Murder Boogies With Elvis (7 page)

“Anyway,” Marilyn continued. I pulled myself away from the thought of greenish-black nails and listened. “We had a wonderful time, and we ended up with a relationship that lasted for a couple of years. Then Charlie went back to Lafayette because of his mother’s and father’s health. He asked me to marry him and go with him, but I think he would have been surprised if I had said yes. What we did do, though, was promise to see each other every year on our birthday. We made a pact that if we weren’t married and didn’t have children by the time we were forty, that we would get together.”

“Sounds like Julia Roberts in
My Best Friend’s Wedding
.” I could have bitten my tongue when I said it. But Marilyn didn’t take offense.

“It does, doesn’t it? Their deadline was thirty, though. We weren’t in any hurry.” Marilyn poked at the fingernail, which popped off and landed on the remains of her potato salad. “Damn,” she said, picking it up and wiping it on her paper napkin. The real nail, I noticed, looked pink and normal. “That thing’s been feeling funny all day,” she said. “I’ll have to get it glued back on before I go to the hospital.”

“You’re going to the hospital? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m going to the fertility clinic, Aunt Pat. I’m going to be artificially inseminated like Debbie was.”

“Tomorrow?” I gave up on the cheese sandwich, which I hadn’t needed anyway.

“For tests. They have to make sure I’m ovulating okay and that everything’s all right. Then they’ll set the date.”

“But honey—” I actually felt a little dizzy.

“Ma’am?”

“What about Charles?”

“I called him last weekend and said, ‘Charlie, we’re going to be forty next month, and I don’t want to get married, but I do want to have a baby, and you promised.’”

“And?”

“He said he thought our pact had always been a joke. So I told him that was fine, that my sister had gotten her twins at UAB and, by damn, so could I. And that
you
would understand.”

“Apparently he’s regretted his decision.”

“I don’t care.” Tears filled Marilyn’s eyes. She reached for her paper napkin, placing the fingernail on the table.

A hard shower of rain hit the bay window. Muffin came and jumped in my lap.

“Maybe you should give him a call anyway,” I said. “He certainly seemed upset.”

“I don’t think so. And, Aunt Pat, please don’t tell Mama I’m here.”

“But why not? She would understand.”

“Like hell she would. I mentioned the possibility of going to the clinic once, and she said she couldn’t understand why her daughters couldn’t get pregnant out of the usual conduits.”

“Conduits?” I grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard them called that before.”

Marilyn snorted into the napkin, a half-laugh, half-sob. “Damn.”

“I won’t tell her, but I wish you would.”

Marilyn shook her head no.

“Does Debbie know?”

“Not yet, but I’ll tell her.” She got up, splashed water from the sink faucet onto her face, and dried it with a paper towel. “She knows about the conduits. She thought it was funny.”

I forced back a giggle, which resulted in a hiccup.

Marilyn sat back down. “Okay, enough about this. Tell me what’s been going on, Aunt Pat.”

“You’re going to see your mother while you’re here, aren’t you?”

“Oh, sure. I’ll see her after I go to the clinic. I’ll just tell her I’m here on business. Which is the truth.”

“Then she can update you on the wedding plans.”

“They’re so bad you can’t tell me?”

“How do magenta and sunflower strike you?”

“Oh, Lord. Are you the magenta?”

I nodded. “She’ll tell you all about it.”

“You like Virgil, don’t you?”

I nodded. “Very much. Fred and I saw his children last night. They seem nice, too. His son’s an Elvis impersonator.”

“Really?”

I told Marilyn about our evening at the Alabama Theater, about Griffin Mooncloth, the switchblade, the fall into the orchestra pit.

“Dusk Armstrong knew who he was,” I added.

“Dawn’s little sister? I was in school with Dawn. I think Debbie was in school with Day.” Marilyn shook her head. “I can’t believe she named the last one Dusk.”

“Well, she was Bernice’s last gasp before menopause.”

Tears welled again in Marilyn’s eyes. “Oh, Aunt Pat. I hope I haven’t waited too long.”

“You haven’t, honey. Everything will be fine.”

Another burst of rain.

“You’re staying here tonight, aren’t you?”

“If it’s okay.”

“It’s more than okay.”

“Then I’ll go get my overnight bag.”

Marilyn got her raincoat from the pantry door and darted to her car. I woke Fred up and he headed down the hall to bed.

“Marilyn spending the night?” he asked.

I said that she was.

It was a couple of hours before I joined him. Marilyn and I had a lot of catching up to do. Finally though, I slid into bed beside Fred and was about to drift off to sleep when he snuggled up against me.

“Honey?” he whispered.

“What?”

“Let’s talk about conduits.”

“You jackass,” I laughed. “You were eavesdropping the whole time.”

“Just part of it.”

“Well, tell your conduit to behave himself.”

“I think he needs a schoolteacher to tell him.”

So a schoolteacher did.

T
he sound of Fred taking a shower woke me up the next morning. I reached for the remote, clicked on
Good Morning America,
and promptly went back to sleep. By the time I woke up, Fred was gone, and the program was almost over. Oh, the joys of retirement.

I opened the blinds and saw that the rain had stopped, but the sky was still sitting on us, dark with layered clouds. It was possible that more rain was in the offing. The outside thermometer with the huge numbers read forty-eight degrees. I had found it at Home Depot and bought it immediately. It’s wired to our fence, and Sister frequently remarks about how tacky it is. But hey, we can see it.

The door to the guest room was closed, so I assumed Marilyn was still asleep. I was wrong. She was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the pa
per. She had on flannel pajamas that had seals balancing balls on their noses all over them.

“I want a pair of those pajamas for Christmas,” I said, heading for the coffee.

“Morning, Aunt Pat. I’ll put it down on my list.”

“You want some more coffee?”

“Not yet.” She folded the paper and put it on the table. “I was just reading about that Mooncloth guy, the one who got killed. There’s a long article about him in the paper. Did you know he was a Russian dancer? A real prominent ballet star.”

I reached for the sugar. “A Russian named Mooncloth?”

“According to the paper, it’s a translation of his name that he used on the stage.”

“A Russian ballet star dressed as Elvis dancing onstage at the Alabama? What in the world?”

Marilyn pushed the paper toward me. I didn’t recognize the picture of the handsome young man on the first page. But the only time I had seen him his face had been contorted.
RUSSIAN BALLET STAR SLAIN AT ALABAMA THEATER
, the headline proclaimed, the lead story of the day. I sipped my coffee and read the article that stated Mr. Mooncloth, one of Russia’s premier dancers, was in the United States on a cultural exchange. He was currently appearing with the New York City Ballet, where he had received rave reviews for his performances in
Prism
and Symphony in C. Mr. Mooncloth, the article continued, had been finishing his second and final year as an exchange artist when he was killed.

“Oh, Lord,” I said. “Birmingham’s going to make all the headlines again. Probably an international incident.
Why couldn’t whoever stabbed him have done it in New York? What was he doing here anyway, jumping around on the stage at the Alabama with Larry and Buddy and those other Elvis impersonators?”

“If we knew that, we’d probably know why he was murdered.” Marilyn pushed her chair back. “You want a bagel, Aunt Pat?”

“Sure.” I read while Marilyn put the bagels in the toaster and got out the cream cheese.

“They don’t even know where he was staying or how he got here.” I said in disgust. “And he had to get that Elvis costume somewhere. Seems like the police would be looking into that.”

“None of it makes sense,” Marilyn agreed. “You want some more coffee?”

I held out my cup. “No wonder Dusk Armstrong knew who he was. I thought she said he was in one of her classes. She must have meant that he was teaching it.”

Marilyn poured the coffee and took the bagels from the toaster. “You know what I remember, Aunt Pat? I remember you keeping candy sticks on the counter to stir coffee with. It would give it the best flavor.”

“Look on the second shelf of the pantry. They’re in a red tin can.”

Marilyn put the bagels and cream cheese on the table and went to the pantry. She came back smiling, holding a peppermint stick and looking about twelve years old in her flannel pajamas.

“Honey,” I said, watching her stir her coffee. “What are your plans for the day?”

“My appointment at UAB is at two o’clock. Is it okay if I spend another night with you? It might be late when I get through.”

“Of course it is. It’s our pleasure. You know that.”

I spread cream cheese on my bagel and took a bite. “Have you thought any more about Charles Boudreau? I’m sure he’s still at the Tutwiler.”

The peppermint stick clinked against the side of the cup. “I’ve thought about him.”

“And?”

“I told you what he said when I asked him if he would father my child, Aunt Pat. He stuttered like crazy, said he thought the pact was just a joke.”

“But he’s changed his mind.”

“Probably because he thinks I’ll marry him if I get pregnant.”

I’m sure I looked puzzled.

“It’s a long story, Aunt Pat. Suffice it to say there’s no way on God’s earth that I could live with Charlie Boudreau.” Marilyn took a bite of bagel and chewed viciously.

So much for Charles Boudreau’s chances.

“You want me to go with you this afternoon?” I asked after we finished eating.

“No, but thanks. I’ll be fine.” She got up and put her plate and coffee cup in the dishwasher. “Right now you know what I’m going to do for you?”

“Vacuum the house?” I asked hopefully.

“Take Woofer for his walk. The weather’s too raw for you to be out this morning.”

I suddenly felt a hundred years old and fragile as glass. “I’m sure I’ll be all right with my walker. And I’ll bundle up.”

Marilyn laughed. “Oh, Aunt Pat. That’s not what I meant at all.”

But, of course, it was.

I took the paper and settled on the sofa in the den
while Marilyn was dressing. I wished that she would call her mother. I knew that the back door was going to fly open at any minute, and Mary Alice would come in and discover Marilyn was there and would get her feelings hurt as well as become mad. I’m used to her getting mad, but Sister’s feelings aren’t easily hurt, and in this case they would be. I was sure.

“Marilyn,” I said as she came back through the den, “your mother is going to call or show up here any minute. I wish you’d call her.”

Marilyn shook her head. At that moment, the phone rang, and she disappeared like a shot out the back door.

“Have you read the paper?” Sister didn’t wait for me to answer. “Can you believe a Russian spy getting killed right in front of us? And what the hell would he be spying on in Birmingham? All of our nuclear war-heads in the caves under Vulcan?”

Marilyn reopened the door, snatched Woofer’s leash from where it hung at the end of the counter, and took off again. Coward.

“The paper said he was a ballet dancer. It didn’t say he was a spy.”

“But you know he was. What would a Russian ballet dancer be doing in Birmingham?”

“Doing Elvis impersonations?” I sighed. She was going to be furious with me when she found out Marilyn was here and I hadn’t told her.

“Don’t be silly, Mouse. He could do that in Russia. But, listen, the reason I called is that Virgil is going to cook steaks here tonight. Debbie and Henry, and Tammy Sue and her husband, and Virgil, Jr., are coming.” She paused. “And you and Fred, of course. A nice family evening. I’d thought we’d wait until Haley and Philip got home and maybe Marilyn could come up,
but the weather’s so god-awful and after what happened at the Alabama we all need something to cheer us up. We can do it again later on.”

Guilt. Guilt.

“What time?” I asked.

After I hung up, I got out the vacuum and threw myself into housework with a vengeance. There’s something about cleaning a house that soothes the conscience.

I was cleaning the toilet when Marilyn came down the hall and leaned against the door watching me.

“Let’s go to the Hunan Hut for lunch, Aunt Pat,” she suggested.

“Nope, your mother will be there.”

“What about the Anchorage then? Get some veggies.”

I flushed the toilet and straightened up. “She’ll be there, too.”

“And get mad at both of us?”

“I’m not worried about the mad. I just don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

“Well, I don’t, either, Aunt Pat.” Marilyn followed me down the hall to the other bathroom. “I think I’ll call Debbie.”

“Good idea.” Spread the guilt around. I sprayed cleaner into the sink and sneezed. “Did you and Woofer have a good walk?”

“He marked every tree we passed.”

“Good boy.”

“And he didn’t want to come in. He went in his igloo.”

“I’ll take him some treats in a few minutes.”

Marilyn stood in the doorway looking as if she wanted to say something but was hesitant.

“What?” I asked.

“Has it ever occurred to you that Mama is a force of nature?”

I burst out laughing. “Frequently. Now go call your sister.” I was getting a load of washing from the hamper when she came in to tell me that she was going over to Debbie’s.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m just confused.”

I dropped the clothes and hugged her. Hell, I’d be confused, too, if I were about to go to a fertility clinic to be impregnated with a baby that I would have to raise by myself. A baby whose father I knew nothing about. I’d opt for Charles Boudreau in a second, whether I could live with him or not. Maybe that was what Debbie would tell her. On the other hand, Debbie had gotten the most precious twins in the world at UAB.

“Well, you don’t have to commit to anything today.”

“True.” She was still sniffling when she left, though.

I put the washing on and went out to give Woofer his treat. The sky was getting lighter. By afternoon the sun would probably be out. Hopefully it wouldn’t be so cold tonight that the peaches would freeze. We have to worry about that every year. Most people think of Georgia as the peach state, but Alabama’s peach crop is one of our leading farm products. A late March freeze and it’s wiped out.

“Patricia Anne?” Mitzi called over the fence. “You want to go out for lunch?”

“The Club?”

“See you in an hour.”

The Club sits atop Red Mountain with the best view in the state. From the dining room you can see Jones Val
ley and Birmingham on one side, and on the other, you look across toward Shades and Double Oak Mountains. This was where Debbie and Henry had had their wedding reception and a helicopter had landed on the terrace to whisk them off to their honeymoon. It was also where my Haley had met Philip. As Mitzi and I sat down at our table, I remembered I hadn’t checked my e-mail this morning.

“Only a couple of more weeks, and Haley will be home,” I said. “A couple of weeks.”

“I wonder if she’s looking pregnant yet.”

“Probably a little paunch.”

The waiter set our food in front of us. You know you’re in the South when the nicest restaurant in town has collard greens on its menu. Mitzi and I had both ordered them.

“I saw Marilyn walking Woofer this morning,” Mitzi said, her fork poised above the collards. “Is she here for a meeting or something?”

“A meeting.” Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie.

“She’s such a beautiful woman.”

I agreed that she was, and then changed the subject by asking her if she had read the morning newspaper.

She had. “Can you believe that Mooncloth guy was Russian?”

“Mary Alice says he had to be a spy, that there wouldn’t be any reason for a Russian ballet dancer to be in Birmingham.”

Mitzi looked puzzled. “Why would a Russian spy be here?”

“God knows. Just one of Sister’s flights of fancy.”

“Is she still writing fiction?”

“She had a story accepted. I thought I told you.”

“No. That’s wonderful.”

Lunch was good; the company was good. I was relaxed and enjoying myself when I heard, “Hey, y’all,” and looked up to see Bernice Armstrong standing by our table.

“Hey, Bernice,” Mitzi and I said together.

“I thought it was you over here,” Bernice said. “Day and I were having lunch. She had to leave to go back to work, and I told her I was going to stop and speak to you.”

“Have a seat,” Mitzi invited.

“Just for a minute.” Bernice pulled a chair out and sat down. When she was young, Bernice had been the most beautiful girl in Birmingham. Tall and elegant, she is still beautiful in her mid-sixties. Her hair is now white instead of blond but styled so it cups her ears. She was wearing a simple blue suit and her makeup was perfect. I remembered how Mary Alice had hated her when they were in school together. Looking at that perfect skin (the woman didn’t even have any spots on her hands, for heaven’s sake), I could understand why. Even her scarf was tied artfully, something that deserved hatred. Tying a scarf so it looks right is, as far as I am concerned, impossible.

“How are y’all doing?” she asked.

“Just fine,” we chorused.

“Is Dusk still here?” I asked. “We saw her dance at the Alabama the other night. She’s very good, Bernice.”

“You were there? Wasn’t what happened awful?”

We nodded.

“Dusk couldn’t believe it. She’s been in bed ever since it happened, bless her heart. I tried to talk her into coming to lunch with Day and me, but she said she didn’t feel like it. She’s supposed to go back to New
York day after tomorrow. I hope she’ll be up to it.”