by E. Joan Sims
“Mom, are you all right?” asked Cassie, her voice filled with concern.
“Damn, damn, and double damn!”
“Yeah, you’re fine,” she laughed. “Want something to drink? I’m dying for a soda, myself.”
“Aren’t you furious, Cassie?” I sputtered. “Why aren’t you furious?”
“Because it won’t help matters, and besides, I’m sure you’ll think of a way to pay him back in spades for calling Gran names.”
“I already have!”
I wiped the sweat from my face with my shirtsleeve and turned to face her.
“It’s been a long time since you and I went on a prowl together,” I observed in a conspiratorial voice.
“Oh, no!” she laughed. “I’m not sneaking out after midnight and tiptoeing over rooftops with you ever again.”
“Don’t never say ever,” I chuckled, putting my own spin on the old cliché. “Come on, Cassie. It’ll be fun. Just like old times.”
“I’m not saying yes, but I am curious,” she admitted. “Just what do you have in mind?”
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t convince my reluctant daughter to sneak back to the trailer park after midnight and do a little snooping. She professed a complete lack of interest, until, out of desperation, I mentioned the dead body that was found on our property. Not for a moment did I believe the corpse had anything to do with the sticky situation our Mexican friends found themselves in, but I was shameless enough to pretend if it would help change my daughter’s mind. Unfortunately, it got a little out of hand.
“Wow! Were the buzzards eating him up?”
“Ugh! I’d rather not go into that if you don’t mind. But I did see Horatio’s photos and they were pretty gruesome.”
“Photographs? Does Horatio still have them or did he give the only copies to Chief Joiner?”
“I don’t know, Cassie. But I doubt if he’d let you see them either way. He already thinks I’m a ghoul. I know he would disapprove of your…”
“But, Mom,” she protested, “this is turning out to be a real investigation—a Leonard Paisley-style investigation. Especially,” she added pointedly, “if there are any nighttime activities involved. A corpse on our very own farm! Just imagine!”
“Sorry you’re moving out, pumpkin?”
“In a way,” she replied wistfully. “And not just because of the dead body.”
“I should hope not!”
“Yeah,” she teased, “I’ll miss cable television.”
“Stinker!”
Mother was standing on the patio tapping her foot with impatience when we drove up.
“Oh, gosh! I told your grandmother we would be home for lunch.”
“We’re not that late,” laughed Cassie.
“Depends on what she cooked. Soufflé or quiche, and we’re dead as that corpse you so crazy about.”
We were lucky. Mother had fixed a lovely fruit salad with a delicate yogurt and honey dressing. I dispatched a ton of kiwi, papaya, and mango, while Cassie told her about our trip to the trailer park. She diplomatically omitted the name calling on both sides, but Mother got the message that we had inadvertently stepped on some toes.
“I wonder,” she said. “Do you think Mr. Rudolfo knew he wasn’t supposed to take on any outside work? I mean,” she continued, “surely someone explained the terms of the contract to him. He must have understood what his work permit would and would not allow before he entered this country.”
“Umm, great salad, Mother,” I sighed with contentment.
“What do you think, Cassandra? Your mother is obviously too much of a glutton to consider anything else but her stomach.”
“There’s a time and place for everything,” I mumbled around a deliciously sweet chunk of fresh guava.
“Maybe he wanted to break his contract. Maybe he just wanted to go back home,” Cassie hypothesized.
I patted my lips carefully with a linen napkin and sat back in my chair.
“Ah, that was delicious, Mother. That’s one more thing you’ll miss, sweetie,” I observed with a wink at Cass. I realized much too late that I had just let the cat out of the bag.
By the time we had explained to her grandmother why Cassie was moving out— why she felt the need to disgrace her ancestors as well as the living, and therefore more important members of her family by working in a coffee bar—it was mid-afternoon.
“I give up, my dear,” Mother said finally. “If you simply feel no ambitious yearnings to make something more of yourself, no call to the finer things, then by all means serve your little coffees.”
I was exhausted, but Mother didn’t fool me. She was the toughest and most resilient of the three of us. I could tell she was not finished but gathering strength for the coup de grace, when suddenly Cassie amazed me.
“Of course, you realize I’ll be living in the apartment upstairs. You know the one, Gran. Your friend Mary Margaret Devere tried to buy the lease last year, didn’t she?”
Mother sat very still. She watched Cassie carefully without taking a breath until she realized her granddaughter was perfectly serious.
“You’ll be living in the apartment Granstaff Armstong-Jones designed?”
“The very one,” Cassie said with a smug little smile. “And I was wondering…oh, but, you’re probably too busy. Never mind, I’ll just pop out to Walmart on my bicycle and grab whatever’s on sale.”
Mother still hadn’t taken a breath, but her eyes sparkled with barely suppressed excitement.
“Of course, I could ask Mom,” continued Cassie, “but she has no more sense of style than…”
“I’ll be delighted to help, my dear,” Mother allowed in one explosive breath. “I had no idea you were so fortunate as to live in that divine old apartment.”
She lowered her voice to a whisper, “Mary Margaret will be livid when she finds out. Perhaps we can we ask her to tea some afternoon?”
“By all means, Gran,” laughed Cassie. “But let’s make it coffee, shall we?”
Chapter Thirteen
A year ago I learned a painful lesson: there was no keeping a proposed midnight outing from my mother. Cassie and I quietly made some tentative plans, then laid them out for Mother’s consideration as we all cleaned up the kitchen.
“It won’t work,” Mother informed us decisively. “From start to finish, it’s a disaster. You’ll be seen, get caught, put in jail, and wind up embarrassing me again. I simply cannot allow it.”
My hackles went up so far they tickled my ears. “Excuse me,” I sputtered. “I don’t think…”
“You didn’t think at all. That’s the problem, dear,” she observed calmly.
Cassie jumped in to mediate. “Okay, Mom, simmer down a minute. Let Gran tell us how she would pull it off.”
She turned to her grandmother and blessed her with a beautiful “may I please have another piece of pie” smile. “Go ahead, Gran. Tell us what you would do.”
Mother took off her lace-trimmed apron and put down the linen towel she was using to dry her silver coffee pot. We followed her out to the screened porch and watched while she took her time arranging herself in her favorite chaise. Cassie sat on the floor by her feet and I pulled up a chair as we waited impatiently for her to speak.
“Firstly,” she said, ticking off the details on her fingers, “I’d forget the car.”
“How in the world…”
“Please be patient and show some respect, Paisley. For heaven’s sake, your daughter is behaving in a more mature manner than you are.”
I ground my teeth together and managed not to utter something that would make me feel better but infuriate her. After all, she had an uncanny way of knowing exactly what to do in the most unusual of circumstances, and we might as well take advantage of it.
“You already told me that the road was dry. And I saw Watson when you drove up this afternoon. The poor thing was covered with dust.”
“But, at night, Gran? Will it matter?”
�
��Under a full moon it will,” she pointed out sagely.
“Ohhh,” Cassie and I muttered in unison.
“That’s right, my children. According to the latest issue of The Farmer’s Almanac, there is a full moon tonight. And to make matters worse, the forecast is for clear skies. Could you possibly postpone your plans for later in the week? I don’t think there’s really any urgency, is there?”
I thought for a moment while Cassie fidgeted. I knew she wanted to go tonight. So did I, but I didn’t have a really good reason.”
“I suppose,” Mother continued, “that you are thinking it’s Friday night and most of the men in the trailer park will go out somewhere to relax. Therefore, you will run a smaller chance of being discovered.”
“Yeah, that’s right! You’re right, Mother,” I agreed enthusiastically.
She was way ahead of me, and she was still cooking.
“Did you know that a branch of the Green River borders the land where the trailer park is located?”
“Are you sure, Gran?” Cassie asked skeptically. “It’s so sterile and arid looking. It’s hard to believe there’s water anywhere around that God forsaken place.”
Mother lifted her chin and pronounced, “I may be mistaken about a great many things, but not about the topography of Lakeland County. Cassie, bring me the map, please. It’s in the library on the…”
“I know,” laughed Cassie as she got up in one graceful, athletic motion. “It’s on the map table.
We studied the map for a few minutes without speaking. Mother was right. The Green River emptied into Bass Bay, and from there, a small branch headed west. The trailer park sat up on a bluff above the river.
“I can’t recall exactly how high the cliffs are, but I would guess at least thirty or forty feet above the river.”
“You’ve been to the trailer park, Mother? Whatever for?”
“Not the trailer park, dear. Years ago we young people used to go out there for picnics. Jimmy Hershey’s family owned the land…”
“You’re kidding me,” I interrupted. “Judge Hershey owns that cesspool?”
“Please, Paisley, you’re manners are showing,” she chided. “I said, if you will recall, that the Hershey family owned the land. That was years ago. I have no idea who owns it now. I do recall some really beautiful cedar trees. We used to swim in the river and climb up the cliffs to picnic under those trees. Your father cut quite the dashing figure, Paisley, dear. He and Jimmy used to show off by taking turns jumping off the bluffs.”
She smiled fondly in remembrance. “Your father always won. He had no fear, that man. Jimmy never quite dared jump from the top, but he was so generous in his admiration of your father. Ah,” she sighed, “we did have such good times. I’m afraid young people nowadays don’t enjoy themselves the way we did. They don’t realize they have all of their lives to work and should take some time to smell the roses.”
“Okay, Gran,” said Cassie with a knowing grin. “Let’s not go there, if you don’t mind.”
“The point being, my dears, that if you want to approach the area without being seen, you must go by way of the river. And for that, I’m afraid you need a boat and a lot more time to plan than you have now. That is if you want to succeed, of course,” she warned.
Mother took a quick peek at the dainty diamond watch on her wrist and looked up in alarm. “My goodness, I had no idea it was so late. Horatio will be here any minute and I haven’t a clue as to what I’m going to wear.”
Cassie jumped up with a smile on her face. “I help you decide,” she offered. “I love looking in your closet.” She went in the house, turning on lights on her way to her grandmother’s room.
“Where to, Mother?” I asked. “Wha’cha’ gonna do?”
In spite of her tardiness, she took the time to stop and turn on her heels to give me a speech lesson. “Paisley, you’re far too old and entrenched in your habits for me to dream of being able to…”
“So give up on me, already,” I sighed as I settled myself comfortably in the chaise she had vacated.
“You used to have such a wonderful command of the English language before you became that person.”
“Leonard Paisley?”
“Yes, dear. The very same. He’s rough, dear, and uncouth. Don’t you think it’s time you put him on the shelf and became someone a little more…”
“Socially acceptable?”
“Exactly! Someone who wears lovely clothes and has delightfully interesting friends — poets and artists, famous lawyers and doctors.”
“Not pimps and drug dealers.”
“Definitely not!”
I lied quite freely, and without any remorse whatsoever. “I’ll give it a thought.”
“Thank you, dear, that’s all I ask,” she said with a smile. “What do you think of my blue chiffon?”
“Lovely,” I answered absently as I considered a world without Leonard. I shuddered and gave up the dreadful thought immediately. Leonard was my meal ticket, and quite a successful one, too. My agent had made me promise to keep the Leonard series alive for at least a dozen books, and hopefully twice that many more. Since I had come out of the closet last year as Leonard’s creator, sales had risen instead of plummeted as she had feared. Women mystery writers were becoming quite the thing in literary circles. We were giving the men a run for their money. I might come up with a new protagonist in the future, but meanwhile, Leonard and I were partners in crime, even if my language and wardrobe suffered because of it.
Horatio was running a bit late, and Mother managed to be ready when he arrived, but they didn’t take time for their usual cocktail so Cassie didn’t get to ask him about our resident corpse. I even forgot to ask Mother in a proper manner where they were going.
“Did she tell you?” I asked Cassie.
“Just dinner and cards,” she said quietly.
“What’s up, pumpkin?”
“Why do we need more time to make plans?” she pouted. “It’s only a little after seven. We have all night. If we don’t go now, I might not get to go at all.”
I grabbed a Perrier and a hunk of Gouda from the fridge and joined her at the kitchen table.
“Gran doesn’t like it when you don’t use the cheese knife,” she said pointedly.
“Bother the cheese knife. Let her cut the cheese.”
“Oh, Mom,” laughed my daughter. “You’re terrible.”
“Well, I’m teed off. Can you imagine? She wants me to do away with Leonard— so my conversation will improve, of all things!”
“You’re not going to,” asked Cassie alarmed.
“Hell, no! Leonard is indestructible, anyway. Couldn’t kill him if I tried.”
“I bet Leonard would go on our adventure tonight—no matter what,” she observed wistfully.
“What would he do for a boat? And how would he get it to the river. And where would he…?” I didn’t remind her that only a few hours ago I had to persuade her to go with me.
“You’re making this way too complicated, Mom, and you’re thinking like Gran. Think like Leonard for a moment, and see what you come up with.”
I nibbled on my Gouda and took a swig of Perrier while I cogitated.
“No boat?” I guessed.
“Precisely!” she grinned happily.
“Then how?”
“Grandad and Jimmy Hershey didn’t have a boat when they went out there for picnics in the good old days. Look at the map,” Cassie said, pulling it over in front of me.
“Bass Bay is practically within spittin’ distance of the bluffs. It’s a warm night. We could strip to our skivvies, swim around the bend, and climb that little old cliff before anybody knows wha’ cha’ doin’. ”
“Careful. You’re starting to sound vulgar and uncouth.”
“It’s the company I keep,” she laughed.
Chapter Fourteen
For once we didn’t have to worry about what to do with Aggie. She was still sleeping. Cassie didn’t seem to be at all
concerned about the fact that her puppy was completely devoid of energy.
“It’s her hair,” she explained as we drove down the driveway. “She mortified— simply humiliated beyond belief. When her beautiful hair starts to grow out she’ll be herself again.”
“Oh, goody. I can hardly wait.”
“Be kind for a few more days, Mom. She’ll be gone soon.”
“And so will you,” I observed mournfully.
“So let’s have fun tonight instead of playing the guilt game, okay?”
“You’re right! You’re absolutely right,” I sighed. “Think we’ll have time for a midnight snack at the Pelican before we head for home?”
“Hooray! I wouldn’t miss a chance to eat greasy eggs and salty country ham with that bunch of sweaty old reprobates for a million dollars.”
The Pelican was the only eatery within a hundred miles that stayed open past midnight. They specialized in serving cholesterol-laden meals to truckers and drunks who had to sober up before going home. If you found a fly in your soup you got charged extra, and the big-haired waitresses had more attitude than Godzilla. It was the sort of place my mother would rather die than step one dainty Ferragamo-shod foot in, even if it were for the last crust of bread on earth. I loved it, and so did Cassie.
This time I drove. Cassie wasn’t as familiar with the area around the lakes, but it was my stomping ground. I loved meandering through the woods along the shore. I found it to be both restful and invigorating at the same time. I didn’t get writer’s block, ever, but sometimes I had trouble figuring Leonard’s way out of a sticky spot. Whenever that happened, I would hop in Watson, whistle for the dog, and head for the lakes.
Weather permitting, I would walk with Aggie through the woods until she was exhausted. I enjoyed watching her sniff the trails left by creatures as unknown to her as Martians were to me. After our walk, I would sit on a picnic table and watch the sun set over the water while she dozed in my lap. These peaceful outings never failed to resolve Leonard’s predicaments. And they were, practically speaking, the only occasions when the dog and I enjoyed each other’s company.
I had been to Bass Bay many times but never at night. It was magical. A huge silver-white moon gilded the tips of gentle waves until they burst into a delicate spray of diamonds against the rocky shore. The soft breeze lifting the branches of trees at the water’s edge carried just the faintest hint of honeysuckle and Carolina jasmine.
