by Rhett DeVane
“She’s been suspicious of him for a while,” I said. “I should listen to my tape and see if she adds to what she said to you. I just… haven’t felt up to it yet.”
Elvina fiddled with a stray sprig of her hair. “Some parts of it made me sob like a baby.” She smiled slightly. “Other parts, I laughed so hard I nearbout lost my mind. That Piddie…”
We fell silent for a moment, remembering.
“You know what’s been kinda weird?” Mandy asked softly.
We looked at her.
Mandy continued, “Stuff’s been happening around here…”
“Like what?” I asked.
Mandy shook her head. “I feel stupid mentionin’ it…but, I keep findin’ daisies around the spa. There was one stuck in an empty shampoo bottle last week, and another was lying on the seat of dryer number three when I opened up this past Saturday. That ain’t all. Steph said someone’s been moving the clean sheets and towels over to the dryer. She swears she ain’t doin’ it herself…and none of us are.”
“Maybe Tameka? Or Moses?” I asked.
Wanda shook her head. “Nope. Tameka’s here only on the weekends, now that school’s started up. She’s missed a few times on account of her grandma feelin’ bad. And Moses, he pretty much stays outside tending to the grounds.”
Mandy chuckled. “And we know it’s not Jake or Jon. For one thing, they’re so busy, they’re barely here…what with gettin’ Piddie’s little house down the road ready to move into. For another — Jake would toot his own horn if he did Steph’s laundry for her —not that he would mind — he just loves the praise.”
Elvina stood to leave. “Well, I’d love to stay back here whilin’ away the time like I used to do before I was a workin’ gal….but, I’ve figured a new system for the appointment books…to keep me from…accidentally messin’ up.”
“What would that be, Elvina? Brain transplant?” Mandy ducked her head and grinned.
Elvina spun around. “For your information, missy, I’m color-coordinatin’ the books. I’m drawin’ a colored box around each column so’s I can quick-reference the professional to the intended service.”
“Just listen to you,” Wanda said.
Elvina ticked off her points on her extended fingers. “Blue is for massage therapy and full body treatments…cause blue’s the color that comes into my mind when I get all relaxed. Red is for Melody’s manicurist patrons. Yellow is for Mandy, on account of her always bein’ so bubbly and fun — makes me think of yellow. And, orange is for Wanda cause it’s nigh close to the color of her hair.”
Mandy nodded. “That works for me, as long as it works for you.”
“I feel organization comin’ on.” Elvina charged out of the salon.
“There we are.” Mandy patted me on the shoulders. “I’ll just use a round brush and polish the ends with a curling iron, and you’ll be a new woman!”
I had been so caught up in the conversation; I’d failed to notice the growing mound of shorn hair on the tile at the base of the chair. I studied my reflection in the mirror. I looked like a wet disgruntled squirrel.
Mandy beamed. “Don’t look so pent up, Hattie-sue. It’s an easy hairdo for you to maintain at home. You’re gonna love the attention it draws to you.”
“As long as nobody calls animal control when they see me,” I said.
Hank Henderson
A single daisy bloom was propped in the cup holder of Hank Henderson’s Mercedes; the first thing he saw as he wedged his distended belly behind the steering wheel.
“Got-dammit! Got-dammit! Not again!”
He squeezed out of the driver’s seat and snatched the flower from its perch. He then proceeded to pitch a full-blown hissy fit. His secretary, Maxie, and Officer Rich Burns, who had just stepped out of the police station headquarters next door, watched with their mouths agape. Hank stomped the daisy to a glossy pulp, cursing loudly. Maxine feared for her boss’s sanity, and her job. Rich felt for the handcuffs affixed to his service belt, ready in the event restraint became necessary.
After a few minutes, Hank’s stomping frenzy ceased. He stood with clenched fists, beads of perspiration dripping from his reddened face, staring at the ruined flower at his feet. The daisy invasion, as he now called it, had started two days after Piddie Longman’s funeral. Every day, the infernal blossoms appeared in different locations: in his locked gun case, on his pillow, and once, dangling from the shower nozzle in the master bathroom. A review of the security tapes held no clue to the demented perpetrator.
“Mr. Hank?” Maxie asked in a soft voice. “You all right?”
Hank looked up to see Maxie and Rich studying him. “Umm…there was a wasp in my car. Dang near bit me on the hand.” He smiled weakly. “I hate wasps.”
Before either bystander could offer up a reasonable response, Hank hopped into the Mercedes, slammed the gearshift into reverse, and vacated his private parking space.
He accelerated sharply as he passed the Chattahoochee City Limit sign on Highway 269. A small neatly wrapped package rested on the seat beside him, his excuse for dropping by unannounced at the Davis/Lewis farmhouse.
Hank willed his breathing to calm as he teased the finely tuned German automobile well past the 45-mph speed limit. He mulled over the recent unfortunate developments in his financial dealings. Earlier in the day, his dip-shit cousin had phoned from Midview, frantic with worry.
“That got-damned half-breed cretin,” he muttered. “I should have my ass kicked to Cuba and back for getting involved with him in the first place!”
Perhaps his cousin, Lamar Mason, had been a bit too zealous with his illegal clean-out of the Midview Police evidence storage room. Hank shook his head angrily. “If the fool would’ve thought for just a second — given that he even possesses a brain — he’d of been more selective…taken it slower, so that things wouldn’t have been missed.”
The problem lay in the fact that Lamar had completely cleared one twelve-by-twelve storage room. He brought in a table and six chairs, a foosball table, and a color television, transforming the former evidence room into a break space for his buddies. Naturally, they were quite happy with the new provisions. The old break area had consisted of three metal folding chairs and a stack of outdated magazines in one cramped corner by the rear entrance to the police station.
Recently, a few questions had popped up. Where’s all the stuff we had stored in here, Lamar? You move it to another room? Who authorized this? The way Lamar told it, the vultures were circling the highway, and he was the fresh roadkill du jour.
Hank had spent close to an hour of precious time coaching the infidel, trying to calm him down and help him think of creative ways to avoid discovery. It had been like pushing a cement truck up hill. Hard to reason with someone with the IQ of an ice cube.
Hank’s chest tightened with apprehension. He’d come close lately to manifesting a full-blown panic attack. The anti-anxiety drugs his Tallahassee physician prescribed helped somewhat. Now, to add to his growing lists of aggravations, he had to be aware of the watchful eyes of Piddie Longman’s cohorts. How could he get his hands on the tapes she’d left behind? He felt sure she’d found a way to reach beyond the grave to be a thorn in his side, just as she’d been in life. The daily daisy encounter added to his sense of gloom.
Hank’s plans for Tameka Clark weren’t moving along at a fast clip, either. She was fast proving to be his greatest challenge. The other kids — the older ones — had been easy to bend, easy to coax with the promise of money or fame. Little Tameka was impervious to his charms. He had carried several meals over to her Grandma Maizie, even felt a brief twinge of premature remorse for his planned actions. The old woman was genuinely kind — almost made him put a halt to the entire thing.
If things didn’t gel by September 12th, he’d have to put Tameka Clark in the loser’s column. He was getting ready to blow this town. Instead of being delivered locally, the new Mercedes would arrive in Port of Miami on the 14th, and he’d be
there waiting to make the arrangements for its deportation to his island hideaway. Soon, he would be miles distant from the town of Chattahoochee; far from the dragnet he sensed closing in from all sides. A Delta jet-prop would cushion him in its cramped bosom and spirit him away to a new life.
Hank pulled the Mercedes onto the lawn in front of the Davis farmhouse. When there was no answer to his ring, he walked around the house to the rear carport. “Good. Hattie’s SUV is here. She has to be nearby.” He smiled. “Wouldn’t it be perfect if she was down by Mr. D.’s fish pond? Down there in those deep woods…alone?”
He wheeled around and returned to his car.
Hattie
As I emptied the thirty-pound bag of commercial floating fish food into the steel drum by the lower-level deck, Spackle woofed twice, and I heard a car motor shut off. Glancing up the hill toward the gazebo, I spotted a Mercedes sedan parked beside Pearl. “C’mon, honey,” I said, gathering Sarah into my arms, “looks like we have uninvited company.”
Hank flashed his best neighborly just-stoppin’-by-to-say-hi smile. On him, the expression looked as natural as a quarterback in a lace slip. “Hi there, Miz Hattie! Mind if I come down?”
“Uh…I’ll come up there. I’m finished feeding the fish.” I frowned as I mounted the steps to the gazebo. Normally, seeing Hank Henderson would have elicited mild annoyance, but the discussion at the spa had painted an aura of suspicion around the man.
“What brings you all the way out here?” I asked when I crested the hill.
Hank presented a small gift-wrapped package. “Sarah’s welcome home gift. I just got it back. Had it special ordered and engraved with her initials.”
“Oh…well…that was nice of you. Would you like to sit down for a minute or two?”
“Only for a minute.” He plopped into a rocking chair. “You can open it if you’d like.”
Inside the box, an intricately engraved silver and gold baby spoon rested in silver embellished tissue paper. “This is beautiful! Thank you, Hank. You didn’t have to go all out…”
“It’s just a token — a keepsake. I still have the one my mother saved. It’s a lot like that one.”
“I’ll be sure to put it in a safe place and keep it for her.”
Hank looked out over the pond. “My father used to bring me out here. He thought a lot of your folks…liked to fish with your daddy every now and again.” He released a heavy sigh. “Sure is a pretty spot. I always wished I’d grown up out here in the country on some acreage, but Father wouldn’t have any part of it. He wanted to live in town.”
“It’s not too late, Hank. You could always watch out for a piece of property. And, it’s still reasonably priced, at least until the south Florida developers sniff out how nice this part of the state is.”
“Huh!” Hank chuffed. “I can’t see myself living my whole life in north Florida.”
“Where do you want to live, if not here? I mean, I know it’s not my place to ask. You have your law practice here, and everyone knows you.”
“Nope, can’t see it. You might be happy settlin’ for Chattahoochee small town life, but…not me. No sir-ee.”
I shifted Sarah to the wooden floor with one of the toys we kept stored in the gazebo. Spackle moved into guard position between the baby and the over-blown attorney. “I don’t see myself as settling for living here, Hank. It was a conscious choice. I happen to like it here…so does Holston, and he moved from New York.”
Hank waved his hand in dismissal. He turned to study me with cold, hard eyes. I felt the hair rise on the nape of my neck. A low growl sounded from deep inside the dog’s throat.
He turned back toward the pond. “Don’t you ever worry about being down here by yourself?”
I studied his profile. “No, not at all.”
Sarah reached over and bopped him on the foot with a plastic baseball bat.
Hank frowned. “Kid’s a regular little slugger, isn’t she?”
“Sorry.” No need for me to worry about my daughter’s taste in men. She was showing great intuition in that respect.
“All I’m sayin’ is, you better be careful coming down here all alone. There’s a lot of meanness in this world. Woman could get caught off all by herself…”
“Why, Hank. That almost sounds like a threat.”
His lips parted slightly. “Hattie, I wouldn’t have a reason to threaten you, now would I?”
Margie’s ATV slid up behind the two parked vehicles, sending a puff of orange dust into the air. “Yoo-Hoo!” she called out.
“In the gazebo, Margie! Come on in!”
Spackle greeted our neighbor with a wagging tail and a wet hand-lick.
Hank stood as Margie entered the screened room. “Miz Margie.” He nodded.
“Well, Hank Henderson. You out conductin’ your legal business this fine afternoon?”
“No, ma’am. Just a social call.” Hank tipped his head in my direction. “Reckon I’ll leave you two ladies now. I’ve dallied here long enough. Work’s not gonna get itself done.” He stepped to the screened door. “Pleasure to see you, Miz Margie. My regards to John.”
“Likewise,” Margie said.
After Hank’s Mercedes disappeared down the cleared lane, Margie settled into the rocker beside me. “You all right, gal?”
“Yeah…although, I’m kinda glad you came along.”
“Hank Henderson bothered you?”
I shuttered involuntarily. “Not really. Nothing I could put my finger on. He’s just…strange. Even worse than he was in school.”
“Elvina Houston phoned me up — told me to check up on you and the baby. She said Wanda let it slip to him that you were out here by yourself. Hank was having his hair cut, and he said he’d have to stop in and visit you and the baby. Elvina — she pitched a liver-bustin’ fit and fell in it! She called the farmhouse first, and then called us when there wasn’t an answer. John was taking his afternoon nap, so I came on up the lane. Figured you were down here at the pond. Anyway, I saw Hank’s car go by a bit ago. Didn’t think much of it ’till Elvina called up in such a fizz. She was flat-out adamant that one of us check on you. I’m not tryin’ to be a meddlin’ neighbor, now.”
I reached over and patted her on the arm. “I’d never think that of you. One more guardian angel’s okay by me.”
“Long as there’s a loved one to tell your stories, you’re never really dead. Remembering brings you back to life for a little while. Life stops still for no one. But, it will slow up for a few precious moments while we remember.”
Piddie Davis Longman
Chapter Twenty-one
In spite of the slight lift I’d received from the new hairstyle and ensuing slew of compliments, I slipped into an abysmal case of the blues in the weeks following Piddie’s funeral. Grief was not new. Both of my parents had died in the past few years. The process would unfold as it should with time, honoring the spirit’s wise ability to feel deeply and rise above the loss.
Aunt Piddie’s maxim floated through my consciousness:
Life is full of good and bad. Things happen in clusters, both good and bad. When you’re in a cluster, you just have to keep your head above the surface and tread water like the dickens ’till the cluster passes you by.
My newly-discovered soul mate best friend had been ripped grievously from my life. Piddie had always been there, a steadying presence in the family. Because of the years spent escaping my small town upbringing, I had missed experiencing her humor and acute sense of humanity. No one could equal her talent for fashioning words to match her needs, regardless of correct pronunciation: hysterectum for hysterectomy, the AID for AIDS, and karate arteries for carotid arteries. How many more had I missed over the years? The sad truth hit me full in the face: by the time I had acknowledged an interest in the older generation, they were making the final transition to another place, far from my questions.
For a month, I dragged through the daily routine of work, home, baby, and husband with nominal interes
t. Though it was comforting to be home again, I wasn’t particularly excited when we moved back into the farmhouse. Holston could’ve paraded past in a Chippendale G-string, and I would’ve waved him away for blocking my view of the television. Food tasted bland. My fine hair was more limp than usual. Domination of the remote control lost its glitter. I was a flat-liner.
Holston plopped down on the couch next to me. “She’s out like a light, finally. I don’t know what had her so wound up. I have a sneaky feeling that our Sarah’s going to be both a night owl as well as a morning person.”
“Uh-huh.” I stared at the documentary on rainforest frogs as if it was my last chance to understand life in the tropics.
Holston hit the mute button on the remote. “I called Jake today. He’s arranged with Stephanie to take your Thursday and Friday clients. Sarah and I have a surprise for you.”
I squinted at the silent screen. “What.”
“Wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you, now would it? Just be ready, mentally, to leave as soon as you get home from your last client tomorrow.”
“Holston hon… I really don’t feel…”
“Like lifting a finger. I know. You won’t have to. We’ll do it all. Take Pearl to work tomorrow. I’ll need Betty.” He leaned over and kissed me lightly on the lips. “I’m going to turn in, now. Sarah was a handful today. If I know her, she’ll be up bright and early, ready to go at it again. Come to bed when you get ready.” He hit the remote button to restore the sound.
Where was I being dragged off to? Nothing too damned cheerful, heaven forbid. Disneyworld would send me screaming over the edge. All I needed was for one of those perky overstuffed rodents to come bouncing up to me. I smiled at the mental picture of neatly pressed Disney theme park security guards pulling me, kicking and gnashing, off Minnie Mouse. I would be barred from Sea World, Universal Studios, and MGM theme parks, too. A thought worth entertaining, a valid reason to never have to visit south Florida again!
