There was only one option: I had to move to a better neighborhood. Which would mean paying higher rent. Which would mean accepting help from Sheila. Which would mean giving Sheila more input and control over my life.
I groaned.
Any money she contributed would undoubtedly come with strings attached. Maybe even with steel cables.
But what other options did I have?
I covered my face with my hands and fell back on my bed. Peering between my fingers I noticed a wet spot around the light fixture. Great. My roof was starting to leak. What else could go wrong? Crud. I did not want to be in debt to Sheila. Double crud. I could not continue to expose my child and my dog to danger. Triple crud. I had to do something.
I spoke to the weird stain on my ceiling. It was vaguely shaped like Bill Clinton in profile. “I know! I’ll marry a rich man who can take me away from all this.”
Huh. Did that. Got the T-shirt, the kid, and the photo album.
Okay, I’d marry anybody with a job. Or a steady salary. What was it Dodie once counseled? Find a spouse with great benefits. Like a school teacher. Or a postal clerk. Or a cop.
Not.
Bad plan.
I hated this. My inability to take care of myself, my child and our dog made me sick, but the queasy feeling quickly changed into a lump in the pit of my stomach. Last night, my tormenters left a calling card. Lucky for me, it was only a prank. But it could have been the real deal. Then what?
Was I willing to put Gracie and Anya at risk?
I had to face facts. I could no longer go it alone. I didn’t have the resources. And I couldn’t put my loved ones in jeopardy. I needed to swallow my pride and do what had to be done. It wasn’t fun or pretty, but I’d be gracious and grateful and work like the dickens to make enough money to pay my mother-in-law back. I dialed Sheila’s number.
“Uh, Sheila. I’ve been thinking about your offer to help me find another place to live …”
The finished outfit seemed a mite skimpy. Dress code for Mert’s party was decidedly different from Opera Theatre. I pulled on cut-offs, a white tank top, and a pair of flip flops.
Then came a flash of inspiration. I rummaged through the few clothes of George’s that I hadn’t given away and found a navy blue vest. Thrown over the tank top, I had myself an outfit. Not wanting to seem too dressed down, I added a pair of big gold hoops and a couple of bracelets. This felt way more comfortable than last night’s apparel, and yet, I had to admit, there’d been a sea change in me. Typically I wouldn’t have taken the time to consider how my clothes looked. Today, I did.
My Spa La Femme transformation taught me the power of polish. Taking those extra minutes to add the vest and jewelry definitely gave me confidence. The extra grooming I’d endured—my shaped and dyed eyebrows, fake lashes, exfoliated and buffed skin—all contributed to a more attractive me.
Sheila had thoughtfully planned the timing of my meeting Detweiler’s wife. Not only did I meet Brenda Detweiler on a night when I was at my best, I was able to face this new day, the morning after, knowing I looked terrific. I was primed to meet Mert’s brother Johnny. And if he and I didn’t hit it off, maybe there’d be another man at the party who struck my fancy.
Right, I thought. Girl, you lie. First, you better get over that detective.
Okay, I’d work on that. I’d take it one step at a time.
I’d mixed up a big bowl of my Hoosier Daddy Kidney Bean Salad the day before—it needs time for the flavors to blend—so Anya and I were good to go when the phone rang.
“Got a minute?” Clancy’s voice sounded needy. I checked my watch. Arriving on time wasn’t really important. For a casual event like this, we could be a half an hour late and not be rude. Anya was absorbed in a TV program. She’d probably appreciate a little delay.
“Sure. How are you? What’s up?”
“I ran over to Ellen Harmon’s store this morning. That woman is making a killing off Yvonne’s demise. Gives the term ‘good grief’ a whole new meaning.”
“That’s fascinating. Tell me more.” The Barbara Walters tape suggested this conversational encouragement. I tried these exact sentences on the Ryman sisters, but after shouting it three times I gave up.
“She’s plastered the whole store with scrapbook pages dedicated to Yvonne, by Yvonne, and about Yvonne. I mean, you can’t find an inch of blank wall. And displays? She lit a tall white candle and put it next to this big photo of Yvonne along with a bouquet of red roses. And, there’s a collection box for contributions to the Gaynor kids’ education fund. Plus, a big book where mourners can sign their names and leave remembrances. On the marquee outside it says, ‘We mourn the passing of our friend, Yvonne Gaynor.’ She’s hung an American flag at half-mast from a flagpole stuck in concrete blocks. I swear, Kiki, it was positively ghoulish—and effective. Man, that place was wall-to-wall people.
“I’ve never seen such a well-orchestrated sob fest. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Ellen Harmon was behind Yvonne’s death. Heck, she might have even done the deed herself. At the very least, she could have planned it. It’s enough to make a maggot puke. I thought I’d toss my cookies before I could get out the front door.”
“Wow.” I pulled up a kitchen chair. Gracie ambled over and set her big head on my lap.
“I ran into Nettie in the parking lot. The display in the store really upset her, too. Nettie called Ellen everything but human. And I agree. That woman is one sick puppy. You have to see this place to believe it. Nettie and I got to talking while she had a cigarette, and I mentioned you’d dropped by to get the scoop on Perry. I googled you, girlfriend. Why didn’t you tell me you’re the same gal who outran a murderer last spring? Wow! You are my kind of hero! I told Nettie if anyone could crack this caper, it’d be you.”
I laughed. “Clancy, you are giving me too much credit. I’m no Nancy Drew.” We chattered a little longer, making a date for coffee. Since her schedule was more flexible, she offered to drop by the store.
I closed the phone and rubbed Gracie’s ears thoughtfully. Like I said, I am not a girl detective. But after my husband died, I found myself thrown into the role of amateur sleuth. And it was kind of fun. While I’d never admit it out loud, I found solving crimes exciting. Working on Yvonne’s murder would definitely take my mind off Detweiler.
And if I found the killer before he did, it sure would show him a thing or two.
Mert lived in a small house not far from mine, but in a more stable neighborhood. Up and down her street were working-class families struggling to survive. Their shared values kept the block secure from mischief makers. A couple neighbors owned Doberman pinschers, and one house kept a pit bull behind a tall fence. I knew for a fact several of the men kept shotguns in closets.
A home invader didn’t stand a chance. He’d be wearing buck-shot and pulling canine incisors out of his jugular a hot half-second after breaking and entering. And that would have been the warm-up act.
St. Louis is a city of neighborhoods. This particular neighborhood was so tight that when one family fired up the grill, everyone dropped by to throw their steaks on the barbecue and crack a brewski.
As Anya and I climbed out of the car, strains of country western music drifted back to us. My kid smiled. Under ordinary circumstances, she’d have taken a beating before listening to “hillbilly” music. But the lure of Mert’s darling son, Roger, made both country and western tolerable to her.
Gracie led the way, eager to visit Elsa and Red, the mother and son yellow labs Mert rescued years ago. Anya raced off to find Roger. I closed the cyclone fence gate behind me, put Gracie in the dog run with her friends, and searched the crush of people for my best pal. I didn’t spot her right away, so I let myself into her kitchen to add my bowl of bean salad to the other food. I was removing the plastic wrap when I felt a tug from behind. Mert pulled me into a quick hug. “I been telling Johnny all about you. Did you get any pictures so’s I can see how you looked at that fancy dinner last night?�
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A deep voice startled me. “Don’t need to see the photos. I was there to get a look at the real thing.”
I turned and behind me was Lawn Boy. The man who rescued me at the spa, who found me naked, covered in mud and grass, was Mert’s brother Johnny.
I could have crawled under the kitchen table and never come back out. My face went hot with embarrassment.
“Nice to meet you, formally,” he extended a hand roughened by work but gentle with consideration.
“Johnny’s been working for Butler’s Landscaping and Lawn Service, and I figgered he might run into you out at Spa La Femme. He’s always loved plants and animals. That there’s the perfect job for him. And get a load of that farmer’s tan,” Mert turned loving eyes on the heart throb I’d met the day before, pointing to the brown skin that stopped at the edge of his polo-shirt collar and sleeves. The soft blue of his shirt warmed the gray of his eyes. A quick up-and-down scan proved him to be trim, on the side of muscular, with long legs in classic jeans. With a white tee and cigarettes rolled up in a sleeve, Johnny could have been a James Dean clone.
“Right,” was all I could croak as I followed my friend’s fingertips as she traced her brother’s bulging bicep.
Johnny rewarded us with a slow, lazy grin. “Like I told you, babe, brown is not your color. But dark blue does amazing stuff to your eyes. If you’ll excuse me, Mert’s got me fixing the burgers and dogs.”
She laughed. “He’s the Grill God,” and she winked. “He’s really somethin,’ ain’t he? Got all the looks and brains in the family.”
Grill God? She had that right. Her brother belonged up on Mount Olympia with Zeus and company. I got a great gander at his backside. Woowee. Suddenly I felt hot all over.
Mert chuckled. “That’s my baby brother. Now, what was it like? I never been to a fancy party like that. Tell me everythin’ about it.”
We set out food, arranged serving utensils, and chatted. I told her about Detweiler and she froze with a big spoon stopped in mid-air.
“You knew he was married, didn’t you?” I asked softly. I was busy arranging paper napkins in a wicker basket. I couldn’t bring myself to face her.
She cleared her throat. “His wife came into the station when they was questioning me. I was hoping to find out more—like if they were really together or if they was separated, you know? But I didn’t have the chance.”
Mert stepped in front of me. “Honest, girl. I woulda tole you if I’d’a been sure. I wouldn’t have left you to find out with old Sheila.” Searching my eyes, her mood changed abruptly. “That no-good skunk, next time I see him, I’m a gonna—”
“Do nothing,” I said quietly. “Don’t you dare. He’s an officer of the law. You don’t need that kind of hassle, especially with Johnny trying to get his life in order. And after the interest the cops are taking in you for Yvonne Gaynor’s murder, messing with him would be counterproductive.”
She glowered at me. Her lip liner followed her lips in a turndown. Those thick lashes with their generous helping of mascara narrowed into a furry line of black. “Well, just so you know, he ain’t off my sic ’em list. He better beware.” Then she paused and added softly, “But I gotta say, that man loved you, baby girl. I saw him look at you, and it was the kind of expression a person gets when he sees his whole life in front of him and cain’t hardly stand for it to get started. This don’t make no sense. There’s gotta be more to this here story, Kiki.”
I let my shoulder rise and fall quickly, carelessly. “Maybe so, but I can’t be bothered to find out. He’s married. End of discussion.”
“Oh, sure. And you was married. Folks can still be hitched and not be joined in spirit. Maybe there’s extenuating circumstances. You never know.”
“I can’t go there. Correction: I refuse to go there. Now let me tell you what happened last night with Gracie.” I related the events surrounding the scare with my dog. I finished with my decision: I needed a new home. Mert nodded. She is the most imminently practical person I’d ever met. Her favorite saying is, “It is what it is,” but with her southern Missouri accent, it sounded more like, “Hit is what hit is.” Mert lives by the philosophy that lying to yourself won’t change anything, but it will make your life more dangerous and less satisfying. She’d long since convinced me she is right.
“Yeah, no two ways about it. You gotta move. I hate to give Sheila credit, but even a blind pig finds an acorn once’t in awhile. You’re lucky she’s willing to help. I got news, too. They took in one of the catering staff for more questioning. I heard all about it from one of my friends who does clean up. See, there’s this woman at the caterers who used to cook special events for the Gaynors. Like dinner parties and all? Yvonne fired her butt. Stuck her with a big bill for a whole lotta food and such. I guess the cops done took this gal to the station for intense questioning.” Mert picked up a carrot stick and chewed on it. “Oh, and one more thing … you’ll never guess. That Bama? Her sister works for the caterers. Turns out she got a bonus for bringing in the Time in a Bottle business.”
“You are kidding me!”
“No, ma’am.” Mert took a hefty slurp of her beer and burped discreetly. “I kid you not. You see what that means? Bama had a way to mess with the food.”
We decided to ask around about Bama and her sibling on Monday. I picked up a deviled egg, admired the paprika before popping it into my mouth whole. Yum, a touch of mustard and bacon bits were mixed with the yolk. I swallowed and said, “That’s certainly another line of inquiry that bears scrutiny. Not that I plan to let Detweiler in on it.”
Mert turned thoughtful. “Did you tell the squirt about him? Anya’s awful fond of the man. She’ll need to know why you gotta put distance between yourself and him.”
I repeated my conversation with my child.
Mert laughed at Anya’s rendition of her slamming Roger’s bully into the truck. “It’s a mite exaggerated, but she’s got it in one. I don’t take to people messing with the folks I love. Won’t stand for it. Never would. There ain’t that many I really care about, and you and her are part of that special group. You gonna be okay without this guy in your life? You was awful lonely after George died.”
I told her about Ben Novak. “I have high hopes,” I added. “I also noticed my baby brother cain’t keep his eyes off’a you, neither. Baby girl, I’m thinkin’ your lonely days is long gone.”
There was way too much to eat at Mert’s. Anya shadowed Roger, who was cheerfully good-natured about her overeager attention. I thought I’d burst eating the grilled burger Johnny put on my plate, the potato salad mixed with cucumbers, the gazpacho, the seven-layer Mexican dip, the innumerable desserts including a huge Texas sheet cake and fudge. The country western music set my toes tapping. I mingled with Mert’s neighbors, listening in on their conversations. Even though the Barbara Walters book had enhanced my courage socially, I was still reticent.
Johnny hovered by my shoulder. He’d been trying to induce me to dance, but I’m no good at line dancing. I can’t remember the steps long enough to stay in sync with a crowd! Then Roger slipped one of his CDs into the music mix. The first strains of Gnarls Barkley’s “Crazy” made me sway to the rhythm.
I make it a rule not to dance in public.
There’s a reason.
A very, very good reason.
This time I blame the beer, my sadness over Detweiler, and Johnny’s urging.
It won’t ever happen again.
Growing up, I was kicked out of ballet, tap, and jazz classes for my style of dancing. As a young woman, I caused fights to break out at school sock hops. And in college, I woke up the next morning pregnant.
It’s too dangerous for me to dance in public. I told Johnny I shouldn’t. I told him I couldn’t. I tried to hide, to stop the involuntary tap of my toes. But Johnny would not take no for an answer.
“What? You feeling shy? I think we know each other better’n that. Come on, pretty lady.”
One minute I was mov
ing with restraint on the edge of the crowd, the next I was in the middle of a large group dancing with my eyes closed. The beat took over. I lost all inhibitions. I threw my arms around. I twirled and whirled. I opened my eyes briefly and shut them again. Totally unaware of my surroundings, I cut loose. I was hopping and skipping and again, I closed my eyes and tossed my head to the music.
I fell backward over a flowerpot.
All was silent. I blinked and faced a couple dozen shocked faces. I sat up and tried to brush dirt off my shorts. Johnny offered me a hand. His mouth was contorted with an effort not to laugh.
Anya’s voice broke the quiet with, “Ah, Mom. I can’t believe you did that.” I was still picking leaves and plant parts off my body.
Mert asked, “What did you used to be? An understudy for Big Bird? You jest cut loose and ran wild there, girlfriend.”
The expression on Johnny’s face told the whole story. He was biting his bottom lip for all he was worth. The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. “Uh, I can see why it might be best for you to dance in private. Babe, that performance will long be remembered.”
With that, he volunteered to drive Anya and me home in my car. Roger was to follow in Mert’s truck. “I better check your house,” he said as he turned the key in the ignition. “After what happened to your dog and,” here he paused and ran a hand through his long hair, releasing a scent of male, “because half my sister’s neighbors think you’re a menace to society. I’m just not sure the control tower at Lambert Field’s got you cleared for flying.”
“Lambert Field?” I mumbled. Then I remembered. That was the original name of Lambert-St. Louis International Airport. I let my head rest on my seat and closed my eyes. I was soooo tired.
After walking through the house, Johnny waved an all clear. Anya scooted inside with the dog. She and Gracie were also exhausted. I walked Johnny to my front door where he stepped closer and closer, pinning my back against the wall. It felt dangerous, but I knew I was in good hands. Those gentle gray eyes turned hard as flint before it strikes a spark. As he pressed gently against me, I nearly melted. All of me turned to butter. “You,” he said with his lips against my ear, “are one darling little girl. Next time you want to cut loose, why don’t you call me? Hm? Dancing by yourself might be hazardous to your health, babe.”
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