The officer who had accompanied Deputy Taylor cuffed TJ.’s hands behind his back, and at that sight, Miranda started screaming. She rushed forward and attempted to hit the deputy who had begun to lead T.J. away. Deputy Taylor stepped forward and grabbed Miranda’s hands, but Wanda Nell remained rooted to the spot. She knew she should do something, say something, but words failed her.
Mayrene rushed past Wanda Nell and grabbed Miranda, turning the girl’s body into hers and wrapping strong arms around her. “Hush, now, Miranda. You ain’t doing anybody a bit of good, carrying on like this. You just hush right now.”
Wanda Nell felt a hand slip into hers, and her fingers closed convulsively on Juliet’s. Juliet still wept, and Wanda Nell wanted to cry right along with her, but her eyes remained dry.
The two deputies hustled T.J. out of the trailer, and once they had him stowed safely in their car, Deputy Taylor came back to speak to Wanda Nell. “I’m sure sorry about this, Miz Culpepper, but we can’t ignore the evidence. You might want to think about getting a lawyer for your son.” Tipping her hat, she walked back to the car.
Wanda Nell stared helplessly out the door as the car drove away.
“Mama, what are we going to do?” Juliet asked her. “We can’t let them keep T.J. in jail. He didn’t do it, did he, Mama? Did he?”
Juliet’s voice rose in pitch with each word, and finally the near-hysteria penetrated Wanda Nell’s inertia. “No, honey,” she said, her voice strong and clear, “T.J. didn’t kill anybody. I don’t care what kind of evidence they say they got, he didn’t do it, and we’re not gonna let ’em get away with saying he did.”
“I’m gonna call my cousin,” Mayrene said, pushing a still sniffling Miranda into a chair. “I’m sure she can get her boss to represent T.J.”
“But it’s Sunday,” Miranda said, still sniffling.
“That don’t matter, honey,” Mayrene said. “Lawyers have to work strange hours, too.”
“Thanks, Mayrene,” Wanda Nell said. “While you do that, I’m gonna change clothes. We’re gonna need some money to pay that lawyer, and since I know I sure don’t have enough to pay him, I’m gonna talk to the one person in this family who does.”
Leaving the girls with Mayrene, Wanda Nell hurried to her bedroom and changed as quickly as she could into one of her good dresses and the shoes that matched. She combed her hair carefully and applied her makeup with a hand that didn’t tremble. If she was going to see the old battle-ax—TJ.’s grandmother—she wanted to look her best.
Checking to be sure her cell phone was in her purse, Wanda Nell hurried back to the living room. Both Miranda and Juliet had stopped crying, she noticed, and Mayrene had put them to work cleaning.
“My cousin’s gonna talk to her boss for you,” Mayrene told her. “Here’s his number. You call him soon as you finish talking to the old harpy. Okay?”
Wanda Nell accepted the piece of paper, then leaned forward and kissed Mayrene’s cheek. “Thank you,” she said.
“You want me to go with you?”
Wanda Nell shook her head. “No, if you stay here, I’ll feel better about leaving the girls right now. There ain’t nothing the old woman can do to me or say to me today that’s any worse than what’s already happened.”
“That’s the spirit,” Mayrene said. “You go tell her what’s what.”
Smiling briefly, Wanda Nell retrieved her car keys from the kitchen, then headed for the door. “I’ll call as soon as I know something.”
During the short drive into town and up Main Street toward the old Culpepper house, Wanda Nell did her best to organize her thoughts and figure out what she was going to say to her former mother-in-law. But her mind kept skittering around. T.J. had to be innocent. He just had to be!
But that little worm of doubt kept niggling at her. What had T.J. and Bobby Ray fought about? And how the hell had TJ.’s fingerprints come to be in Ricky Ratliff’s truck?
A chilling thought struck her: What if someone in the sheriff’s department was trying to frame T.J.? Surely somebody was working with that David McKenna, otherwise he wouldn’t have shown up at her door so soon after she called the sheriff’s department to report what she had found.
Wanda Nell pulled into the driveway of Mrs. Culpepper’s house and shut off the car. She sat there for a moment, trying to collect herself for what she was going to have to go through with the old biddy. She stared up at the house she had visited only a few times during her marriage to Bobby Ray. His parents had never really approved of her, and the elder Mrs. Culpepper had never gone out of her way to invite Wanda Nell and the children there.
At least, Wanda Nell amended mentally, Mrs. Culpepper had never invited her and the girls that often. T.J. had been so obviously his father’s son that the elder Culpeppers had doted on him. Wanda Nell was counting on that now, to enlist the old woman’s aid.
Wanda Nell got out of the car and strode up the walk to the front door. She put her finger on the bell and held it down for five or six seconds. Both Mrs. Culpepper and Charlesetta, her maid, were hard-of-hearing.
She was just about to ring the bell again when she could see someone approaching through the beveled glass of the door. Slowly the door swung open to reveal Charlesetta’s plump black face. She was about the same age as her employer, but Charlesetta looked a good fifteen years younger. Largely, Wanda Nell suspected, because Charlesetta had a kind heart and a sunny disposition. How she had ever stood working for Mrs. Culpepper for over forty years, Wanda Nell had no idea.
“Good morning, Charlesetta,” Wanda Nell said. “I need to see Mrs. Culpepper.”
Charlesetta frowned. “I’m sorry, Miz Wanda Nell, I’m afraid she ain’t up to seeing nobody today.” She started to close the door.
Inserting a foot into the doorway, Wanda Nell said, “And I’m sorry, Charlesetta, but I have to see her. I don’t care how she’s feeling. This is an emergency, and she’s gonna talk to me, one way or another.”
Charlesetta bridled at Wanda Nell’s tone, and Wanda Nell reached out impulsively and clasped the old woman’s hand. “I’m sorry, Charlesetta,” she said softly. “But it’s about T.J. He’s in trouble, and I need Mrs. Culpepper’s help.”
“Oh, Miz Wanda Nell, what has that boy done now?” Charlesetta forgot the affront. T.J. was as much her favorite as he was his grandmother’s. “I declare, that boy is such a caution. It’s a wonder he ain’t put Miz Culpepper in the grave, and on top of his daddy being killed.” She shook her head dolefully as she opened the door. “You come on in.”
“Thank you,” Wanda Nell replied as she stepped inside. “Where is she?”
Charlesetta jerked her head. “In the parlor.” She shut the door. “She in a bad way today, and that ain’t no lie. You’ll see. I been praying to the Lord to help her, but I think He’s just too busy right now. She be hurting something awful, and you know what she does when she like that.”
Sighing, Wanda Nell nodded. Mrs. Culpepper’s solace was Jim Beam. Over the years, and particularly since the judge’s death, Mrs. Culpepper had taken to drinking more and more. Finding her sober was a rarity on the few occasions her path crossed with Wanda Nell’s.
“I best go be making some coffee. You just call me if you need something.” Charlesetta went back down the hall toward the kitchen while Wanda Nell steadied herself with a deep breath. Then, her stomach knotting, she crossed the hall to the parlor and stepped inside.
The smell hit her first. The room reeked of the sour odors of old age and too much whisky. Mrs. Culpepper sprawled across one end of the sofa, her housecoat hiked up over her thighs and her hair in a tangled, sweaty mass around her red face. Wanda Nell glanced away. She knew the old woman would be furious at being caught like this, but she didn’t have any choice.
“Miz Culpepper,” Wanda Nell said.
The old woman didn’t stir.
“Miz Culpepper,” Wanda Nell repeated, raising her voice.
The head moved, and Mrs. Culpepper began to blink her
eyes and try to focus on the source of the sound.
“Miz Culpepper, I got to talk to you.”
Now slightly more alert, Mrs. Culpepper attempted to sit up. After a moment’s hesitation, Wanda Nell moved forward to offer a helping hand. At first, Mrs. Culpepper accepted it, but when she realized who her visitor was, she drew back sharply, as if she had been burned.
“What are you doing here?”
The old woman gazed up at her blearily. She patted her hair with one hand and pulled on her housecoat with the other in a vain attempt to make herself look more presentable.
“I don’t want you in my house.” Mrs. Culpepper’s head swiveled as she glanced around the room. “Where’s my medicine?”
“I don’t know, Miz Culpepper,” Wanda Nell said. “I need to talk to you.”
“Don’t wanna talk to you. Go ’way.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Miz Culpepper,” Wanda Nell said. “So you better just make up your mind to listen to me.” She waited.
“I want my medicine,” Mrs. Culpepper whined. “Give me my medicine, and then you go away.”
“No.” If the old woman drank any more whisky she’d pass out again, and Wanda Nell had to avoid that.
“Charlesetta! Get in here!” Mrs. Culpepper bellowed so loudly that she startled Wanda Nell into taking a couple of steps backward.
“Now listen here, Miz Culpepper,” Wanda Nell said, moving forward again. “Charlesetta’s in the kitchen making you some coffee, and you’re gonna drink it. You hear me? I got to talk to you, and you can’t have any more medicine till you listen to me.”
Wanda Nell wished Bobby Ray could see what his mother had become. The years of heavy drinking had taken their toll, and Wanda Nell blamed Bobby Ray for it all. He had always treated his mama like dirt, and in turn she treated everyone else the same way. The worse he behaved, the more Mrs. Culpepper retreated into the bottle. Wanda Nell had some sympathy for her, but she didn’t excuse what Mrs. Culpepper chose to do to herself and those around her. “You get out of my house!”
“Screaming at me ain’t going to accomplish a damn thing,” Wanda Nell said, holding tight to her temper. She sat down on the sofa beside the old woman. “Look at me, Miz Culpepper. You pay attention to what I’m telling you.” Wanda Nell felt the heat of Mrs. Culpepper’s hatred of her, but she didn’t wilt. “I got to talk to you about T.J.”
“What? What about T.J.? What’s he done now?” Despite the strident tone of her voice, the old woman softened. Her lips quivered into a smile. “When’s he going to come see me? Is he with you?”
“No, he’s not, and that’s why I’m here. He’s in jail, Miz Culpepper, and he needs your help.”
Mrs. Culpepper turned away from her. “Only thing he wants from me is money. All the time, that’s all anybody wants. Charlesetta is robbing me blind every day, and soon I’m not even going to have a roof over my head.”
“Now, don’t start in on Charlesetta,” Wanda Nell said, “you know she’s good to you.” Better than anybody else would be, she added silently. “She’s not stealing from you.” Mrs. Culpepper snorted.
“T.J.’s in bad trouble this time, Miz Culpepper, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”
Something in Wanda Nell’s tone must have penetrated the fog of alcohol still clouding the older woman’s brain. She made an effort to focus.
“What’d he do?”
“He didn’t do anything,” Wanda Nell said, speaking slowly and clearly. “But the sheriff’s department thinks he was the one that killed Bobby Ray.”
“That’s a lie! There’s no way that boy would have killed his daddy.” Mrs. Culpepper struggled to get to her feet, but the effort was too much for her.
“I know that,” Wanda Nell replied. “And that’s why I’m here. T.J. is gonna need a good lawyer, but I don’t have that kind of money. Pretty soon they’re gonna figure out they’re wrong about T.J. Least, I hope they are, but in the meantime, we’ve got to be sure he’s got a good lawyer.”
Mrs. Culpepper nodded vigorously as Wanda Nell spoke. Her eyes began clearing, and, as if on cue, Charlesetta came in with a tray. She set the tray down on a nearby table, then handed her employer a steaming cup of black coffee. Mrs. Culpepper grimaced, but she sipped at it.
“Charlesetta, go and run me a hot bath,” she said, and the maid nodded.
“Yes’m” was all she said.
Mrs. Culpepper drank more of the coffee. Then she set the cup down on the table beside the sofa. “I’m going to help my grandson. I’m going to do it for his sake. Not for you. You understand that?”
Wanda Nell waited a moment before she spoke. “Yes, I understand that. I know you wouldn’t spit on me if I was on fire, but I don’t give a damn about that. All I’m concerned about is my son.”
Mrs. Culpepper smiled at her, and Wanda Nell felt her skin crawl. The malice in the old woman’s eyes frightened her.
“I’m going to help my grandson,” Mrs. Culpepper repeated. “But it’s going to cost you.”
“What... what do you mean?”
“I mean you’re going to be in my debt,” Mrs. Culpepper said. “And when the time comes, I’m going to expect you to pay up and not argue about it.”
“If you’re talking about the money,” Wanda Nell said, struggling to breathe easily, “I’ll find some way to pay you back. If the money means that much to you.”
“It’s not money I want,” Mrs. Culpepper said. “I’ll find another way for you to pay me back.”
“What do you mean?” Wanda Nell had the sudden urge to bolt from the room and not look back, but she couldn’t. TJ.’s life might be at stake here. She forced herself to sit still and stare back at the old woman with an unwavering gaze.
“First you have to promise, and then later on, I’ll tell you what I want.”
“That’s insane,” Wanda Nell protested.
Mrs. Culpepper laughed, a rusty sound. “But that’s your only option, Wanda Nell. Take it or leave it.”
Wanda Nell knew she should just get up and walk out. The old woman loved T.J. too much to let him be accused of murder without fighting back. At least she had thought so. But she was also hateful enough to do this simply to spite Wanda Nell.
“I’ll take it.”
Mrs. Culpepper smiled and hoisted herself to her feet. “Now I want you out of my house. I’ll take care of my grandson, but I don’t want to see you until I’m ready to take you up on your promise.” She shuffled away without looking back once.
Wanda Nell sat unmoving on the sofa until Mrs. Culpepper had disappeared up the stairs. The old house, stuffed with antiques and with the memories of generations of Culpeppers, pressed in on her until she wanted to scream.
Chapter 13
“Miz Wanda Nell, you all right?”
Wanda Nell hadn’t heard Charlesetta come back in the room, but the sound of the elderly woman’s voice pulled her back into the present.
“I’m okay,” Wanda Nell said, smiling wanly. “Just a little worried.”
“Yes’m,” Charlesetta said, frowning doubtfully down at her. “I heard what you told Miz Culpepper ’bout Mister T.J.” She shook her head dolefully. “Lord knows that boy done some bad things before, but he ain’t never done nothing like killing nobody.”
“No, he hasn’t,” Wanda Nell agreed, getting slowly to her feet. “And he didn’t kill his daddy.”
“No’m,” Charlesetta said, her head bobbing up and down for emphasis. “He be a good boy at heart, that he surely is. And Miz Culpepper gonna get him a fine lawyer, and that lawyer gonna make sure everybody know Mister T.J. didn’t kill nobody.”
“I almost forgot,” Wanda Nell said, opening her purse and reaching inside. Her fingers closed on the scrap of paper Mayrene had given her. She handed it to Charlesetta. “Please give this to Miz Culpepper. It’s the number for a lawyer.”
“Yes’m,” Charlesetta said, accepting the paper. She peered at the name and number. “Hamilton Tucker. Oh, I heard of him. He’s a
real good lawyer, they say. Miz Culpepper know of him, I’m pretty sure.”
“Good,” Wanda Nell said. She put her hand briefly on Charlesetta’s arm. “Tell me, Charlesetta, is Miz Culpepper...” She floundered to a stop. Taking a deep breath, she plunged ahead, “Is she losing her mind?”
Charlesetta’s eyes widened. “Oh, Lord, Miz Wanda Nell. What she been saying now?” She drew herself up. “She better not be telling nobody I been stealing from her again. They’s limits to what a body can stand.”
“When she says something like that, it’s just the medicine talking,” Wanda Nell prevaricated. “Anybody knows her, they know that. As long as you’ve worked for her, nobody’s gonna believe a word about you stealing from her.”
“They better not,” Charlesetta said, sniffing. “But what she say to you?”
Shrugging, Wanda Nell said, “Just something about me paying her back for helping T.J., but it’s not money she wants. You have any idea what she’s talking about?”
“Ain’t no telling, Miz Wanda Nell,” Charlesetta replied. “I sometimes doubt even the Good Lord Himself know what be going on in that head of hers.” She sniffed loudly again. “That old ‘medicine’ she be drinking just keep her all mixed up. I tries to hide it sometimes, but she get real mad if she think I be keeping it from her.”
“Charlesetta, I think the Lord’ll have a special place in heaven for you, after all you been through with that old woman.” Wanda Nell tried to make light of it, but the grim picture behind Charlesetta’s words saddened her deeply. She hadn’t realized just how bad Mrs. Culpepper had gotten with her drinking.
“That ain’t for me to say, Miz Wanda Nell,” Charlesetta replied, “but I can’t look after her much longer. I be so tired all the time, it all I can do to go up them stairs once or twice a day.” She sighed heavily. “She been real bad ever since they come to tell her about Mister Bobby Ray. She been grieving over him something terrible. It don’t matter he treated her worse than a dog, she still his mama.”
“Yeah, he didn’t treat her any better than he treated anybody else.”
Flamingo Fatale (A Trailer Park Mystery Book 1) Page 17
