“Gaylon, you’ll see us to the door?” Auntie gave a head nod to Mrs. Hackett’s niece.
“Yes,” she said, seemingly appreciative to Auntie Zanne for helping with Piper.
Auntie Zanne went over and gave Mrs. Hackett a squeeze. “I’ll stop by and speak to you tomorrow.” She gave Piper a once over. “Let’s go,” she said to her in no uncertain terms.
“I-I just got here,” Piper said, frowning at Auntie Zanne.
“And somehow you’ve stayed too long,” Auntie Zanne said. She gave Piper’s shoulder a poke, prodding her to get up.
“I guess I’ve done what I promised,” Piper said.
“And more,” Auntie Zanne said. “C’mon we’ll walk you to your car.”
Gaylon followed us to the door. She gave Auntie a hug, I was sure it was a sign of appreciation. She’d evidently appointed herself Mrs. Hackett’s guardian.
“Thank y’all for coming,” she said.
“Where’d you park?” Auntie asked Piper once we’d stepped out onto the porch.
“Over there,” she said and pointed to a big black truck.
“Good, that’s my Cadillac next to it,” we’ll walk together.
“You’re driving that big truck?” I asked. She was such a little thing, it looked as if it might swallow her up.
“Yep, that’s my baby,” she said. “And if you see us coming, you’d better watch out.”
I’d thought Auntie Zanne was going to light into Piper once we got outside. She didn’t take any nonsense especially when it came to the grieving family members. Instead, she held onto her arm and sidled up next to her.
“Who was that caterer your momma got for the wedding?” Auntie Zanne said. “Everything was so chaotic this morning that I didn’t get a chance to get his information. I may need him for another event I’m having.”
“Exquisite Caterers,” Piper said, not seeming to notice Auntie’s change in demeanor. “But my momma didn’t hire him. The caterers were sort of a wedding gift from Bumper’s coach.”
“Coach Williams?” Auntie asked about Roble’s high school football coach.
“No. His USC coach.”
“Why did you say that was ‘sort of’ of wedding gift?” Auntie asked.
“Well, because you know coaches can’t give gifts. It’s against the NCAA rules or something. This caterer was his cousin or cousin’s husband or something and he gave us a deep discount. Momma said it may as well have been free, which is how things always work out for Jori, things just fall into her lap. But...” Piper turned back and looked at the house, “we weren’t supposed to tell Bumper about it.”
“No?”
“No,” she said. “So please don’t mention it.”
“Don’t worry,” Auntie said, “I won’t tell a soul.”
We watched as Piper climbed into her car and pulled out before we got into ours. I opened Auntie’s car door and waited until she was buckled in before shutting it. When I slid into my seat, Auntie looked at me and shook her head. “That girl has lost her vertical hold. She don’t know how to act.”
I chuckled. “There is something wrong with her.”
“No,” Auntie said, shaking her head. “There’s a lot wrong with her.”
Chapter Eleven
And there seemed to be a lot wrong with Bumper dying.
Auntie’s questioning of Piper about the caterer got me to thinking.
Something just didn’t seem right.
I didn’t know exactly what is was. Something nagging at the back of my mind, I just knew that I had questions, too. I thought about it the entire drive home, and was surprised when I pulled into the driveway and didn’t notice Alex’s rental was gone until Auntie took note of it.
“That’s not good,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
“We weren’t gone that long.”
“And what does that mean?”
“I gave him enough of that staying brew to hold him down much longer than this.” That was the first I noticed there was no sign of Alex. “That means it’s a pretty strong force inside of him that drives him,” Auntie continued.
I rolled my eyes. “You and your concoctions.” I shook my head. “I’m sure he just wanted to lie down in his hotel room. He wasn’t feeling well.”
“He felt well enough to leave.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Check your phone. Did you miss a call from him?”
“I’m not checking my phone,” I said, slight indignation in my voice. “Can we just get out of the car?”
She shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t think you’ll be able to make that one sit still long enough to get him to the altar.”
I got out of the car and left her sitting there.
As I headed into the small, tiled add-on entryway and up the few steps to the main floor, I turned to see where Auntie was then pulled my cell phone out of my pocket.
“No missed calls,” I muttered and checked my messages. Nothing.
Where did he go?
And why did he leave without telling me?
I went straight to my room and found J.R. laying at the foot of my bed.
“Hey, boy, you waiting for me?”
He lifted his head, ears perked, but that was as far as he went. Didn’t run to me or bark me out a hello.
“Don’t have the strength to come greet me?” I said. “Must have lent some of it to Alex. Even being sick, he had enough energy to leave.”
I slumped down into my computer desk chair, set my cell phone next to the keyboard to keep an eye out for Alex’s call or text, and fired up my Dell desktop. J.R. must’ve mustered up enough oomph to move because he came over and laid at my feet.
The first thing I looked up was Bumper’s Facebook page. He was so young, full of life and from what I understood had a bright future in front of him. I didn’t have a Facebook account—social media just wasn’t my thing—but his page wasn’t private and it was no problem bringing up his profile page from the link after I googled his name.
There were oodles of pictures. I sat, clicking through and staring at each one. Bristling with life, he was all smiles in most of them. Happy. Eager. Animated.
Was the Alvarezs’ plot to make their daughter an honest woman really making him so nervous that he had an asthma attack? Although, I wasn’t sure if being nervous was a trigger. It even seemed as if Gaylon, a cousin who appeared close to his age, thought it wasn’t as bad as his mother professed or I guessed it to be.
Mrs. Hackett hadn’t seemed too convinced about his nerves being the cause of his asthma attack, although the entire time he was out back waiting for the ceremony to start that was how his demeanor struck me. Nervous. Worried. Enervated.
No, his mother had said his trigger was changes in weather. I clicked open another tab and looked up the weather report for the last couple of days to check the humidity. I knew it was doing a job on my hair, but a quick look showed me it hadn’t been higher than any other day.
So that couldn’t be it...
I clicked back to Facebook and scrolled down, studying his Timeline. A smiling picture of Jorianne in a bikini holding a drink on a beach was the first one I saw. I can’t wait to make this one my wife, the post read. The next one he’d written his wedding date and the words, a dream come true underneath. The next picture was him, Boone, LaJay and a few other guys I didn’t recognize. Wasn’t even sure I’d seen them at the wedding. He posted they were at the Golden Nugget. Countdown, it read, Until I’m Officially OFF the Market!
Must have been his bachelor’s party.
I clicked on Photos. More than two thirds were of Jorianne or them together.
“This looks less like a shotgun wedding, and more like a happily ever after kind of thing,” I muttered. “Why would he be so nervous about something he was evidently looking forward to?”
I clicked through other pictures in his album. Pictures of his football days at Roble High, navy, gold and white uniforms and then shots of him playing at USC—his new colors cardinal and gold looking just as fit and happy as ever.
I drummed my fingers on the desk. Why was he having an asthma attack?
And why did it kill him?
I typed “asthma” into my browser and read what I already knew. Statistically, the web entries relayed, the number of people that die from an asthma attack is low. And something else I didn’t need anyone to tell me, most times rescue inhalers more often than not do the trick. It relieves the symptoms. No need for further intervention. Bride Jorianne had said he’d “been sucking” on it for two days. So why hadn’t it worked? Mrs. Hackett thought perhaps they were old and expired.
Old.
Old, she assumed must have meant they were no good. But not always. Medicines can lose their potency after a while, true, and that’s why expiration dates are stamped on them. But old didn’t necessarily mean ineffective. And so, maybe the one he had wasn’t helping, but so many people had a “back-up” one for him that one of them should’ve done the trick. If he felt one wasn’t working, why not get another one from someone else?
I glanced down at the phone. It lay silent.
How was I going to concentrate and figure out what was bothering me about Bumper’s death if I couldn’t keep my mind off of why Alex had left?
He had to feel better, I reasoned, no need to worry about that or else he wouldn’t have left. Right? Thinking that made me feel better about only thinking of what Alex was doing to me.
Which was what?
Driving me crazy!
That’s what. I slapped my hands down on the desk and hopped up. J.R. opened one eye and glanced my way.
Geesh! If Alex was feeling better, why hadn’t he waited for me to get back? Taken me to that dinner he promised. Explained better what his divorce meant for us.
I sat back down and slumped in my seat. Maybe he hadn’t gotten any better. Auntie Zanne was always trying to disillusion me, get me to see things her way because my way, so she said, wasn’t the right way.
But I was the doctor and I just couldn’t see anyone getting better that quickly. Although I didn’t know what was wrong with him...
My racing mind came to a screeching halt. What was wrong with him?
That concern was fleeting, I went right back to how this entire situation was affecting me.
Maybe, I thought, it was me. Maybe I didn’t look how he thought I should when he jumped from the back of that ambulance and got a good look at me. My clothes. My hair. My make-up. He didn’t even seem to approve of my tan. I ran my hand over my hair, it had already started to frizz up even though I had worked hours to get it straight for our date.
Straight for him.
“It’s not my fault the humidity is so bad around here,” I said loudly. My second outburst gave J.R. a rise. He popped up and barked.
“It’s alright, boy. It’s just my life falling apart. Nothing to concern yourself with.”
I folded my arms on the desk and rested my chin atop of them. Doesn’t that man know anything about the south? Everyone knows it’s humid down here. If you didn’t know, it’s easy to look up. It’s not my fault I look so different down here.
I typed in “most humid cities” in my internet search box. The first link I saw was an article in the Beaumont Enterprise, a newspaper from the town I was born in. I knew they’d have the answer to prove my point. And sure enough, half of the cities listed were in Texas, one in Louisiana—Lake Charles which we were practically kissing borders with. And, the exact place Alex was staying. He was right there in the thick of it.
I just wanted to yell at him, “It’s the humidity, stupid.”
Good thing I didn’t agree to go with him to his conference. My hair would have been a real wreck. I moaned. That’s no excuse. For this to work, he had to like me for me, frizzy-hair-no-make-up me or both of us were going to have plan out a future without each other in it.
I took in a breath, sat up and stared at the computer. I’d let Alex get me off track. I was supposed to be trying to figure out what nagged me about Bumper’s death.
Now where was I...
I was looking into Bumper. Trying to learn who he was.
Right.
Okay. So. Bumper was happy about getting married. Not nervous. His asthma apparently wasn’t bad enough to keep him from playing ball whether that was because he was playing in California or because he had outgrown it or gotten used to the humidity in Roble and it was no longer a trigger. And I knew that with all the inhalers around, old or not, they should have stopped his asthma from getting worse.
What else did I know?
I knew that Alex got sick after tending to Bumper.
Alex.
At least this Alex digression wasn’t taking me off track.
Okay. So. Alex was fine when he gave Bumper CPR, and fine after he hopped off the back of the ambulance. He said that he didn’t start feeling bad until he woke up from his nap, hours after he’d left. And then that was when he noticed the irritation on his lips and nose.
Did he get sick from whatever he’d picked up from Bumper’s lips or mouth when he tried to resuscitate him? I remember noticing that it looked like crumbs. Was that what made his lips red? Was it what made him sick?
But why did it take so long for him to have a reaction? And crumbs of what?
Bumper hadn’t eaten. At least that’s what Floneva said and Auntie thought it was probably the truth. I had watched him from the window and I hadn’t seen him eat anything. And from my point of view I hadn’t even seen any food anywhere.
For Bumper to have crumbs on him that could have been transferred to Alex, he would have had to ingest something right before that debilitating attack. Because who leaves crumbs on their mouth for any length of time? It’s a natural reaction to wipe your mouth as you eat.
I shook my head. Maybe he did die from an asthma attack.
I blew out a breath.
Maybe not.
I glanced up at the computer monitor. Bumper smiling. Happy. Healthy. Asthma just seemed so improbable. And if he didn’t die from that, and whatever he died from was what made Alex sick, what did that mean?
One. It meant it had to be something transferable.
What could a person have that they could transfer to someone else simply by touch?
Two. I cocked my head to the side. Since Alex didn’t die and only seemed to have an irritation, it was something that was effective on the outside of the skin.
Three. It didn’t kill right away. Bumper didn’t die until a few hours after he reached the hospital.
What could kill a person in a matter of hours?
I couldn’t think of anything that could do that except for some type of poison. A poison that could spread by skin contact but was only deadly if inhaled or if ingested--seeing that Alex complained of stomach pains—but didn’t kill if only a small amount was taken in.
And if it were poison, that would mean murder...
I shook my head and sat up straight.
It couldn’t be.
Another murder?
I couldn’t think of any other way that Bumper Hackett could have died and Alex could have been affected. Not with the circumstances as I was starting to understand them.
But who would kill a man on his wedding day? And why?
I hadn’t paid much attention to anyone at the wedding, even after Bumper had gone down. I thought he was having an asthma attack and I didn’t want to get pulled into Auntie Zanne’s stuff. I had kept my blinders on.
Now I wished I had paid attention.
I closed my eyes and tried to picture the people at the wedding. After Bumper lost consciousness. For the most part I had been love-stricken and hadn
’t seen much. I’d only heard bits and pieces, people murmuring. Crying. Whispering.
Then I’d gone into emergency mode. Those people that I needed to get out of the way now were only a blur to me.
Eyes shut, I tried to think of everything that happened that might give me a clue to how someone could have gotten to Bumper, the once happy soon-to-be-groom, now it seemed to me, a murdered groom.
Chapter Twelve
Once I came to that conclusion, I knew I needed to call my cousin, Pogue Folsom. He was the sheriff in Roble and if my hunch was right, he was going to have to get on this right away. All of this spinning around in my head–thoughts of dastardly deeds, a person or persons doing away with someone at their wedding—had to be shared. I just hated to see Pogue go through it again.
Yep. We’d just got past one murder.
The very first murder in Roble’s long, illustrious recorded history. Okay, so probably other than a zero-crime rate, there hadn’t been much else to Roble’s history but that, however, was changing fast. One murder at a time.
It hadn’t even been two months since that murder and it too had entangled Auntie’s business up in it.
When I moved from Chicago, Auntie Zanne had come up and spent the last two weeks with me. She’d hoped to make the transition easier on me, but it didn’t help. I cried the entire train ride back, so disappointed that I was right back where I started. And things didn’t get any better after we arrived.
Josephine Gail was standing in the rainstorm that had ushered us in. Soaking wet, she was waiting for Pogue to arrive. She wouldn’t speak to us and it was impossible to get her out of that storm. Pogue had to fill us in once he got there. He told us that there was, according to Josephine Gail, an errant body in the funeral home. One, she determined, that had been murdered.
She was right.
The Annual Crawfish Boil and Music Festival was the backdrop for solving that murder. Now it looked like a wedding was going to be it this time.
I blew out a breath, picked up my cell phone and punched in my cousin’s number.
“Hi Pogue,” I said.
LOVE, HOPES, & MARRIAGE TROPES Page 6
