Goldenrod

by Ann McMan

  The oven timer dinged.

  Michael smiled at her.

  “I’ll take care of those. You go bust Raymond out of the joint.”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Maddie felt like an old-timer at the county jail. After all, it hadn’t been that many months since Charlie Davis drove her there to bail both Celine and Syd out after their altercation with Syd’s former mother-in-law, Doris.

  Actually, altercation was putting it mildly.

  Celine had ended the argument with her former childhood antagonist by liberally dousing the angry socialite—an heiress to the Massengill fortune—with a dime-store douche.

  Maddie didn’t miss the irony that today’s fracas had transpired at the Midway Café, too.

  She began to wonder what Nadine was baking into the biscuits at that place.

  If she’d ever stopped to think about it, she would’ve guessed that Tuesday nights at the county jail would probably be—slow. But tonight, the place was hopping. The small waiting room was jammed with people crowded onto benches or leaning against any available stretch of wall. They all appeared to be caught up in various states of anger or distress. Most of them she didn’t know. But a few were patients she’d seen a time or two. They uniformly appeared mortified when they recognized her.

  Byron Martin entered the room from a door that led to the processing area. He wasn’t in uniform. Maddie thought he looked different in street clothes—oddly, more, rather than less imposing. It occurred to her to wonder what he’d been doing before showing up here on what, plainly, was a night off.

  He noticed her right away and motioned for her to join him. He didn’t seem surprised to see her.

  “Nadine is in back with Raymond. She’ll be out in a few minutes.” He glanced back at the room full of people and grimaced. “Let’s go to my office. You can wait in there.”

  “Good idea,” she whispered to Byron. “I guess I should try harder to blend in so I don’t attract so much attention.”

  He gave her an ironic look. “Yeah. You do that. Start by being shorter and maybe show a little more ink.”

  “Ink?” Maddie was confused.

  “Ink. It means . . . never mind.”

  He led her down a short hallway and opened the door to his office.

  “Have a seat.” He gestured toward a battered chair with a faded seat cushion. “Judge Burris has set his bond at four thousand dollars,” he explained. “Frankly, I think that’s ridiculous. But they called him in off the golf course and even on a good day, he tends to get pissed when people slug it out in public places. Nadine said there was no way she could raise that much cash tonight, so it looks like Raymond is gonna be an overnight guest.”

  “You mean Azalea doesn’t keep that much stashed in her ammo case?” Maddie asked.

  Byron laughed. “I guess not.”

  Maddie shook her head. “What the hell happened? Michael said something about an argument over landscaping?”

  Byron perched on the edge of his desk. “Apparently, the mayor had been after Raymond to remove some bushes at the entrance to the café parking lot. He alleged they were a nuisance because they blocked a clear view of the road heading east.”

  “So, Raymond slugged him?”

  “Not exactly. Raymond and Nadine offered to prune the bushes so they’d be lower and less likely to block anyone’s line of sight. Well. That wasn’t good enough for our mayor. He showed up out there early this evening with a road crew and directed them to cut the things down. Mind you, all of this transpired while the café was open and gearing up for dinner. So, there were about fifty witnesses to what happened next.”

  “Which was?”

  “When Watson’s boys fired up the chainsaws, Raymond was out there like a shot. He tried to stop the crew from chopping up the shrubs. It turns out they were Rose of Sharon bushes that Nadine and Evelyn started from cuttings off their grandma’s plant back in Georgia.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Yeah. Raymond got into a shouting match with the crew—who said they were just following orders. Then he noticed that Watson was there, too, watching the show. Raymond didn’t see him right off because he was driving Junior’s loaner car.” Byron shook his head. “Raymond said the asshole had it parked across three spaces, too.”

  That last part didn’t make sense. Everybody knew that Junior only had one car he ever lent out. It was an old, hail-damaged Cutlass Ciera that had more pockmarks than paint, and was tricked out with a bright yellow winch bolted to the front bumper mount.

  “Why was Watson using Junior’s loaner car?”

  Byron held up a hand. “Don’t ask.”

  “So, that’s when he slugged Watson?”

  “No. That didn’t happen until Nadine showed up—wielding a cast-iron skillet.” Byron took a deep breath. “That woman is a force of nature.”

  Maddie smiled. “Remind you of anyone?”

  Byron actually blushed.

  Maddie took pity on him. “So, what happened when Nadine got there?”

  “First, she threatened to decapitate anyone who touched the damn shrubs. Then she called Watson a . . . ,” he picked up a sheet of paper from his desk and read the arresting officer’s description, “‘chinless bigot’—and told him he was trespassing on private property.” Byron picked up a pen and jotted a note in the margin of the report. “I need to remember to ask her about that comment . . .”

  “And then Raymond hit him?”

  “No. Raymond didn’t hit him until Watson made some provocative statements to Nadine.”

  “What kind of statements?”

  “Let’s see.” Byron referenced the report again. “He called her, in order, a whining shrew, a loud-mouthed Aunt Jemima, and a fag hag.” He lowered the paper. “For my money, I’m betting that Raymond punched his lights out to prevent Nadine from taking his head off with that skillet. If you ask me, the mayor should thank Raymond for saving his miserable life.”

  “Good god. Where’s the mayor now?”

  “Who the hell knows? Probably off figuring out whose bowl of Cheerios he’s going to piss in next.”

  “You said that Nadine can’t get the bond money together tonight?”

  He nodded.

  “Suppose I put it up for her? Quietly. Just between us.”

  “You have access to that much cash?”

  “Well, not on me—but I’ve got it at home. We’re replacing all the fencing in the south pasture and are paying the crew in cash.”

  “That would work. This is very generous. Are you sure about it?”

  “Yeah. In fact, don’t even tell Nadine I was here.”

  “How about I have Charlie meet you at the courthouse? She can bring the receipt back here after you post the bond. That’ll save you a trip.”

  “Perfect.” Maddie stood up. “Thanks, Byron. You’re a good man.”

  “I don’t know about that.” He stood up, too. They shook hands.

  “Maddie . . .” he began. “I’m . . . I want you to know . . .”

  “That my mom is terrific?” she asked. “That you’re behaving like a perfect gentleman?”

  She could tell he was trying not to smile. He stood there like an embarrassed teenager.

  “Something like that,” he said.

  “Stop worrying, Byron. I’m not freaking out.”

  “You aren’t?”

  She shook her head.

  “That’s a relief. Now if we can just get your mom not to, everything will be fine.”

  “Yeah.” She grinned at him. “Good luck with that one, bucko. Now, get me the hell out of here before I run into Nadine—or any more of my patients.”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  It was a slow night at Aunt Bea’s.

  Bert and Sonny had taken to stopping in a couple nights a week after finishing up at Dr. Heller’s because Sonny loved the fried chicken. Bert didn’t much care for the chicken, but he did like the country steak. And Aunt Bea’s had real mashed potatoes—even though he wished their cor
n wasn’t that frozen kind that was always too yellow.

  On Tuesday nights, the special was stew beef with cornbread and two sides. They both liked that. And Sonny picked up two desserts because it had been a mostly dry spring and the strawberries were extra sweet.

  They sat in their usual booth—the one in the corner closest to the street. They liked this one because it was a holdover from way back, when the restaurant had been a Burger Chef. It was the only booth in the place that still had vinyl upholstery—in a wild, green and white design with silver sparkles. Sonny said it felt better on his back. Bert agreed. He liked the way the vinyl got warmer the longer you sat on it. And in the summertime, it pretty much worked in the opposite way.

  Vinyl was an amazing invention. It didn’t make sense that most restaurants now rejected it in favor of those hard, molded-plastic seats that were like sitting on the lid of a trash bin. Sonny said they did that intentionally so folks wouldn’t tarry too long over their food. He said that was why most of these establishments played awful music, too.

  “Nobody wants to hang around a place where they have to listen to old stuff that was bad even when it wadn’t old.”

  The music didn’t really bother Bert. He was more inclined just to tune out things he didn’t want to hear. His ex-wife told him that was the main reason she wanted a divorce—because he never listened to her.

  It didn’t much help his case when he had to ask her to repeat what she’d just said.

  But that was all water under the dam.

  Wait . . . was that right?He always got that one wrong.

  “Hey, Sonny?”

  Sonny raised his eyes from his plate full of shredded beef and gravy.

  “Is that expression water under the dam, or water over the dam?”

  “It depends. Are you talkin’ about somethin’ good or somethin’ bad?”

  Bert had to think about that one. When his wife first talked about leaving and taking Buddy, it felt bad. But now that Buddy was back living with him, he had to admit that it worked out pretty good.

  “I guess both,” he said to Sonny.

  “Then it’s over the dam. Over the dam can be good or bad, depending on what kind of water it is.”

  That didn’t help. Bert knew that introducing a new variable to the expression would make it even harder for him to remember it right.

  “Why’d you ask?” Sonny followed up. “Are you still worried about using them wrong drawer pulls in Dr. Heller’s kitchen? It only took us ten minutes to swap ’em out for the right ones.”

  “No. It’s not that. I was just thinkin’ about how I got Buddy back from Ruby.”

  “Well, you didn’t have no way of knowin’ she was gonna take up with that Bath Fitter guy and move to Canada.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Besides, Buddy was old enough to make his own decision about where he wanted to live.”

  Bert nodded.

  “That boy’s done a good job pickin’ up extra work. And who knows what will happen with that helmet thing of his? He could end up owning this whole town.”

  It was true. Buddy’d taken to giving Henry Lawrence rides home from school on his scooter. And Buddy being Buddy, nothing would do but he’d make sure his little Bluebird had a helmet to wear. So, he just made one for him—out of Styrofoam and car tape.

  It looked pretty good, too. Real authentic. Good enough that the high school football coach heard about it and asked Bert if he could look it over. Now the Chargers were all wearing headgear inserts based on Buddy’s design. There was even talk about gettin’ Azalea Freemantle to use her big-time video game contacts to set up a meeting with the NFL Players Association.

  It was what they called a pipe dream. But sometimes, miracles happened.

  “Things sure do seem to be hoppin’ at the jail tonight.”

  Sonny wasn’t kidding. Their booth had a good view of the Sheriff’s Department. The parking lot was filled up and there were cars lining the street in front of the courthouse.

  “Is this the lottery night or somethin’?”

  People tended to act crazy when those jackpots got so big—and right now, the PowerBall was up over four hundred million.

  “No,” Sonny explained. “Them drawings is always on Saturday.”

  “Well, what do you think’s goin’ on, then?”

  “Prob’ly somethin’ to do with the full moon.”

  “Idn’t that Junior’s loaner car parked over there in front of Harold’s place?”

  Sonny’s boy, Harold, ran the local beauty shop, Hairport ’75.

  “Looks like it,” Sonny agreed.

  “I hadn’t seen that hunk a junk on the road since the tornado.”

  “Well, I was at the mayor’s office yesterday mornin’, and I heard that somebody spray-painted all kinds of mess on his car. I suspect it’s out at Junior’s gettin’ cleaned up.”

  “Why were you at the mayor’s office?”

  “Stink bugs.”

  Sonny was the town exterminator—in addition to helping Bert out with renovation jobs.

  “Ain’t it a little early for stink bugs?”

  “Not this year.” Sonny used a hunk of cornbread to mop up some gravy. “Everything’s comin’ on too soon. Them stink bugs are like a warning shot. It’s gonna be a long, hot summer.”

  “Good thing we got that AC working at Dr. Heller’s.”

  “Well, don’t tell nobody that it ain’t been inspected, yet.”

  “What in thunder is the holdup on them inspections? It never took this long before.”

  “I asked about it yesterday. That Halsey girl that works there looked embarrassed. She said the inspections department is all backed up.”

  “Backed up with what?” Bert asked. “It ain’t like there’s a new construction craze around here.”

  Sonny shook his head. “I think she knew it wadn’t true. She wouldn’t look me in the eye.”

  “I feel sorry for them people. It ain’t right what that man gets away with.”

  “Harold says you just gotta play the game.”

  “He still messin’ with Harold?”

  Sonny nodded. “He’s forcin’ him to put in some kind of special holding tank and remediation setup for all them hair dyes and perm solutions. Harold says the expense might put him out of business.” Sonny tsked. “It ain’t like he was flushin’ all that mess down the toilet. He was already savin’ it all in a big drum and sending it off to a place in Blacksburg that takes care of all that.”

  “Sure sounds like a nuisance thing to me.”

  “Don’t it?” Sonny pulled one of the small dessert bowls over and dug into the strawberry cobbler.

  Bert took the other one. “For what it’s worth, he gives Buddy a hard time, too.”

  “Mark my words. Someday, somebody’s gonna hurt someone.”

  Bert laughed. “Ain’t that an Eagles’ song?”

  “How would I know? I don’t listen to that modern music.”

  “That ain’t modern music, grandpa. It’s older’n Buddy.”

  Sonny shrugged and took another bite of the cobbler.

  “Hey, hey.” Bert gestured toward the entrance. “Here comes Doc Stevenson.”

  The big glass door opened and Maddie Stevenson entered. All conversation in the restaurant stopped as the smattering of diners watched her approach the counter.

  A few folks called out hearty greetings. She smiled and waved back at them all.

  “That is one fine-lookin’ woman,” Sonny muttered.

  Bert agreed. “She takes after her mama.”

  “But she’s tall, like her daddy. And she’s got his way with people, too.”

  “He was a good man. We’re all lucky she came back here to live after he passed.”

  Maddie placed her order and stood back to wait while they pulled it together for her. That was when she noticed them sitting in their corner booth.

  “Hey, guys,” she said with a smile. She walked over to greet them. “How’re things going
out in Bridle Creek?”

  “Just fine, Doc.” Bert started to stand, but she stopped him.

  “Don’t get up. I can’t stay. I’m just picking up something to take home.”

  “You workin’ late?” he asked.

  “Sort of.” She smiled at him. “I’m on my own tonight, and I had an errand to run in town. I thought I’d stop in and pick up some contraband for dinner.”

  Bert could see the server filling a Styrofoam container with fried chicken.

  “Sonny says they make the best wings,” he agreed.

  “True. But I’m getting the strips.” She lowered her voice. “That way, I don’t have to hide the bones from Syd.”

  “Why?” Sonny asked. “She don’t like fried chicken?”

  Maddie laughed. It was a rich sound that made everything in the place seem classier.

  “It’s not the chicken. It’s what eating the chicken does to my cholesterol.”

  Bert couldn’t speak to the doctor’s cholesterol, but everything else about her seemed to be humming along just fine.

  “You look pretty dang healthy to me,” Sonny said.

  Bert kicked him under the table.

  “Hey!” Sonny grabbed his leg. “Why’d you do that?”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You just kicked me.” Sonny was rubbing his shin. “Hard.”

  “You guys . . .” The doctor didn’t seem offended. “How is Mom’s place coming along?”

  “Just fine,” Bert replied. “She got that piano all tuned up today.”

  “Yeah,” Sonny chimed in. “She was fixin’ some special dinner tonight.”

  Bert tried to kick him again but Sonny yanked his leg out of harm’s way.

  “Why do you keep doin’ that?” he complained.

  “Why do you keep flappin’ your jaws?” Bert replied.

  Maddie held up a hand. “It’s okay, guys. I know about Mom’s social life.”

  “You do?” they asked in unison.

  She nodded.

  The server called out to tell her that her takeout order was ready.

  “I need to scoot,” she said. “Thank you for watching out for Mom. I know she’s in good hands with you two.” She smiled at them and walked off to retrieve her food.

  They watched her leave the restaurant and cross the parking lot toward her Jeep.