Alpaca My Bags

by Violet Patton

  “Nope.” Touching his fingers made that feather tickle my belly. I couldn’t remember the last time I danced in my man’s arms.

  He warmed my heart, and I felt like a bride.

  Our first few days at the Oasis weren’t the best luck, but maybe our luck changed. Good ol’ Texas gals were my new best friends. Wayne understood Philly and vice versa. They had plenty to talk about. Madonna and Ann were good neighbors, better than I’ve had in a long time. Someone murdered Dan... but hey, it could’ve been worse. Scooting along in my man’s arms made me forget the worst, but I still had a craw stuck in my turkey neck over the Wanda situation.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A Slow Start

  We slept in. Let me rephrase that, Philly snored in. I wore him out. It has been a long time since I wore him out.

  I opened the front window blinds. Every morning, everyone opens their blinds. After the temperature rises, they close the blinds. At dusk, open them again. Come home from two-stepping your heart out—close the blinds. I’m getting into one Oasis grove.

  I sat in Wanda’s recliner drinking coffee making a list:

  Cowboy boots—size seven. I fibbed about the six and a half, now my toes had blistered. Cowgirl shirt with fancy snaps—plaid.

  Two turquoise bolos—matching. We would look good the next time we two-stepped.

  I stirred up a batch of scrambled eggs and peeked at Philly; he hadn’t moved. All was quiet inside and out. I ate the eggs while they were hot and added salt and pepper to the list.

  A person climbed the steps, put something on the table and left. I didn’t recognize them. My hackles rose, but I didn’t rush out to confront him or her over early morning trespassing.

  Pretty soon, Philly got up, showered, shaved and came out dressed. I got him a cup of coffee. We don’t talk first thing in the morning.

  By seven, he asked, “Should we unload the PODS or get your driver’s license?”

  “PODS.” I handed him my list. He scanned it without comment. I’ll probably forget the list when we went shopping. Neither one of us would remember what I wrote on the list.

  I hadn’t even opened the driver’s education manual. I wouldn’t read the silly book, it was only a driver’s test. I can drive fine.

  He poured himself another coffee. “I called a man about an Arizona room. Wayne recommended him. He’ll be coming on Tuesday.”

  “Is that the day we’re going Alpaca hiking?”

  His brows knitted. “Could be. Do we have a regular calendar? I need to write things down.”

  I picked up the list and penciled calendar onto it.

  “I want a second bath. Alice said their Arizona room has a stack washer dryer in the bathroom.”

  All the time we lived in San Fran, I didn’t have a washer and dryer. The cheap laundry up the hill was convenient, and they picked up and delivered. Dragging my dirty laundry in the golf cart, washing and waiting, drying and folding wasn’t my idea of paradise.

  “Yeah, Wayne said how much Alice loves her stack.”

  I nodded and sat in the recliner. “A man dropped off something on the porch. I didn’t go out.”

  Philly got up, took two steps, opened the door, bent over, stepped back and closed the door. He handed me the orientation binder. “It’s for you.”

  I took it from him. Someone stuck a sticky note to it. I read it to him. “Sorry for the confusion. Let’s reschedule and start new another day. Amelia.”

  “Poor kid. Her apple cart tumbled over. Here put this over there.” I nodded at the table so I wouldn’t need to stand.

  He took the heavy binder and laid it on the dinette table.

  “Upset the whole shebang, if you ask me.”

  Last night at the dance, I listened to rumors about Dan’s demise. The group consensus: Dan got his due. The Texas women’s group wasn’t too fond of him. He had broken a few hearts. In a close-knit community like ours—I was getting close to accepting the fact of my membership in the Oasis—best to not play the ladies.

  One gal said, “In Tucson there are dozens of communities, with thousands of single ladies... I myself being one... that Dan could’ve sparked.” She acted disappointed Dan hadn’t sparked her, but that wasn’t motive enough to kill.

  Another girl, I think she said her name was Pat, added, “He wouldn’t give me the time of day.” Another disappointment, but I needed more substance about why someone wanted to kill Dan. Best to remain impartial until more evidence was thoroughly presented.

  “Innie-who,” Alice said. “Somebody had to be strong to wrestle Dan, tie on exercise weights and drag him into the pool.”

  Fodder for thought. Wrestling was one thing; killing was another. Who was strong enough to pull off that stunt?

  “Alice wanna boogie?” As the band struck another chord, Wayne whisked Alice away.

  That’s old history, now we have an overstuffed PODS and a park model full of Wanda’s belongings to move.

  “Get your britches on. We got work to do,” he said.

  “What about Wanda’s stuff?”

  He stood with his hand on the doorknob. “Who? Why do you keep saying Wanda?”

  “All this pink stuff. The pillows on the bed. The bed. These chairs. Even the spoons in the drawers belong to Wanda.” Philly watched my hand move. I pointed at different things and settled on the dingy carpet. “That pink carpet has got to go.”

  He blinked looking at the carpet. “Who is?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Album

  When he looked up from staring at the carpet, he didn’t have a clue about Wanda. I bit my lip, cocked my head trying to figure out what to say next.

  Let me see.

  Wanda walked into our park model. Told us how grieved she was over Dan’s death. Said she missed her pink stuff. Talked about painting sunsets. The next morning, Philly met her on the street. They greeted, he stretched and grinned, then they turned and walked away together.

  “Ah c’mon. You met her the other night.”

  A wiggly earthworm at the base of my skull squirmed. David Bell’s deadpanned face when he said, ‘Wanda is dead’ flashed like lightning in a Texas thunder cloud.

  I saw her, talked to her and watched him flirt with her in the furrow. He can’t keep up this charade much longer. For Philly to feign ignorance of knowing Wanda irked me.

  “She owned this house. Said she moved kitty-cornered.” I put my hands way out from my flat chest. “Big ol’ jugs.”

  He didn’t register. “Jugs?”

  I moved my hands back and forth. “Giant jugs.”

  He was bad about being attracted to big jugs. Once, he got whiplash watching a pair on Fisherman’s Wharf. I banned him from eating fish for two years after that gawking episode.

  My hint drew a blank stare. “Ask David Bell. He knows her.”

  “And he is? Was he at the dance?”

  I thought for a second. “No, he wasn’t. Wayne knows him. Ask Wayne to introduce you to David. He’s down the street. Or up.” I nodded in David’s direction.

  If he can’t remember her, I’m flummoxed. He has his memorable jugs recorded on microfiche to browse through in his dreams.

  My man’s slipping. Early onset dementia. I thought I would be the one to go that route. The doctor’s said chemo might make me lose short-term memory. Part of its many side effects. But, for him to forget Wanda—her boobs were memorable—was disconcerting.

  “How about I get dressed and we go sort through the PODS? I think I put a bag of underwear in it.”

  “Good idea. I’ll warm up the golf cart.”

  Dressed and ready to work, I stepped out to find the golf cart missing. Again. Philly left me behind or he forgot what we were going to do, either way I felt miffed. I went out onto the narrow street. As usual, this early in the morning the Oasis slept late.

  I glanced toward David Bell’s house and hunting in the furrow for telltale water wasting, but the rut was dry. David pulled my leg yesterday. She looked so r
eal, she couldn’t be dead. If she was dead why hadn’t her family cleaned out her park model?

  Ann’s house sets directly across the street. Madonna’s house next to hers on the right. The house next to Ann’s on the left had a covered golf cart parked in the carport. The dark windows still had summer shields in place. Whoever owned that house hadn’t arrived yet. If the owners were Canadians, they were snowed in.

  The next house up the street had to be Wanda’s new house.

  Why couldn’t I be neighborly and make an unexpected call on Wanda? Everyone else showed up uninvited and unannounced. I tromped into the furrow, keeping my feet in it made navigation easier, heading for her new digs.

  “Hey you.” Madonna called from her carport. “Where you headed?”

  I whirled, stumbling into the rut, but caught myself before I twisted my ankle. “Ah-hm, taking a walk.”

  She walked my way. “Want company?”

  I wasn’t but a few feet away from our assigned spot, so I scurried pretending to go home. Madonna met me in the middle. “How are you?”

  “Not so groovy.” I tried to act nonchalant. She almost caught me confronting Wanda.

  Madonna shaded her eyes. “I heard the dance was a blast last night.”

  “Most fun I’ve had since leaving Texas. Why didn’t you go?”

  “Eh. I called in sick.”

  Once again, Madonna arrived and rescued me from my bad ideas. What if I found Philly with Wanda this morning? Thinking of that possible tryst made my eyes burn. I will not cry over my man, he’s so not worth it.

  “C’mon can’t be that bad.” Madonna looped her hand in my elbow.

  “Our stuff arrived, the Caddy is dead... sorry. I forgot about Dan. How are you holding up?”

  “It’s okay. I’m getting better. Let’s get out of the sun.”

  We sat on the veranda and I fanned with Jesus. Philly’s disappearances rankled my nerves. I fanned away my tears, or they evaporated, either way, I calmed down.

  “Where’s your golf cart?” Madonna observed. “He went somewhere.”

  She’s very astute to notice our missing golf cart and where that somewhere was, was questionable.

  “Yeah. Philly took off. We were... I want to get rid of the pink stuff. The dishes. The towels in the bathroom.”

  “I have boxes. I’ll be back. Don’t move.”

  She returned with half a dozen flattened shipping boxes. “They’re used but we can use them. Let’s get started.”

  Over the next hour, she helped me pack Wanda’s things. There wasn’t as much junk as I thought, but packing it away made me feel better, more like I wasn’t living in someone else’s house.

  She chatted. I listened but never asked her about Wanda. We packed the woman’s dishes and other whatnots from the tiny dining room hutch into the boxes. Madonna told me about how her husband Bud passed last year. Prostate cancer got him. She said he went quickly. The news made me cringe... lots of men go that way. Philly might be next.

  That made me remember needing a calendar. We need new doctors for Philly’s prostate and the hole where my uterus used to be. I checked my shopping list to make sure I had written calendar on it. I had, and I added packing boxes to the list.

  I didn’t mention meeting David.

  “Why aren’t you at water aerobics?”

  She looked aghast. “The pool’s closed. I think they drained it.”

  “That’s a good thing.” Chlorine killed germs, but did it get out dead body?

  I nodded putting a crystal candy dish into a box. “Why didn’t they clean out this house after the owner died?”

  “Who?” Madonna had her back turned. “Who died?”

  “You know the previous owner?” I shrugged.

  She stopped packing and cocked her head, giving me a slitty-eyed gaze. “Are you talking about Wanda? Shame she was a great square-dancer.”

  Madonna sat in one of Wanda’s recliners. “That was a long time ago. Nobody left to clean it out. Shame, isn’t it? Her old stuff still here.”

  I waited for her to say if Wanda was dead or whatever but she offered nothing more.

  Madonna continued, avoiding the subject. “After Bud died, I had to cleanup the paperwork he kept too long. People rarely plan-ahead. What about your folks? Didn’t you need to clean out their place?”

  “Uh-huh.” I hedged. “It’s creepy living with somebody’s stuff.”

  Madonna winced. “Huh? Couldn’t let go of Bud’s things. His shirts still hang in the closet.”

  I understood perfectly. If Philly died or when I kill him, I wouldn’t take his shirts to a second-hand shop. I’d keep his shirts, so I could smell them and remember him.

  We emptied the hutch and filled all the boxes her brought over.

  Madonna said, “Listen. Let me get my cart. We’ll load this stuff. Don’t sweat the small stuff.”

  “Okay.” All the stuff was small, and I was sweating. I wet a paper towel and laid it on the back of my neck.

  She smiled. “Be right back.”

  In the bedroom, I stripped the sheets from the bed, adding the old pillows and the two dirty towels from the bathroom. I tied everything in a tight bundle. The plan was to chunk that bundle in the dumpster in the staging area.

  I won’t feel guilty for getting rid of Wanda’s things.

  Underneath the mirrored sliding doors were six drawers, and I opened one. Nothing. I opened the next four and on the sixth, jerking it out, I heard a rustle.

  I got onto my knees and felt around until my hand hit tissue paper. I grabbed an edge, but the paper tore. Reaching deeper, I pulled a package from the drawer.

  I put it on the bed. Both knees throbbed. “Dad gum it.” I hoisted up and sat on the bed. Tissue paper wrapped around what looked like a book. Gently, I removed it and discovered an old photo album. I looked over my shoulder, guilty of doing something wrong.

  A little voice in my head said this isn’t small stuff. Go ahead and look inside.

  I opened its cover, the door clicked open and Philly yelled, “Bunny. Get out here. I got a load of stuff from the PODS.”

  His voice made me pause. He came back exonerated and innocent of any wrongdoing. I should trust him more. I gave the first page of the album a glance and sure enough, there was Wanda dressed in a wedding dress. Her boobs were unmistakable.

  He hollered again. “I hope you got iced tea. I’m dehydrating out here.”

  Fumbling, I snapped the cover closed, opened the drawer and crammed the album back in where I found it.

  “Comin’,” I yelled.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After 4 o’clock

  Wayne helped Philly haul away Wanda’s old bed. He looked through the boxes we loaded onto Madonna’s golf cart. When she drove away to the dumpster, the boxes looked like a pittance of stuff, nothing to make a fuss about. I almost called after her to wait, but hesitated. Standing with one foot on each side of the furrow, I let her take the knickknacks to the trash.

  Alice sat watching from the veranda. She smoked cigarettes, and I stood downwind from her, sucking in her contrail.

  “It ain’t gonna fit,” Wayne said, running a tape measure along my Sleep Number bed for the umpteenth time. “I’m tellin’ ya.”

  Wayne loaned Philly a trailer to ferry PODS items to our front door. A moving truck would’ve taken up the whole street and blocked passage. Madonna sat with Alice, and she snickered saying blocking the road was against rule number 1001. It was funny, but it wasn’t.

  “It’s only a queen-size,” I quipped from my patio chair. Philly insisted we girls stay out of the way. We did, but he couldn’t keep me quiet.

  Wayne thumbed his nose. “Yeah but, the whole place is only as wide as a queen-size bed.” That was an awful mini truth. We needed to knock out some walls and remodel fast.

  “It’ll fit.” I frowned, running out of exasperated huffs and moans.

  Wayne stopped fussing over the bed and parked himself next to the scotch bottle. Ph
illy brought Wanda’s recliners out muttering about getting rid of perfectly good chairs. I wasn’t having them though—1990 chairs weren’t perfectly good—they had to go. With the space cleared, me, Alice and Wayne toted boxes off the trailer into the house. Before we finished, they filled the entire living room to the ceiling.

  “Y’all getting a storage unit?” Wayne asked. “They rent them at the staging area.”

  “We have two,” Alice said. “Can’t find a thing in either of them.”

  “I’m worn out.” Madonna said, heading for home. “You can hide a skeleton in mine, nobody would know until after I’m dead and gone.”

  Alice’s brow climbed up her forehead. “Like I said.”

  I didn’t quite get what like I said meant, but guessed she meant Madonna acted too quiet about Dan’s death. Maybe she thought about killing him and storing him in a unit, but changed her mind. In this heat, dead Dan would stink to high heaven right quick.

  Was she strong enough to drag big Dan weighted by weights into a storage unit?

  I highly doubt so.

  Seconds later Madonna’s blinds rolled shut.

  Wayne said, “Load up, old woman.” Alice grabbed my cheeks between her two fingers and kissed my forehead. She smooched my cheek, too. “Don’t sweat—”

  “Yeah, I know... the small stuff. I’ll be better tomorrow. Too much stress.”

  She let go of my cheeks. “What you need is a jewelry making class.” Wayne blew his golf cart horn. “Get in the dang cart.”

  She turned missing my eye roll. “I’ll put that on my list of to-dos.”

  Our AC cycled on. Wayne put the pedal to the metal and took Alice home.

  Philly and I eyed each other. Sometimes our looks mean little other than we understood that we don’t understand.

  “Which box has my highball glasses in it?” He plopped onto his patio chair and poured a scotch.

  “Dunno?”

  Inside the dish boxes were still uncrated. The crates contain kitchen things I couldn’t live without like my mother’s meat mallet; it weighed as much as a sledgehammer. In Texas, longhorn meat was tough, and it took a good hammering to make it edible.