“And your armadillo plays guitar?”
“No but something like that, something bad happened to this guy too. So that’s his name.”
“And you can’t eat a gypsy,” Dale said, sounding frantic.
“As long as your father brought home something better. We aren’t having pancakes when there is a plump armadillo around. If he didn’t bring home something else, I’m afraid…”
“He’s Django, not dinner,” Dale said defiantly.
Norris turned, clutching the confused animal to his chest as he headed for the door. “Daddy! Momma said she wants to cook Django.”
Aubrey gave us a horrified look. “You’d really eat him.”
Nellie smiled. “Armadillo is good.”
Aubrey ran for the door with Dale in close pursuit.
“Hide him quick,” Dale said as they shot out the door.
Sarah looked at Nellie and I, raised an eyebrow, then followed the boys out.
“Would you really cook their pet?”
“Old Django? Probably not. I’ve got a chicken thawed. That was mostly a little swamp child psychology. As long as they think I’m reluctantly sparing his life there is a chance they will take care of him and I won’t get stuck feeding him and all that. And my threat might just help inspire them to keep the pesky little thing out of my house.”
“Strategy.” She nodded and I had to chuckle. “I see that I have a lot to learn about dealing with children.”
“Fortunately for you, you don’t need to know those things.”
“Why not?”
“Did you see the look Sarah gave us? She was enjoying every minute of the show, taking it all in. She wasn’t conned by my lines about eating Django for a second. No, you are going to need a far different skill set to deal with that clear-eyed seven-year old.”
I pictured Sarah and smiled. “She has a wicked sense of humor.”
“And an extensive knowledge of jazz. Or at least of jazz musicians.”
“Well you know she is a blues fan. We talked Leander into giving her class a concert as a special treat and the two of them hit it off. It turns out that Django is near and dear to Leander’s heart. Sarah said that he gets dreamy thinking about what life would have been like if Django could’ve sat in with Howling Wolfe. We had already been listening to Howling Wolf’s stuff, so so we downloaded some of Django’s music to play while we cook or garden.”
“You like it?”
“It’s infectious enough. Yeah. Personally I don’t think Django would enjoy that jam though. He toured with Duke Ellington for a time and that was probably more his style.”
Nellie picked up the beer bottles. They were both empty, so she took them and went for new ones. I sat listening to the happy chatter of kid voices drifting in from outside. “As crazy as this sounds,” I said, “not counting armadillo invasions, you have a rather peaceful life here, don’t you?”
“If there is such a thing as chaotically peaceful, I guess I do. I’ve got a somewhat insane house, four wild men to deal with, the occasional murder at work, and we seem to be under assault by a serial grinch, but yeah.” I could see her allowing herself an objective view, trying to see her life the way I did. She smiled wanly. “As long as I keep Rudy’s gun unloaded, keep the health insurance cards current and in the glove box and follow a few other basic survival practices, life is pretty sweet.”
Then we sipped our beer in silence, my dear friend and I, right until we heard Dale screaming that he was going to kill Norris. I must’ve been getting the hang of it, because I barely flinched at all.
“Coming out here was a great idea, Nell.”
She grinned. “Yeah. You know we see each other every day at work, but that isn’t the same as hanging out, is it?”
“Not at all. We need to get together more often.”
Norris came crashing in through the door with Dale on his heels. “You said I could have the next turn!” Dale was shrieking.
“Did not!”
“Mom!”
“How often were you thinking about getting together?” Nellie asked.
I laughed. “Well, we need to get together once in awhile. We’ve drifted apart a bit and I miss our private talks.” As I looked at the two boys clamoring for Nellie’s attention, I snickered. “Well, our semi private talks.”
“Any time,” she said.
It was good to have friends.
CHAPTER TEN
Monday, December 19th: Six days before Christmas
“Savannah Jefferies, this is Bea Jameson.”
I had just opened the salon. Pete had gone out for donuts and Nellie was cleaning the urn, getting ready to make the coffee.
The phone ringing had startled me. Maybe I was anticipating something. Selina would say I knew it would be Bea at the first ring. Whatever the truth of the matter, I’m sure that in the instant I heard and recognized her voice my heart stopped for a moment. Fortunately it started again. I swallowed.
“Hello, Bea. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you. Your phone was disconnected.”
“Sorry, there was some trouble… with the phone, I mean. I’ve got a new one now.”
“Well, now we are in touch. Why are you calling?”
“About Sarah.” I’d known that, of course, but I wanted he to say it. “How is she doing?”
“Fantastic, to be honest. We are getting along famously. She’s doing well at school and healthy and happy.” As soon as I said that, I hated myself for trying to make everything sound so perfect. I knew I was being nasty, trying to convey a ‘we are doing fine without you’ message, which wasn’t the least charitable.
“Lester and I are coming to Knockemstiff,” she said. “We need to talk with you. There are import things to discuss. About Sarah.”
“Are you moving back here?”
“No.” The question seemed to startle her. “Not anything like that. But there are changes going on and we thought we that if we came to Knockemstiff for her birthday we could talk with you then.”
“Do you have a place to stay?”
“We don’t really need one. We thought we’d drive up Christmas morning, be there around noon, if that’s all right.”
“That’s fine.” I was relieved that they weren’t going to be around for the whole season. And if they weren’t moving back… well, if they took Sarah, I’d almost rather that they moved far away so I wouldn’t be seeing her around town. I was tempted to ask them if I needed to have Sarah pack, but I resisted. Once again I was borrowing trouble from the future. Daddy wouldn’t be proud. I put on my brave, grown up voice. “We will expect you at noon at my house, then. We’ll have a nice Christmas meal.”
“We? You said ‘we will expect you…’”
“Sarah and I.” Remember Sarah, I thought meanly.
“Oh course. You are a dear, Savannah. We can talk then… Lester and I are firming up some plans and things are going to be unsettled until the day we get there, I’m afraid.”
“I understand,” I said, forcing myself to be polite, although I didn’t understand at all.
“Okay then, dearie. We will see you about noontime on Christmas day.”
“I’ll let Sarah know.”
She hesitated for a moment. “But… Oh, yes, I suppose you should. Can’t have us just dropping in all crazy like. But just tell her we will see her then, not anything else.”
I wasn’t sure what else there was to tell her. I certainly didn’t know anything concrete. “No, can’t have it crazy like.”
“You look pale,” Nellie said when I hung up.
“I’m fine.”
Nellie came over with my mug. She’d filled it for me. “Bad news flows out of you better if you sit down and have coffee,” he said. The kindly sparkle in her eye calmed me.
“That was Bea Jameson.”
Nellie bit her lip. “And?”
“And they are coming to my house Christmas day.”
“And?”
“And I don’t know. She has
some plan, but it doesn’t seem they will know anything until they show up.”
“Talk about keeping a body in suspense,” Nellie said. “I never did like that woman much.”
“She’s a bit strange to actually like, even if you think well of her,” Betina said.
I saw everyone looking at me. They all knew the situation. They all knew how much Sarah had come to mean to me, my life.
“Greetings.” I turned at the sound of the deep voice to see James Woodley walking in the front door, side by side with Leander who waved his hello. I was struck with the notion that I was a lot happier to see Woodley’s smiling face than I wanted to admit. I wondered if that was just emotional whiplash that came from seeing his pleasant face right after my unsatisfying conversation with Bea.
“Woodley,” I said. “You’ve arrived. Hello Leander.”
Leander nodded but said nothing. I saw him flash Pete a shy, unmistakably affectionate smiles. On stage, Leander had a strong, forceful presence, but he seemed to leave it all on stage. In person he was polite and shy, almost to the same degree Pete was. I hadn’t known Leander at all before he met Pete, but I saw that them getting together had made Pete a happy guy and I had to like Leander for that alone. And then there was his music. Overall, this young man had a lot of likable qualities.
“I ran into Leader outside and he was telling me about new songs he’s working up for the next open mic,” Woodley said.
Leander rolled his eyes. “It’s true. Yeah, some.”
Pete laughed. “He’s written some new songs and has some other great stuff. Tell them, Leander.”
“Yeah, there will be some new songs rattling the rafters of the Knockemstiff Tavern that night. I hope everyone shows up.”
“Let’s see, you are wondering if your fans will show up for beer and music at the Knockemback Tavern?” Nellie said. “Dang right Rudy and I will be there with bells on. Christmas bells.”
“Does the tavern actually have rafters?” I asked.
Leander considered the question. “I’m not quite sure, to be honest. I can’t remember if I’ve ever looked up in there. But if not then consider that just a colorful figure of speech. Blues guys and poets lean on those things like a crutch.”
“I'm afraid I’ll have to pass,” I said. “Sarah has a friend from school spending the night. But I wanted to thank you for doing that special concert for the kids at Mrs. Lacey’s school. They loved it.”
His grin was infectious. “And who knew that grade school kids would appreciate Blind Boy Fuller and Brownie McGhee so much? Of course, my personal advance girl made sure they knew they’d be hearing good music, so they paid attention. Sarah is such a kick.”
“And now you have us both listening to gypsy jazz.”
He winked. “Excellent. That music is good for children of all ages.”
James Woodley had been hanging back, as usual, doing his cop people watching thing. “So, Mister Woodley, you found a place to stay without any problem?”
He nodded. “I did and I’m all settled in. I took your advice and Claude had a nice little room he was happy to rent to me. He says it will be nice having someone in the place because Christmas is such a dead season for him.”
Nellie slapped her leg. “That’s because Claude is the only person in town who thinks that celebrating the spirit of Christmas involves decking the halls with bacon bits.”
“Tra la la la la…” Pete sang softly.
“Well, I’m glad you’re settled in,” I said. Even I didn’t know exactly what I meant by that, other than I was glad Woodley would be around for the holidays without us having to murder someone to get him here. I guess that was a good sign. The question was what it was a sign of. I had my ideas and possible a few hopes.
As things settled again, Woodley came over to get a mug of coffee. “It’s good to see you Savannah.”
“It’s good to see you too.” I was struck by the curious fact that Woodley was trying to make conversation as if he wanted to ease into something. “And now you are here. In Knockemstiff.” I was determined not to ask.
“Savannah, I wondered if you would have dinner with me tonight.”
The invitation was a surprise, although a good one, in the sense that it made me slightly giddy. “I’m rather overstuffed with bacon,” I said, stalling for time. “The idea is nice though.”
“I’d like to take you to a place I know in Shreveport. It’s French.”
“Going to a French place in Shreveport? Isn’t that a bit fancy?” I saw Nellie raising her eyebrows. Of course she was eavesdropping.
“This is a casual place. More like a bistro, but with great food.”
“Still, driving to Shreveport… I’d need to find someone to stay with Sarah,” I said.
Nellie stopped pretending that she wasn’t straining her gut to hear and waved a hand excitedly. “If you can’t get anyone else she’s welcome to come over to my house and spend the night. I’ll pick her up at school, swing by your house for anything she needs and get her to school in the morning.”
“What’s going on here?” Woodley asked.
“The volunteer squad has jumped in to make sure my personal life runs without a hitch. Nellie is rather effectively trying to undermine anything that might provide me an excuse to stay home.”
“Hey, it’s what friends do,” she said.
“So I think I’d be delighted to go to dinner with you tonight.”
“Excellent,” he said, giving Nellie an appreciative nod. “I’ll pick you up at six. And now I have some Christmas shopping to do.”
“Ellen will be pleased,” Nellie laughed. “You are setting the trend—come to Knockemstiff to shop for Christmas.”
“That’s me—trendsetter Woodley,” he grinned. I knew he understood about half of what was going on, but he didn’t mind. He was a good sport.
“Did you hear about the argument Art had with Farley who owns the dime store?” I asked. “He was saying that he knew they were raising prices to pay for the decorations.”
“Ancient history,” Nellie said. “You are just trying to turn the conversation away from something more interesting. And you are doing a bad job of it too.”
“More interesting?”
“Sure. We need a topic like, say Savannah Jefferies going on a date.”
“A date?” Pete asked. He hadn’t been paying attention.
“We are just going out to dinner,” I said.
“That’s a date,” Betina said.
“Our resident expert on dating has spoken,” Nellie laughed. “It’s officially a date.”
“I see.”
Betina looked puzzled. “How is it even a question? A guy likes girl, he asks her out to dinner… that’s a date, definitely a date. What’s the deal?”
“Okay, I’m going on a date, then,” I said, wondering why I should be embarrassed that a nice looking man had asked me… on a date. I did though. My face felt warm and I hoped I wasn’t blushing.
Nellie looked away, busying herself with the concoctions she used for manicures. “You might warn Sarah that if things aren’t sorted out by the time I get home we might be trying out one of my Aunt’s armadillo recipes at dinner time.”
I pictured it. “Django a la orange, or Django in mustard sauce? She might like that.”
Leander chuckled. “That sounds like a great song title: ‘Django a la Orange.’”
“I get a co writing credit,” Nellie said.
“Then you have to help write lyrics,” Leander said.
“You’ll let me?”
“They have to be good and I get final say, but sure.”
Nellie shook her head. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.” She went to look at the appointment book. “Not as much fun as a date—a meal with a guy in a restaurant in Shreveport.”
“A French restaurant,” Betina said.
“And we will expect a full report.”
I knew they would demand one. That’s the burden of friends, fortunately it’s onl
y a minor nuisance.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dinner in Shreveport
The restaurant was a delightful bistro. It had a patio but it was too cool to sit outside, and we had a nice small table in the back.
“If you like snails, this is the place,” Woodley said as he held out a chair for me. The gentlemanly gesture tickled me.
“Aren’t we supposed to call them escargot.”
“I know, but something appeals to me about being able to say I eat snails.”
“Must be a guy thing,” I suggested. “I do enjoy escargot and wouldn’t enjoy thinking of eating snails.”
“Could well be, then.”
The waiter, who seemed to be French, or good at pretending to be, brought menus.
Woodley asked for a bottle of the house red wine.
“Why did you come to Knockemstiff for your holiday?” I asked Woodley once the waiter had poured the wine and left us to contemplate our food selection.
“Do I need some compelling reason?”
“Not compelling, but you must have a reason.”
“It might be so I could invite you to this dinner.”
“That would be incredibly flattering if it were true.”
He winked. “Then I shouldn’t like to take that feeling away.”
“I know your life in is New Orleans. You’ve only ever come here on business.”
He shrugged. “Until I came here on business I didn’t even know places like Knockemstiff existed. Now I know about this pleasant place that is practically next door.”
“It’s four hours away! You have to go through Baton Rouge.”
“You make that sound like some onerous overland trek. I guess it was once upon a time, but I traded in my covered wagon for a nice car long ago. And it seems to work. Just this afternoon you and I drove two hours to Shreveport just to have dinner,” he said, smiling.
His comment startled me. “What?”
He laughed and pointed to his watch. “Did you forget where we are? We just spent two hours on the road to get to this restaurant. Four hours for a visit is nothing.”
Holiday Hooligans: Cozy Mystery (The Teasen & Pleasen Hair Salon Cozy Mystery Series Book 3) Page 9
