Florence looked a little shocked and a bit uneasy with Stella’s confession. She said nothing, just stared down into her glass of tea.
Finally, Stella said, “I’m sorry, sugar. I didn’t mean to dump all that ugliness on you. You’ve had trials aplenty yourself today. The last thing you need is to hear me gripe about mine.”
“No, no, don’t apologize. You’re just speaking your heart, and I’m here to listen. That’s what friends are for.”
Stella rose to her feet, which ached, reminding her of how exhausting the past twenty-four hours had been. She took her plate with its uneaten cake and her glass from the table and set them on the counter. “I’d best be heading back home,” she said. “Tomorrow’s another day, and if it’s anything like yesterday or today, I’m gonna need some rest before I tackle it.”
“Me too. I don’t know for sure where Bud went. He wouldn’t say. But it sounded like he was leaving town tonight. Said he’s going to sell the grocery store and gas station and the pool hall, just like I was afraid he’d do. But until he does, I guess I’ll keep working at the store. What else am I going to do with myself?”
Stella gave her a playful grin. “I guess if times get rough, you could buy yourself a red purse and hang out by a lamppost downtown. Sell your ‘wares’ to the old farts stumblin’ outta the Bulldog.”
Florence smiled back. “I suppose I could. But my ‘wares’ are pretty worn, and those nickels don’t add up so quick.”
Both women laughed and hugged each other long and hard.
Stella patted her friend on the back and said, “You’ll figure it out. We may be tired old gals with worn-to-a-frazzle wares, but we’re tough. It’d take a lot more than this to kill either one of us.”
Chapter 13
Other than missing her grandchildren and worrying about how they were doing, the next day passed peacefully for Stella. At least, more peacefully than the two before it.
Wouldn’t take much, Stella told herself when contemplating the fact on her way to choir practice that evening. I’d rather get beat with a wet squirrel then relive those two days all over again.
As soon as she pulled into the parking lot, she saw that attendance was up. Taking a quick tally of the cars, she realized that everyone who had ever attended choir practice in their life was there.
In a small town like McGill, there was nothing quite like a morsel of juicy gossip to draw folks to a house of worship. Or any other gathering place, for that matter.
Tonight they had way more than a morsel. They had a mouthful to chew on.
No sooner had she walked into the sanctuary than Stella saw Elsie Dingle sprinting down the aisle in her direction, an eager gleam in her eye.
“Sister Stella! Just the person I wanted to see! I hear you and Shirley had a knock-down-drag-out right there on the Anderson Christmas tree lot. Heard you ripped out a hank of her hair and knocked a bunch of her teeth so far down her throat that she’ll have to sit on a bologna sandwich to chew it!”
Okay, Stella thought. Word’s done got around, and now we have two tasty mouthfuls to chew on.
It hadn’t occurred to her that the Christmas Tree Lot Ruckus could compete with Priscilla Carr’s murder.
But nothing was discarded. Drama and the gossip it generated were precious commodities to McGillians. Every tidbit was to be ruminated and savored to the fullest. Or at least until the next delicious morsel came along.
“That is the highly embroidered version of the story,” Stella admitted. “I hate to say it, but I much prefer it to the real one.”
Elsie was genuinely disappointed. “Then what’s the real one?”
“Shirley’s still got all her hair and teeth. She’s got the grandkids, too, and says that I can’t see them, maybe ever again. That I’m a bad influence on them.”
Elsie shook her head in disgust. “If that ain’t the pot callin’ the kettle black. Not that you’re a kettle, Sister Stella. Just to say that Shirley’s got no room to talk ’bout bad influences on children. I hear tell that she was at the bar last night, drinkin’ herself stupid—which we all know wouldn’t take long, in her case, bless ‘er heart.”
Stella winced. “I guess that means my grandchildren were sitting at home by themselves, instead of being at my house, decoratin’ the tree and eatin’ cake, like they wanted to be. Breaks my heart, Elsie. Breaks it plumb in two.”
Elsie gathered Stella into her arms and squeezed her tightly against her ample bosom. “I know it does, sugar. Breaks mine, too. Them kids are the sweetest things I ever saw. She don’t deserve ’em. Never has, and now she’s gettin’ worse.”
Toward the front of the church, Connie O’Reilly, the pastor’s wife, was attempting to gather the group into some semblance of order.
“Sister Connie’s tryin’ to corral the chorale,” Stella observed, happy to end the conversation about Shirley. “Guess we should take our seats now.”
“Reckon so. We can talk about this after practice.”
Oh, goody, Stella thought. So much for escaping the aggravation of drama, even in God’s front room.
As Stella and Elsie took their seats in the choir pews at the front of the church, Stella couldn’t help noticing that Allison Neville had shown up. She was a regular choir member and was faithful in her attendance. But considering that her family was the subject of at least one major rumor at that moment, Stella was surprised that she would appear.
Even Stella herself couldn’t look at the woman without thinking about those Grinch drawers floating down the street. Now she couldn’t help picturing the Chrysler station wagon driving into the alley—right before a murder had been committed.
Stella wondered if word had gotten out that Jake had been spotted in the vicinity that night. She had told Sheriff Gilford, and the sheriff had questioned both Jake and Jake’s mother.
Somebody must have seen or heard something about it.
In McGill three people could keep a secret only if two of them were dead and the last one was mute and had his mouth duct-taped shut.
Stella assumed that by now, everybody in town was fully informed.
Judging from the covert suspicious looks being shot in poor Allison’s direction, it was clear that the members of the church choir were among the enlightened.
Allison stared straight ahead, her face drawn into a somber, pained expression.
“He did it, you know,” someone whispered in Stella’s ear.
She turned to see that Velma Milton had parked herself beside her and had the gleam of gossip in her eye.
“Who did what?” Stella asked. She knew what was coming, but she wanted Velma to have to actually state her accusation. Maybe when she heard it coming out of her mouth, she’d realize how bad it sounded.
“Jake Neville. Her husband.” Velma gave a not very subtle nod toward Allison. “He killed that Prissy Carr gal in the alley behind the bar.”
“I don’t believe we know that for sure. I wouldn’t—”
“It’s true! I heard it from Monique Alan, and she always tells the truth. Not like the rest of these blabbermouths, who exaggerate a hundred times before they even get out of bed in the mornin’.”
“Monique’s fine character and truthfulness aside, I think until somebody’s actually been charged with something, we shouldn’t cast aspersions on—”
“And him, the principal of a school, too. Shameful!”
“Innocent until proven gui—”
“I’ll bet he’s a child molester, too. Have you heard what kind of undershorts he wears? Disgusting!”
Something snapped inside Stella. She suspected it was her last strained nerve.
She jumped to her feet, and the next thing she knew, she was running past the startled preacher’s wife and down the center aisle of the church, toward the back door.
Enough was enough. She had enjoyed the company of her fellow human beings as much as she could stand for the moment. If she missed choir practice and sang a sour note during the Sunday service, s
o be it. One bad vocal performance from alto Stella Reid wasn’t likely to usher in the Apocalypse.
She took a long drink of water from the fountain in the foyer, then made her way outside to the parking lot and her truck.
She was going home. No, the grandkids wouldn’t be there. The tree would be standing, bare and undecorated, in the corner, reminding her that the grandchildren weren’t there. Reminding her that she wasn’t sure when she would see them again.
But it was her home, and she wasn’t about to allow the likes of Shirley Reid to turn her against her own home.
She had spent many a lonely hour there before, and she was bound to again.
So be it. She wasn’t the first widow to suffer from loneliness. She wouldn’t be the last.
For that matter, there were plenty of married people who were lonely every day of their life, coupled with partners too busy to speak to them, too self-centered, or too burdened with troubles of their own to realize how badly their spouse needed them.
While Stella had never suffered that fate herself, she had seen lots of folks who had. She had always thought that must be the deepest and most painful form of loneliness of all. To be with someone yet be alone.
So absorbed was she with her thoughts as she walked across the parking lot to her truck that she didn’t notice someone was inside it.
It wasn’t until she was climbing in herself that she saw Savannah sitting in the passenger seat.
The interior of the vehicle was cold. The child’s teeth were chattering. She was wearing only a thin, ragged denim jacket, which Stella recognized as one of Shirley’s throwaways.
“Oh, darlin’, you ’bout scared me to death.” Stella leaned over and kissed her granddaughter’s cold cheek. “What are you doing, sitting out here on a chilly night like this?”
Savannah shrugged. “Waiting for you. I knew you’d be out sooner or later, after your practicing.” The girl gave an unconvincing half smile. “I didn’t think you’d be out this quick, though.”
Stella switched on the engine and cranked the heat up full force. “I didn’t exactly stay for the whole thing. Good thing I came out early, before you turned into a Savannah-sicle.”
The child giggled, but the laughter was fleeting.
Stella reached for her cold hands and enclosed them between her own. “Does your mama know you’re here, sweetheart?” she asked.
Savannah shook her head.
“That’s what I was afraid of. You walked all the way here?”
She nodded.
Stella looked down at her granddaughter’s feet and saw a pair of rhinestone-studded flip-flops. More of Shirley’s castoffs.
Now that Savannah was almost as tall as her mother, Shirley had decided she no longer needed to buy clothing for her daughter. Her own hand-me-downs would do nicely.
Stella did a quick mental tally of her personal finances, then counted the days until she would be receiving her pension check. Three weeks. Far too long for a child to be running around in the winter, wearing flip-flops. Rhinestone studded or not. “Sparklies” didn’t keep the toes warm in December.
She’d have to find a way to get her hands on a pair of warm shoes. Fast.
“How did you get out of the house?” Stella asked, fearing the answer.
“I went out my bedroom window,” was the straightforward reply.
“But your bedroom’s on the second floor!”
“I’ve got my ways.”
“I’ll just bet you do. Make sure that your ‘way’ don’t include you fallin’ and crackin’ your head like Humpty Dumpty.”
“I’ve slipped and fallen a bunch of times. The bushes down below are soft. They cushion my landing. I pretty much just bounce.”
“Oh. Well. Now I feel so much better.” Stella rolled her eyes. “Have you had anything to eat this evenin’?”
Savannah avoided her eyes. “I had a big lunch at school.”
“School lunches aren’t enough to feed a bird on a diet. Let’s get you something to eat.”
Suddenly, Savannah looked frightened. “No. I don’t want anybody to see me with you. I mean, not that I’m ashamed of you, but Mama . . .”
“I know, baby. You don’t need to say another word. How’s about we go to Burger Igloo’s new drive-up window and grab us a couple of burgers? You can get down on the floorboard while I’m ordering.”
Savannah brightened momentarily, then turned her face away from her grandmother and didn’t reply.
Stella knew her granddaughter, knew the tender maternal feelings that she held toward her siblings.
“Do you reckon,” Stella added, “you could carry a bag with six more burgers when you’re climbing back up to your bedroom window—without diving into those bushes, that is?”
Instantly, the girl was all smiles. “I sure could, and Mama was asleep when I left. She will be when I get back, too. The kids can eat them in their bedroom or the bathroom, and she’ll be none the wiser. I’ll make sure the wrappers get thrown away where they won’t be seen.”
While Stella was proud of Savannah’s concern for her siblings, she hated to see an otherwise honest child having to connive and scheme just to get food for her family.
Stella looked down at the worn-out flip-flops, then at the tattered, thin jacket. This couldn’t continue. It simply could not.
After pulling the truck out of the church parking lot, Stella chose darker, less traveled streets to drive to the burger joint. The last thing she wanted to do was make her granddaughter’s already difficult life even worse.
“Is there a particular reason, sweetie, why you came to the church to see me today? I mean, other than that you miss me?”
“I do miss you. I miss you anytime I’m not with you.”
“Same here, darlin’. But is there another reason?”
Savannah hesitated, then murmured a soft yes.
“Do you want to tell me now?”
“No. But I have to. I didn’t want to, because it’ll worry you, and I know you already worry a lot about us. I don’t want to make you feel worse.”
“That’s okay, honey. If you can stand to live it, I can at least stand to hear about it. Say what you gotta say.”
Stella steeled herself for what she was sure would be bad news. Was there any other kind when Shirley Reid was involved?
“It’s about Mama,” Savannah began.
“I figured as much.”
“You know that she drinks a lot.”
“I noticed that. Yes.”
“She’s drinking a lot more now.”
“I noticed that, too.”
“Well, now she’s not just drinking. She’s doing other stuff, too.” Savannah started to tremble, and her breathing became rapid and uneven. “She’s doing drugs.”
Stella felt as though she’d received a blow to the diaphragm. Not that she hadn’t considered the possibility long ago. She had actually been watching for signs of drug addiction in Shirley, but not having experienced narcotic problems herself, she hadn’t known exactly what to look for.
“What kind of drugs? Do you know?”
“White powder. She’s sniffing it. She left her purse open, and I saw some little plastic bags with it in there. Like sandwich bags, but smaller. And I’ve seen white powder on the inside of her nose.”
Stella flashed back to the day before, to the crazed look in Shirley’s eyes, her shaking with rage as she yanked her children from the truck, her irrational anger, and her nonsensical accusations.
“How’s she been actin’ lately, compared to before?” she asked.
“She’s all nervous and shaky. She’s not eating anything at all, just drinking beer. She wakes us up at night, because she’s rushing around, doing stuff fast as she can. But mostly, she’s real mad. All the time. And mean! So, so mean! We’re scared of her. All of us. We’ve been hiding in our room, hoping she’ll forget we’re there. She usually does . . . forget, that is.”
Again, Stella’s heart broke.
&nb
sp; Sometimes she wondered how many pieces one heart could break into before the damage was irreparable.
“That’s not all,” Savannah said.
“Then tell me the rest. Tell me everything.”
“She buys the white stuff—I think it’s called coke—from a man.”
“Okay. How do you know this?”
“He comes to our house.”
Horrified, Stella pulled the truck to the side of the road and parked at the edge of a fallow cotton field. “She has a drug dealer who comes to your house? When you kids are there?”
“Yes. He’s come two times that I know of. The other day—but I didn’t know who he was then—and last night. I think she thought we were all asleep. But I heard a man’s voice in the kitchen, so I snuck out and looked. I saw him. A big, fat guy with long, dirty hair and a long, dirty beard. He looked like a nasty, mean Santa Claus. She gave him some money, and he gave her three of those little bags with white powder in them.”
“I’m so sorry, darlin’. You shouldn’t have to see something like that, let alone worry about it.”
“I’m not worried about the powder. I mean, I wish she wasn’t using it, but it’s what he said to her that’s got me worried. That’s why I came to see you tonight. Something’s bad wrong, and I’m scared.”
“What did he say that scared you, honey? Tell me exactly what you heard.”
“He said, ‘You haven’t told anybody about last night, have you?’ Then she said, real nervous like, ‘No! I told you I wouldn’t tell nobody what I saw. Nobody even knows I was back there when it happened. Really. I swear.’”
Suddenly, Stella felt as though a lump of coal had been shoved down her throat, blocking her breathing. “What else?” she managed to say.
“He told her, ‘That’s good. Make sure you don’t, unless you wanna get hurt. Real bad. Worse than hurt. You and your brat kids, too.”
The two sat in silence for a long time.
Stella’s head swirled with thoughts, none of them less than terrifying.
“I’m scared, Granny,” Savannah said, her voice and her lips trembling. “I’m mighty scared. He looked real mean, and he sounded like he meant it when he said he’d hurt Mama and us. Mama thought he meant it, too, ’cause when he said it, she started to cry. What are we gonna do, Granny?”
Murder in Her Stocking Page 14
