“I’ll walk you in.”
I put my hand on his arm. “Thanks, but you know what? You’ve got enough strikes against you, being new in this town. No reason to hurt your social standing any more by being seen with me. Good night, Joe.”
I opened the door and took one last glance at him. He looked like he’d been blindsided. I supposed he had.
SIX
I went back to the visitation room and plastered on a smile that said thank you for coming but my heart is breaking. And while the thank you for coming part wasn’t true, the my heart is breaking part was.
A couple of hours later, my feet ached from standing and my cheeks hurt from smiling but a few stragglers remained. They munched on cookies while trying to determine the size and location of the hole in Momma’s head from the placement of her hat. Aunt Bessie and Uncle Earl stayed the entire time. They brought bottles of water to Violet because she did so much talking over the course of three and a half hours that she had become hoarse. And me, too, because Aunt Bessie worried that I’d become dehydrated from the slow flow of tears that I couldn’t stop.
Aunt Bessie and Uncle Earl were supposed to spend the night with Violet. But Aunt Bessie suggested they stay with me instead.
“Rose has grown an independent streak,” Violet said in a snippy tone. “She might not let you.”
I gasped. “Of course, they can stay with me. They can take Momma’s room.”
We said goodbye in the parking lot, Violet and I giving each other awkward hugs. Aunt Bessie and Uncle Earl followed me to the house. I pulled into the driveway and gave Joe’s house a mournful glance as I waited for them to get their suitcase from the car.
“I heard Mr. Williams died a few months ago. Who lives there now?” Aunt Bessie asked, the softness of her voice telling me she knew my look meant something.
“Joe McAllister.”
“The young man from tonight?”
“Yeah, but don’t be thinkin’ anything about it, Aunt Bessie. We’re just friends.” My tongue tripped over the word friends and to my chagrin, I felt tears building again. “I never met him before the night Momma was killed.”
She watched me unlock the door. “Isn’t that deadbolt new? I don’t’ remember seeing it before.”
I’d forgotten she had the memory of an elephant. “Joe put it in for me when he fixed the broken lock.”
“Oh?”
I ignored the question in her voice and flipped on the light. She oohed and awed over the new paint color, finding it perfectly reasonable and logical to paint two days after Momma died, given the circumstances.
Uncle Earl took their suitcase to the room. I offered to help change the sheets on Momma’s bed, but Aunt Bessie suggested I put on pajamas and make us hot tea instead. I sat at the kitchen table with two cups ready when she entered the kitchen.
Even though I dressed for bed, I hadn’t taken my hair down. Aunt Bessie stood behind me, taking out the pins, running her fingers through the strands. I closed my eyes, relaxing at the feel of it.
“Tonight was a long night, wasn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes,” I murmured softly, leaning my head back into her hands.
“Did Joe say something to upset you tonight?”
Tears burned my eyes again. “No, if anything he helped me.”
“Then what made you so upset?”
“You mean other than the town folk of Henryetta rallying to grab their pitchforks?”
“Yes, I know there was something else.” Aunt Bessie was a hairdresser and knew how to massage someone’s head and make them so relaxed they’d give up their deepest darkest secrets. After only a few minutes in her hands, I was too soothed to care.
“He said we were friends. He thinks we’re friends, Aunt Bessie.” I said it as if it were declared the eighth wonder of the world.
“So? Why can’t you be friends?”
“Because I’m different. You know that.”
“Your grandmother, my mother, had the gift of sight. She had lots of friends.”
“But she wasn’t like me. I’m different.”
“Not so different. Besides, what’s wrong with being different? Sometimes it’s good to stand apart from everyone else.”
“Momma didn’t think so.”
Aunt Bessie continued rubbing my head for a bit then finally spoke. “Rose, your Momma had a hard life. There’s things about her you don’t know.”
“That still doesn’t excuse the way she treated me.”
“No, but sometimes if we understand why someone does what they do it helps take the sting of the hurt away.”
“What about the way she treated Daddy? That wasn’t right either.”
Aunt Bessie sighed and sat down in the chair next to me. “Your daddy wasn’t a perfect man. No one is perfect.”
“That’s what Joe said tonight.”
She patted my hand. “Then your Joe is a smart man.” She took a sip of her now cooled tea. “Your Daddy did some things that hurt your Momma deeply. In fact, I think it’s fair to say they broke her. Someday, you might want to know what happened, but now isn’t the right time. When you’re ready, come to me and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
I wasn’t sure I’d ever want to know, but I nodded and drank my tea.
The next morning I padded around the kitchen, making breakfast and brewing coffee when Aunt Bessie came in.
“That living room looks so bright and cheerful in the morning light.”
I smiled as I turned my head to look at the glow. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
“Have you thought about where you’ll live now that your Momma is gone?”
My heart skipped. “Why, I thought I’d stay here.”
“I’m sure that’s fine, but more than likely, Violet will own half of it. You two will have to work out some type of arrangement.”
One more thing I hadn’t considered.
Aunt Bessie patted my arm. “No need to worry, Rose. Violet has her own house, she won’t want this one. You’ll probably just buy out her half.”
I stewed about it as I poured our cups of coffee.
“When was the last time you had your hair cut?” she asked.
I couldn’t remember, so Aunt Bessie insisted on giving me a trim. She set me in a chair in the middle of the kitchen and snipped away with the scissors she said she always traveled with. I suspected she brought them with the sole purpose of cutting my hair, which had always annoyed the tarnation out of her. At one point during the cut, I had a vision and told her one of the hairdressers in her shop was going to leave and try to steal some of her clients. Aunt Bessie took it in stride, thanked me for my useful information, and continued trimming.
The amount of hair that fell to the floor alarmed me, but Aunt Bessie said to trust her. Which I did. It wasn’t like my hair had a particular style anyway. When she finished cutting, she pulled out a fat curling iron and flipped out the ends.
“Okay, go check it out.”
I went to the bathroom, Aunt Bessie on my heels, and we stared at my reflection in the mirror. I was speechless.
“It should be a lot lighter now. I razor-cut the edges and thinned it out a bit, you can take a big curling rod to the ends and flip them out or just wear it straight.”
Aunt Bessie could have been speaking Greek for all I understand, but I didn’t pay much attention anyway. I was too busy gawking at my hair.
“I can’t believe it’s me.” I turned my head from side to side, watching my hair sway against my shoulders. It now sported layers and framed my face with long bangs, a far cry from the dry, lifeless hair I had before. I shook my head and it bounced.
“You’ve been hidin’ too long, Rose Anne Gardner,” Bessie said from behind me. “It’s time to shed that cocoon and become the beautiful butterfly you’re meant to be.”
“Aw, Aunt Bessie.” I gave her a big hug. “Thank you. I love it.”
We dressed for the funeral. I felt very sophisticated in my dress and new hair. I to
ttered down the hall in my heels, wishing I had thought to practice in them sooner. Aunt Bessie approved and insisted on putting a little bit of makeup on me, telling me cosmetics were not the devil’s oil paints, contrary to what Momma always said.
I rode in their car to the church. We arrived early, which meant I had time to practice walking before Violet and Mike showed up. I was finally getting the hang of it when they entered through the opposite end of the foyer. As I approached, Violet was asking Aunt Bessie where I was.
“Here she comes now.” The pride in Aunt Bessie’s voice was unmistakable, making me love her even more.
Violet’s mouth dropped open. “What have you done?”
“Violet…” Aunt Bessie cautioned.
“What have you done?”
“Violet!” Mike voice was sharp with warning.
She turned to Mike, flinging her arm in my direction. “Mike, she went and got her hair styled! The day of Momma’s funeral! Who does that? What is she thinking?”
“Violet, this is my doing.’” Aunt Bessie said. “I insisted on cutting her hair this morning.”
“She could have stopped you!”
“Why?” Aunt Bessie asked. “Why would she stop me? For one thing, her whole life has been run by you and your mother, so what was one more woman telling her what to do? And second, there is nothing wrong with her looking beautiful. It’s not like she showed up to your mother’s funeral looking’ like a hooker.”
Violet gasped, the sound echoing off the tiled entrance.
Aunt Bessie pressed on. “Rose looks very tasteful, very conservative. You should be happy for her.”
Violet put her hands on her hips. “What are people gonna say?”
“And right there is the bottom line, isn’t it, Violet? What are people gonna say?”
I couldn’t believe the two women I loved most in the world were arguing. Over me no less. “Stop! Stop it the both of you!”
They turned to face me. Violet looked like she was about to give me a good throttling, then move on to Aunt Bessie.
“Violet, I’m sorry if you are unhappy with my new haircut, but I honestly had no idea what Aunt Bessie was going to do to it. I thought she was giving me a trim. But that being said,” I smiled at Aunt Bessie. “I’m not sorry she did it. I love it and I’m sorry if you don’t. And perhaps the timing was bad, but you and I both know that the people in this town are going to talk about me one way or the other. They always have.”
Violet looked like she was about to start spitting out carpet tacks. Mike grabbed her arm and dragged her away from our group, their heads bent together in a heated discussion.
“Rose, if I had known Violet would react this way, I never would have cut your hair.”
“Don’t be sorry, Aunt Bessie, for heaven’s sake, it’s only hair.” But the truth was that the problem lay much deeper. I was changing and Violet didn’t like it.
Violet calmed down a little before it was time to go into a private room to wait while the mourners were seated in the sanctuary. Violet looked like she would burst out the door to escape my presence at any minute.
A few minutes after eleven o’clock, we walked to the front of the church. I offered a prayer of thanks that I didn’t fall over in my two-inch heels.
Violet remained chilly at the graveside service, but I reached over and grabbed her hand, overcome with a wave of grief. I took it as a good sign when she didn’t snatch it away, instead hanging on tight. We sat next to the open grave and clung to each other as we buried our last remaining parent. We were orphans. I choked back a sob of despair. Even if Momma hadn’t been the best mother, she was still our Momma. And now we were alone.
We rode in an uncomfortable silence to the church for the traditional funeral dinner. Any good Southern Baptist knows there’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a casserole potluck, death included. I told myself if I could just make it through the dinner, then I could return to my solitude, or at least my own inner demon.
We’d made it through the funeral and graveside service without mishap; I knew it was too much to expect to make it through the dinner, as well. Two older women watched me while I stood to the side of the buffet table. I recognized them as Momma’s friends, if you could call backstabbing, busybodies friends.
Violet and Aunt Bessie made their hostess rounds while I did my best to stay out of the way. One of the women pointed to me, shaking her finger in outrage, then buried her face in their huddle. I did my best to ignore them, but they soon worked themselves into a chattering tizzy. A few moments later, they moved toward me and didn’t waste any time getting to the point.
“You have some nerve showin’ up at your mother’s funeral looking like that.” The ringleader pointed to my dress with a gnarly finger covered in gaudy rings. Ethel Murdock, self-appointed morality czar of Henryetta. I had no doubt that Momma and Miss Ethel spent many an hour judging the actions of the First Baptist Church members. Then they’d move on to the remaining citizens of Henryetta for good measure.
The blood rushed to my face and the all-too-familiar response to hide took over. I shook it off. It was time to stand up for myself.
“What exactly are you talking about? What’s wrong with the way I look?” I asked in a shaky voice.
Miss Ethel’s eyebrows knit together and her mouth puckered as if she were about to give me a kiss. I knew there was little chance of that happening. “You’re dressed up all high and mighty. We know you never dressed like that before. You killed your own mother to get her money and you haven’t wasted any time spending it, have you?” Her face turned red and splotchy. I worried Miss Ethel would have a stroke right there. I’d probably be blamed for that too.
Adrenaline surged through my blood. My chest constricted, cutting off my air supply. “How I spend my money is no concern of yours,” I choked out.
Miss Ethel picked up her cane and waved it in front of my face. “You’re not gonna get away with this! It’s a travesty that you’re walkin’ around free to murder some other unsuspecting victim!” Her words echoed throughout the fellowship hall.
Beulah Godfrey stood behind Miss Ethel, her arms crossed and lips pursed. She nodded her head in agreement.
Anger riled up in me. I had no idea where this seemly bottomless pool of rage came from, but it just kept flowing out. “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way,” I said through gritted teeth, “but this is neither the time nor place to discuss it.”
My words enraged Miss Ethel more and she puffed up like a bantam rooster, thrusting out her chest and bobbing her head. She lifted her cane higher, swinging it around. “Don’t you talk to me about time and place, you murderess!”
Miss Ethel lost her precarious balance and swung her cane as she flailed, catching Miss Beulah on the chin. Miss Beulah shrieked and fell sideways, landing smack dab in the big pan of mashed potatoes on the buffet line. She jumped off the table as if it bit her, her face and chest covered in the creamy mixture. In her haste, she bumped a bowl of red Jell-O salad, sending it sideways off the table toward Miss Ethel. Miss Ethel screamed as she saw it coming toward her, accidently falling on her bottom as she tried to get out of the way, the bowl landing on top of her head. Red gelatin dripped down her hair and into her startled face. Miniature marshmallows clung to her tight blue-gray curls like dandelion puffs caught in a spider web.
An eerie silence descended upon the fellowship hall and everyone froze, forks halfway to their mouths. The room looked like a scene out of “Sleeping Beauty.” Nothing this good had happened at a Henryetta funeral since Elmer Wainwright fell out of his casket five years earlier.
I threw back my shoulders and lifted my chin, knowing I’d be blamed for this somehow.
Violet gave me a livid glare of How could you?
I turned and carefully walked out of the hall, praying I didn’t fall in my heels. About one hundred pairs of eyes watched me leave. I could have crawled under a rock and died right there and it still wouldn’t have been enough to escape.
We agreed that Uncle Earl would drive me home. Aunt Bessie could stay behind and help Violet, even though I suspected Violet didn’t want her there.
We were almost home when Uncle Earl cleared his throat. “What that woman said, it wasn’t right. Just remember that she doesn’t know you. You can’t change the opinions of small-minded people.” He reached over and patted my arm.
My chin quivered and I bit my lower lip. Those were the most words I’d heard Uncle Earl say in years.
Uncle Earl dropped me off at home and went back to the church. Aunt Bessie and Uncle Earl came back later and spent the night again. I tried to call Violet before I went to bed, but she didn’t answer. I left a rambling message on her machine, apologizing for upsetting her and begging for her forgiveness. I hung up, afraid I lost her forever even though Aunt Bessie assured me that all she needed was time to get used to things.
The next morning when Aunt Bessie and Uncle Earl left for home, Aunt Bessie asked me to come home with her. I would have gone in a heartbeat if I hadn’t been ordered to stay in Fenton County. Besides, I had an appointment with my attorney that afternoon.
***
Deanna Crawfield looked much more professional on a Thursday afternoon than at two o’clock on a Sunday morning, but then again I think most people would. We sat at a conference table while she took notes on a legal pad. Deanna said the evidence was circumstantial. The cut utility lines and the busted side door were in my favor, but the fact nothing was stolen and my argument with Momma in the afternoon were not. She was surprised the police hadn’t called me in for more questioning, which she saw as a bad sign. They were collecting more evidence first.
An hour later, I left feeling less than confident about my freedom. If anything, I wondered how long it would take for the Henryetta police department to show up at my door to arrest me.
Crimes of Passion Page 64
