Only Good Yankee

by Jeff Abbott

  His grimy truck finally backed off as I pulled into my carport and he stopped in front of my house. I wondered for one moment if he’d come out swinging and how I was going to handle that with only one good arm. If he did attack me, I’d be at a serious disadvantage. I decided then and there that the best defense would be a solid kick to his beer gut, followed by another boot to the groin and a judicious retreat into my house. Not a polite way to fight, but mannered combat takes two gentlemen.

  I’d just emerged from the car when Tiny slammed his door shut and came lumbering across the lawn at me. His whitish hair gleamed like a bald dome in the summer sun. His eyes were a thin, watery blue, but they were narrowed in anger. One hand was already in a fist.

  “Hey!” he yelled, stopping a few feet ahead of me. “Get something straight, you shithead. You leave Nina alone!”

  “Excuse me?” I answered, pulling my arm close against my body and tensing my legs. “I haven’t even talked to Nina today. What’s your problem?”

  “My problem, Poteet, is you. You think Nina killed that Yankee son of a bitch. You told Miss Twyla that.” Obviously one had to be careful what one suggested to Miss Twyla.

  “I never said that she did.” Well, not exactly. “I just asked Miss Twyla where Nina was last night, and she told me. If you think someone’s bugging Nina, you need to go see Billy Ray Bummel and Junebug.” I wanted to take a step back, but I didn’t. You don’t do that to a bully, and Tiny Parmalee had changed very little since those schoolyard tussles. He had been angry then, with no outlet for releasing it other than torturing other kids; he was angry now, and still hadn’t learned how to deal with wrath. “Look, Tiny. It’s obvious that you care about Nina. I understand that.”

  “What the hell do you know about me?” he asked, drawing a heavy hand across his lip. “You don’t know shit about me, mister. Or about what I think about Nina.” He shook his head. “You think you’re so smart, Poteet, you always have. Always looking down on me, always thinking I’m just nothing but a big stupid shit. I’m not. I’m a hell of a lot smarter than you’ll ever give me credit for.”

  “Okay, you’re smart. Who killed Greg?”

  He took one step forward and pushed a finger toward my face. I smelled the nauseatingly sweet odor of a thick wad of chewing gum he had in his mouth and I saw the bulge it made in his unshaven cheek. “Just stay away from Nina. Stay out of this whole mess. Just ship that Yankee bitch of yours back where she belongs and keep out of mine and Nina’s business.”

  Since I didn’t know what constituted his and Nina’s business and I hadn’t interfered in any way that I knew of, I very much disliked his jabbing his finger at my nose. Not to mention him calling Lorna names. “This is not a joke, Tiny. This is a murder. Someone killed Greg and whoever did that is going to pay for it. Nina and Greg didn’t get along at all, so she’s going to be investigated by the cops. Don’t take it so personally. I mean, you’re sure she’s innocent, aren’t you?”

  He wasn’t expecting that. The finger receded from my personal space. “Yeah, I am,” he said slowly, as though I’d asked a trick question.

  “So then you and Nina have nothing to worry about.” I didn’t add my thought: Unless you strangled him, you animal.

  Tiny blinked repeatedly. “She didn’t do it. Maybe I’ll find out who did, if the cops keep suspecting her.” I didn’t think Tiny would make much headway as a detective, but I kept my mouth shut.

  “Is that all?”

  “Yeah. Just stay away from Nina and quit fillin’ folks’ heads full of foolishness about her.” Back on the familiar territory of threat making, he regained his confidence. He turned his back on me and headed back for his truck.

  “Tiny?”

  He paused while climbing into the truck. “Yeah?”

  “Don’t ever follow me that close again, or I’ll shoot out your tires. Understand me?”

  He wasn’t expecting that I’d threaten back in any way and to my surprise he smiled. Coldly. ‘I’ll remember that.” Slamming his door hard enough to shake the truck, he started the engine and roared off, leaving a bloated cloud of exhaust in his wake.

  I exhaled a long breath. He’d been pissed, but he hadn’t beaten me up. Unless, of course, he was out to seek vengeance against Junebug and Billy Ray for suspecting his inamorata of being a bloodthirsty garroter.

  I went into the house, quietly. It was nearly three in the afternoon and I felt exhausted. I needed a nap. I wasn’t going to get one. Eula Mae and Lorna sat on the couch, smiling tightly at each other. I felt I’d walked onstage halfway through a death scene.

  “Hey, y’all, what’s going on?” I said. Those tight smiles of theirs didn’t budge an inch.

  “Hey, sugar pie. I just thought I’d stop by and see how Miss Lorna here was doing.” Eula Mae got up, her layers of necklaces tinkling as she moved, and gave me a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. I was not swayed.

  “You sure y’all aren’t squabbling over that land deal?” I asked.

  Eula Mae pressed a well-manicured hand to her violet peasant blouse (showing her freckled cleavage to best display). “Honey, we haven’t even talked about that stuff. It’s so trivial in the light of poor Mr. Callahan’s murder.”

  Lorna’s smile faded as soon as Eula Mae wasn’t looking at her. “Ms. Quiff was kind enough to invite me to come stay with her. She thought I might be underfoot here.”

  Eula Mae rolled her eyes at me before turning them, glistening with kindness and sympathy, toward Lorna. “Sweetie, the way you phrase things! I simply thought that it might be nicer for you to have a little more room, what with this house being so full of Jordy, and Arlene, and Mark, and Anne, and Clo being over so much.”

  I frowned slightly at Eula Mae, who did not appear to notice, being busy closely examining the setting of one of her many rings. I decided on the gentlemanly approach. “How kind of you, Eula Mae. And how unusually generous of you.” She bristled a tad at that and I grinned. “But I think Lorna’s just fine right here.”

  Eula Mae shrugged, the field of battle abandoned. “You’re right, Jordy. I mean, you are spending most of your time at Candace’s, so there is plenty of room here for dear Lorna.” Well, nearly abandoned. She leaned down and patted—or lightly slapped, depending on your point of view—Lorna’s leg. “If you change your mind, sweetness, you just call Eula Mae. You’ll always be welcome at Chez Quiff.”

  I steered the Unwelcome Wagon firmly to and out the door. The full blast of the afternoon humidity and sunlight hit us and we both blinked against the glare. She shrugged off my light touch and frowned at me when I’d shut the front door. “Jordan Poteet. Are you thinking with your loins these days?”

  “What’s wrong with you? Have you totally forgotten your manners?”

  “You could strip the flesh from my bones,” Eula Mae hissed, “and I’d still have more class than that nasal-voiced little minx in there.”

  “Good Lord!”

  “Turning down my heartfelt invitation in her hour of need. And not even nicely, telling me she was sure Candace had sent me over here.” She was near fake tears.

  “Did Candace send you over here?”

  “Of course not!” Eula Mae stomped her foot. “I am capable of independent thought, mister. You forget I’ve made my money from knowing all about love.” That was a tempting statement to twist around on her, but I kept my mouth shut. I wouldn’t have gotten a line in anyway.

  “I know exactly what that woman’s up to. You don’t give a man the Kama Sutra if you just want to be pen pals. Especially the new edition,” Eula Mae continued. “And it’s the way she looks at you. I saw it last night at the library when she came in. She only saw you, Jordy. The way her eyes narrowed, I figured the poor child was astigmatic or in heat. And she don’t wear glasses.”

  “Eula Mae. I appreciate your concern, honestly, but you’re getting carried away.”

  “Jordy, darlin’.” She took my arm. “Listen to me. That girl’s still in love with you. It’s
as plain to me as it is hidden to you. You’re sweet as pie, but dense as fudge when it comes to women sometimes.”

  “I know she has feelings for me, Eula Mae.” I wasn’t about to tell the Human P.A. System here about last night’s after-dinner kiss.

  “Forewarned is forearmed,” she intoned.

  “I‘ve made it clear to her I’m not about to tumble back into her bed. She knows I have feelings for Candace.”

  Eula Mae raised one plucked eyebrow. “And does Candace know?”

  “Of course she does!”

  Eula Mae made a noise in her throat, fished her keys out of her denim skirt pocket, and sauntered off to her purple BMW with the ROMWRTR vanity license plates.

  I watched her roar off. Eula Mae was obviously not spending nearly enough time in front of her word processor and was inventing romantic fictions in real people’s lives as compensation. Of course Candace knew I loved her. And I wasn’t going back to Lorna. Nosireebob.

  Lorna was stretched out on the couch, the back of her hand resting gently against her forehead. Her long legs lay along the cushions, ideally formed and with the beginnings of a tan. Her khaki shorts were snug and short, her neon-aqua T-shirt pulled taut across her breasts. She’d been sweating and there was just a hint of a sheen at her throat. Her waist, which had always fit perfectly against the inside of my arm, was encircled with a colorfully stitched cloth belt. She’d pulled her thick yank of hair back and fastened it into a ponytail with a bit of ribbon, and a lank of it lay on her shoulder. I watched her breathe and she kept her eyes closed. I’d stormed in, ready to confront her about Greg’s lies, and now I found myself not wanting to have this conversation—just wanting to watch her doze, the way I used to on lazy Sunday afternoons in New England.

  “Has the Wicked Witch of the South ridden off with her flying monkeys?” Lorna asked.

  “Hey, there. Eula Mae’s harmless and she’s my friend.” I sat down on the end of the couch, pushing her feet up to make room. Her skin felt annoyingly good.

  “I get the distinct feeling she doesn’t want to be my friend, despite her oh-so-kind invitation to stay with her.”

  “What was all that about?”

  “Your harmless little friend sauntered in like she owned your house, told me in nice—but no uncertain—terms that you really didn’t want me here, and just seemed flabbergasted I wasn’t packed and ready to go. I think she even hinted that your mother might be inclined to go into homicidal spells, without reason, at any given moment.”

  “Eula Mae’s bark is worse than her bite.”

  “Well, mine’s not.”

  “Where is everyone?” I asked.

  “Your sister has gone grocery shopping. She made some comment about not expecting another mouth to feed.” Lorna sounded a little cross and I couldn’t blame her.

  “Sorry about that. Just ignore her, she’s basically decent when she isn’t being catty.”

  Lorna shrugged. “I have far more to worry about than being on Arlene’s shit list. Your mother’s upstairs taking a nap; I checked on her a few minutes ago. I did meet your nephew Mark, by the way. He stopped by for lunch and he’s off swimming with some friends.” She opened one gray eye and watched me past her raised knee. Probing my ribs with her wriggling toes, she said: “You don’t want me to go, do you, Jordan?”

  I took a long breath. “That depends on how you answer my questions.” That got both those gray eyes open.

  “What?”

  “Did you know that Greg was running a land scam? That he was planning on reselling the land he wanted to buy for condominiums to a chemical dump site?” I watched her face as I spoke, for any betraying flicker.

  Her mouth worked, her jaw closing and opening on empty air. “What do you mean?”

  I told her again. She pulled herself into a sitting position. “How do you know this?”

  It wasn’t an answer to my question, but I told her about finding the files on Greg’s laptop.

  “Jordan, I swear to you—I swear on our friendship—that I didn’t know anything about this.”

  We exchanged stares, then she lowered her eyes. “I feel like an idiot, and you don’t believe me,” she said.

  “How could you not have known, Lorna?”

  She shook her head, her eyes staring off into her memories. “I didn’t know.”

  “I felt that you weren’t being entirely up-front this morning with Billy Ray and Junebug when they were asking about Greg. You’d better tell me everything you know.”

  “I did tell you,” she said, her eyes still watching something in her mind and not me. Absently she picked at the bandage on her finger.

  “No, Lorna. I know you well enough, and I don’t think you did. Now, what exactly did you do for Greg?”

  “I handled—I did—research for him. On properties around the country that met certain criteria that he had. I’d—identify the properties and then he’d see about acquiring land there, and investors to build on the land. I didn’t deal with any investors—I never met them.”

  I felt a sudden anger. “So you just happened to identify Mirabeau as the town to fit Greg’s needs. How convenient.”

  “I didn’t do it just to see you again, despite what your enormous ego might say,” she retorted, then looked contrite. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a bitch. I’m just shocked.” She swallowed and went on: “I set up these databases for him of towns all over the country. Then I’d run queries on the database, finding out which ones had the attributes he looked for—river site, slow economy, proximity to a major metropolitan area. Lots of towns qualified, and he’d go check them out. He just—picked Mirabeau.”

  “And you didn’t help him make that choice?”

  “You know, if I’d still wanted you, I would never have let you leave Boston. I didn’t have to get a job with Greg to try and get you back.” Her voice grew sharp. “You’re just so full of yourself, Jordan.”

  “I can afford to be a little arrogant,” I snapped back, letting the pain talk before my brain edited. “I’m not the one who looks like a land-scam artist. What he was doing was horrible, Lorna, and you were helping him.”

  “I didn’t know! Honestly!”

  “I want to believe you. Desperately. I don’t think you’re a liar, but right now—”

  “I’m not a liar!”

  “Then what were you hiding when you were talking to Billy Ray? Maybe you knew about the land resale all along? What else was going on? Maybe you and Greg were lovers?”

  “Fine, I’ll tell you.” Her voice took on a strained, sad tone. She coughed once, as though the words were slabs in her throat. “Greg and I were lovers. For a short while after you left. But I cooled it down, because I knew it was a mistake to get involved with my boss. It was the stupidest thing I’d ever done, but you broke my heart when you left and I was entitled to make stupid mistakes. Satisfied?” She bolted off the couch, in tears, and stormed out of the room.

  “Hello!” Sister trilled as she came into the kitchen, laden with groceries. I quickly offered to help and she looked at my bad arm with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t bother, Jordy. Where’s Lorna?”

  “She’s resting upstairs. She’s not feeling well.” I didn’t feel too hot myself.

  “Oh, dear.” Sister’s voice just dripped concern. “I think she needs a little company to brighten her day. That’s why I invited Candace over for dinner.” I whirled to face her. Sister smiled like an angel just getting her wings.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon lying on my bed, hearing Lorna’s vague movements in the next room, thinking about all the hell that’d broken loose.

  Greg might not have done anything outright illegal—that would be for a court to decide—but he was obviously an unsavory character. He didn’t deserve what had happened to him, but he’d obviously chosen a bad path. (Even now, thinking about his savaged throat made my bile rise.)

  I closed my eyes and images danced behind my lids. Wire taken from the fence that bisected the Louder
-milks’ property from Bob Don’s ending up in Greg’s neck. Gretchen in Greg’s company. That mysterious phone number on the pad in Greg’s room. Greg being Lorna’s ex- or maybe-not-ex-lover. Greg’s long-standing animosity toward Nina. Tiny’s fury at the thought that Nina could be accused. The erased diskettes. Greg’s neatly arranged files that indicated he was out to defraud the people of Mirabeau with this condo development. The letters he’d already drafted to send to the city council, even before his deals were done. His many meetings with people in the town: Miss Twyla, the Goertzes, Parker and Dee Loudermilk, Freddy Jacksill, Uncle Bid. He hadn’t met with me and I felt pert near left out. And who was the J. he met with at the end of each day? It hadn’t been me. I wondered, idly, if it was Jenny Loudermilk—she’d come in right behind Greg at the library meeting. Or another abbreviation for Freddy Jacksill. They were the only people connected to the case that I could think of. Of course, it could be someone else entirely. And to add to all this, the bombings. Tomorrow, I decided, I’d have to talk with Mr. Freddy Jacksill and the Loudermilks.

  I took some more Tylenol, wondering if you could get addicted to the stuff, and rewarded all my hard thinking with a predinner nap.

  I could have killed my nephew Mark. He’d ended up getting invited to stay at a friend’s for hamburgers for dinner, leaving me alone with three women, all of whom had their eyes on me for different reasons. It was really more than any one man should be expected to bear.

  Sister was the congenial hostess, being as sugary to me and Lorna as two-day-old sweet-potato pie. She’d insisted on doing all the cooking, while leaving Candace, Lorna, and me out in the living room with a life-preserver-shaped tray of cheese, fruit, and chips. (I felt like the dip.) She brought in our beers and patted Lorna on the shoulder.

  “Lorna, I know you’re probably not feeling like partying very much, but trust me—a relaxing evening with friends will make you feel better. Try and put all this dreadfulness behind you for just a few hours.” Good thing Lorna wasn’t diabetic—Sister’s cajoling tone would have put anyone into a sugar coma.