It wasn’t until later, while I stood in the shower, thankful for gas water heaters, that I realized how miraculous our encounter had been. My entire life I had avoided conflict at all costs. When kids at school made fun of me, I ignored and avoided them. And when Momma berated me, I let her beat me down, sucking in all the pain and anger and hiding in my shell. So for me to stand up to Joe was inconceivable, yet I did it without even giving it a second thought. How on earth did that happen?
After I got dressed, I stood at the sink and started to wash the dishes. Watching Joe’s house, I frowned as I tried to figure him out then shook my head. There was nothing to figure out. Chances were I’d never see him again. We’d never talked before Momma’s murder. No reason to think we’d converse after.
I finished just in time to leave for the funeral home. I shut the side door and stood outside staring at it, wishing I could cast a magic spell to keep bad people out. I laughed. Momma would have a conniption if she knew I thought such a thing. Right then, I’d settle for a lock.
Thirty minutes later, I sat at a table with Violet and Mike in the funeral home discussing all the details of Momma’s funeral, surprised that there were so many. Truth was, I didn’t care about any of it. Most of the town couldn’t stand Momma, yet would show up because it was the proper thing to do then proceed to judge us on the pageantry of her burial. No one would admit such a thing happened, but all one had to do was stand in the back of the funeral home to hear it. Violet felt a need to save appearances, considering the circumstances that got us here. She also felt a need to try to redeem the Gardner family name. I thought it was too late for that, given my newfound status as Henryetta’s most dangerous criminal. But I let Violet entertain her delusions.
We toured the casket room, assigned the macabre task of picking out the box Momma would be buried in. Wood or metal. Themed or not. Extra cushioning inside. Did Momma really need extra cushioning? She was dead. I wanted to point this fact out, but everyone acted so serious.
I shuddered. I didn’t want to think about Momma buried in the ground.
“What do you think, Rose?” Violet asked.
I realized I hadn’t been paying attention but didn’t want to admit it. “Whatever you think, Violet.”
She gave me a look that said I need more help from you. I vowed to be more supportive with future decisions. And I quickly regretted that pledge when it came time to pick out the vault.
“I had no idea people were buried in a vault,” I whispered in Violet’s ear as we stared at the models hanging on the wall.
Violet sighed. “That’s because you weren’t involved in this part when we planned Daddy’s funeral.”
I realized she was right. I stayed home when she and Momma came. It never occurred to me she had to do so much. I put my arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Vi. Really, I’ll help more.”
She leaned her head against mine. “Thanks, I’m taking you up on it. You’re in charge of the flowers.”
I started to say something, then stopped. I could pick out flowers. How hard could that be?
We decided the funeral would be on Wednesday. That gave the coroner time to perform the autopsy and ship Momma’s body back from Little Rock. In the parking lot, Violet tried to convince me to go home with her. “Rose, you went back to the house already. You proved you could do it. Now come spend the night with us.”
I was frightened, but I just couldn’t let myself go with her. Sometime over the last day and a half, a revolt had sprung up inside me and there was no beating it down into submission. I needed to do this even if it killed me, which it very well might. I slowly shook my head and opened my car door.
“Rose, this is ridiculous. Do you even have electricity yet?”
“No, but Joe called the electric company and they said they’d be out today.”
Violet grabbed my door as I got into the car. “But…”
“Violet, you need to get back to the kids. I’ll talk to you later.”
Mike dragged her away and I drove home eager to be alone. As I pulled into the gravel driveway, I discovered Joe crouched down at the side door of the house.
“What are you doing?” I asked when I got out, wondering if I had just caught him in the middle of being up to something.
“Putting a new lock on your door.” He didn’t look at me, just kept fiddling at the doorknob with a screwdriver.
“Why are you doing that?”
“To make it harder for someone to break in.”
The unspoken to kill you hung in the air like a jumbo jet waiting to land. “Why would you do that? Especially if you think I murdered my own mother.”
He turned his head and raised his eyebrows. “I never said I thought you murdered your mother. I said it wasn’t for me to decide. And I’m doin’ it in case you didn’t and the person who did comes back, especially since you think it was supposed to be you in the first place.”
I sucked in my breath. How much had he heard? “Well, thank you. I’ll pay you for the lock and for your time, too.”
“No need for the time, and the lock wasn’t much.” He gave the knob a jiggle then stood up. “I have a little sister. I only hope someone would do the same for her.” He handed me a set of keys on a ring but didn’t let go, his fingers and the keys in the palm of my hand. “I fixed the doorjamb too, so it’ll hold better. But, Rose,” he paused and looked into my eyes, “if someone wants in, they’ll get in.”
I suddenly questioned the sensibility of my plan.
“Is there anything you want to tell me?” he asked.
I blinked, trying to look confused. “Tell you what?”
He sighed and removed his hand, leaving the keys behind. “I’m next door if you need me, just give me a call. I left my number on your kitchen counter.”
“You were in my kitchen?”
“Yeah, the door was broken. I had to go inside to remove the old lock.”
“Oh.” I felt like an idiot.
“Okay, I’m heading home now. If you have trouble sleeping drink a glass of wine or something to help, but not too much. You need to be somewhat alert if someone tries to break in.”
I hadn’t thought about terror-induced insomnia. “I don’t drink.”
He looked surprised. “You mean usually?”
“No, I mean at all. I’ve never had alcohol.”
“Oh,” he said, twisting his lips as he pondered the fact I was a teetotaler. “Well, if you need anything let me know.” He folded up a towel on the ground, covered with a few tools and parts, and walked to his house.
When I turned to the door, I realized not only had he replaced the doorknob but installed a deadbolt too. Why would he do such a thing? I glanced over my shoulder at his front porch, but he was already out of sight. Sighing, I went inside and locked the door behind me. Joe was definitely a conundrum.
I slept fitfully, sitting up with every creak in the house. I got up multiple times and peeked out the windows for lurkers in the bushes. I checked the locks at least five times. When I got up at nine o’clock the next morning, I was tired but eager to busy myself with the day.
Momma’s curtains seemed like a good place to start. I stood on the arm of the sofa to take them down. The old, tattered fabric fell, dust flying everywhere as it pooled on top of the sofa back. I needed new curtains; these would never survive the washing machine.
But first, I needed to get all the blood off the wall.
After getting a big bowl of hot soapy water, I scrubbed the dried splatters, which proved difficult to remove. I scrubbed harder and paint came off on the sponge, leaving bare spots on the wall. I sat on the arm of the chair and surveyed the damage. There was no way around it; I had to repaint. Suddenly, I had a new plan for the day, something to take my mind of my worries. I would repaint the living room and buy new curtains. And get a cell phone too.
I wanted to stand out in the yard and shout to the world. Look at me! I’m making my own decisions!
Instead I grabbed my
purse and locked the side door with my new keys, glancing over at Joe’s house as I got into my car. His car sat parked in his driveway and I reprimanded myself for even looking. What did I care if Joe McAllister was home?
I went to the cell phone store first, overwhelmed with all my choices. I felt very grown up when I picked out a phone and signed a contract. A legally binding contract. Something deep inside prickled at my joy, saying I was twenty-four years old, this was not that amazing, but I shushed it. I was gonna let myself enjoy it.
Next stop was the hardware store. I studied the paint colors, overwhelmed again. I told myself it was to be expected. For a woman not used to making decisions, I was forcing myself to face plenty of them recently.
My fingers slid down cards as though they were jewels, just waiting for me to pluck them out. I finally settled on a soft, pale yellow. The man in the paint department was helpful since I’d never painted before, assisting me with rollers and tape. He even disregarded my vision that his cat had clawed the side of his dining room table.
Walmart was next. I forgot to measure the windows, but there weren’t many choices in lengths. Overwhelmed anew, I finally decided on plain off-white panels that would be soft and breezy with the pale yellow walls.
On my way to the checkout, something soft and shiny caught my eye. I was passing the edge of the lingerie department, if you could really call the underwear/pajama section at Wal-Mart lingerie. My gaze had found a nightgown, a kind I had never worn before. It looked more like a slip than a nightgown, only it was a soft lavender and covered in tiny deep purple flowers. My fingers reached out to touch the fabric before my mind could tell them to be reasonable. Once they touched, there was no dissuading them. My fingers were ensnared by a nightie. As they slid over the silky cloth, my mind wondered what it would feel like to wear such a thing.
My face burned with shame. When had I turned so wicked? But the nightie was planted in my mind and sprouting like a fast-growing weed, spreading and choking out every thought until there was nothing left but the want of it. To shut up my evil thoughts, I pulled the hanger off the rack and stuffed it under the curtain packages. Then I looked around to see if anyone saw me.
When I checked out, my nervousness made me jittery. I half expected the girl at the register to give me a look of reproach, but she scanned the curtains and stuffed the nightie in the shopping bag without even flinching, as though she did that sort of thing every day. Then again, I guess she did.
I hurried home, eager to start my new project. But first, the blood-stained sofa had to go.
After shoving the kitchen table against the wall, I scooted the sofa to the door and promptly wedged it in the doorway.
Crappy doodles.
I went out the seldom-used front door and tried pulling from the outside, with little success. Lodging my shoulder underneath, I tried to stand, hoping that might unwedge it.
“What on earth are you doing?” Joe asked behind me.
Startled, I screamed and fell on my butt. “Why do you keep sneaking up on me like that?”
He laughed. “I didn’t ‘sneak up on you,’ I merely walked over to see what you were doing. What are you doing?”
I started to get up, surprised when he reached down to help me. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like you’re trying to injure yourself removing that sofa from your house.”
I scowled at him. “It’s covered in blood and I can’t look at it one more minute. I had to get it out.”
“Well, why didn’t you come and ask me for help?”
I raised my eyebrows, stumped. “Honestly, it never occurred to me.”
He grimaced and shook his head. “You need to angle it more, then it should come right out. Go in the house and take the back side. I’ll take this end.”
Once we got it outside Joe asked, “Now where?” Joe asked.
“I dunno. I hadn’t thought that far. My entire goal centered around getting it outside.”
Joe shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Let’s put it behind the house for now. The neighbors are riled up enough without having to look at your bloody sofa.”
His plan sounded reasonable but something about the way he said it got under my skin. We set it down in the backyard, away from the telephone line.
“If you like, I can have someone come and remove it tomorrow.” Joe said.
“Thanks,” I said, unsure what to do next.
“I’m going to check the door jamb and make sure you didn’t bang it up too much.”
My irritation returned, but he was right. I went in the kitchen and left the door open so he could examine the frame.
“You painting?” he asked, nodding to the paint cans.
“The living room. I tried to get the blood off the wall but mostly I just ended up taking off the paint.”
“Have you ever painted before?”
I rolled my eyes. “I ain’t building a rocket. How hard could it be?”
“I’m sure a professional painter might take offense to that.”
“Well, I’m not hiring a professional painter.”
“I’m not suggesting you do, but I can make sure you know what to do before you get paint everywhere.”
“Why?” I asked. “Why would you help me?”
He raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t say I was gonna paint the room for you. It’s only a few pointers.”
I appreciated his offer to help, but his attitude rankled me. Why did that man irritate me so?
FIVE
Joe ended up helping me move all the furniture into the dining room, then helped me tape. We didn’t talk much while we worked, and after my initial nervousness of being near him in such tight quarters, I got used to his presence.
When we finished taping, he looked me up and down and raised an eyebrow. “You gonna paint in those clothes? Since you’re new to this, you’re bound to get paint on ‘em.”
I hadn’t considered that, along with most everything else in my life, it seemed. I went to my bedroom and dug through the drawers for an old t-shirt and pair of shorts, self-conscious about changing with Joe in the next room. I assured myself it was unlikely he had X-ray vision. If he had it in his head to attack me, he would have done it already.
When I returned, he had drop cloths spread all over the floor.
“I don’t remember buying that many.” I said, puzzled.
“You didn’t. A couple are mine. You could have made do with the two you bought, but you would have to keep moving them around. It’ll be easier this way.”
My mouth dropped.
He saw my hesitation. “If I overstepped my….”
“No,” I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I’m marveling at how nice you’re being and trying to figure out why.”
His eyebrows raised. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. People can be nice without an underlying motive.”
“Not to me they don’t.”
“Why not?”
Our eyes locked and he studied me, trying to figure out what I meant. He obviously didn’t know me yet. This friendship won’t last. I warned myself. Don’t get used to him.
“Never mind,” I mumbled and went out into the kitchen. My heart stopped at the sight of the shopping bags. He had to have gone through them to get out the drop clothes. Did he see the nightie? But the Walmart sack looked undisturbed. Feeling lightheaded, I took out the curtains and set them on the table, wadded up the bag with the nightie still inside, and stuffed it into the dishtowel drawer. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and went back into the living room.
Before I knew it, we were both painting. I wanted to remind Joe that he claimed he wasn’t going to help, but I knew better than push my luck. He was better and faster at it than me.
When Joe finished a wall, I stepped back and took a good look, clasping my hands to my chest. “I love it!” I exclaimed, giddy with happiness. “It looks like early morning sunshine!”
He turned to me, a slow smi
le spreading across his face. “Yeah, I suppose it does.”
We were almost done with the first coat when Violet burst through the side door. “Oh, thank God you’re all right! I’ve been tryin’ to call you all day! Why won’t you answer the phone? I thought something happened to you! What on earth are you doing?”
Her rapid-fire questions made me I feel like I’d just been pelted with a BB gun. “I’m painting the living room,” I glance over my shoulder. “Well, we’re painting the room.”
Violet was livid. “Why would you be redecorating when Momma’s not even buried in the ground? It’s bad enough that you’re accused of killin’ our mother, now you’re redecorating? What are people gonna say, Rose?”
If Violet had slapped me in the face, it couldn’t have hurt worse.
Joe cleared his throat. “I know this is none of my business, but Rose isn’t redecorating. She’s covering up the blood that was spread all over the wall. I offered to help her since she’d never painted before.”
Violet’s face told me that she never thought about the aftereffects of a violent crime on home furnishings.
“And her phone is out until Wednesday,” Joe added.
Violet wasn’t about to let her anger go so easily. “See? All the more reason not to stay here! You have no phone if you get into trouble or if something happens!”
Defiance riled up and I put a hand on my hip. “I got a cell phone this morning. I can use it if I need to.”
“You what?”
“It’s the twenty-first century. Everybody has a cell phone.”
“Rose, honey, why do you need a cell phone? Honestly, who are you gonna call?”
I bit my lip to keep the tears from falling and looking even more like a fool in front of Joe. “I’m not leaving with you. Violet. I’m stayin’ here.”
We glared at each other, both of us sure we were right and the other was wrong. I knew I’d thrown her for a loop. Right there in my half-painted living room, I realized the truth of it. I had always done what I was told, whether Momma, who did it out of spitefulness, or Violet, who loved me dearly and thought she knew what was best. No matter the reason, I’d always done what I was told. Standing up to Violet threw her world off its axis.
Crimes of Passion Page 62
