Made in the U.S.A. (2 page)

But she wasn’t the only one going that way. People were rushing past her, and she could see a crowd forming at one of the checkouts.

The intercom crackled with static. “Attention, Wal-Mart shoppers, we need a doctor at register three. Uh . . . is there a doctor in the store?”

When a man in a cowboy hat bumped Lutie with his cart, she said, “Hey. Watch where you’re going!” but he ignored her.

“What happened, Ida?” the man yelled to a skinny woman ahead of him.

“They said some woman dropped dead at the checkout.”

“No shit?”

“Come on!”

Lutie had just reached the edge of the gathering crowd when a baby-faced boy wearing a starched blue shirt and a security badge pushed past her.

“Did someone die?” the skinny woman asked him.

“Looks like it.”

“You know who it is?”

“Big fat woman’s all I know.”

Lutie felt a knot of dread building in her chest. She called Floy’s name, but with the noise and commotion inside and a siren blaring outside, she knew Floy couldn’t hear her.

She tried to push her way through, but too many people were pushing back, so she circled around, trying to get in from the other side, but no one would budge.

Then she saw a policeman coming through the door.

“Okay,” he shouted. “You folks move back and let me through.”

The crowd grew quiet as they parted to make room for the policeman, who shouldered his way inside the group. Lutie fell in behind him.

And that’s when she saw Floy.

She had pitched sideways when she fell, slamming into racks of batteries, disposable lighters,
TV Guide
s, and candy, spilling them onto the floor beside her. Her head was twisted at an angle that would have been painful had she been able to feel pain, and her glasses had slipped onto her cheeks. Her mouth was pulled into a perfect O, as if she had been about to whistle, and bits of the Tums she had been chewing clung to her bottom lip. Her fingers, adorned with rhinestone rings, still clutched the
National Enquirer
she had just paid for.

The policeman knelt beside her still body and dipped his fingers into the folds of flesh around her neck, probing for a pulse. Then he bent over her and put his cheek next to her opened mouth. Moments later, he straightened, pretending not to notice the urine seeping through the crotch of Floy’s blue polyester pants and puddling beneath her buttocks.

He stood and faced the checker behind the register. “You know who she is?” he asked.

The checker shook her head. “I seen her in here before, though.”

Then he turned to the crowd around him. “Do any of you know this woman?”

Those gathered craned their necks and waited.

“Is anyone here with this woman?” he yelled.

Then softly, her voice hardly more than a whisper, Lutie said, “I am.”

CHAPTER TWO

A
FTER THE MANAGER
took Lutie to his office, he went to search for her brother. She hadn’t seen Fate since she’d left him at the computer, so she didn’t know if he had seen what happened to Floy.

While Lutie waited, a parade of Wal-Mart employees came by, taking stealthy glances at her as they passed. A couple of them even manufactured reasons to come inside, saying, “Excuse me, I just need to get a file” and “Sorry to disturb you, but I think I left my pen in here.” Lutie never looked at any of them and never said a word, but she could hear them whispering outside the door.

When the manager returned, he had a hand clamped on Fate’s shoulder as if he feared the boy might run. “I’ll leave you two alone in here so you can talk,” he said. “Take all the time you need.”

As soon as the door was closed, Fate sat stiffly in a chair that dwarfed his small frame.

“Fate, do you know—”

“Lutie, I was gonna put it back. Honest.” He dug in his pocket, pulled out a packaged computer disk, and set it on the desk. “Here. You tell them that I—”

“Fate—”

“What’re they gonna do to me? Am I going to jail?” Tears threatened, but he blinked them away. “A policeman’s out there and—”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“You think they’re gonna tell Floy?”

“Floy’s . . . well, something happened.”

“I know she’s gonna be mad.”

“Floy’s dead.”

“She’ll spank me, but I don’t care.”

“Listen to me, Fate. Floy died.”

He grew still, studied his sister for a moment, then flashed her a crooked grin. “Lutie, I know you’re just trying to scare me, but you don’t have to ’cause I’ll never do it again. I promise.”

“Shut up, Fate, and listen to what I’m telling you. Floy is dead.”

His face settled into a puzzled look then, as if he’d just heard a joke he didn’t understand. “Why?” he asked.

“Why? What do you mean, ‘why’? That’s a stupid question. I don’t know why people die. They just do. I guess she might’ve had a heart attack.”

Fate ran his hands through his hair. “You think she had a heart attack ’cause she was waiting for me? You think she got mad and—”

“She wasn’t waiting. She was in the checkout line and she just died.”

“But—”

A tap at the door made them both turn toward the sound.

“Miss McFee?”

“It’s probably that policeman,” Lutie whispered. “Don’t say anything to him. You understand?”

Fate, eyes wide with fear, nodded.

“Come in,” Lutie said.

The policeman opened the door and stepped inside. He was carrying Floy’s brown imitation leather purse.

“You two doing okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. My name is Sergeant Santos.” He sat down, put the purse on the desk, and took a small notebook from his pocket. “This won’t take long, but I need to ask some questions. Is that all right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay. You said your name is Lutie McFee. And you are . . . ?” He looked at Fate, waiting for an answer, but the boy was rigid and mute.

“His name’s Fate. He’s my brother.”

“That’s an unusual name.”

“It was supposed to be Fale,” Lutie said. “That was our mother’s maiden name, but they got it wrong on his birth certificate. They crossed the
l
.”

“Where do you live?”

“Out on Springer Road. Just east of the slaughterhouse.”

“Was the deceased . . . the woman who passed away, was she your mother?”

“No,” Lutie said.

“Are you related to her?” he asked.

“Not exactly. She and my daddy lived together, so she was sort of like our stepmother. But she wasn’t. Not really.”

The policeman wrote down everything Lutie said. She tried to read it upside down, but it was hard to make out.

“And you told me her name was . . . is Floy? Floy Satterfield?”

“Floy is what everyone calls her, but her real name is Florence.”

“Where can we reach your father?” he asked.

“He’s in Las Vegas.”

“When will he be back?”

Lutie’s hesitation prompted Sergeant Santos to look at Fate, but he wasn’t talking.

“When did your father go to Las Vegas?”

“About a year ago,” Lutie said.

“You know his phone number? His address?”

“No. We haven’t heard from him.”

“And your mother? Where is she?”

“She’s dead.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, then he put down his pen, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Do you have a migraine?” Fate asked, the first time he’d spoken since Lutie warned him to be quiet. “That’s what Floy does when she gets her migraines.”

“I’m just a little tired, I guess.” Then he picked up his pen and looked at Lutie. “Do your grandparents live around here?”

“No. Grandpa Fale died a long time ago, and Grandma Fale’s in a nursing home in Georgia. She has Oldtimers, or whatever it’s called. Daddy’s folks, they’re divorced. I think his mom lives in Canada, but I don’t know where his dad is.”

“How do I get in touch with her? Your grandmother in Canada.”

Lutie shrugged. “She got married again, and I don’t know what her name is now.”

“How about Ms. Satterfield. She have a family?”

“A sister. Milly Windout. She lives in Rapid City.”

The policeman studied Lutie, then Fate. “Well, let me make a call to CPS and—”

“What’s CPS?” Lutie asked.

“Child Protective Services. They help out in cases like this. They’ll find you a place to stay and—”

“Oh, we don’t need any help. See, we have an aunt who lives with us.” Fate, dumbfounded, shifted in his chair, but Lutie pretended not to notice. “Our aunt Julia.”

“What’s her last name?” Sergeant Santos asked.

“Roberts.”

“Like the movie star?”

“Yeah.” Lutie smiled. “People are always making some joke about her being in the movies.”

“Is she home?”

“You mean now?”

“Yes.”

“Well . . .” Stalling, Lutie asked, “What time is it?”

“Almost six.”

“She doesn’t get off till nine. She’s a nurse at the hospital.”

“Then why don’t we run over to Memorial and talk to her?”

“No!” Lutie said, a little too fast, a little too loud. “See, she has a bad heart. Just like Floy. And if she sees us come in with you . . . well, it might scare her so bad she’d drop dead, too.”

“Then let me drive you home.”

“Oh, I’ll drive Floy’s car.” She grabbed Floy’s purse, rummaged inside, and came up with a ring of keys. “Her car’s parked right outside.”

“You old enough to drive, Lutie?” he asked, his voice conveying suspicion.

“Sure. I have a license.” Then, fearing he might ask to see it, she added, “Well, I don’t have it with me. I left it at home. I mean, I didn’t think I’d be driving tonight.”

“I understand.” He closed his notebook and slipped it back in his shirt pocket. “You don’t mind if I drop by your place after your aunt gets home, do you? Might be a good idea if I talked to her for a few minutes.”

“Okay.”

“Then I’ll see you later.”

He nodded to them, opened the door, and walked into the hall, where the manager was waiting with another policeman.

Lutie signaled Fate to be quiet, then she shouldered her purse and Floy’s and motioned Fate to follow her.

When they walked past the group in the hall, Lutie could hear the policemen talking, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Lutie and Fate slowed when they reached the checkouts, but all traces of Floy had been picked up, swept out, mopped up, and put back. And it was business as usual at register three, where a checker was dragging cans of Vienna sausage across the scanner.

CHAPTER THREE

L
UTIE, DO YOU
really know how to drive?”

“Sure,” she said as she tried key after key in the ignition of Floy’s car. “I took driver’s ed.”

“Yeah, but Mr. Edwards kicked you out before you ever got to drive.”

“Mr. Edwards is a prick. Besides, I learned the basics.”

“What does that mean?”

“The rules, stupid.”

Lutie finally fitted the right key into the starter, turned it, and the engine fired, but when she mashed on the gas, the old Pontiac lurched forward and died.

“Are they watching us?” she asked. “And don’t let them see you looking.”

“How am I gonna know if they’re watching us if I don’t look?”

“Just do it!”

Fate took a quick peek out the rear window of the car, then slouched down in the passenger seat. “That policeman who talked to us is, but the other one went back into Wal-Mart.”

When Lutie started the engine again, she stomped on the gas pedal, causing the car to shoot across the parking lot and bump across a curbed divider into the wrong lane.

“Watch out!” Fate yelled.

Lutie turned the wheel sharply, jumped the curbing again, and steered the car into the right lane.

“You’re going too fast!”

“Be quiet, Fate. Let me concentrate.”

When she reached the stop sign at the end of the exit lane, she hit the brakes and the car came to a squealing stop.

“Is he still looking?”

Fate glanced back. “Yeah.”

“Dammit!”

“Can you get put in jail for reckless driving?”

The Pontiac’s left front fender grazed a bumper guard at the side of the exit.

“I bet you’ll go to jail if he finds out you don’t have a driver’s license.”

“Will you stop talking about jail?”

Getting a feel for the pedals now, Lutie eased the car into the traffic as she pulled onto the roadway.

“He’ll probably put us both in jail if he finds out we don’t have an aunt named Julia Roberts.”

“Fate, will you shut up about jail!”

“Why’d you tell him that, Lutie?”

Without warning, Lutie swerved into the left-turn lane, and the driver of the car she nearly sideswiped honked and gave her the finger.

“Dick-head!” she yelled, returning the gesture.

Oblivious to the yield sign, Lutie turned left when she reached the intersection, forcing one driver onto the shoulder and another to clip the center median. Relieved to have left the main thoroughfare and the traffic behind, she took a deep breath and rolled her head from side to side to ease the tension in her shoulders.

“Why’d you make up that story about Julia Roberts? Huh?”

“Christ alive, Fate. If you ask me one more question . . .”

“Floy says it’s a sin to use the Lord’s name in vain.”

“I didn’t say Lord. I said Christ.”

“Same thing.”

Fate was quiet until they neared the Buffalo Café, where Floy had taken them the first Friday of every month for the all-you-can-eat catfish special.

“Lutie, what’s a heart attack like?”

“I don’t know.”

“You think it hurts a lot? You think Floy—”

“I said I don’t know.”

Fate stared at the café as they passed, then sniffed and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his plaid shirt.

“I know you didn’t like her much, but Floy wasn’t so bad.”

“If you say so.”

“I mean, she treated us okay. Better’n Gwen and Mona and Beverly.”

“Gwen and Mona and Beverly were all drunks.”

“Well, so is Daddy.”

“Daddy’s not a drunk. He’s an alcoholic.”

“What’s the difference?”

“An alcoholic can quit. A drunk can’t.”