Leftover Dead

by Jimmie Ruth Evans

  “I’ll be happy to shampoo your hair, if you’d like,” Wanda Nell said. That was what she and Mayrene had agreed upon. Wanda Nell couldn’t style hair, but she could do any shampooing that was necessary.

  Mrs. Connor sniffed. “I suppose it will be all right.” She thrust out a bag she had been holding in her lap. “Here’s my shampoo. It’s the only thing I use. My scalp is very delicate, and I can’t tolerate rough hands. I hope you know what you’re doing.” Her tone indicated she might well be taking her life in her hands.

  “I’ll be very gentle,” Wanda Nell promised, though the longer she was around the woman, the harder it was going to be to resist the urge to drown her and be done with it.

  Suppressing such thoughts, Wanda Nell helped Mrs. Connor out of her wheelchair and into the chair in front of the sink. She turned on the water and adjusted the temperature before easing Mrs. Connor’s head in the proper position for washing. She took every care to be gentle and, to her surprise, Mrs. Connor didn’t complain once. She still looked like she was sucking on a lemon, but when Wanda Nell finished, she said, “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

  Wanda Nell responded with a strained smile. She and Mayrene worked together to get Mrs. Connor from the shampoo chair into the one where Mayrene would work on her hair.

  Once Mrs. Connor was settled, Mayrene asked her what she wanted done. Mrs. Connor responded by saying, “I don’t need my hair cut today, so don’t think you’ll be able to charge extra for that. I just want it rolled and styled. You can style it, and if I don’t like it, you’ll have to do it over.”

  “Sure thing, ma’am,” Mayrene said. “I’ve got an idea of what will be perfect for you, and it’ll make you look even younger.” She winked at Wanda Nell over Mrs. Connor’s head. Wanda Nell turned away for a moment.

  When she turned back, Mayrene was busy putting rollers in Mrs. Connor’s hair. Catching Wanda Nell’s eye, Mayrene nodded. “So, honey, what did you think of Hattiesburg? Wasn’t it the first time you’d been there?” She smiled at Mrs. Connor in the mirror. “Wanda Nell and her husband just got back from down there.”

  Mrs. Connor sniffed, but before she could say anything, Wanda Nell spoke. “Oh, it seemed like a real nice place. And we met some interesting people down there. In fact, one of them said he lived here in Tullahoma about fifty years ago.”

  “Really?” Mayrene said. “That was a long time ago. I was only about four or five.” This time she winked at Mrs. Connor in the mirror. “And I bet you weren’t much older than that, were you, honey?”

  From the expression on Mrs. Connor’s face, Wanda Nell figured the old woman couldn’t make up her mind whether to be flattered by the years deducted from her age or offended by Mayrene’s referring to her as “honey.”

  “Well, I wasn’t around then,” Wanda Nell said, her tone apologetic. “But this man we met said he wasn’t here all that long, although he did know some people here. Now, what was his name?” She pretended to think for a moment. “It was Howell, and he had some kind of unusual first name. What was it?” She paused again. “Parnell. That was it. Parnell Howell.”

  Wanda Nell had been watching Mrs. Connor’s face in the mirror as closely as she dared, and from what she could see, Mrs. Connor didn’t react when she spoke Howell’s name. She simply looked bored.

  “I don’t think I know any Howells,” Mayrene said. “I guess his people weren’t from around here.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Wanda Nell replied. “I’m pretty sure he was originally from Hattiesburg.”

  “And what, pray tell, was so interesting about this man?” Mrs. Connor asked, her irritation obvious. “He sounds like a complete and utter nobody to me.”

  “He married a girl from here,” Wanda Nell said, trying to figure out what Mrs. Connor’s reaction meant. “She passed away some time ago, but I do know they had a daughter. I believe he said his wife’s name was Margaret Lewis.” Again, she watched Mrs. Connor carefully, but still the woman didn’t appear to react.

  “She sounds like a nobody, too. I don’t know any family named Lewis in Tullahoma, and if I don’t know them, they’re not worth knowing.”

  Mayrene, her back to the mirror, rolled her eyes at Wanda Nell. “I don’t know any Lewises either,” Wanda Nell said, trying hard to keep her tone mild. “The really sad thing about it, according to Mr. Howell, was that his daughter, his only child, was murdered, right here in Tullahoma. Thirty-one years ago. Isn’t that awful?”

  Mrs. Connor’s eyes narrowed, and she stared hard at Wanda Nell’s reflection. “I remember that,” she said. “They found some little tramp naked on the football field at the high school. They never did find out who did it, as I recall.” She sniffed. “People like that, though, what are you going to do? If that girl had been raised by a decent family in the first place, it wouldn’t have happened to her.”

  “So you think she deserved what happened to her?” Wanda Nell said, and this time she couldn’t suppress the anger in her voice.

  “Don’t speak in that tone to me, missy,” Mrs. Connor said. “I said nothing of the kind. You bleeding hearts are all the same.” Her tone was nasty and mocking. “That girl was obviously doing something she shouldn’t have been doing, sneaking around with Lord knows who. And somebody killed her. That kind of girl attracts bad men, and then they pay for it.”

  “I see,” Wanda Nell said. Her head throbbed, she was so angry. She made herself take a few deep breaths, and as she began to calm down a bit, she started thinking. Was Mrs. Connor being deliberately provocative in order to distract her? Or was it just her natural meanness coming through?

  Wanda Nell wasn’t sure, but she decided to probe a little further. “I think it’s just terrible that they never found out who killed her. It almost makes me think there was some kind of cover-up going on. Probably some rich man wanted to get rid of that poor girl, and he paid off somebody and walked away from the whole thing.”

  “I bet you’re right,” Mayrene said as she jabbed a bobby pin into one of the rollers on Mrs. Connor’s head.

  “Watch it,” Mrs. Connor said, her face twisted in irritation. “That hurt.”

  “Sorry,” Mayrene said with a sweet smile. “I’ll be more careful.”

  Mrs. Connor glared at her in the mirror for a moment, but then she turned her attention back to Wanda Nell. “You might have something there. I hadn’t thought about that. The sheriff we had back then was an incompetent fool who couldn’t find his way out of his house unless someone showed him. And he’d do anything for money.”

  “I wonder, then, if there was some rich man in town who could have done it?” Wanda Nell said, staring at Mrs. Connor’s reflection.

  “I can think of a couple of men. It certainly wasn’t my husband, if that’s what you’re thinking. He would never have been involved in that kind of thing.” She frowned. “Now what was the girl’s mother’s name? Something Lewis, I think you said?”

  “Margaret Lewis. Does that ring a bell?”

  Mrs. Connor hesitated before she spoke. “No, it doesn’t. Like I said, I don’t know any Lewises here, and never did. Now can we change the subject to something less distasteful?”

  Taking the cue, Mayrene started chatting about hair-styles. While they conversed, Wanda Nell sat and thought. She would swear that Mrs. Connor had lied when she said the name Margaret Lewis didn’t ring a bell. Some kind of memory had surfaced, Wanda Nell was sure of it. The question was, what? What had Mrs. Connor remembered?

  There wouldn’t be any use in trying to talk to her any further about it, Wanda Nell decided. Mrs. Connor had put an end to the subject, and that was that. Mayrene had Mrs. Connor under the dryer a few minutes later, and Wanda Nell was able to talk to her friend without fear of Mrs. Connor overhearing what they said. Just to be certain, they moved as far away from the dryer as they could.

  “She knows something,” Wanda Nell said. “Did you see her face when she asked about Margaret Lewis again?”

&nbs
p; “I did. And you’re right, she was sure lying at that point. But what do you think she knows? The rest of the time she seemed like she was telling the truth.”

  “It wasn’t until I said that about it being a cover-up, with some rich man involved. That’s when she really started to think about it. And you know what? I think she remembered that a girl named Margaret Lewis worked for some rich family in town.”

  “Do you think it could have been her family?” Mayrene asked.

  “I don’t know. I think if it had been, she might have had more of a reaction. I think she remembered that Margaret Lewis worked for someone else.”

  “Like the Dewberrys?”

  Wanda Nell nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “So what are you going to do now?”

  “I think maybe I’ll go talk to Darlene at the reception desk, and see if I can find out where Mr. Dewberry’s room is. Then I’ll try to get in to see him, I guess.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” Mayrene said. “Darlene’s a nice girl. If you ask her real polite, and tell her he knew your daddy or something, I’m sure she’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  “Good,” Wanda Nell said. “I’ll go check it out.”

  She headed back down the hall to the reception area. Darlene was on the phone when she approached the desk, but she smiled at Wanda Nell and nodded. When she finished her conversation, she said, “Can I help you?”

  “I sure hope so,” Wanda Nell said. “I got to thinking about whether I knew anybody who lived here, and then I remembered that somebody my daddy used to work for is here. He was always real nice to my daddy, and I thought I might stop by and say hello to him.”

  “That would be real sweet. A lot of these old people don’t get much company, and I know most of them would welcome a visitor.” She chuckled. “The problem is getting away from them. Some of them can talk your ears off. Who are you looking for?”

  “Mr. Dewberry. Mr. Jackson Dewberry.”

  “Oh, him. Well, he has his good days and his bad days. Most of the time he knows who he is and all that, but sometimes he’s totally out of it. My cousin Lauretta works in his wing, and she tells me all about it.”

  “I see,” Wanda Nell said. “Well, do you think it would be okay for me to stop by and see him?”

  “I guess so, but hang on a minute.” Darlene consulted the visitors’ book. “Actually, now might not be the best time.” She made a face. “His daughter is here. She probably won’t stay long, but while she’s here, I sure wouldn’t try to talk to him.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Lauretta says his daughter is real mean to him. If my daddy was that rich, I sure wouldn’t be talking to him the way she does.”

  “That’s too bad. So you think I should wait till she leaves.”

  “I sure would. But sometimes after she’s been here, he don’t act too good. You’ll just have to try your luck, honey.”

  “How long does she usually stay?”

  Darlene shrugged. “An hour, not much more.” She glanced at the visitors’ book again. “She signed in about ten minutes ago, so I’d give it about an hour and then try. Or you might want to come back some other time.”

  “Where is his room?” Wanda Nell asked.

  “His suite, you mean,” Darlene said. “It’s real nice, nicer than my apartment, that’s for sure. Anyway, you just go down that other hall until you get to the end. Take a left, and you’ll end up in his wing. Just ask at the desk there.”

  “Thanks. I sure appreciate it.”

  Darlene smiled. “You’re welcome.” Her phone rang, and she answered. Lost in thought, Wanda Nell walked back to where Mayrene was.

  Jackson Dewberry and his daughter, Marysue Avenel, didn’t get along. Well, Ernie had told her that much. But it sounded even worse from what Darlene said. She really should go talk to him, and maybe after his daughter had been here would be a good time to do it. He might be too upset to guard his tongue, and that could work in her favor.

  She decided that was what she would do. She walked back into the small beauty shop to find Mayrene’s next appointment, an elderly man, already in the chair. Mayrene was giving him a quick trim while keeping an eye on Mrs. Connor under the dryer.

  Mayrene was nothing if not expert, and Wanda Nell watched her with a certain amount of awe. Mayrene finished the haircut and had the elderly man out the door about two minutes before Mrs. Connor’s dryer went off.

  Wanda Nell helped Mrs. Connor back to the chair, and Mayrene began taking out the rollers. She chatted with Mrs. Connor, who barely responded, much to Wanda Nell’s surprise. The old woman looked preoccupied.

  Not having anything else to do while she waited until time to see Mr. Dewberry, Wanda Nell picked up an old magazine from the table by the door. She leafed through it, occasionally glancing up to note Mayrene’s progress with Mrs. Connor’s hair. Finally, Mayrene had finished, and she turned Mrs. Connor around so that she was facing the mirror.

  “Now what do you think, ma’am?” Mayrene asked while Mrs. Connor studied her reflection.

  Wanda Nell thought Mayrene had done a terrific job. She had managed to take Mrs. Connor’s thick white hair and tame it into a soft cut that framed her face very nicely. It was very flattering, and Wanda Nell tried to say so in a tactful manner.

  Mrs. Connor still hadn’t said anything, and Wanda Nell could see Mayrene starting to get ticked off with the old lady. “Very good,” Mrs. Connor said. “Much better than what I hoped for. Help me to my chair.”

  Mrs. Connor was gone a few moments after that, and both Mayrene and Wanda Nell felt only relief. “Lord, that woman sure is a misery,” Mayrene said.

  “She is, but you managed to please her. You really made her look nice. Almost human, in fact.”

  “Did you find out how to find Mr. Dewberry?” Mayrene asked after they quit laughing.

  Wanda Nell related what Darlene had told her. “I figure in about ten more minutes his daughter ought to be gone, and maybe I can talk to him.”

  “Okay,” Mayrene said. “My next appointment ought to be here soon, and there’s only one more. If either one of them needs a shampoo, I can do it if you’re not here.”

  “Thanks, I really appreciate this.” Mayrene waved her thanks away.

  The next person came in, and Wanda Nell had time to give her a shampoo. Once she finished, she was ready to find Mr. Dewberry’s room.

  “I’ll be back,” she said to Mayrene.

  Out in the hall, she headed toward the reception area, Darlene’s directions in mind. Soon she came to another reception desk, and from what Wanda Nell could see, this section of the place was definitely where the rich old people lived. She stepped up to the desk and asked the young woman there for Mr. Dewberry’s room. The woman didn’t even ask her what her business was, simply gave her the number and told her how to find it.

  Relieved that this part, at least, had gone easier than expected, Wanda Nell walked down the hall to Mr. Dewberry’s room. The doors were much farther apart in this section, so the apartments—or suites, as Wanda Nell reminded herself to call them—were much larger here. Near the end of the hall, she stopped in front of Mr. Dewberry’s door and knocked.

  “Come in,” a voice called out.

  Wanda Nell opened the door and walked in. An elderly man, his face darkened by numerous spots, sat in a high-backed chair, his legs covered by a colorful afghan.

  “Who are you?” he asked, his voice a bit shaky.

  “My name is Wanda Nell, and I wanted to talk to you about something, Mr. Dewberry, if I may.”

  Mr. Dewberry looked at her for a moment. “I don’t recall ever knowing a girl named Wanda Nell, but I sure would remember if she was as pretty as you.” He smiled, and Wanda Nell tried not to shudder. His skin was stretched so thinly over his face, he looked like a death’s head. He motioned to a sofa near him. “Come on in and sit down and talk to me. I don’t often get pretty girls coming by to visit.”

  “Th
ank you.” Wanda Nell took a seat on the sofa, being careful to sit out of his reach. He looked like a pincher or a leg squeezer, and she didn’t want to give him an opportunity. From the disappointed look on his face, she had evidently made the right decision.

  “What did you want to talk to me about, Miss Wanda Nell?” he asked. His hands moved restlessly in his lap, worrying the nubby yarn of his afghan. “I hope you’re not coming to ask for money for something. My lawyers have all my money these days. What my son doesn’t have, that is.”

  “I’m not here to ask for money. I wanted to talk to you about your daughter.” She was gambling with this, but some instinct told her it was the right approach.

  “Marysue?” Dewberry’s face twisted in distaste. “She was here just a few minutes ago. She didn’t come complaining to you about something, did she? Always whining, that girl. Never satisfied with anything.” He scowled.

  “No, it’s not about Marysue. I want to talk to you about your other daughter. The one who came looking for you thirty-one years ago.”

  Wanda Nell watched Mr. Dewberry carefully. She was hoping he wouldn’t have a stroke right on the spot. To her relief, he didn’t appear to be having one.

  The reaction she did see surprised her.

  Tears began streaming down the old man’s face.

  Twenty-nine

  Wanda Nell was taken aback. This was one reaction she had not expected. “Mr. Dewberry,” she asked, “are you okay?”

  Mr. Dewberry fumbled in his shirt pocket for a handkerchief. He freed it from the pocket and wiped his face with it. “Danged allergies. I swear they keep putting the wrong kind of flowers in this place on purpose, just because they know it makes my eyes tear up like that.”

  Wanda Nell stared at him. Was he telling the truth? Had it really been allergies that made his eyes stream like that? She couldn’t be completely sure.

  “That’s too bad. Now, Mr. Dewberry, did you hear what I said? About your other daughter?”

  “I heard you, Miss Wanda Nell,” he replied with some asperity. “There’s nothing wrong with my hearing, I’ll have you know. I may not be able to walk too well anymore, but I can hear just fine.” He frowned. “Now what’s this about my other daughter?”