Biggie and the Quincy Ghost

by Nancy Bell

  “I don’t think I like him much.”

  “Wasn’t much to like. Well, when Daniel P. come to be about fourteen or so, he fell in love with Maydella Lejeune, a girl he met at school, and she said she loved him back. Ooo-wee, Daniel P. seemed like he changed overnight. He was kind to animals and sweet as sugar to Auntie Blanche, who told all her friends it was a miracle.”

  “Love did that?”

  “Yep.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “Nothin’ much except Maydella found her another feller, Artis Johnson, who was a big strappin’ guy who could run, shoot, and fight rings around poor old Daniel P.”

  “So, then what happened to Daniel P?”

  “Oh, he’s in Angola Prison now. Been there might’ near all his life. ’Bout ten years ago, he found the Lord, so now he sets in his cell most of the time readin’ his Bible and prayin’ for forgiveness for shootin’ Artis Johnson in the back of the head with a 12-gauge shotgun.”

  “I don’t like that story.”

  “They can’t all be pretty. But if you listen real good, you might just learn something.” Rosebud got up and brushed off the front of his trousers.

  “Rosebud, sit back down,” I said. “What’s that story got to do with Brian?”

  “All I’m sayin’ is that once a feller’s momma or papa runs off and leaves him, sometimes he don’t feel too good about himself. Some can take it—others can’t. Daniel P. just didn’t handle it too good is all.”

  “And then when that girl dumped him, that was the last straw. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “So, you’re saying Brian could be the same way?”

  “Could be.”

  “I’ll have to think about that. Hey, look Rosebud. There goes a white possum!”

  Rosebud looked where I was pointing. “Sure is,” he said. “If you can catch him, he’ll give you three wishes.”

  I didn’t believe that, but I took out after the possum anyway. Possums can’t run very fast, and they’re dumb as dirt, but they can turn on a dime. I chased him across the courtyard and back, and almost had my hands on him, when I tripped on a loose stone and fell flat on my face. Naturally, Rosebud had to laugh his head off. I ignored him and kept chasing, but just as I was right up on him, he scuttled under the bushes next to the hotel and disappeared down a hole in the foundation.

  “Darn!” I said.

  I looked around for a stick to poke down the hole when I saw something.

  “Look, Rosebud,” I called. “Looky here what I found.”

  What I’d found was a door in the bricks at the base of the building. It wasn’t much taller than me and was hidden by the tall shrubs that grew up next to the wall. Rosebud walked over and stood beside me.

  “What?” he said. “I don’t see nothin’.”

  “Look right here.” I pointed.

  Rosebud bent over and examined the little door. “Well, what do you know about that.”

  “What do you think it’s for, Rosebud?” I asked.

  “Could be it leads to the cellar, or something. Don’t matter much, I reckon. Hey, what’s this?” He picked up something white off the ground and held it out for me to see.

  “Looks like a lady’s purse,” I said. “Let’s look inside.”

  Rosebud had already snapped open the clasp and was running his hand inside the bag. He pulled out a little blue billfold. “Come over here by the light so we can see,” he said.

  We moved over next to the kitchen window and looked at the billfold by the light that shone through. “Lordy.” Rosebud pulled out a driver’s license. “This purse belonged to the dead girl.”

  I looked at the card. Sure enough, printed on the front, bigger’n Dallas, were the words Annabeth Baugh.

  “You take this in to your Biggie right this very minute,” Rosebud said.

  I took the purse and ran for the lobby, where I found Biggie sitting on the couch talking to Miss Mary Ann. Mr. Lew Masters was sitting on a chair leaning toward them like he was awfully interested in what they were saying. The TV had been turned off and the Chinese screen pushed back in front of it.

  “Biggie!” I said. “Guess what me and Rosebud found. We found …”

  Biggie turned and glared at me. “J.R. haven’t I taught you any manners at all? Grown-ups are talking. Now sit down and wait your turn.”

  I sat, jiggling the purse on my knees hoping Biggie would notice. She didn’t even look at me.

  “Now, calm down, honey,” she said to Miss Mary Ann. “There’s no problem so big that we can’t put our heads together and solve it.”

  “I just don’t know how on God’s green earth I could have forgotten.” Miss Mary Ann’s hands fluttered in the air. “What am I going to do? If it was anything besides a wedding, I’d just call the folks and tell them we had a murder on our hands, and they’d have to go somewhere else.”

  Biggie nodded. “You can’t do that to a brand-new bride and groom,” she said. “Besides, where else would they go in this little town?”

  “That’s just it!” Miss Mary Ann’s voice rose. “The only other place with enough room would be the Surrey House Inn where the Rotary and Kiwanas Clubs meet. But they’re not fancy enough to cater a wedding brunch. My soul, they’d probably serve meatloaf and canned green beans.”

  Biggie stood up. “Well, the first thing we need to do is go out to the kitchen and talk to Willie Mae. Then we can inventory the supplies on hand and try to make up a menu.”

  Miss Mary Ann seemed to relax a little and Mr. Masters reached across his knees and squeezed her hand. She smiled weakly at him, then stood up and followed Biggie back to the kitchen. I trailed along, swinging the purse beside me.

  “How many you ‘spectin’?” Willie Mae asked after they explained the problem to her.

  “Twenty counting the bride and groom,” Miss Mary Ann said. “They wanted to eat in the courtyard, but under the circumstances …”

  “What you want to serve?” Willie Mae interrupted.

  “Oh!” Miss Mary Ann jumped up from the table where she had been sitting. She went over to her little desk by the window and pulled a slip of paper out of a basket. “Here’s the menu they asked for. Let’s see, quiche with Brie and baby shrimp, fruit salad with poppy seed dressing on a bed of baby field greens, angel biscuits with sliced ham, and Lane cake for dessert.”

  Biggie got up and poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove.

  “You ain’t gonna get a wink’s sleep tonight,” Willie Mae said.

  “Oh, yes I will.” Biggie spooned sugar in her coffee. “After Alice LaRue’s planter’s punch, I’m falling asleep on my feet this very minute. Now, Mary Ann, what time are they scheduled to eat?”

  “Twelve noon!” Miss Mary Ann wrung her hands. “We’ll never make it!”

  “We can, if we get us some help,” Willie Mae said. “You got anybody you can call?”

  “Well … Hen Lester owes me a favor. I catered her daughter’s sweet sixteen party on one day’s notice. She was taking the girls to Shreveport for lunch and a show, but the weather turned off bad. She was so grateful at the time, she promised to pay me back if I ever needed her … .”

  “It’s payback time,” Biggie said. “Go call her right now. In the meantime, we’d better all be off to bed. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.”

  I stood behind Biggie while she turned the key in her door. “J.R., what are you doing here? It’s late.”

  I followed her into her room and held the purse high for her to see.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s Annabeth’s purse. Me and Rosebud found it out in the courtyard, right next to the little-bitty door.”

  Biggie took the purse and sat down on the bed. “What little-bitty door?” She didn’t look at me.

  “There’s a little door that goes into the side of the house. It’s hid behind some bushes.”

  “Hmmm,” Biggie said. It was clear she wasn’t interested in the little door. S
he pulled a blue slip of paper out of the pocket inside the purse and looked at it, frowning. “What in the world …”

  “What is it, Biggie?”

  “It’s a check,” Biggie said, “a check from Hen Lester to Annabeth for one hundred dollars! What in the world do you suppose this is for?”

  I shrugged.

  “We’ve got to take this to the sheriff tomorrow,” she said, snapping the little purse shut, “just as soon as we get done with the wedding party.” She reached over and gave me a hug. “You did good, honey. Now, scoot off to bed. We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”

  10

  Rosebud knocked on my door bright and early the next morning. “Get up,” he called. “Miss Biggie wants you down in the kitchen.”

  I put my pillow over my head and pretended not to hear. Everything was quiet. I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking Rosebud must have gone on off. I went back to dreaming the dream I’d been having about a giant dog kicking a boy. The boy was rolled up in a ball on the ground trying to cover his head, but the dog kept on kicking him with his back legs. Finally, the dog stopped kicking the boy and raised up his hind leg and went to the bathroom on the boy’s feet. That’s when I woke up. Something wet was running down my feet, which had been sticking out from under my blanket. I sat up. There was Rosebud, grinning like a cat eating briers and pouring water from a paper cup on my feet.

  “Ee-yew,” I said. “Quit that!”

  Rosebud just grinned and walked to the door. “Get up,” he said. “Your Biggie wants you in the kitchen.”

  Well, as you might imagine, I was in a pretty bad mood when I got downstairs—not that anybody cared. Biggie and Mrs. Hen Lester were seated at the kitchen table chopping raisins and cherries for the Lane cake. Miss Mary Ann was arranging pink roses and baby’s breath in crystal vases at a table next to the wall while Willie Mae stood at the counter rolling out piecrusts. Even Lew Masters was helping. He was cutting the rind off a big wheel of Brie cheese.

  “Get you a cinnamon roll off the stove,” Willie Mae said over her shoulder. “Then I want you to peel these here shrimp in the sink.”

  I poured myself a glass of milk from the fridge and took two cinnamon rolls off the pan on the stove. “Can I go outside and eat these?”

  “Sure,” Biggie said. “Just make sure you come back. We need all hands on deck.”

  I went out into the courtyard and sat on a bench. I thought about the dream I’d been having. I was pretty sure it had something to do with Brian and Rosebud’s cousin, Daniel P. Both of them had been mean to dogs because someone important had gone off and left them. At least that’s what everybody seemed to think. Well, plenty of people had left me. First my daddy died, then my mama shipped me off to live with Biggie on account of she couldn’t take care of me, her being high-strung and all. But, try as I might, I couldn’t think of one single reason why a thing like that would make a person mean to animals. I was nice to animals. Well, all except Prissy Moody, the poodle who lives next door to us and is really obnoxious. And all I’d ever done to Prissy was to tease her a little. I just didn’t understand it. I shrugged my shoulders and popped the last bite of cinnamon roll in my mouth. Maybe Biggie’s right. She says I think too much, just like my daddy, who was a very deep person although not many people knew that about him because he kept it hidden behind a devil-may-care attitude. Biggie said that, not me. Myself, I can’t hardly remember my daddy.

  I got up and went back into the kitchen, where Willie Mae tied an apron around my waist and set me to peeling shrimp at the sink. They were little-bitty, the kind that, when you take the heads off, there’s not much left. “This will take all day,” I said. “Where’s Butch and the Thripps? Why aren’t they helping?”

  “They’ve gone over to Shreveport to them gambling boats,” Willie Mae said. “Don’t let none of them shells go down the sink.”

  Peeling shrimp is a slow and stinky business. Some shrimps let go of their shells real easy; others stick on like glue and you sometimes have to tear up the shrimp to get the shell off. I was concentrating on my work and not paying much attention to what the others were saying until I heard a loud crash and a scream. Miss Mary Ann had dropped a vase on the floor and the glass had shattered. When she bent down to pick it up, she cut her finger real bad.

  “Now look what I’ve gone and done.” She stared at her finger while the blood dripped on the floor.

  Willie Mae dried her hands with a clean towel and came over to examine the cut. “Come on in here with me,” she said, leading Miss Mary Ann out toward the dining room. “I’ve got some salve in my room that’ll fix you right up.”

  “I’m just nervous, that’s all,” Miss Mary Ann said. “Lord, lately, seems like I can’t do anything right.”

  “Now, hon, that’s just not so.” Lew Masters came over to give her a quick hug. “You go with Willie Mae. I’ll clean up this mess while you’re gone.”

  I watched while he got the broom from the closet and swept up the broken glass.

  “Take a damp paper towel and wipe down the area after you sweep,” Biggie said. “It will take up all the little slivers.”

  “Is that so?” Hen Lester said. “I never heard that.”

  Biggie nodded. “I learned it from Willie Mae.”

  “Willie Mae knows everything,” I said. “Biggie, these shrimp are hard to peel.”

  “I know,” Biggie said. “We all have our crosses to bear.”

  “Biggie, stop teasing.”

  Biggie ignored me. She was asking Hen about Annabeth. “What can you tell me about the girl? Anything you can remember might be helpful—even if it seems unimportant.”

  “Well, let me see.” Hen got up and washed the sticky off her hands. She picked up a Baggie filled with pecan halves and brought them back to the table. “They’re a strange family; keep to themselves. They live out by Caddo Lake, nothing but a tumbledown old farm house and some ratty outbuildings. The old man and old lady had a raft of children. Some went off from home, but a few still live there with the parents. I heard the oldest boy got sent to the pen for something, I forget what. And, let me see, it seems there was a girl, lots younger than the others, retarded I think.” She laughed. “Of course, they’re all so dumb, I don’t see how they could tell.” She poured the pecans out in a pile on the table and commenced breaking them up with her fingers and putting them in a Pyrex bowl. “They’ve lived in the county for generations, but because they’re country folks, we don’t have much to do with them. Not that there’s anything wrong with living in the country, you understand. Nowadays, it’s gotten quite chic to own a country place. But back in the old days, well, most country people were farmers and not very well educated, if you know what I mean.”

  Biggie opened her mouth to say something, then closed it with a snap. She nodded and waited for Hen to say more.

  “When I was a child,” Hen said, “I used to see them come into town on a Saturday. The old man would be driving the wagon. The back would be piled high with animal pelts and kids. He was a trapper, you see. That was back before every creature that walks the woods was an endangered species.” She curled her lip when she said that.

  “Would that be Annabeth’s father?”

  “Oh, my no. That must have been her grandfather. My soul, he was old back when I was just a tot. Her father may not have even been born then. And there was always a woman with him, a wife—or sister, I don’t know what. I do know she was crazy, or retarded, or something. I do remember that. I only saw her once. She was riding on the wagon with the kids, her bare legs hanging out the back. She wore nothing but a feed sack with holes cut for the arms and head. It wasn’t even sewed into a dress—just a plain old Burress Mills feed sack with the label still on it. And her hair was down to her waist, gray and wild. My mama took me by the hand and yanked me into the drugstore before I got a very good look. When we got home, I asked Mama about the woman and she said she was just a poor old crazy lady, and I should feel sorry for her. Later I heard Ma
ma and Papa talking, and they were saying how beautiful she used to be when she was young and what a shame it was.”

  “What was?” Biggie asked.

  “That’s what I asked.” Hen pushed the Pyrex bowl toward the middle of the table. “But they never would tell me. It’s funny, I haven’t thought about that incident until this very day. What do you suppose they meant?”

  “I don’t know,” Biggie said. “But I have a feeling it might be important. By the way, do you know any reason Alice LaRue might not want to talk about the Baughs?”

  “Alice not want to talk about them?” Hen Lester laughed. “Why, Alice has something to say about any and everything. Ooh, I just thought of something else. I don’t guess it’s important, though. Isn’t it funny how, when you get to talking about things that happened long ago, memories you’d forgotten come popping back in your head?”

  Biggie nodded. “Everything is important. What was it you remembered?”

  “Well, I was just a little girl, playing with my paper dolls in the parlor after dinner. Papa was reading, and Mama was listening to One Man’s Family on the radio. Remember that show?”

  Biggie put down her knife and nodded again. “Go on.”

  “Well, Mama waited until the commercial came on, then turned down the radio and turned to Papa. ‘Lloyd,’ she said. ‘Lloyd, I heard something right strange at Missionary Society today.’ Papa, of course, never liked to be interrupted in his reading, but he put his finger in his place and closed the book. Well, Mama went on to tell about how the church ladies were getting up Christmas boxes for poor families and they were fixing one for the Baughs out by the lake. Papa looked impatient like he was prone to do when Mama took a long time getting to the point.”

  Personally, I thought Mrs. Lester was doing a pretty good job of making a short story long, but Biggie just kept waiting for her to get to the point.

  “Anyway, what Mama had to say was that some of the ladies were saying that the Baughs had found Diamond Lucy’s baby and taken it to raise. They said that the crazy lady was that child. Maybe Lucas is right and they are descendants of Diamond Lucy.”