Shop Talk

by Carolyn Haines

  “It’s your Uncle Peter,” Driskell said as Andromeda slapped two packages of photos impatiently in her palm. “Bo, there’s some weird stuff going on here, and Lucille is at the center of it.”

  Bo sat back down on the stool, easing Iris over onto one knee. “So what else is new?”

  “This isn’t my fault. I’m a desirable woman. Very desirable. I didn’t bring this on, it’s something that just happened. So don’t go getting that long-suffering look on your face. I’m not a fool. I’m,” she looked at Driskell, “one fine, sexy woman.”

  Looking up at the ceiling, Iris whispered, “Je-sus.”

  “What’s all this about?” Bo ignored both Iris and Lucille. He looked instead to Andromeda, who had moved in closer.

  Lucille refused to be by-passed. “You have to talk to me, Bo. I’m the one this is about. I’m the one, with Driskell’s help, who figured this out. Uncle Peter is involved with the guy we’ve been watching, the guy who blew up the apartments. Marvin Lovelace.”

  Driskell took up the story at her nod. “It was the lawyer. Lucille and I stood outside the sno-cone stand, and we realized the lawyer was a fake. It was his name. M.V. Valentine.” Driskell’s dark eyes burned bright against the pallor of his skin. “You see, most criminals choose an alias very close to their own name. It’s human nature–I learned this in a mercenary correspondence course. M.V. Valentine. Marvin Lovelace.” He put his hand on Lucille’s shoulder. “I’m the undercover agent, but it was Lucille who figured it out.”

  “You’re an undercover agent?” Bo’s face registered shock. “Is that what you said?”

  Lucille touched Driskell’s cape. “He told me all about how he came to the bank to meet me as part of his assignment. He used me, but it’s okay. I’ve forgiven him. What we have to do now is figure out about Marvin. Driskell and I dropped by the police department and talked with Officer O’Neill, and he said that a guy named Marshall Lovecraft had been on the bomb site with CIA credentials. Fake credentials, as it turns out.”

  “It’s the old fart.” Andromeda stepped to the counter. “And I tell you, I’ve had enough of old people. Senior citizen discounts, private parking, little scooters that jet propel them around the mall where they run down innocent pedestrians, and all that change they carry so they can count it out one penny at a time and drive other shoppers to madness!” She dumped the photos on the counter and turned to Dallas. “Your husband is involved in this. It’s genetics. The beefalo, the government. Where’s Jazz?”

  “Jazz is late.” Dallas scattered the pictures, scanning through them. “How is Robert involved in this? Have you gotten some word on him? I haven’t received a single ransom demand, just two phone calls of heavy breathing!”

  Coco’s delicate nose lifted and she sniffed. “Something’s burning. Maybe I should check on it.” She licked the right corner of her mouth and drifted from the gathering as the members of WOMB looked down the street for Jazz.

  Bo collected the photos, holding them so Iris could see. He flipped through them–cows, cows, jogger, a big black blur, black fur, black nose, cows, an elaborate gate. “Uh-huh,” he said.

  “What’s your point, Andromeda?” Mona asked. She tugged at her bustier. The conical swirl of sequins that shaped her breasts glittered dangerously in the light from the silent televisions.

  “There’s something going on at that ranch.” Andromeda lowered her chin. “I don’t know exactly what it is, but it’s serious, and that old Marvin person is right in the middle of it. Beefalos. It has to do with cross-breeds. Genetics.”

  Lucille snatched the pictures from Dallas’ hand. “Okay so we have cows and Marvin jogging and that gate with the Nazi emblem.” She handed them back. “What’s the big deal?”

  Bo eased Iris off his lap as he stood. “What Nazi thing?” He looked at Lucille as if he’d never seen her.

  “The gate. It’s like that Nazi thing Daddy kept in the trunk. The one he took off the German he had to bayonet. The medal. He kept it in his war trunk.” She waved at him impatiently. “What about Marvin Lovelace and the fact that he’s connected with Uncle Peter?”

  “What trunk?” Bo reached across the counter and grasped his sister’s arm.

  “The one in the closet, under the window. The green trunk where Daddy kept all his war stuff.” Lucille shook free of Bo’s hand. “What’s with you? It’s something Daddy got when he was in Germany. Some military relic or something.”

  “Lucille, Daddy never made it to Germany.”

  “But he did. He got that medal.” Lucille wanted to swat Bo like a fly. All around her the writers were grumbling and pawing the photos. None of it had a thing to do with her and Driskell’s discovery.

  “Lucille …”

  “That’s Marvin?” Dallas’ voice rose an octave as she examined a picture more closely. “He’s the bastard at the press conference.” She grasped Lucille’s arm. “Did you tape it? The press conference?”

  Driskell nodded. “She did.” He went behind the counter and pulled out the tape. In a matter of moments it filled a television screen.

  “That’s him!” Dallas pointed to a panning shot of the press. Marvin stood on the fringes, his blue eyes boring into Dallas.

  Iris bolted off the stool. “That’s the old guy who was trying to feel your butt.”

  Bo eased closer to the television. It was the same man. And if the writers could be believed, he had shown up in each of their lives. He looked at Lucille. “This man is connected with Peter Hare?”

  Lucille nodded. “We, Driskell and I, believe Uncle Peter was brought back to Biloxi by Marvin.”

  “To what purpose?”

  Lucille rolled her eyes. “That’s what we’ve been saying. That’s what we have to find out.”

  “The ham!” Iris jumped up from her perch on Bo’s stool and started toward the back of the shop.

  “Lucille is right, Marvin is the key,” Mona said, tapping the photos in her palm.

  “Je-sus!” Iris’ voice exploded from the back. “You little pig! You’ve eaten the whole ham!”

  Before anyone could move, Coco exploded out of the apartment and into the shop. Her face glistened with the sheen of grease and she held her hands out in front of her. Beneath her fingernails were chunks of pink meat.

  Iris burst through the doorway, broom in hand. “I’m going to swat her like a roach.” She started after Coco, who ran headlong into a plate glass window. The crash shook the glass front of the shop, and for a moment, Coco clung to the glass before she slid down it, an obvious grease streak left in her wake.

  Still wielding the broom, Iris stopped over her. “She ate the entire ham. She even sucked the marrow out of the bone. When I went back there she was drinking the juice out of a corner of the pan and tossing the pineapple rings in the air to catch them in her mouth.”

  “Hold on, Iris.” Bo made a grab for his wife and missed.

  “I’m going to kill her,” Iris said, lifting the broom high over her head. “I’m just going to plain beat her to death.”

  “Now, Iris.” Bo took the broom out of Iris’ hand. “That ham weighed at least twelve pounds. She ate all of it?”

  “There’s not enough meat left on the bone to make beans.” Iris lowered her hands to her side. “Look.” She nudged Coco’s pronounced stomach with her foot. “There’s the whole thing, right in her gut. She probably didn’t even chew it.”

  “Is that a dab of blackberry cobbler?” Bo pointed to a splotch of sticky purple substance in Coco’s hair.

  “Not the cobbler, too!” Iris ran back to the apartment. In a moment there was the sound of an oven door slamming, hard. “The little anorexic bitch ate the cobbler, too.” She stalked back over to the supine Coco. “Let’s cook her.”

  Bo shook his head. “Calm down, baby.”

  “We’ve got that big pot we use for Mandingo.” Iris’ eyes had taken on a slick shine. “That little walking skeleton ate everything I just cooked.”

  Bo put his arm arou
nd her and led her back to the counter. “Let it go, baby. I’ve lost my appetite anyway.” He picked up the photos again, studying the one of the gate. “Lucille, Daddy never went to Europe. He told me that before he died. I should have told you before now. There just didn’t seem to be a right time.”

  “He got a medal.” Lucille put her hands on her hips. “I know you saw the medal. What’s wrong with you, Bo? Daddy was proud of being in the paratroopers.” Only Driskell’s hand on her shoulder kept her from flying right in Bo’s face.

  Bo nodded slowly. “He was, but the part about capturing Germans was a lie. Daddy never made it to Europe. He hurt his back in a jump over in Georgia. They sent him to Horn Island instead.”

  “Horn Island?” Lucille stepped over Coco and went to her brother. She grabbed his arm and turned him to face her. “He spent the war out on a beach? What about the medal? What about him being a hero and capturing all of those Germans? What about the scar by his hip where he got shot?” She saw it in Bo’s face. “Why did he lie?”

  The door jangled again and Jazz, her chest fluttering up and down with exertion, stepped into the room.

  Bo never slowed down. “He wanted to be a hero. In your eyes and mine. And in Mama’s eyes.” He shrugged. “And he said the Air Force asked him to do it and not ever tell anyone he was right here in Mississippi on the island. It was a secret mission. When he was dying, he wanted me to know the truth.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Driskell said as he put his arm around Lucille. “It doesn’t matter at all, Lucy.”

  “It does so matter that Daddy spent the war on Horn Island when he told me he was a hero in Germany. It matters a hell of a lot–to me!”

  “Horn Island?” Jazz walked toward them, hip bones thrusting against her lime green sheath. She walked as if the weight of her bee-hive pulled her slightly backwards. Tropical fruit hung from her ears. The tiny bananas, oranges, limes, and papayas clattered like far away applause as she moved.

  Bo gave Jazz an irritated look. “Horn Island, that’s what I said. He was assigned to watch for German subs, to protect the mainland. What he did was a valuable service to our country, even if he didn’t capture any Germans.”

  “It was the drawing of Horn Island that started all of this.” Jazz looked at Lucille. “This all started with that little map.” She hesitated only a second at the sight of Coco inert on the shop floor. “During the war the government confiscated that island. There were rumors that scientists worked on the atomic bomb there, but it was never confirmed.”

  Bo found himself staring directly into Jazz’s eyes.

  “Even more interesting are the other rumors. That’s why I’m late. I got a call this afternoon from a book tracking service. In the 70s, one J.D. Tanner published a book on the wartime activities on Horn Island. Strangely enough, J.D. Tanner disappeared from the face of the earth.”

  “What happened on the island?” Andromeda asked. “It involves genetics, doesn’t it? Experiments on human DNA. They used the soldiers without telling them what they were doing, didn’t they?”

  Jazz nodded. “According to Tanner’s book, which I just got, a large vessel was pulled out of the Gulf and towed in secret to Horn Island.”

  “A German sub?” Mona licked her lips.

  “Even better.” Jazz paused dramatically. “A space ship.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Jazz pulled the dangling fruit from her ears and felt her lobes continue to pulse, a sensation that was not pain but knowledge. Slightly dizzy, she gripped the counter and blinked her eyes. “The Hares are in grave danger.”

  Driskell swirled his cape about Lucille. “I agree,” he said. “I thought my mission was to protect the United States from the Hares. Now I see it’s the Hares who need my protection.”

  “You think my daddy did something bad to alien prisoners of war?” Lucille felt Driskell’s arms tighten around her, comforting and restraining, as she tried to get to Jazz. “My daddy was a very kind man!”

  “I didn’t say that,” Jazz answered. “I’m not certain what happened out on that island. I can only say that it’s attracted Marvin Lovelace and plays a part in the disappearance of Robert Beaudreaux.”

  “What are we going to do about Marvin?” Mona asked.

  “And Robert. He’s my husband and I want him back.” Dallas set her fists on her hips. “I hate it when people assume you don’t want something and just ‘borrow’ it without permission.”

  Bo pointed at Driskell. “You’re the CIA agent. What should we do?”

  “Actually, it’s agent-in-training, but I do have a plan. We should wait until dark.” He motioned them all to gather round. “Darkness is always best. It gives us the element of surprise.”

  “Another tidbit from the mercenary manual?” Iris asked.

  He ignored her. “Well wait until dark, and then, Dallas, you’ll go to Marvin’s apartment. Watch and wait until he leaves. Then do whatever you have to do to get inside. You’ve all been tailing him?” He waited for their nod of agreement. “And he hasn’t gone anywhere other than to get food and go to the beefalo ranch?” They nodded again. “Then there’s a good chance your husband, or whatever’s left of him, is inside that apartment.”

  “What makes you think Marvin will leave the apartment?” Andromeda’s eyes were unreadable behind the Raybans.

  “Because he needs something from the Hares.” Driskell looked at Bo. “Hell come out to hunt.”

  “And the beefalo ranch?” Mona asked.

  “Iris and Bo will stay in the shop, in case he comes here. Jazz, is there any place else you can check about Horn Island?”

  “One or two other sources.”

  “The rest of us will meet at the beefalo ranch.”

  “What time?” Mona asked.

  “Seven o’clock. Sharp.” Driskell looked around the gathering. “This could be extremely dangerous. My impression is that Marvin is a deadly force. There’s also the wild Hare, Peter. We’re not certain what his role might be, but I don’t think hell be bothering us tonight. He’s had a … cleansing experience.”

  “What about Coco?” Dallas went over to her friend and nudged her with a toe.

  “I’ll take her home,” Bo said. It wasn’t safe to leave her around Iris. As soon as she walked back in the kitchen and saw the ruin of her meal, she’d get angry all over again.

  “Good, then, at seven,” Driskell said.

  “At seven,” everyone agreed as they broke up to go their separate ways.

  Dallas sat with the engine of her Mercedes idling as she stared at her home. Looking at the beige stucco facade of the million dollar house, she felt a disturbing dissatisfaction. She had everything money could buy. Everything. She’d even made progress on her book, fantasizing a six-page shopping spree at the Macy’s in New Orleans where her heroine, Jasmine DeNiro, had squandered her cruel husband’s entire stock portfolio and then wound up in the arms of a Russian emigrant who spoke with eloquence and passion about the destruction of his home and culture.

  But watching Driskell and Lucille in the shop had unsettled her. There had been something between them, something that had awakened a nagging desire.

  “Why am I letting Lucille Hare have any effect on me?” she asked herself. “The woman thought one of her characters had come to life. She’s an idiot. A moron. A total loser.” But she heard her own voice lose its force.

  “Damn it all to hell,” Dallas whispered. She put the car in drive, the motor purring with wealth and power. Driskell had told her to wait until seven, but she was ready for action. She’d never imagined that she’d miss Robert. But she did. A great deal more than she wanted to admit. If there was a chance at all that he was being held captive in Marvin Lovelace’s apartment, she wanted to be the one to set him free. And when he was recovered, she might even relent and let him sleep in the house again.

  Sonny Zanzarro ducked down into the seat and watched as Bo Hare pulled up in front of Coco’s apartment. Peeping through the steer
ing wheel, Sonny had a direct, head-on view of the television repairman and one sick-looking Coco. Leaned back in the seat, her mouth open, Coco moaned as she worked the door. “Please tell Iris how sorry I am,” she said, slowly exiting the car. “I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Iris can be a little forceful at times, Coco.” Bo tried not to stare at the swell of her stomach. He was reminded of “Little Red Riding Hood,” where the wolf ate Red and the grandmother had to cut her out.

  “My life is over.” Coco chewed on a fingernail as she stood at the curb. “I’ll get fat again, and I’ll never be able to finish my cookbook. No one wants to see a fat girl in sexy aprons.”

  Bo felt helpless. There was nothing in his agenda of cures to help Coco. “You make your own destiny,” he offered, knowing it sounded lame. “You can’t go around starving yourself, but you don’t have to eat everything, all at once.”

  “My destiny is Elsie. I was born fat.” Coco’s head hung on her thin neck.

  “There are other things in life than food. Your writing, your …” He knew so little about her. He and Iris had accepted her at face value, without probing any deeper. Perhaps they’d done that to all the writers, including Lucille. He tugged at the loose collar of his shirt.

  “Maybe for other people. Not for me.”

  Bo thought back to WOMB sitting around the table in his shop. There had been an energy there. Ambition. Women with dreams. And Coco was one of them. “For you, too, Coco,” he said with great authority. “Your book is going to be a smash success, and I get the feeling that something unexpected and wonderful is going to walk right through your door when you least expect it.”

  “Thanks, Bo.” Coco’s smile was weak as she walked away. When she was at the stairs, she turned back. “What about Lucille?”

  Bo had a mental flash of her as he’d just left her, sitting in a corner of the shop with Driskell’s laptop in front of her. Her fingers had been flying over the keys. She’d had some “break through” and had forgotten that she had no apartment, no place to live. She was writing. “We’ll work things out. All of us. Together.” He waved and drove away, headed back to the shop and the strange tangle of Driskell and Lucille.