn’t
taken
while you were playing bridge?”