by riley blake
“And?” Opal rolled her hand forward. “Tell the rest of it.”
“She already knows,” Pearl said.
“What do I know exactly?” Mary Louise asked.
“About the green peel mask,” Pearl said. “I still wear it every single night. Why I’d scare the fog right off a ghost’s hide.”
“You’re that frightening in the middle of the night, are you?” Mary Louise rarely picked up on Pearl’s language since she often concocted her own. On occasion, she came up with weird adages and always pronounced words any old way she wanted. She was southern and blamed it on that. It was a true disgrace to southerners to blame flaws on one’s heritage, but Mary Louise rarely spoke out of turn and Pearl just said whatever came to mind.
Opal and Mary Louise shared an unspoken agreement between them. If Pearl understood Pearl then all was well in the world.
Pearl checked her phone. “We’ve only been here six hours and thirty-four minutes, give or take a few seconds.”
“Now I feel imprisoned,” Opal said, dead serious.
Opal enjoyed her freedom. Opal’s parents had spent most of their careers writing about the Holocaust and had always stressed the importance of self-reliance and independence. They taught their daughter to question everything and everyone. An organizer who stood out as a leader in real estate development, she seldom left her small neighborhood of tiny houses, a planned community she designed a few years back. With projects in the works, Opal surprised everyone when she accepted Mark’s generous offer and misrepresented gift.
Mary Louise wanted to wring his neck. Mark and Catherine preyed on Opal’s need for love and lured her through the gates of retirement by exposing her weakness. She wanted to be considered an equal in their family. She probably wouldn’t question where she stood among them now.
Pearl lifted her teacup. “Did you know they have an eight-to-one ratio here?”
“Let me guess. You think that means eight staff members to each a one?” Cajun slipups were part of Opal’s charm.
“Well duh,” Pearl said, borrowing a page from granddaughter Chelsea’s Book of Sass.
“It’s the other way around.” Opal rubbed her palms down her white slacks and nervously peered over her shoulder, checking out the social scene right inside the main door. “At least we still have a car to share between us.” Opal always found that ray of sunshine even when it was cloudy with a hundred percent chance of rain.
Mary Louise grimaced. “My wheels won’t spin long enough to take us to the mall. We’ll be on the side of the road before we make a left on State Street.”
“You’re such a drama mama sometimes.”
If that wasn’t the kettle calling one hot.
“We should’ve brought your Mustang convertible,” Mary Louise said.
“I promised it to Zack when he turns sixteen.”
“He’s twelve,” Opal reminded her.
“Which means you could’ve driven it for three or four more years,” Mary Louise added, dreading the day when Zack took the wheel.
“Yes, but then it wouldn’t be in mint condition when Zack gains ownership.”
“And what does that matter?” Opal asked. “Do you realize how insane it is to give a sixteen year old a Mustang convertible?”
“You can say that again,” Mary Louise said, certain karma would take their grandson by the hand the very second he obtained his driver’s permit.
“Speaking of grandkids, I saw you slip something in Catherine’s hand before she left. Did you give my daughter some money for the children?”
“Ha! Are you kidding me? It was my used tissues.” Mary Louise jiggled her shoulders. Catherine would moan and groan all the way home. Her germ phobia had gotten worse since she’d begun researching Howard Hughes. Mark wasn’t ready to label Catherine as a germaphobe, but just in case, it was a mother-in-law’s duty to do whatever necessary to help with a future diagnosis.
“And I thought my mother-in-law was terrible.”
“Which one?” Opal asked.
“You’re talking about Madge,” Mary Louise said.
“That would be the one.”
“But didn’t she pass away right after you married her ‘baby’ boy?” Opal asked.
“Supposedly. Dead or alive, she left behind quite the problem when she hid the bucket.”
“You mean kicked,” Opal said.
“No I had it right the first time. I never believed she drowned. No one else did either. She’d cleared out her bank accounts an hour before her car sailed off the Lickety Split Bridge.”
Opal gasped. “I’d forgotten all about that.”
“Poor Old Madge,” Pearl droned. “I couldn’t blame her. She found someone to look after her son and off she went. Why you saw who she left behind! I married a child, not a man. He wanted a mother, not a wife.”
“Then you should’ve tracked down his momma and given her a full refund. You could’ve thrown in her first grandchild and told her to consider it as interest paid.” Opal grinned. “Nothing against Catherine of course.”
“Maybe I would’ve if Danny hadn’t died so young. God rest his soul. At least he died by natural causes. When his number was up, he just grabbed his chest and tumbled to the floor. Too bad his cousin Oscar didn’t have the same good fortune.”
“What do you mean?” Opal asked, sitting upright.
“You never heard the story?” Pearl lowered her voice. “Why the folks down at the Five and Dime said he suffered somethin’ awful. He was never diagnosed properly but death came for him and got him all the same. Irritability, I think. Lived with it his whole life. Bless his heart.”
Mary Louise waited for the punch line. When Pearl didn’t add one, she said, “You’re joking. Right?”
“No.” Pearl replied, shaking her head slowly. “Folks at the Five and Dime claimed that it was a life-ending disorder. He was a grumpy fella. Remember? Anyway, misery loves company and the old coot didn’t have one friend on the face of this earth. Friendship is a basic need, you see. And after suffering from the disease for years and years, he just fell over one day. Dropped dead, they said.”
“Maybe it was a heart attack,” Opal suggested.
“No,” Pearl drawled. “The cause of death was irritability. They even listed it on his death certificate, too. Everybody said so.”
“And I’m assuming everybody hangs out at the Five and Dime?” Opal asked.
“That’s right.”
“He didn’t die of irritability,” Opal argued.
“Of course he did. I’m acquainted with the family, second cousin by marriage. Duh.”
Mary Louise and Opal shot one another a knowing stare. They would soon have one of their infamous sit-down talks.
The duh-days were over.
Pearl continued babbling about who had said what and how they’d described Oscar’s last days. “Apparently he told a few folks that his days were numbered. He even left a note for his children and told them some things weren’t worth salvaging. Other things were worth the sacrifice.”
Opal frowned. “Sounds like he was a depressed fellow.”
“At least he was thoughtful which is strange…considering his disease and all. Anyway, he had a chance to say farewell and he took it. The letter was straightforward from what I understand.”
Which was part of the problem. Pearl typically caught only bits and pieces of a conversation and remembered even less.
“He left his family instructions. He told them, ‘Please choose someone to say nice things about me in my eulogy. If that’s impossible then lie about my accomplishments in an obituary.’ He gave them a few words of advice and that was it.”
“He wrote this letter to his children?” Mary Louise stopped rocking. “Why not his wife?”
“I don’t think they got along.”
Opal leaned forward. “You are talking about Oscar Leonardo, right?”
“That’s the one.”
“Hon, that’s not how he died. He committed sui
cide. The letter is proof enough but Charlton’s Café owner Margaret? Why she told Louise down at the Parading Lingerie store that his wife found him in an alley behind the Neighborhood Bar and Grill. They think he drank himself to death.”
“Now that’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Because dying of irritability makes more sense?”
“No. Because everyone knows that Oscar never touched a drop of alcohol. He was a man of the cloth.”
“He was not a man of the cloth,” Opal said, sounding exasperated.
“Oh yes he was. He made the most beautiful dresses you ever laid your eyes on. Denise down at the Five and Dime said she read about him in a magazine once. Said the article pointed out that ‘the evening gowns were some of the most beautiful ever seen from the Oscar’ and he is very well known.”
“The Oscars.” Opal turned to Mary Louise. “I’m not touching that one. You have a beautiful way with words. This time, she’s all yours.” When Mary Louise didn’t say anything, Opal looked concerned. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m about to add one more story to the line of tall tales.” Troubled by the number of discrepancies surrounding Oscar’s death, she said, “Small town fiction is a bit more twisted than usual, girls.”
“How so?” Opal asked.
“I talked to Oscar’s wife—Kelly Leonardo—right after he passed. She stopped by the store and according to her, Oscar slipped away quietly in the night.”
Opal gasped. “Are you pulling my leg?”
“Oh no. She wouldn’t dare. Might pull your hip out.” Pearl shivered. “Replacement surgery wouldn’t be your idea of a good time.”
“My idea of a good time isn’t trying to figure out how someone died,” Opal said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Johnny B owns the bar and grill. He lives across the street so I’ll find out what he knows.”
“He lived across the street from you.” Pearl fluttered her eyelashes. “You’re not in Topeka anymore, Dorothy.”
“It’s Liberal,” Opal said, correcting her. “Liberal, Kansas.”
“As if it matters.”
“And here we go…” Opal was Hollywood’s version of a walking encyclopedia and she loved all things Oz. “Considering I’ve watched The Wizard of Oz two hundred and five times? It matters. Dorothy’s house and the Land of Oz are now located in Liberal, Kansas.”
“Well Dorothy must’ve been real busy back in the day because she also has a nice place in Beech Mountain, which is closer to us by way of car. But you go on and click your heels. See how close you get to Kansas.”
“Did he have an open casket?” Mary Louise cut their argument short. “Don’t answer that.” She turned to Opal. “And you can’t believe anything Johnny B says. The truth’s not in him.”
“What just happened?” Pearl asked, clearly confused.
“Please try to pay attention,” Opal said, losing her Pearl-patience for the day. “We returned to the main topic at hand. Our friend is dead. He left a note, or so you thought, but yet died unexpectedly.” A beat later, she added, “Since the postmaster delivered a truth package right to your front door, I won’t bother Johnny with a bunch of questions. If Oscar’s wife claimed he died in his sleep, who are we to say otherwise?”
Mary Louise paced. “Three different stories in one small town? Something doesn’t add up. Kelly is a peculiar lady. She started shopping with us a few hours after Oscar died. And she’s been by the store at least twice a week ever since he passed.”
“Maybe her husband left her some money,” Pearl suggested.
“His estate probably hasn’t been settled.” Opal understood legal matters. “It’s only been a couple of months.”
“Do you remember what Kelly bought?” Pearl asked.
“Her first visit would be the one to recall,” Opal pointed out.
“Let’s see…an antique hammer, a washtub, and a number of other items. It struck me as strange because Oscar was a designer—as Pearl so eloquently pointed out—and his house was more of an art deco style. If I’m not mistaken, she mainly made purchases from our country corner and vintage booth.”
“We should have her purchases recorded somewhere,” Opal said.
Sales at Vintage Whispers were detailed on handwritten receipts. They couldn’t exactly use a computer and promote antiques and yesteryear’s favorite wares.
“Mary Louise, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so, it was very rude of you to try and talk to a widow about her husband’s death. I’m surprised she shopped with us at all.”
“She volunteered the information, actually.” After some additional thought, Mary Louise added, “We were busy that day. Someone else in the community had just passed, maybe Clarence’s wife. A lot of folks stopped in for planters and inspirational gifts. We handled the floral arrangement orders for Dimwit’s Florist back then. Remember?”
“That’s right,” Opal said. “And I do recall that weekend. We hustled. We even had to call Pearl in.”
“You act like I’m your last resort.”
“Never,” Opal assured her, but she was just being nice. Pearl was a full partner, but outside of decorating and piddling, she didn’t add a lot to the store’s bottom line.
“Who told you Oscar drank himself into an early grave?” Mary Louise asked.
“You don’t want to know my sources?” Pearl was dead serious. “I have the more accurate story. Everybody knew about his problem.”
“Pearl, the four people who keep the Five and Dime’s front bench warm, chain-smoking short-stubbed cigarettes do not constitute the whole of Bristol. Trust me.” Opal’s tolerance level was definitely on the fritz.
“Well maybe not but Sheriff Littleton and I saw a lot of one another back then and for your information, he thought the ladies at the Five and Dime may have been sitting on some valuable details. And he promised to follow up with them, even said he would see if they had anything to add to the investigation.”
“The only contribution those girls can make is toward the town’s gossip movement.”
“Well he said…”
“My point,” Opal sang.
“Wait a minute,” Mary Louise said. “You were seeing Sheriff Littleton?”
“For a few days. Then Catherine and Mark came up with their harebrained conspiracy theory to leave us behind like forgotten children at a crowded carnival.”
“So now we’re part of the crazy faction,” Opal said, shaking her head.
“We won’t go there.” Mary Louise didn’t think conspiracy theorists were crazy. They were opinionated, yes, but mad? Not by a long shot.
“And we knew about Littleton.” Opal’s green eyes held an emerald glimmer. “We keep tabs on you.”
Truer words had never been spoken.
“So what did Littleton say?” Mary Louise asked.
“We uh…” Pearl cleared her throat. “We avoid business discussions when –”
“Why you devil you,” Mary Louise said, removing her glasses.
“…when we’re baking,” Pearl said, blushing. “Sheriff’s wife didn’t cook so he wants to learn how. He thinks it will be an alluring quality when he gets ready to hit the dating scene again.”
“I’ve heard it all now,” Mary Louise said.
Pearl sat upright. “Wait. Now that I think about it, he mentioned there were a lot of rumors floating around the community. He said, ‘The man is dead and that’s what matters.’ And he also said everyone should let him rest in peace.”
“Oscar’s wife didn’t seem too concerned about the stories,” Mary Louise pointed out. “I thought the closed casket was a bit strange, too.”
“That’s because they lost the body,” Pearl said in a solemn voice.
Mary Louise was taken aback. “What? How?”
“Oh Pearl, you believe too much gossip.”
“This is truth, Opal.”
“It always is,” she said, but then seemingly gauged Pearl’s expression. “You’re serious?”
“Ab
solutely.”
Opal then turned to Mary Louise. “How does someone lose their spouse’s body?”
Mary Louise had watched a lot of CSI shows but couldn’t recall an episode about a lost corpse. “Maybe that’s just hearsay.”
“Oh I don’t think so. The Five and Dime gals claimed Oscar’s wife kept a little house near the old Virginia Intermont campus. Kelly liked to work in her studio without interruption. She’s an artist, I think. Anyway, if she didn’t live with him, why she may have forgotten what he looked like. Kind of easy to lose someone when you—”
“I doubt that’s the case,” Opal said, stopping her before she took off on a frenzy of guesses and gossip.
“I remember taking orders for funeral sprays.” Mary Louise tried to recall the day in vivid detail but drew blank.
“You must be mistaken,” Pearl said. “They had the graveside service down at Malone’s. They don’t have a problem with mosquitoes down there so no one would’ve ordered sprays.”
Opal groaned. “And she wondered why we always took care of Dimwit’s calls.”
“Girls, this is serious stuff here. If a body was lost and no one ever mentioned finding it then who is lying in the cemetery? Kelly wouldn’t have purchased and then buried an empty coffin.”
“She might have,” Pearl insisted. “Like I said…”
“Oscar’s wife didn’t forget what he looked like for crying out loud!”
Pearl gnawed on her bottom lip. “Someone could’ve stolen his corpse. He was a famous man after all. He had a website and showed up in searches. He had good rank.” She groaned. “Whatever that means.”
Chapter Four
“Well if you ask me, it sounds like a small town cover-up.” An hour had slipped by them and as far as Mary Louise was concerned, that hour could’ve been used in a more productive manner. “No one ‘took’ Oscar’s body as a keepsake, but they may have hidden it for a reason.”
“I think you’re right,” Pearl eagerly agreed. “In these parts, if it waddles like a duck, it’s usually a pigeon with dirt caked underneath its wings.”
Opal reluctantly said, “I sort of agree. Parts of Bristol are known for the occasional cheating spouse, gossipmongers who wag their tongues like false flags, street drugs, and too many rumors about all of the above. Put all of that together and you could have a recipe for tampered evidence.”
