Murder Boogies With Elvis (9 page)

“I think so. Why?”

“That’s the kind of Yankee I’m talking about. She didn’t take any foolishness.” Sister looked thoughtful. “She really should have done something with her hair, though. She looked good in
Fatal Attraction
when it was curly.”

Mine hostess swept out of the room.

The dinner party turned out better than I had hoped for, given the circumstances. We ate at the dining-room table, but Mary Alice had kept it informal. She had used peach-colored place mats and her everyday pottery dishes.

“I did the centerpiece,” Tiffany whispered, putting a foil-wrapped potato on my plate.

“It’s lovely,” I said. And it was. She had taken a basket and filled it with bedding plants, begonias, and impatiens, which were available at all of the grocery stores and being bought by optimists who thought winter was over.

“I’ll plant them in a couple of weeks.” She moved on to Fred.

“Sit anywhere,” Sister had said, and we had arranged ourselves like opposing teams. Larry, Tammy Sue, Buddy, and Olivia were on one side, Henry, Debbie, Fred, and I on the other. Mary Alice sat at the head, and Virgil at the end. Henry, who had just come in, was the only one who was unaware of the tension.

I had taught Henry in high school in Advanced Placement English and, to tell you the truth, he was this teacher’s pet. Smart, a gifted writer, a wonderful chef, his entry into my family had been a joy.

“I hear Haley and Philip are coming in a couple of weeks,” he said, handing me the butter. “Debbie says we’re all going to the airport to meet them.”

“I hope she doesn’t get as big as I did with Brother,” Debbie said. “And the twins. Oh, my Lord.”

Across the table, sour cream and butter were being passed down the line. Larry and Buddy piled both on their potatoes. Tammy Sue opted for sour cream, and Olivia turned up her nose at both. None of them had said anything since we sat down.

“Buddy is an Elvis impersonator, Henry,” Mary Alice said.

Henry chuckled. “You know, I thought you looked familiar.”

Buddy curled his lip

“Hey, that’s good.” Henry took a piece of garlic bread and passed the basket. “Were you at the Alabama the other night when the Russian guy was killed?”

“Right next to him.” Buddy pointed toward Larry. “He was on the other side.”

“We couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him,” Larry added. “He just kept getting heavier and heavier.”

“I’ll bet he did.” Henry turned to Debbie. “Eat your salad, honey. You need it.”

I glanced over at Tammy Sue. She had on a pink outfit tonight, pink flannel pants and a matching pink sweater. She looked very pretty, but the spark that had been there the first night I met her was gone. She looked sad, diminished. And yet at the theater she had said that her father needed someone. Why was she taking it so hard? Mary Alice was a damned good catch. He could have gone for someone Tiffany’s age.

Which Fred would probably do. I turned and looked
at him. He was shoveling a piece of steak into his mouth. I kicked him on the ankle, and his eyes widened.

“What?” he asked, his mouth full.

“Just behave yourself.”

He nodded.

“Where do you suppose he got the Elvis outfit?” Henry asked.

“That’s about the only thing I can answer,” Larry said. “We all get our suits cleaned at the same place on Southside. The lady gives us a discount so she can hang them in the window. She says it gets a lot of attention. Anyway, when Bud McCracken called and said he wasn’t feeling good, I said I’d pick his up and he could come straight to the Alabama. It was Bud’s.”

“Ruined,” Olivia said, startling us with the first word she had uttered since we had come into the dining room. “Absolutely ruined.” She gave a thin smile and sipped her wine. I looked from her to Buddy Stuckey. Okay, he was strange with his Elvis look and his curling lip, but I got the impression that he was having fun with it. Olivia was unpleasantly strange. Were they really a couple?

“Let’s change the subject,” Virgil said. “Let Mary Alice tell you what she and I are going to do for our honeymoon.”

“We’re going to rent an RV and travel through the West,” Mary Alice said.

The news was met with silence. Virgil looked at his kids anxiously. Finally Tammy Sue asked, “Are you going through Biloxi? I have a friend who won $1,300 there at the casino the other night.”

“On what?” Mary Alice wanted to know.

“A slot. She said bells didn’t go off, but it lit up.”

A line had been crossed. We relaxed and began to enjoy our food. Buddy surprised those of us who didn’t know him well by telling some funny stories about things that had happened to him while he was impersonating Elvis. The strangest, he said, was that he had been asked to conduct a funeral service for an avid Elvis fan.

“He didn’t do it,” Tammy Sue giggled. “He told them it wasn’t legal.”

We all laughed with the exception of Olivia, who gave a vague smile.

The phone rang, and Tiffany answered in the kitchen.

“It’s for you, Sheriff,” she said, sticking her head in the doorway.

“Damn.” Virgil got up, but was back in a minute. “I’ve got to go. We’ve got a hostage situation in Springville. Some guy with his ex-wife and her new boyfriend.” He came around the table and kissed Mary Alice on the cheek. “Sorry, sweetie, but I’m still the sheriff.”

“I know. You be careful.”

“Be careful, Daddy,” Tammy Sue echoed.

He kissed her, too. “Behave yourself.”

“I will.”

Mary Alice pushed her chair back. “I’ll walk to the door with you.”

The room was quiet when they left. Then Henry, bless his heart, said, “We’ve got two desserts, chocolate pie and raspberry tarts. Who wants what?”

“I want one of each.” Good old Fred.

M
arilyn was asleep when we got home, or at least I assumed she was. Her door was closed and no light shone under it. Fred put on his pajamas, went looking for the Tums, chewed a couple, and was in bed asleep before I had cleaned my face, brushed my teeth, and settled down to read. I envy him his ability to sleep anywhere and anytime. If we are out at night, it takes me ages to calm down enough to doze off. Tonight, especially, my mind refused to shut off. Though the evening had ended pleasantly with Tammy Sue and Debbie insisting on clearing the table (Tiffany had left for a date), there was still a feeling of tension. The rest of us sat in front of the fire making small talk. Think it will freeze tonight? Remember the blizzard of ’93? Eighteen inches on our porch. Stuck for days.

From the kitchen we heard the sounds of the disposal and of the dishwasher being loaded. We could
hear Debbie and Tammy Sue talking. At one point we heard laughter. Good, I thought. If these two could hit it off, half the battle would be won.

Mary Alice turned toward Olivia who was snuggled so close to Buddy on the sofa that she was almost invisible.

“What do you do, Olivia?” she asked.

Olivia looked up from nuzzling Buddy’s arm. “Do?”

“Do you have a job? Are you in school?”

“Between jobs.” She looked at Mary Alice as if she had insulted her in some way. Which, of course, didn’t faze Sister.

“Between what kind of jobs?”

“Singing.”

Larry laughed. “She sings ‘Happy Birthday’ while she’s bringing in the cake. The last place was at Ruby Tuesday.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Henry said. “A good waitress is a prize. Believe me, I know.”

“I’m a singer,” Olivia said, glaring at her brother and at Henry. She returned to her nuzzling. Buddy seemed uncomfortable.

“Any of y’all fish?” Fred asked after too long a silence. “Know any good places up there in St. Clair County?”

The ice was broken. Thirty bream and ten large-mouth bass later, Sister and I moved over to the game table.

“I saw Bernice Armstrong at the Club today,” I said. “She and Day were having lunch. She says Dusk has been sick ever since the Russian guy was killed. In fact, she had to leave because Dusk called her.”

“It made me sick, too, and I didn’t even know him.” Sister nodded toward Buddy and Olivia and said in a
low voice, “Tell me she’s not going to be part of my family. She reminds me of a lemon.”

“She’ll get squeezed out,” I said. I thought it was pretty clever and laughed. Sister frowned at me.

“I don’t think so. I think she’s a leecher.”

“A leecher?”

“Like a tick. You know. The type who has to be pulled off with tweezers.”

“You’re getting your metaphors mixed up.”

“I swear he was
this
long.” Buddy threw his arms apart, dislodging Olivia. “Must have weighed twenty pounds.”

“Good God almighty,” Fred said in awe.

“I think you’re going to be all right,” I told Sister.

So here I was, three hours later, wide awake reading a Peter Robinson book, which was a mistake. Chief Inspector Banks’s exploits are not conducive to sleep. But it’s hard to put him down. I finally took the book into the den, got a glass of milk, and curled up on the sofa under the afghan where I was joined by Muffin.

“Good book?” Marilyn asked, coming in barefooted and rubbing her eyes.

“Great.” I held it up for her to see. “You okay? I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No. I’m having trouble sleeping. I think I’ll get some milk, too.” She was back in a minute and sat in the recliner.

“Did everything go okay today at the clinic?” I asked.

“I’m fine. They’re not even going to have to give me fertility drugs.”

“Good.”

She nodded. “I’ll probably be back next week to get
it done. I have to keep up with my temperature, make sure I’m ovulating.”

It sounded so cold. I thought of my own children who had been conceived in passion and love. In fun. I thought of Charles Boudreau and wondered if he were still at the Tutwiler Hotel, ready, willing, able. Hadn’t he used the word “ecstatic”? I took a chance. “Charles Boudreau is definitely out of the picture?”

“Definitely.” Marilyn drank some of her milk. “How did the evening go?”

I told her that Virgil’s children had been none too pleased to hear about the wedding, but that by the end of the evening, things had seemed to be more pleasant.

Marilyn nodded. “You know what I’ve been lying in there thinking, Aunt Pat? I’ve been thinking that in the morning before I leave, I’m going to go and have a talk with Mama. Tell her what I’m doing. I mean, hell, Aunt Pat, I’ll be forty years old on my next birthday. I shouldn’t still be intimidated by my mother. It’s not like she’s an ogre.”

“You’re going to tell her that you’ve been staying here?”

“I’m going to tell her everything.”

“Oh, shit.” I groaned.

I finally went back to bed and to sleep. When I awoke, both Fred and Marilyn were gone. It was after nine when I pulled on some sweats and went out to get Woofer. If Marilyn had left at eight then I could expect a visit or at least a phone call from Sister by eleven. But, like Marilyn, I would not be intimidated by her. I was sixty-one years old and a strong woman. Sister would not make me feel bad about not telling her that
Marilyn had been at my house. She would not call me Mouse anymore or claim that I had lost her Shirley Temple doll fifty-five years ago.

The weather had done its usual March change. A brilliant sun shone in a cloudless sky; the temperature was around sixty degrees. Just right for a brisk walk, which was what Woofer and I had. I’d go shopping for Haley’s rocker as soon as I got home, I decided. Go to the library. Maybe even take in a movie. Stay away from home.

But as we turned the corner toward our house, I saw that Sister’s car was already in our driveway.

“It’s okay, Woofer,” I said. “I’m a strong woman.”

Sister was sitting at the kitchen table eating a sweet roll. “Get dressed, Mouse,” she said calmly. “We’re going to an Angel-sighting Society meeting.”

So I did.

I think it should be clear by now that my sister is a joiner. The Angel-sighting Society is new on her agenda, though. In fact, it may be new to Birmingham. Mary Alice has been trying to get me to go with her for a couple of months in spite of the fact that I’ve never seen an angel. She hasn’t, either, she says. All you have to do is believe in them and clap when people tell of their sightings. Shades of Tinkerbell. So far I’ve managed to stay clear, but Sister knows when I’m vulnerable. She assured my cooperation by mentioning on the way over that she and Marilyn had had a nice conversation and that she understood why I hadn’t told her that Marilyn was in Birmingham.

So there I was, sitting in a meeting room at the Vestavia Library, listening to a woman read a poem about
sighting an angel. Before she read, she had handed out photocopies of it, so we wouldn’t miss a word.

There were many verses of it, and I clapped with everyone else when it was over. But the night’s lack of sleep was catching up with me. A couple of times during the reading, Sister had to poke me with her elbow.

“You’re drooling,” she muttered.

I wiped my chin and tried to perk up. One of the sightings caught my attention. A nicely dressed lady told of picking up a young woman standing by the entrance to the Red Mountain Expressway with a sign that read:
WILL WORK FOR FOOD
.

“My grandson was in the front with me,” the lady explained, “so the girl got in the back. I told her I had some windows that needed washing and that I would pay her, and she said, ‘God bless you’ and disappeared.” The woman paused. “I turned my head and she was gone.” A longer pause and a look toward the heavens. “An angel thanking me for my kindness.”

Everyone clapped.

“Did you ever get your windows washed?”

Mary Alice and I smiled at each other at hearing the familiar voice right behind us.

“No, Miss Bessie,”

“Then I got a number for you to call.”

The angel-sighter held out her hands, palms up. “You see, ladies? That’s how it works.”

More clapping.

As Mary Alice and I turned to speak to Bessie McCoy, she leaned over and whispered, “It’s going to cost her a fortune.”

“What are you doing here, Bessie?” Sister asked our favorite member of the investment club.

“The Lord’s work. Hey, Patricia Anne.”

“Hey, Bessie. I like your hat.”

“My new spring model.”

Actually every one of Miss Bessie’s hats is exactly alike, crocheted with little brims. She wears them all the time. Rumor is that she was scalped when she was a child, a rumor that has gained her a lot of respect, though no one has ever come up with a believable version of the scalping. Today’s hat was crocheted with multicolored acrylic yarn. Fortunately, being crocheted, there were a lot of holes to scratch through, which Miss Bessie proceeded to do.

“Have lunch with us,” Sister said.

Miss Bessie nodded.

I was immediately more cheerful. With Miss Bessie along, Sister wouldn’t harp on the fact that I had harbored her daughter without her knowledge for two days.

“Let’s go to the Hunan Hut,” I said. “Lunch is on me.”

“Then let’s get Bonnie Blue, too, since the Hunan Hut is right down the street from the Big, Bold, and Beautiful Shoppe.”

I smiled at Sister. “Great.”

“The ebony and ivory twins,” Miss Bessie murmured to me as we followed Bonnie Blue Butler and Sister down the street to the Hunan Hut.

It’s true. The two of them are the same size, have the same walk, the same mannerisms. The big difference is that Bonnie Blue’s skin is a lovely dark chocolate color and that she is younger than Sister. She used to work at the Skoot ’n’ Boot, the country-western bar that Sister had lost her mind and bought for no other reason except that she loved to line dance. After the Skoot’s unfortunate end, Bonnie Blue had gone to work at the Big, Bold, and Beautiful Shoppe and had quickly become the manager. No surprise. Bonnie Blue’s customers adore her because she’s honest with them. If Bonnie Blue tells them an outfit looks good on them, they know that it does.

The Hunan Hut, which used to be a Pizza Hut, has a wonderful lunch buffet. One doesn’t come in here for the ambience, which is Chinese-Italian, but to eat. And to talk. The first thing that Bonnie Blue wanted to know after we had heaped our plates and sat down was about Sister’s wedding plan.

“You and Virgil really going to do it?” was the question.

“Absolutely. And it’s going to be different this time. Will Alec and I got married at Trinity Methodist Church, Roger and I got married at City Hall, and a rabbi married Philip and I at Temple Beth-el.”

“A rabbi married me,” I said.

Mary Alice put down a forkful of fried rice. “He did not. You and Fred got married at home by that Baptist preacher with the real red face. I thought he was going to have a stroke at any minute. And we didn’t even have nine-one-one at the time. All I could think of was how on God’s earth are we going to get this huge man to the hospital if he collapses on us.”

“You said a rabbi married Philip and I. It’s Philip and me. Objective case, for heaven’s sake. And while I was getting married, all you were thinking about was how red the preacher’s face was?”

“Rabbi Newman married Philip and I. I, I, I. Screw the objective case.”

Miss Bessie laughed. “You two sound like me and my sister.”

“They do it all the time.” Bonnie Blue took a bite of egg roll. “Eat your lunch, girls.”

“I can’t remember my wedding,” Miss Bessie said, “I hardly remember my husband, but I sure as hell remember my mother-in-law.”

Sister buttered a Parker house roll. The Hunan Hut’s cuisine is somewhat eclectic. “That’s one thing I never had to worry about, a mother-in-law.”

“Your husbands were all too old,” I said.

“But virile. I didn’t get those three children out of the air.”

“Parting shots.”

Bonnie Blue frowned at me. “Tell us about the wedding, Mary Alice.”

“We’re thinking about having it at the little church at Tannehill Park. You know that old church they moved there from somewhere out in the woods? And I want you to find me a dress like the one Carolyn Bessette wore because I want a picture on the steps of Virgil kissing my hand and I want the dress swirling around.”

Bonnie Blue rubbed her forehead as if she were getting a headache. “She was pretty skinny, Mary Alice.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be exactly like hers.” Mary Alice shoveled the forkful of fried rice into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “But what I can’t decide,”
she said, after she had swallowed and taken a sip of tea, “is whether to have it at eleven o’clock and have lunch afterward, or at four o’clock and have a cocktail reception.”