Too Easy (A Flap Tucker Mystery Book 2)

by Phillip DePoy

  He settled in. His brother was beside him. There was a very pleasant sound of rain on the roof. Otherwise they watched me eat in silence.

  Finally Maytag spoke. “So you met Aunt Ida. Daddy said she tried to tell you everything.”

  I talked around a forkful of beans. “That’s quite a system she’s got.”

  Peachy smiled. “You mean the tappin’ an’ whatnot?”

  I nodded.

  Maytag shifted into a slouch. “She makes herself known.”

  I nodded again. “It was interesting. She born mute?”

  Peachy looked over at his brother. “Tell ’im.”

  Maytag closed his eyes. “Naw. You.”

  Peachy settled in. “Okay. You done eatin’?”

  I looked down. The plate was entirely clean, like nothing had ever been there. “Unless I eat the plate — which I might. Why?”

  “I get you somethin’ else, or you can listen to the story.”

  I set the plate aside. “Maybe I can get something more in a minute. I’m always willing to take a story break.”

  Peachy agreed. “Okay.”

  He set the stage with silence and the drumming of the rain. It was the perfect curtain raiser. Then he let loose with his story.

  20 - A Kiss in the Cemetery

  In their younger days Aunt Ida and her sister were growing up in Savannah. Their father was away in the Navy fighting World War II. He’d promised to return, but the rumor was that his ship had been lost at sea.

  Every day the girls walked home from school by a cemetery. The cemetery had gravestones from the Revolutionary War. It was very old.

  One day in October Ida’s sister was kept after for whispering in class, and had to clean erasers. She’d been whispering to a little cloth-and-wood doll that she kept in her pocket — something her father had given her before he’d gone — and the teacher had caught her and punished her.

  Ida waited on the school steps. The day got dark and evening was drawing on. Still, the girls had to play their special game. Every day on their way home from school, they played a game of Dare. People said it was because their father was gone that they were growing up contrary. Nevertheless, challenges were issued in their game. One girl had to run through the Old Baptist Cemetery and touch the back door of the church without making a sound. No screaming allowed. That was the strictest rule: no noise. They didn’t want to be caught and get in trouble.

  Ida’s sister was in a bad mood from her punishment, and she issued a particularly mean challenge that day: Skip through the graveyard, kiss the back door of the church, do a dance on the steps, and then run back — here was the hardest part — jumping over any open graves on the way out. Finally: kiss the little wooden doll. Then they could go home.

  Ida was equal to the task, loathe as she was to being called a sissy little girl. She set her books down in the twilight and skipped into the old churchyard. She was very proud of the way she seemed so unafraid, but the cool air and the shadows made the place stranger than ever before.

  Arriving at the back door of the church, Ida kissed it, looked to her sister and waved, then danced the new dance they’d seen on television, called the Twist. It made her laugh, and her sister, way off at the street, was laughing too.

  Ida spotted an open grave, and determined to leap over it on her triumphal egress. She took a deep breath and headed straight for it, running as fast as she could.

  But just as she came to the edge of it, something gray and huge raised up out of the open grave and made a horrible sound. Ida leaped up over it; she was too close to do anything else. But she stumbled on the other side, tripped over a magnolia root, and came down on the ground hard, smashing her head on a carved stone angel at the foot of the next grave site. She lay unconscious. Her sister stood screaming from the street.

  Up out of the hole, the poor old man who took care of the place threw himself. He had just finished digging the new grave after a day of planting pansies all around the church.

  He was crying. He thought the little girl was dead. He just stood over her saying, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  Finally someone came out of the church, and Ida’s sister rushed in. They all stood around Ida, afraid to even touch her. The old man said he’d been working when he heard a noise that frightened him. Something flew over his head, and he thought it might be a giant bat. The little girl never made a sound.

  Ida’s sister stood whispering frantically to the little doll.

  Then, in the next moment, Ida opened her eyes. She sat up and smiled. Everyone thanked God. The old man picked her up in his arms and carried her home, with her sister leading the way.

  And despite everything medical science could do, Ida kept right on playing the game for the rest of her days: running through the graveyard of her life without making a sound.

  From that day on she never spoke another word.

  21 - Promises

  Just in case I was confused, Maytag thought he ought to clarify. “See, that’s our Aunt Ida and our Momma. The sister was Momma. Momma used to tell everybody after that happened that she and Ida was one person — half that could talk and half that couldn’t.”

  I nodded. “Right.”

  Peachy sat back. “Momma always felt guilty, they say. Said it was her doin’ that made ’em so late, the whole thing was her fault. She felt sad and sorry and tried to give Ida all kinds of help, you know. They were near inseparable after that night. They did everything together.” He gave his brother a very meaningful look, I thought. “Everything.”

  Maytag continued. “It was what Daddy called a traumatic event. See, in the full daylight it ain’t so bad, but it’s real spooky in the evenin’. We been there. We seen the angel.”

  Peachy smiled. “Angel that took Ida’s voice.”

  I sat back. “Right. And she started tapping and clicking after that?”

  Maytag answered. “Not right away. Took awhile.”

  Peachy had a theory. “I believe it was seein’ that old movie about Macaroni that did it.”

  I didn’t understand right away. “Macaroni?”

  He nodded. “That invented the telegraph.”

  I smiled. “Oh, yeah. Marconi.”

  He was amiable. “Whatever.”

  “Your aunt saw some movie about Marconi and decided to ... it’s not Morse code she uses?”

  “Naw, it’s all Ida.”

  I should have known better, but I had to ask again. “How did you all learn it?”

  Maytag volunteered. “We read her mind, most times. We just let ’er tap so she’ll feel like she’s expressin’ herself.”

  I nodded, trying hard not to think about it too much. “Right. You all read her mind.”

  Peachy yawned. “We’re a close family.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Maytag swatted at his brother. “Mr. Tucker ain’t got no normal family. It ain’t polite to lord it over ’im.

  Peachy closed his eyes. “Oh. Sorry.” Then he opened them. “Sorry, Mr. Tucker.”

  I shrugged. “It’s okay. What makes you think I’ve got no normal family?”

  Maytag thought that was pretty good. “Shoot. If you had a family like ours, you’d have a lots a better things to do than run around lookin’ for us. You got the look of a fella that’s unattached.”

  I settled back again. “Well — I read a lot about how nonattachment is supposed to be enlightening.”

  Peachy looked at his brother, on the verge of a small satori himself. “Maybe it’s like how it is with us an’ Momma.” He looked at me. “Lots a people thinks we oughta be sad about her dyin’? But we ain’t that much attached to her memory an’ all.”

  Maytag looked at me. “We never spent a minute worryin’ about — or wishin’ Momma had of lived. She didn’t. That’s all there is to that. Anyway, Ida’s been pretty clear with us — ever since we was little-bitty — about what happens to you after you die.”

  I crossed my arms. “Okay, I’ll bite. What happens to you afte
r you die?”

  He opened up his hand and showed me his palm. Then he smiled. It was the famous peace that passeth understanding. You get it in nearly all of your better religions.

  I nodded. “I see.” But maybe I didn’t.

  The rain was drawing to a conclusion, and it changed the mood in the room. There was even a little low golden light coming in the kitchen window.

  Peachy sighed. “I love this time a day.”

  Maytag leaned over to me. “So, Mr. Tucker — you gonna help us find Lydia or not?”

  “Did she kill her husband?”

  Peachy drew in a big breath through his nose. “We don’t really know. She whispered somethin’ in his ear, and after he had time to think about it, he just fell over.”

  Maytag agreed. “Just like in the storybook we got her for Christmas.”

  Peachy smiled. “It was a book with English and Irish stories in it. Lots of folks hereabouts got all kinds of Irish and English in us. That one story’s about this spirit of the ocean? And she falls in love with a rich man on the land.”

  Maytag shook his head. “But it don’t work out between ’em.”

  Peachy nodded. “She just whispered a word in his ear, and he fell right over.”

  I couldn’t tell if they were talking about the story they’d read, or what had happened in the bank in Tifton.

  Maytag shifted comfortably. “They tell us he was dead after that. Reckon he got to thinkin’ about how bad he’d been — that’s probably what killed ’im.” He stared at nothing for a beat or two. “So how you gonna find ’er, Mr. Turner?”

  Peachy was interested too. “What exactly does a person in your line of work actually do?”

  I looked out at the golden kitchen. “Often I use the same method that I so successfully employed to find the two of you.”

  Peachy blinked. “What was that?”

  “I let you come to me.”

  Maytag agreed. “That’s a way to do it.”

  Peachy nodded his head slowly. “Take ’er easy.” But he seemed distracted for a second.

  Maytag looked around strangely, too, and then he hoisted himself up. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

  I checked my watch. “It’s not even seven.”

  He didn’t look back at me. “We didn’t sleep last night.”

  Peachy looked over at his brother and nodded. “You got a nice long sleep, but we didn’t sleep at all.”

  I tightened my lips. “Yeah. I had it lucky.” Something was up with them, but I couldn’t tell what it was.

  Maytag was headed up the stairs. “You could try to call your lady friend again.”

  Peachy followed. “Make you a bed there on the sofa.”

  Maytag disappeared around the top of the steps. “See you later.”

  Peachy looked back. “Or, I reckon you could watch the TV an’ all. It gets all kinds of channels.” He paused a moment on the top step. “So you gonna help us? We really gotta find her in the worstest way.”

  “I’ll do what I can.” There. I’d said it. Now I actually had to do something about it.

  I guess it was good enough for him; he understood the nature of the promise. He was gone too. The idea I’d had in the back of my head about being kidnapped for some sinister reason by lunatic farmer boys was evaporating pretty quickly. I really could have split then if I’d wanted to — plenty of evening light left in the long summer day. But I’d made my promise, so I stuck to it. I never think making a promise like that will get me into trouble, but it usually does.

  22 - Boom

  I reached for the phone; dialed.

  The answer: “DeSoto Beach Motel.”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  Pause.

  “Hello?”

  “Dally, it’s me again.”

  She was anxious. “Flap. What happened? You okay?”

  “Started storming, that’s all. We got cut off. I’m great.”

  “Except for the fact that you got some kinda godawful drug in you and you’re kidnapped by retarded farm boys.”

  “They’re not retarded, they’re simple. They were very clear on that issue.”

  “Are they listening?”

  I settled back in my chair. “They’re asleep.”

  “So ... if you wanted to, could you leave now?”

  “Yup.”

  “But you’re stayin’?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She sounded more relieved. “So you really are okay.”

  “I really am okay.”

  She let out a big breath. “Good.”

  “So what’s all this frantic talk about something strange with our current investigation? You were talking maybe a little crazy before.”

  “What?”

  “Before you hung up, you were wild to tell me something about all this business that you hadn’t told me before.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Prob’ly just the drugs.”

  “So, you’re not going to tell me now?”

  “You’re really okay? I mean — they’re not holding a gat on you or anything?”

  “Gat?”

  “You heard me.”

  “No. No gats, no roscoes, no equalizers, no persuaders, no blue steel babies.”

  “Plus,” she shifted the phone, “no guns, right?”

  I had to laugh. “Yeah, no guns. So come on, tell me the deal.”

  “I don’t want to now.”

  I couldn’t believe it. “What?”

  “If you really are okay, I’d rather wait until I see you in person. Which’ll be when, by the way?”

  “I dunno. I gotta help the boys find Lydia now.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s what they want me to do, and I’m inclined to do it.”

  “Oh.” But she wanted to say more, I could tell.

  “So you’re not going to tell me what’s up?”

  Silence.

  “Dally?”

  More silence. Then: “Flap, you gotta talk to me before you go lookin’ for Lydia, okay?”

  I shifted the phone. “What for?”

  She was stubborn. “Sorry.”

  “Be sorry all you want; tell me what’s going on.”

  “In the words of the immortal Marvin Gaye.”

  “Stop it.”

  “You’ll be mad.”

  “I won’t be mad.”

  “Yes you will.”

  I shifted the phone again; leaned forward. “Dally, this is absolutely and uncharacteristically ... excuse my language: feminine of you. It’s making me nervous. I’ve got enough yang in my diet.”

  “I see no reason to insult me with this yang talk. And by the way, God forbid I should seem feminine to you.”

  “Who is this?”

  “What?”

  “Who am I talking to?” I leaned farther forward.

  Pause. She spoke softer. “I know. I’m sorry. The hangover from these pills is makin’ me a little wacky. How many’d they give me, you know?”

  “They said five.”

  “What was it?”

  “They didn’t say that part. Some prescription from their father.”

  She got even softer. “I’m worried about you and I’m ... talkin’ all wrong.”

  I relaxed a little too. “You’re talking wrong? I got a cow in my head.”

  “So.”

  “So, you’re really not going to tell me any more right now ... so, okay.”

  She spoke very softly. “Just ... this all might have something to do with your past.”

  “My past?”

  “Maybe it does, and maybe it doesn’t. That’s all I’m gonna say till I see you face-to-face — you big lug.”

  I smiled. When Dalliance doesn’t want to talk, she doesn’t. “Big lug?”

  “In keeping with the gat and roscoe motif.”

  “Ah.”

  And boom there was a noise in the kitchen the size of the Fourth of July. I nearly dropped the phone.

  Dally heard it over the receiver. “What the hell was that?�
�

  “Shhh.” I put the phone down.

  Glass breaking, big pops, snarling voices, running — something big bashing at the door: it had all the jolly earmarks of a bust.

  I quick turned on more lights so that they could see me really well, and put both my hands up on my head; stood very still. In an ear-busting crack the door was kindling, and five or six guys imitating the cops they’d seen on television came savaging in, growling and hustling to beat the band.

  Flashlights were all over me, even though they didn’t need them. Big fat angry guys were yelling at me to stand still, get down, put my hands on my head, put my hands behind my back, answer questions, shut up — all manner of oxymorons. And I use the term advisedly.

  “Lie flat on the floor and stand still!” My favorite.

  I didn’t want to be a smart guy, but around these goons I didn’t have a choice. “Which is it, lie down or stand still?”

  “Shut up!”

  I did. Several were still pointing their guns at me. Most were running up the stairs, yelling. In my experience you only yelled like that when you were scared. I didn’t mean to be hard on the guys. Being a cop was tough, and if you had any sense, you’d better be scared most of the time. But these guys were playing cops. As I was saying, I blamed television.

  “Nobody else in the house!”

  That got me. Where had those Turner boys gotten off to?

  Somebody came in the remains of the front door. He was moving slow, so I was guessing he was older, or in charge — or just didn’t watch as much TV as the rest of the merry band.

  I couldn’t see him well because of the light in my face, but the voice was familiar.

  “So, Mr. Tucker. Where have those Turner boys gotten off to?”

  I squinted. “Hey, Tommy? That’s you?”

  “Detective Acree.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Where are the boys?”

  “They went up to bed about two minutes ago.”

  He hollered, “Nobody in the bedrooms?”

  Pause. Then: “No, sir! The house is empty.”

  I couldn’t resist. “Except ... for me.”

  Tommy wasn’t all that impressed with my humor. “We know those boys got you out of The Hut. We know they drugged you and kidnapped you. What we don’t know is why.”