by Linda Ross
He gave me a look.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I said, sighing.
I squeezed into the back seat next to Dad, who had slid over next to Desi. Momo turned around from the front to eye my outfit. I’d put on a pair of pastel green stretch pants with a matching top. My flats were a scruffy brown, which matched my unzipped car coat.
“Honestly, Aretha,” Momo said, “surely you can dress better than that. After all, this is church.”
I heard Tiffany smother a giggle next to her.
Of course Momo was dressed to the nines in a beige linen skirt and matching silk top. Her full-length black coat was open to display the triple loop of pearls at her neck. And her shoes were low heels in a soft shade of pink that matched her purse.
“I don’t know why your sister got all the fashion sense,” Momo said. “You look like a bum.”
Eileen sighed loudly, I sighed loudly, and Dad said, “You brought a bun with you? I could use one. I’m still hungry from breakfast.”
As we entered the church, everyone complimented Momo on how well she looked and how pretty she looked and how she looked younger every time they saw her. Then their eyes would slide to me, their mouths would open to offer me some compliment, and that’s where it ended. They couldn’t come up with anything. Although one enterprising woman told me I looked rested. Yeah, that’s always nice to hear.
Eileen and I left Dad, Momo and the girls to chat with the other parishioners before church started, and we headed to the basement where the Sunday school classes were held. Eileen’s class was the youngest, ages four to nine, and she was teaching them about the Egyptian plagues. Six children of varying sizes were seated around the table with drawing paper and crayons. Eileen had each choose a plague to illustrate. I thought it was kind of a scary project for young kids, dealing with stuff like boils, cattle disease and the death of first born sons. But they seemed pretty blasé about the whole thing. One kid alternated between picking his nose and drawing a giant locust with horns and a tail. I had a feeling he had just made dinosaurs one of the plagues. That would have been one heck of a plague.
“You know what should have been one of the plagues?” I whispered to Eileen. “Momo. Now there’s a plague.”
“Tell me about it. This morning I got the lecture about letting the girls eat Pop Tarts. She said they were going to turn out like you.”
“What?!” I said in a voice loud enough to make the kids look up.
“I think she meant the divorce,” Eileen said in an obvious attempt to pacify me.
“But you’re divorced.”
“Yes, but I’m financially secure. I don’t have to depend on the gallery for money. And you have to work. And for a tabloid no less.”
“I’ve seen Momo reading the tabloids.”
“Sure, but she’s never going to admit it. And you know what she thinks about horoscopes.”
“The devil’s work,” I said.
“Right. False prophecies written from inside the gates of hell, as she put it.” Eileen looked at me, and we both stifled a snicker.
“Is this good, Teacher?” a prissy little girl asked, holding up a drawing of a big red and yellow ball. “It’s a boil.”
Instinctively I gagged.
“Oh, that’s lovely, Stephanie,” Eileen praised her. “Very good. Now why don’t you try some lice?”
We moved away from the table. “That’s the minister’s daughter,” Eileen whispered to me. “The rumor is they have to hide the collection plate from her or she helps herself.”
“Probably has a serious bubble gum habit,” I said.
“All I know is I keep my purse out of her reach. And she likes to hit the other kids. She calls it making their souls straighten out.”
“Good grief,” I said. “She sounds like a junior Momo.”
“I can’t imagine why she’s like that. You know the minister, Howard Smalz.”
“Yeah, I always imagined him sitting at the nerd table at the Last Supper while all the popular guys were with Jesus.” I heard organ music start upstairs, and I fervently hoped it wasn’t going to be followed by lightning striking me down.
“You’re going to go to hell for that,” Eileen said. “At least according to Momo. Anyway, Howard’s wife is a little bit of a thing. I think she bosses him around. One time I heard her tell him just to wait until they got home after he spilled his coffee after the service.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing. He just got this little smile.” Eileen shrugged. “I guess he doesn’t let her get to him.”
Or else he liked having her get to him, I thought.
I didn’t get to dwell on that creepy image, because the kids started clamoring for us to look at their pictures. It was a good collection of plagues. We had lice, locusts, frogs and sick cows (I could tell they were sick because one of them was barfing). And of course the red and yellow boil, drawn by Stephanie, the minister’s daughter. She began telling us about the time she got an infected finger, and I tuned her out. I would never have made it as a nurse. I don’t like blood or infections, and I really don’t like to take care of sick people. Especially whiny sick people.
I was much happier with our old minister, a jovial plump man with a wife with a sweet disposition. Their children were quiet even after they were grown, which was probably some kind of miracle. I don’t think there’s such a thing as a quiet child anymore.
Eileen read the kids the plague story again, and then we heard church letting out upstairs. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or not.
The parents appeared at the door to collect their kids, oohing and aahing over the plague pictures, and I watched Muriel, the minister’s wife, as she got Stephanie. She was petite with short black hair and a demure dress, cream colored with a profusion of red poppies sprinkled on it. And black high heels that made a no-nonsense click when she walked.
“I see you’re still working on the plague lesson,” she said in a cool voice to Eileen. “Boils and locusts are all she can talk about. Makes for a lovely Sunday dinner.” Muriel gave a tight smile and shepherded Stephanie out the door.
“Bitch,” Eileen muttered under her breath.
“Careful,” I said. “I didn’t see a lightning rod on the roof.”
Momo appeared at the door as the last child left with his mother. “Hurry up, you two. You need to say hello to everyone. I’ve been telling them how well Eileen’s gallery is doing and how the girls are going to be offered scholarships to any college and how Aretha’s up for a Pulitzer prize.”
“Say what now?” I asked.
“Honestly, Aretha, I had to come up with something. You don’t give me a lot to work with.”
“That’s more than just a little something,” I said. “And what’s this about the girls getting scholarships?” I glanced at Eileen, but she just stood there looking shell-shocked.
“Well, maybe that was embellishing a bit. Come on. People are waiting to talk to you.”
Oh, boy. Just what I wanted after the plague pictures.
Emma Karhoff was the first one to greet us as we came upstairs. She was about my age and florid from high blood pressure. She had short blond hair that she dyed and a plump figure, somewhat bigger than my own plump figure. “Just look at you,” she said to me. “Up for a Pulitzer. We’re all so proud.”
“Well, I think Momo’s been stretching the truth a bit,” I said. “I’m not really going to get a Pulitzer.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself. You deserve some recognition after everything you’ve been through.”
I was confused now. “The B and D club or the rat?” I had no idea what she was talking about.
Emma looked taken aback. “B and D club?” she repeated with wide eyes. “You’re not working there now, are you?”
“No, no. I was just there for a story. And I got thrown out anyway,” I added hastily as more parishioners moved closer to listen.
“I was talking about the drugs,” Emma said, lower
ing her voice.
“You mean the pot brownies? Honestly, I had no idea there was pot in them.”
Now Emma looked confused. “No, your aunt said you just finished a stint in rehab. She said it was for meth and food addiction.”
“Did she now?” I said.
“Stay calm, Aretha,” Eileen said, putting a hand on my arm that had suddenly tensed. “I’m sure we can straighten this out.”
“There’s no shame in it, I’m sure,” Emma said. “Personally, I belong to Weight Watchers. And it’s done wonders for me.”
“Don’t say it,” Eileen warned me in a whisper.
I gritted my teeth and managed to keep my mouth shut. But it wasn’t easy. And I shot a dark look at Momo.
“Really,” Emma said to me, “you should write your autobiography. I mean the divorce and the drug abuse—I guess maybe that’s why he divorced you—and you come back to win a Pulitzer. What a story.”
“Oh, it’s a story all right,” I said. “And I really need to get back home, seeing as I got a death threat yesterday.”
“Oooooh,” Emma said, her eyes widening. “Was it from your drug dealer?”
My teeth were clenched all the way to the car. Once we were on our way, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It didn’t help.
“Why on earth did you tell everyone I was in drug rehab?” I demanded of Momo. “And that I’m nominated for a Pulitzer?”
“Who has a Howitzer?” Dad asked. “I haven’t seen one in years.”
“We’re not talking about a gun, Dad.”
I could see that Momo wasn’t the least bit fazed.
“I thought it would make you sound more interesting,” she said without any remorse. “Your life is nothing to brag about. You have a terrible job, no fashion sense and you’re divorced. At least when the women in this family get divorced they get a good settlement.”
I don’t know how Momo always made me feel as though I was a wayward fifteen-year-old rather than fifty and living on my own.
“Not my fault,” I said. “And what about Eileen? She’s divorced.” Although, granted, she got a good settlement.
“Well, at least she’s engaged,” Momo said.
“What???!!” I shrieked, and Eileen nearly ran the car off the road. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded of Eileen.
Tiffany and Desi pointedly kept their eyes on their cell phones, busy with non-existent texts, and Eileen cleared her throat and glanced nervously in the rear view mirror.
“It’s not really official,” she said. “I don’t have a ring yet. And we haven’t set a date.”
“You’re marrying Ralph?” I asked. “Ralph, the scumbag lawyer who represented Boyd and took me for everything but the car?”
“He’s a nice scumbag,” Eileen protested. “I mean, he’s not a scumbag. He said you had an idiot lawyer.”
“Yeah, well, I couldn’t afford anyone else, thanks to Boyd.”
This day was shaping up to be just dandy.
It didn’t get any better when we got to the house and Jimmy was gone. Now I was stuck with family the rest of the day. I went to my house first and let Nancy out to pee. Jimmy had left a note on the counter, which cheered me some. I’ll be back tonight with pizza. I’m not sure which was the better news, Jimmy coming back or the pizza.
I called Thelma to see how she was doing and to see if she wanted to go somewhere for a drink or some pie. She wasn’t anxious to go anywhere in Hannibal after the death threat, so I told her I would pick her up in the morning to head to Arnold.
I braced myself and headed across the yard to Eileen’s house. Nothing like a whole day with Momo, and I still had Thanksgiving to look forward to. Talk about plagues. I think I would take the locusts over any length of time spent with Momo. And the lice. The boils were a close call.
The afternoon went about as well as could be expected considering it was spent with my sister, who was apparently engaged to the lawyer who’d made sure I came out of my divorce at poverty level, my aunt, who was a harpie in the guise of a benevolent old lady, and my dad, who needed a hearing aid and wouldn’t admit it.
After a couple of hours, Eileen had that pinched look on her face that heralded a migraine, so I suggested we order some food so she could lie down and not cook. I called in Mexican and picked up the bag of tacos myself. Of course Momo said it would give her heartburn and Dad asked why I was ordering Bacos for dinner. I noticed that both of them had a healthy appetite. Dad ate three tacos and Momo ate two. I just sipped a soda, and when Eileen asked why I wasn’t eating I told her Jimmy was bringing pizza.
She brightened at that and offered to put together a salad to bring over, but I told her she could take her salad to Ralph the weasel lawyer.
I know I was being petty, but the divorce still rankled. It had caught me by surprise. Not that I’d been wildly happy in the marriage—Boyd could be a bit of a jerk—but I thought we had mostly worked out our differences. During the divorce I discovered that not only did I not have any ownership of the business, but Boyd had quietly set up a separate bank account with just his name on it. I guess I was lucky to come out of the divorce with the car. Boyd sold the house and I got half of that, but it wasn’t exactly enough to keep me in Diet Coke for life. That’s assuming heart disease wouldn’t take me out in the next few years. From what I’ve read, cheesecake isn’t that good for the coronary arteries. I keep telling myself it’s dairy, so it’s good for the bones.
Jimmy showed up with the pizza shortly after I got home. It was ham and pineapple, one of my favorites. All right. Let’s be honest. They’re all my favorites. I got Jimmy a beer and I had a Diet Coke. Nancy got a couple little pieces of pineapple. Life was good. Well, except for the death threat. That wasn’t any fun to think about.
Something of what was going through my head must have showed on my face, because Jimmy said, “I think the text you got was supposed to scare you away. I don’t think whoever sent it is a real threat.”
“Are you sure?”
“No, and because I’m not I’m going to stay here at night until we catch the guy.”
“Oh, boy, a roomie, Nancy.”
Jimmy smiled and took another big swallow of beer. “But we aren’t going to bake something every night. I’ll gain too much weight.”
“You men,” I said. “Always thinking about your figure.”
“Being beautiful is a curse.”
The thing is, he really is a great looking guy. Right up there with a couple of my favorite actors. He has kind of a Kevin Costner vibe, and I like that.
Jimmy and I watched TV and, predictably, I fell asleep on the couch by 9:30. Jimmy woke me up after he’d let Nancy out to pee. He gave me a chaste kiss on the forehead and pointed me in the direction of my bedroom. By the time I brushed my teeth, Nancy was already sound asleep on the pillow next to mine. Nancy snores a little, but it’s a delicate poodle snore that doesn’t keep me awake. That’s what I like about her. She’s like one of those kindly older women you sometimes run into in church. She doesn’t want to be a bother, and she’s happy just to hang out with you.
I drifted off to sleep feeling safe and content now that Jimmy was here in the house. Not a very independent woman kind of feeling, but it was the best I could do when Jimmy wouldn’t let me bake anything.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I left the house at eight the next morning to pick up Thelma at her brother’s house. Jimmy was up and eating breakfast, getting ready to go to work. “Don’t you have anything that doesn’t require syrup except Little Debbie?” he asked from the pantry.
“There might be a container of oatmeal on the top shelf,” I said.
“I already checked. Had to throw it out. Little things crawling in it.”
“See? I never have that problem with Little Debbie.”
Jimmy sighed and emerged with a box of donuts. “You’re out of eggs,” he said.
“I’ll get some on the way home.”
“You and Thelma take care,”
he said, giving me a serious look. “Don’t take any chances.”
“It’s just Arnold, Missouri,” I said. “I don’t think whoever killed Kara will be there.”
“Still. . . .”
I appreciated his concern, but I figured it came from his police detective’s side and not his personal side. He’d spent the night, and apparently he hadn’t even been tempted by me. Of course who would be tempted by a menopausal woman who fell asleep on the couch at 9:30?
Thelma looked as elegant as always when she got into the car. For an ex-nun, she certainly knew how to dress. This time it was a pair of black slacks with a hot pink top and a chunky pink jacket with piping and little green leaves on it. Of course her pink earrings matched her necklace of pink beads.
I, on the other hand, was wearing blue pants that would have looked better if I’d ironed them, a white T-shirt and my denim jacket.
Neither of us had had breakfast, so we stopped at a small restaurant on the way out of town. I got eggs over easy, bacon, hash browns and biscuits, and Thelma got oatmeal and coffee.
“How can you survive on such little food?” I asked.
“I’m trying to eat less meat,” she said. “It’s a good spiritual exercise.”
I sighed. I couldn’t see myself eating less of anything. The most spiritual exercise I got was when I got on the scale and asked God to make that last Snickers disappear from my system. Which never happened.
“I don’t know about spiritual,” I said. “God never listens to me when I ask for brownie calories not to count.”
“That’s asking for magic,” Thelma said. “For a spiritual exercise you offer up something or you give something of yourself. It makes you stronger in spirit. And it gives you serenity.”
“The only thing I could give up that would make me serene is pantyhose.”
“It has to be something you like. It’s a sacrifice.”
“You mean like Diet Coke?”
“Exactly.”
“Not going to happen. What about Little Debbie oatmeal cakes? I could give them up.”
“You don’t even like them that much.”
“True. But if I don’t have any Little Debbie Swiss Rolls I’ll eat them.”
