"I’m sure your aunt would be proud of you," I said, meaning it. I didn’t know very many people who could boast that they’d paid off their mortgage.
MaeBelle’s face saddened. "I told her about the house, but she didn’t act like she knew.what I was sayin’. The Alzheimer’s came on her real sudden, you know, after Thanksgivin’ last year. She was livin’ alone, but she got so she couldn’t remember how to get home from downtown. Then she’d forget about takin’ a bath and eatin’, an’ she got real thin an’ had trouble with her bowels. Had to start wearin’ one of those diaper things. I started givin’ her B-12 shots an’ that helped some for a while, but it wasn't long until We had to put her into the Manor.”
"It’s a good thing she had you to help,” I said. “What do people do when they don’t have family?”
“I’m here t’ tell you,” MaeBelle replied emphatically. “Cleanin’ out that house was a lot of work, believe you me. We brought some of the furniture here—that recliner Lester’s stretched out in, for one—an’ we had us a big yard sale. But the garage was full of old books and papers and stuff from the law office. Aunt Velma wouldn’t let us throw away a single piece of it for fear somebody might want it.” She laughed shortly. "That was one thing Lester didn’t mind doin’. He thought there might be money hid, tin’ he sorted like the devil was eggin’ him on. But there wasn’t, of course—money, I mean. Aunt Velma had enough to live on, but not much more.”
"It must have been hard on everyone,” I said sympathetically.
MaeBelle sighed heavily. "I tell you, Miz Bayles, movin’ Aunt Velma out to the Manor like to of broke my heart. She was the most independent person I ever saw. Did ever’ little thing for herself, bar none. ’Cause she never had a man around to help, you know.” She laughed a little. “Not that havin' a man around is any guarantee you’ll get help when you need it.”
"Was she upset by the move?”
MaeBelle nodded. “I’d say. But she was never one to dwell on grief. She gets her bed changed ever' week an’ good food, an’ people stop in, though she don’t always know ’em. Miss Lund reads to her. Opal Hogge keeps a eye on her. Opal is Aunt Velma’s second cousin, on Mama’s daddy’s side.”
"1 was going to ask you about that,” I said. "Somebody mentioned that your aunt called Mrs. Hogge Bunny.”
"She did?” Grinning, MaeBelle slapped her hand on her knee. "Good for Aunt Velma! Shows she remembers some things, anyway. But I bet Opal didn't like that very durn much.”
“Is that right? Why?”
She leaned forward. "Well, when they was little. Opal’s brother had a old horse named Bunny that was meaner’n a skilletful of rattlesnakes an’ stubborn as all git-out. Opal’d throw a tantrum over some little thing, an’ her momma would call her Bunny, after that horse. That'd make Opal hot as a little bird pepper, an’ she’d stomp an’ fling herself around. Her brother got so he’d call her Bunny just to get her mad.” She sighed. "Not too different from my grandkids, I guess. Maybe the world ain’t changed that much, after all.”
I agreed that maybe it hadn’t. We sat chatting for a while longer,~discussing the situation in the police department and other such urgent small-town matters. MaeBelle told me that the chief—"the boss,” she called him—was on a very short fuse where the consultant was concerned. When I asked if she had to take part in the sensitivity training, she shook her head and allowed that eveiybody figured she was sensitive enough already. Then the grandkids came out and began to romp around the back yard. MaeBelle got up and turned the sprinkler off so they wouldn’t get wet. I looked at my watch. It wasn’t nine yet, and McQuaid would still be up. I’d stop at the corner store and get a pint of Double Chocolate Fudge ice cream. We might not be able to go to bed together, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t enjoy a little bedtime indulgence.
• • •
The white duck curtain that was pulled around Jug’s bed didn’t do much to muffle his stentorian snores. The light was turned low and McQuaid had parked his wheelchair close to the television set. He’d been watching a cop show with the volume turned way down so he wouldn’t disturb Jug. He grinned when he saw me with the ice cream, and turned off the sound. I rooted around in the drawer of his bedside table and found one plastic spoon, which we shared.
“What have you been up to?” he asked, digging into the ice cream container.
I kicked off my shoes and sat cross-legged on the end of his bed. "Well, I took the plunge,” I said.
“You and Ruby are going into business together? That’s great, China!”
“We’ll see how great it is,” I said. “It feels like going into partnership with a hurricane. Anyway, after I saw Ruby, I went to the shop for a bit, then I went home and fed Howard Cosell and called Roxanne to make a date to see her in the morning. Then I went to Fannie and Clyde’s for grilled chicken and gossip, and then I dropped in on Mae Belle Battersby, who is baby-sitting her grandchildren.” I took the spoon and the ice cream he handed me. “MaeBelle says she doesn’t have to take sensitivity training because eveiybody figures she's sensitive enough.” I dipped the spoon into the ice cream. “Sunday night in a small town. Not veiy exciting.”
“Did you learn anything?”
I summarized the various conversations, while he ate and listened. The television set flickered, casting shadows around the room.
“MaeBelle’s information about Bunny is interesting,” he said, when I’d finished.
“It was a long time ago, but it tells us something about her personality." 1 paused. "Did you see Miss Velma?” He turned his head, listening for Jug’s next snore. When it came, assuring us that Jug was dead to the world, he handed the ice cream to me and said, “Yes, I saw her. After you left, I went to her room. She was sitting in a wooden rocker beside her window, watching the goats. There was another woman in the bed by the wall.”
"How did she seem?”
“Physically, she’s a small woman, and pretty frail. Her dress was on inside out and her house slippers were on the wrong feet. She had a kind of vacant, wandering look, but eveiy now and then then something would click and her eyes would snap back into focus, and she’d be reasonably sharp for a minute or two.”
“Could you see any bruises?”
"No, but her dress had long sleeves.” He took the ice cream from me. "I told her my name. I said, ‘I live here.’ So she’d know I wasn’t a visitor or something like that.” He grinned. "Then she focused on me and said, very carefully, ‘No, / live here. You’re lost.’ She pointed at the door and said, ‘Go ask one of the nurses. They’ll tell you where you live.’ ”
I laughed. "A woman with a sense of humor.”
“She might not have thought it was funny. I told her I’d come to see her especially, and asked her how she was feeling. She said she was better, and then she got this flirtatious smile and said, ‘You’re a good-looking boy. What are they keeping you here for?’ I told her I had to learn to walk again, and asked her whether she liked it here, and whether the nurses were good to her.”
“What did she say?”
“She shrugged and said some were better than others. Then she looked down at her feet and said, 'Some of them don’t know one foot from another. They put my feet in the wrong slippers.’. She looked up at me and-giggled, and 1 could tell she knew she was making a joke. She seemed lucid at that point, so I said, ‘How about Bunny? Is she good to you?’ ’’
I leaned forward. "How did she respond?’’
“Her shoulders stiffened and her mouth got tight. ‘Bunny,’ she said. She sounded almost contemptuous. Then she asked me my name again, and I told her. I told her she could trust me, and she asked me why I was in the wheelchair. 1 said I’d been on special assignment for the Texas Rangers, and I’d been shot. That seemed to get her attention. ‘You’re a Texas Ranger?’ she said, and she seemed interested. She wanted to know if I'd come to see her about the papers.”
"The papers?”
He shrugged. "We were on the wrong track
, so I tried again. I asked her if Opal Hogge was good to her, and whether there had been any problems. This time, though, the question seemed to distress her. Her eyes got teaiy and her lower lip trembled, and the vacant look came back. I asked a couple more questions—whether Hogge had come to her room, whether there had been any trouble. But all I got was a stare, and that trembling lip.”
I don’t know what I had expected, but I felt disappointed. “It doesn’t sound as if she’d be a veiy good witness.”
"She has flickers of understanding. If somebody put the right questions at the right moments, she might be able to report whether she’s been abused, and by whom. But it could be argued that she’s susceptible to suggestion, and I doubt if her testimony would stand up all by itself, without corroboration.”
"Well, at least we know that much. Thank you for seeing her.”
He ate the last of the ice cream, tossed the empty carton in the wastebasket, and leaned back in his chair. "China, I’ve been thinking. If we're really going to get married, we might as well do it right.”
I eyed him warily. "What do you mean, ‘do it right’? You’re not talking about a big wedding, are you? That’s what Ruby seems to have in mind. If she had her way, she’d probably turn it into a three-ring event.”
He grinned. "Well, I was actually thinking about one ring. An engagement ring. How about if I get Grandma's garnet ring from Mom and have it reset for you?” He hesitated. "But maybe a garnet is too old-fashioned. Maybe you'd rather choose a new ring.”
I swallowed. A ring? There were too many decisions to make, too fast. But then I glanced at his face. He was watching me carefully, waiting for my reaction. Testing me? Measuring my commitment? I made myself smile.
"Your grandmother’s ring sounds lovely. But won’t your mom mind parting with it?”
He grinned. "Are you kidding? Mom would give up anything—even her membership in the Brazos • Belles Bridge Club—to see us married at last.”
"Well,” I said, "I guess we shouldn’t disappoint her, then.” I stood up.
The light from the television flickered across his craggy face. "You haven't changed your mind, have you? I mean, I still don’t understand why you want to tie yourself to somebody who can't even—”
I put my hand on his lips. "Hush,” I said. "You just
3t2JtVJt*3tVX*Jt?X2X
Chapter Twelve
Chiles have become a popular alternative to tear gas and mace to repel muggers in the city and mean moose on the mountain trail. The Mayans hurled chiles at their enemies to blind them. Pueblo Indians burned chile seeds to fumigate their dwellings. Organic gardeners make a spray of dried chiles steeped in water to repel insects. Enterprising boat owners add powdered chiles to boat bottom paint to ward off barnacles, vets use it to treat horses with chest ailments, and it has been employed to dissuade critters from chewing on electrical wires and pizza poachers from raiding the office refrigerator. And if you’re a nail-biter, you might tiy dabbing a tiny bit of chile oil on your cuticles. That will teach you to keep your hands in your pockets.
China Bayles
"Hot Pods and Fired-up Fare”
Pecan Springs Enterprise
I had just stepped out of the shower on Monday morning when the phone rang. It was Bubba Harris. He was gruffer than usual. Either he was still annoyed at the prospect of spending all week doing sensitivity training, or the crow he was eating had gone down the wrong way.
“Thought I’d get you to pass a message on to McQuaid for me. The doc at the hospital sent over that autopsy report early this momin’.” Bubba coughed. “You tell McQuaid that Doc Jamison says Cody died of anaphylactic shock. The stomach contents included traces of peanuts.” He got grimmer. "I still can’t figger why anybody'd be fool enough to put peanuts in chili. I guess there’s no accounting for tastes.”
I asked the question that would be on McQuaid’s mind. “What about the samples?”
“They went to Austin. I can put in a call, but it’ll be a couple days before we hear anything.” He got even gruffer. "Listen, Miz Bayles. The way McQuaid went on about those samples makes me think he thinks there’s more in this than meets the eye. If that’s so, and he’s got reason to believe this was a crime, I want to know about it, pronto. But I don’t want a lot of wild-hair speculation. Far as I’m concerned, Jerry Jeff accidentally bit down on a peanut that some idiot put in his chili. If McQuaid’s got any hard facts to contradict this, I want to hear ’em.” He paused. “But they better be facts and they better be bard. You hear? I got my hands full this week with that gol- dumed consultant the Council hired." He snorted disgustedly. "Sensitivity training. I’ll show ’em who’s sensitive.” "Yessir,” I said. "Hard facts. McQuaid will be in touch.” We hung up, and I dialed McQuaid.
“I just got off the phone with Bubba,” I said. "According to Doc Jamison, it was anaphylactic shock that killed Jerry Jeff. Bubba thinks this was accidental, and he’s busy with sensitivity training this week. But he told me to tell you that if you’ve got any hard facts to support a suspicion that this is something more than what it looks like, he wants to know about them. Pronto.”
"The trouble with Bubba," McQuaid said, "is that he somehow never got it that hard facts aren’t the only facts worth considering.” His tone changed, and I heard a smile in it. “Hey. Mom called this morning, and I couldn’t wait to break the news. She says to tell you she is tickled pink. She’ll bring the ring over today.”
I laughed. "Not in much of a huny, is she?”
"Listen, baby. This is the answer to her prayers. You don’t think she’s going to give God a chance to change his mind, do you? What time are you seeing Roxanne?”
I glanced at the clock. "As soon as I comb my hair and throw some clothes on my naked body.”
"Totally naked?”
I glanced in the mirror. "Totally.”
"Bring some chiles when you come. I need to get in shape.”
I smiled. It felt good to hear him joke about sex again. "I’ll stop by and get a couple of bottles of Lila’s salsa,” I said.
"And I’ll call Charlie Lipman and see if he’s available this morning. If he is, why don’t you pick him up and bring him out here so we can have a talk. I’ve got a physical therapy session first thing this morning, but I’ll probably be finished before ten.”
When we hung up, I went to the closet. Roxanne might need to be coaxed into telling her stoiy, or maybe pushed a little, which meant that I should be appropriately costumed. I sorted through the stuff at the back of the closet until I found what I was looking for. Some days, you need to look like you’re capable of pushing people around.
Michelle’s Health and Fitness Spa has gone through several incarnations in the last few years. The building began life as a warehouse, then became an auto-parts store. Then it was remodeled into a gym by a woman named Jerri, who died in an unfortunate aumotobile accident on Devil’s Backbone. Michelle took it over last year and has totally redone the place, painting it adobe tan with pink trim and cutting back the spiny agarito that grows beside the door. (As a security hedge, agarito will give even the most determined intruder second thoughts. And if you see people in a held, flailing away at an agarito with sticks, they’re not tiying to decapitate it, they’re harvesting the berries by knocking them onto newspapers or a groundcloth so they can take them home and make jelly.)
“Good morning!” The artifically cheerful girl behind the counter was wearing silver tights and a neon-blue leotard cut to the hips. She surveyed me critically, as if she were gauging how many sessions it would take to get me in shape. “Which class didja wanna sign up for?”
“I’m meeting someone,” I said, sneaking a glance at my side view in the mirror at the end of the counter. I was a bit thick across the hips, but the gray pin-striped suit didn’t look too bad, especially considering that I hadn’t worn it in quite a while. The jacket hid most of my sins of indulgence, its businesslike cut softened, but not much, by a white notched-collared blouse. It wa
s my last remaining court costume.
“Havaseat." The girl motioned me to a chair next to a pile of magazines featuring svelte females baring bronzed muscles and bleached teeth. I put my gray leather briefcase (empty, but Roxanne wouldn’t know that) on the floor and sat down, idly choosing a bride’s magazine. On the cover was a model with a swanlike neck and a waist the size of my wrist. The dress, which I might purchase for the contents of my cash register in an entire year, was a froth of white lace, trimmed in seed pearls and sequins. On an inside page, I found an article on the informal garden wedding, which advised me that, this season’s best- dressed bride would walk down the aisle in pink flowered columnar georgette, ankle-length, with a cartwheel hat swathed in green tulle, carrying pink and green hydrangeas.
"You’re waiting for me?’’
Roxanne Cody, dressed for work, was wearing more clothes than the last time I had seen her: a sleeveless, silky yellow shell tucked into the waistband of a matching tight- fitting skirt, and dangling earrings in the shape of the state of Texas. Her blond hair curled in damp tendrils over her ears and her face was newly made-up.
"Good morning, Mrs. Cody.” I picked up my briefcase, stood, and extended my hand. "My name is China Bayles. I’m an attorney. Is there a place nearby where we can talk?” I wasn’t lying. I may not practice law, but I’m still a member of the legal fraternity.
Frowning a little, she shook my hand. “Well, I don’t know. There’s a pancake place down the road, but—’’
Chile Death Page 15
