Buried in Beignets

by J. R. Ripley

  I put forth my friendliest smile. ‘Nothing to be embarrassed about. To tell you the truth, I felt like fainting myself.’ I draped the garment bag across my lap. ‘In fact, the only reason I didn’t was because of you.’

  ‘Because of me?’ He looked puzzled.

  ‘Sure, I mean, if I fainted, who was going to catch you?’ We shared a laugh. I noticed Clive’s green eyes dart nervously to Johnny. Johnny probably wasn’t big on people having fun.

  ‘I was going to come see you today. I saw the banner.’ He spread his hands in the air. ‘Grand Opening Today!’ He sighed. ‘I remember our grand opening.’

  ‘Oh? How long’s it been?’

  ‘Almost three years. We opened The Hitching Post not long after we married. It had always been a dream of ours.’

  ‘That’s great. I hope Maggie’s Beignet Café is still open for business three years from now.’

  ‘I’m sure it will be.’ He tented his fingers atop the black leather blotter. ‘Can I get you some refreshment? A cup of chamomile tea, perhaps?’

  I shook my head no. A tall, tapered glass vase of pink angel’s trumpets occupied the left corner of his desk. Hadn’t I read somewhere that those flowers were poisonous? Was old Clive trying to kill me? Put a little angel’s trumpet juice in my tea, perhaps?

  I suppressed a shudder.

  ‘A coconut macaroon?’

  ‘Thanks, but I don’t think I’d better.’ I patted my belly through the garment bag. ‘I think I’m becoming my own best customer.’

  Clive arched his brow and glanced meaningfully at the bag on my lap. ‘So, what’s in the bag? I suspect it’s rather too large to be an order of beignets.’

  ‘Well …’ My hands stroked the dark fabric of the garment bag. ‘This is what I came to see you about.’ I suddenly was feeling nervous. After all, I barely knew Clive and since we’d met I’d been responsible for him ending up in the hospital. Not to mention, I’d run his husband, Johnny Wolfe, over with my Schwinn. Now I was about to ask them a favor.

  A very big favor.

  An expensive favor.

  I sucked in a breath. ‘Let me show you,’ I said, getting to my feet. I draped the garment bag over the back of my chair and slowly pulled down the zipper.

  I heard Clive gasp as I pulled out my wedding gown.

  He pushed back his chair and came around to my side of the desk. ‘Oh, Maggie,’ he exclaimed, pushing his cheeks together in his palms, ‘it’s magnificent!’

  I gathered up the folds of fabric, carefully extracted the gown and held it aloft. It was magnificent.

  Clive waved. ‘Johnny, come see!’

  Johnny shot us a dirty look, said a word or two to his clients and walked over. I swear, the way he was swinging those slender hips of his around, you’d think he was a runway model.

  Johnny looked at Clive, then at me and then fingered the gown. ‘Quite nice.’ He regarded me up and down. ‘You’re getting married and need the waist let out.’

  ‘What—’ Need the waist let out? He hadn’t even posed it as a question!

  Johnny turned to Clive. ‘No problem. We can do the alterations for you even if you did not purchase the gown here. Clive can write you up. I’m afraid our calendar is quite full this time of year, but if you can give me a few weeks—’

  ‘But—’ I looked at my hips. OK, maybe I’d put on a few pounds, but still, who did this skinny coxcomb think he was making comments like that? ‘I don’t need—’

  I was about to suggest some rather unladylike alterations I’d like to make to Johnny Wolfe when I suddenly remembered what I was doing in The Hitching Post.

  I cleared my throat and started again. ‘I mean, thank you, Johnny, that would be very kind of you, but that’s not why I’m here.’

  ‘I see.’ He chewed his lower lip and his eyes angled to the mother and daughter at the other end of the showroom. ‘Then you’ll excuse me. The Burkes are on a tight schedule. I’m sure Clive can handle whatever it is you require. Clive?’

  Clive nodded. ‘Of course, Johnny.’ Johnny swiveled silently and maneuvered his way back to his clients. I scored him a seven-point-five for the move because I didn’t think he’d done a full rotation and had landed on the inside edge of his left heel.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Clive. He leaned against his desk. ‘So, you’re getting married again. How lovely for you. When is the wedding?’

  I shook my head. ‘No wedding. This is my old dress.’

  Clive cocked his head.

  ‘I want to sell it. More specifically,’ I cleared my throat, ‘I want you to buy it.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Clive chewed his lip and sighed. ‘You know, Maggie, this is unusual. We don’t normally buy wedding dresses, nor do we sell pre-owned dresses.’ He was really wagging his head now. ‘I’m not sure that Johnny would approve.’

  ‘Don’t think of it as pre-owned,’ I said, waving the beautiful dress in front of him. ‘Think of it as gently used.’

  He rubbed the satin between his fingers. ‘It is a beautiful dress.’ He looked at me curiously and said in softer tones, ‘Are you sure you want to part with the gown, Maggie?’

  ‘Yep.’

  He seemed surprised. ‘The dress must hold very special memories for you. Perhaps you want to think about this before you do something rash? Sometimes, such things are all we have to hold on to, to remember our dear departed loved ones by.’

  I shifted from foot to foot. ‘You’d really be helping me out.’

  He stiffened.

  ‘Did I say something wrong?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Some oaf has parked a gargantuan truck right out front, blocking our entire window display from the street. Johnny hates that. Whoever he is and whatever he is delivering, trucks are by law required to use the alley, you know.’

  I knew. All my deliveries came in through my storeroom off the alley. There was a town ordinance about it.

  He squinted out the window. ‘The driver’s even got one tire on the curb.’ He read the name on the side of the trailer and tapped his teeth with his fingernail. ‘Miller Transport. It’s certainly not a delivery for us.’

  Clive turned back to me. ‘Hey, Miller – that’s your last name, too, Maggie.’

  ‘Yeah, quite a coincidence.’ I raised the dress higher, hoping to get Clive to focus on more important things than trucks. Like dresses. ‘Now, about the dress—’

  ‘Do you suppose it’s anybody you know?’

  ‘No,’ I said, rather too sharply. Miller is a common name, after all. Now if it had read Malarkey I might have been curious myself. Still, I found myself looking out the window. Human nature, I supposed.

  Brian jumped down from the cab. He was wearing an old pair of loose-fitting Wranglers and a Sedona red Arizona Diamondbacks T-shirt. He’d always been into baseball.

  My wedding dress hit the floor.

  TWENTY

  Brian angled to the right and disappeared. Clive scooped up the gown and handed it back to me. I white-knuckled the cedar hanger. If anything happened to the gown, he wouldn’t offer me two cents for it.

  ‘Are you all right, Maggie?’ Clive said. I felt his hand on my shoulder. ‘Perhaps you’d better sit.’

  Brian burst through the front entrance of The Hitching Post. ‘Maggie!’ he shouted across the store. ‘What on earth is going on? I went to the café and your employee told me I’d find you here.’

  His eyes flew around the space. ‘What are you doing in here instead of your own place?’ He paced toward me and his eyes moved up and down my wedding dress. ‘Hey, your wedding gown. What are you doing with that?’

  ‘Brian—’ I stuttered.

  ‘Brian?’ Clive matched me stutter for stutter.

  I nodded.

  ‘Your dead husband, Brian?’

  ‘Dead?’ Brian scratched his head. Why was he looking at me funny like that?

  Clive stuttered again, apparently not going to let go of this. He swiveled to face me. His eyes full of
questions. ‘But you told me he was dead!’

  ‘Dead?’ Brian scratched his head some more. I was beginning to think the man had lice.

  ‘Wow,’ I replied, laughing nervously. ‘Would you look at that – dead man walking. It’s like the zombie apocalypse!’ I ended my sentence with another nervous laugh and a glance at both men.

  ‘What’s going on, Maggie?’ Both men said it together.

  The force of their words sent me reeling. I smiled out of the side of my face. My knees felt like grape jelly. I turned to Clive. ‘I guess I was wrong?’

  Clive folded his arms across his chest and glared. ‘Maggie.’ He drew the word out. There was an edge to his voice. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard the word ‘Maggie’ said like an accusation, but it was one of the best.

  I took a step back.

  Johnny rushed over. ‘What the devil are you all doing?’ he hissed. ‘This is a bridal shop, not a saloon.’ He squeezed his hands together. ‘Show some decorum.’

  I lowered my eyes.

  ‘Sorry, Johnny,’ Clive said.

  ‘Hey, you’re Johnny Wolfe, that ice-skating guy.’ Brian stuck his hand out.

  Johnny hesitated, then allowed him a handshake. What the heck? Hadn’t Johnny refused to shake my hand the other day? ‘Yes,’ Johnny said curtly. ‘You are?’

  ‘Brian Miller. Miller Transport.’ He dropped his arm over my shoulder. ‘Maggie’s husband.’

  Brian stood a good seven inches taller than me and I felt his weight on my shoulder. I quickly wiggled away. ‘Ex-husband,’ I said.

  Clive pulled a face. ‘Dead husband.’ He stared at me. ‘Or so I’d been told.’ He wagged his finger. ‘Shame on you, Maggie.’

  Brian grinned from ear to ear, making his round head look all the more like a pale beach ball. ‘Yeah, shame on you, Maggie.’

  I held out the gown. ‘Look, Clive, are you going to buy the dress or not?’ I turned to my dead ex-husband. ‘Brian, leave.’ With my free hand, I pointed to the door just in case he’d forgotten where it was located.

  Johnny looked out the window of The Hitching Post. ‘Is that your vehicle parked halfway up the sidewalk, blocking our—’ He stopped and turned to me. ‘Wait, what’s this about buying your dress?’ His eyes fell to my gown again.

  Clive nodded briefly. ‘Maggie would like us to purchase her wedding dress from her, Johnny.’

  ‘We don’t buy wedding dresses,’ Johnny said sourly, ‘we sell them.’

  ‘That’s what I tried to explain,’ Clive replied.

  ‘But you’d really be helping me out. Doing me a big favor. You see, there was a problem at the bank. My rent and security check got bounced for some reason and—’

  Brian said, ‘You’re selling your wedding gown? Maggie, that’s a twelve-thousand-dollar Pnina Tornai original!’ He laced his fingers through his thick black hair.

  ‘Yeah, well, if you want to give me what I originally paid for it, she’s all yours.’ I thrust the gown in his face. It was a beautiful dress, with a sweetheart neckline, a dropped waist and silk satin cathedral-length train. Part of me wanted to hang on to the dress; the other part wanted to keep my business afloat.

  Brian sputtered and backed up. The cheapskate.

  I pushed the dress at Clive. He took a step back and I thrust it in Johnny’s face. He looked nervously to his customers and lifted a finger. ‘I’ll be with you in a moment, ladies.’

  Johnny turned back to me. ‘How much do you want?’ he hissed brusquely.

  I cocked my head and considered. ‘Four thousand?’ Hey, it was more than I needed but why not ask? A girl’s got to think big.

  He frowned. ‘Two.’

  ‘Three?’ I said, arching my right eyebrow. That was as low as I could afford to go. I didn’t know what I’d do if he said no. I held my breath and waited.

  Johnny sighed. ‘Fine.’ He turned to his partner. ‘Clive, write the woman a check and get her out of here. Quickly.’ He turned, his eyes on Brian, his finger aimed at Miller Transport. ‘And you,’ he said, ‘remove that monstrosity from my sight!’

  Clive hung my gown on a nearby rack, then sat behind his desk and pulled open the middle drawer. He removed a large leather-bound ledger the color of dark chocolate. ‘I’ll prepare your check.’

  He glanced up at Brian who still hovered. ‘I really do suggest you move your truck, Mr Miller. Johnny has a very short fuse. He’s liable to telephone the police.’

  ‘Thanks, bud.’ He shot Clive a thumbs up. ‘I’ll move the truck and meet you next door, Mags.’

  ‘Go away, Brian,’ I replied. I turned back to Clive as he put pen to check. ‘You wouldn’t happen to be able to give me the three thousand in cash, I suppose?’ With the bank closed on Saturday, a check wouldn’t do me much good. What if Natalie made good on her threat and had Maggie’s Beignet Café padlocked today?

  ‘Sorry,’ answered Clive. ‘We don’t keep that kind of cash around.’

  I fell back onto the chair and thought. ‘I know,’ I said finally. ‘Make the check out to Wilbur Realty.’ The Hitching Post had been a tenant of theirs for years, after all. Certainly they’d accept a three-thousand-dollar check from them. At least for the weekend. Long enough for me to keep my doors open.

  Clive agreed.

  He handed me the check. ‘Thanks.’ I folded it in two and slid it into my pocket. I’d run it over to the real estate office later. ‘Say, Clive,’ I said before leaving. ‘You didn’t happen to find a couple of chairs—’

  He looked puzzled.

  ‘Like maybe out back, in the alley?’

  Clive shook his head.

  ‘Oh.’ That hadn’t been helpful at all.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘No reason.’ He looked doubly confused by my answer but I couldn’t afford to let him know that I knew about the missing chairs. What if he and Johnny were in cahoots and had killed Mr Wilbur for some reason as yet unknown to me?

  Where on earth were my two missing chairs? They definitely weren’t out here on the showroom floor. Could they be in the back? They certainly appeared to have a good-sized storeroom, triple the size of mine. What I had to figure out was how to get a look back there.

  ‘I notice that your air conditioner is working today. Didn’t you say it was on the fritz? Did Rick Wilbur get it running?’ That’s it, Maggie, dangle the bait and see if the fish bites. Get him to admit maybe that Rick Wilbur had been in their store around the time of his death.

  Clive stood. ‘Like I said, it runs hot and cold. Today, giving that I read the temperature is going to rise to ninety-five, I’m happy to see that it seems to be working properly. Mr Teller promised he’d take a look as soon as he is up to the task.’

  ‘Yeah, poor man.’

  ‘That reminds me, I promised him I’d feed his cat.’

  So Ed Teller wasn’t quite so all alone in the world as I’d thought. That news eased my conscience a bit. ‘Have you been taking care of him all this time?’ With no wife and no kids, I was happy to hear that Ed at least had a cat. Sometimes a pet is all you need.

  ‘It’s a her. And no, someone from the office, Ms Eagleheart, the office secretary, has been assisting. But with her allergies, it’s been quite a struggle apparently. Before I left Mesa Verde, Mr Teller asked me if I might be able to stop by his house once a day to help out. She’s a house cat. Goes by the name Carol Two.’

  Before I could ask, Clive answered, ‘Carol One was his wife.’

  I wasn’t sure whether Ed’s choice of names was meant to honor his dead wife or to diss her.

  ‘Mr Teller doesn’t like to leave Carol Two completely alone in the house. It wouldn’t be so bad if all I had to do was fill her kibble dish, but that litter box …’ He visibly shivered. ‘Ick.’

  ‘I could do it for you.’ Good grief, had those words just come out of my mouth? I didn’t have time to clean up after a cat. I didn’t even like cleaning up after myself.

  ‘Do what? The litter box?’

&nb
sp; ‘The whole thing.’ I spread my hands. ‘Feed the kitty, empty the litter.’ What can I say? I felt like I owed the guy.

  ‘I don’t know …’ Clive tapped his fingers together. ‘I told Mr Teller I’d do it.’

  ‘Please, you did me a big favor buying the dress and getting me out of a jam. Let me do this for you to pay you back.’ I folded my arms over my chest. ‘He won’t mind,’ I wheedled. ‘I insist.’

  ‘Well, if you insist.’ He reached into the top left-hand drawer and pulled out a Wilbur Realty logo key ring with several keys attached. ‘Here are Mr Teller’s keys.’ Clive wrote out the address. ‘It’s a small bungalow on Prescott. It’s a fixer-upper with cobalt-blue shutters. You can’t miss it.’

  I nodded. I knew the general area and it was definitely doable by bike.

  ‘Whatever you do, Maggie, do not let Carol Two out of the house.’ He wagged his finger at me like I was a schoolgirl or something. ‘She is strictly an indoor cat.’

  ‘OK.’ I gave Clive a thumbs up and a smile.

  ‘Seriously, Maggie. Mr Teller was quite explicit on the matter. Carol Two is not to be allowed out of the house.’

  ‘I said OK already.’

  ‘I know, but—’ The tinkle of the string of bells attached to the front door announced a new arrival and Clive stopped talking. We both turned to look. Four young ladies entered. One of them was wearing an engagement ring, and the way the rock on it flashed even from this distance meant she probably had a healthy budget for a wedding dress. Maybe she’d like a slightly used Pnina Tornai original.

  Clive stood. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, Maggie. I have to assist my customer.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, waving him on. ‘I’ll let myself out as soon as I’ve used your ladies’ room. You do have one, don’t you?’

  ‘What’s wrong with yours?’ His brows lowered.

  I shrugged sheepishly. ‘Can’t wait?’

  Clive pointed to the right and scurried over to intercept the group of young women who had begun riffling through the racks amid a chorus of gasps and oohs.

  I went straight to the restroom. And turned left. A dark, narrow hall led to a small office on the right. Talk about neat. I’ve never seen an office without clutter. Part of me wanted to stop and admire it, maybe shoot a picture with my phone to post on Facebook. But if Clive or Johnny caught me, how would I explain myself?