by Dee Ernst
I nodded. “Me too. I think Founders’ Day Weekend is the best thing there is, right after Christmas. Last night, Shelly said we should have our own show. The Real Housewives of Mt. Abrams.”
Lou grinned. “Now, that would be worth watching. Underneath all this Pollyanna BS is a lot of dark and serious shit.”
I laughed. “That’s what Aggie said. That all the dirty secrets would come out.”
“Well, there are plenty of them. You wanna bet that body in Emma’s yard is Walter Malleck?”
I stared at her. “Seriously?”
She nodded. “Oh, yeah. My mom was good friends with Paula, Walt’s wife. He just disappeared, you know? No note, nothing. Paula just assumed he’d run of with whoever he was sleeping with, because there seemed to be no other explanation.”
“Who was the mystery woman?” I asked. “Did she disappear too?”
Lou shrugged. “Don’t know. No one ever knew who she was. Probably the best kept secret in Mt. Abrams ever. But no woman in town up and disappeared when Walt did. So I bet Paula got tired of his shit, smacked him over the head, and buried him right where she could keep an eye on him.”
“You’re making this up,” I accused her.
She shook her head. “Nope. Bet you a buck.”
“Yeah, but when the house burned down, everyone said Walt came back and did it.”
She shrugged again. “Somebody set fire to that house, sure, but not Walt.” She glanced at me. “So, Marc and I had a nice conversation last night.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. He likes Sam, but said that you two were getting back together.”
“He said what?”
She grinned. “I thought that might surprise you.”
I glared into my coffee cup. Ever since Marc walked out, I’d fantasized about him coming back, telling me he’d made a terrible mistake, and begging me to let him come home. I still loved him. Of course I did. He had been my soul mate. And he had, in fact, told me he still loved me. That was months ago. Since then, he had not said another thing about it and had not kissed me again. True, we were much friendlier, talked to each other more, and spent more time together in the same room. But not alone, and certainly not as anything but exes.
Just who did he think he was, anyway?
Lou got up. “You watching from Maggie’s?” she asked.
I nodded. The girls tended to wander off during the parade, but I sat on Maggie Turner’s front porch and drank Bloody Marys as the parade went by.
Lou nodded. “Maybe I’ll see you there.” She went into the house, and came out a minute later, minus her coffee mug. Boot followed her out and stood on the porch, wagging her stumpy tail as Lou went down the walk, turned on to the street, and then waved good-bye.
Marc told her we were getting back together?
What a snake.
Maggie Turner lived on Morris Street before the corner where the parade route came up Morris and turned onto Davis. It was a prime location, and seating on her tiny porch was coveted. To be honest, my porch was lots bigger, but the view was not as good. The parade was basically over by the time it turned on to Abrams Lane, with everyone heading up to the Clubhouse, not passing my house at all. So for years, Marc and I had joined Maggie and Derek, along with Viv Brewster, the Goodwins, and Carol Anderson. Only the adults sat on the porch. The kids were on the narrow street, hands open, hoping to grab the candy that the parade marchers traditionally threw. Tessa and I had an agreement. She could eat all she wanted in one day, as long as I got all the Tootsie Rolls. She conceded it was worth the sacrifice. This year would be tough. I still had fifteen more pounds to lose before hitting my fighting weight, or at least a size ten. I’d been super good about no sugar. Maybe if I didn’t eat dinner…
Boot and I walked down after breakfast. Davis Road was clear. I wasn’t sure Sam had anything to do with it, or it was just the gods of Founders’ Day at work again. I turned in and went by Emma’s garden. There was crime scene tape everywhere, and one police car half up on the curb. Emma’s house was shut tight. I peeked into the garden and saw a lone officer sitting on a bench.
“Are you on trespassing duty?” I asked.
He nodded grimly.
“Well,” I told him, “there’s going to be a very cute parade going by here in about an hour, if you want to move the bench up here. At least it will be something to watch.” He smiled and nodded, and I went out of the garden. Rita and Aggie were setting up their porch, and Aggie waved. Everyone on Davis was setting out chairs, and there was already the buzz of voices on the street. People around here took their parades very seriously.
I had gotten a text from Sam. He was running late and would meet me at Maggie’s to watch his very first Founders’ Day Parade. When I explained that all the floats and bands were put together by residents, he looked very confused.
Most people do. This is not the sort of thing that other small towns do. Mt. Abrams was a one-of-a-kind community.
Sitting on Maggie’s porch at nine-thirty on a Saturday morning was just about the best way to spend a Saturday morning. All of her chairs were comfy wicker; she was on the east side of the street, so there was no sun in your eyes, and she always had the most delicious Bloody Marys. She made them with real horseradish and lots of Worcestershire sauce, and put a spear of dill pickle in instead of the usual celery. Totally amazing. She also had warm quiche and homemade cinnamon buns to keep the alcohol from going directly to your head and making you totally useless for the rest of the day.
Boot started whining with excitement as we came down toward her house, and I knew that meant Marc was already there. I often thought that Boot missed him more that Tessa and Cait did. I could see him, standing on the street with Derek, Maggie’s tall, very fit and incredibly handsome husband. Derek was African-American and had been college basketball player. He still had the lazy grace of an athlete. His hands were beautiful, with long, slender fingers. He was a graphic artist and also had a daily cartoon that was very sly and funny, and although it wasn’t in any conventional newspapers, it was very popular online.
I let Boot off her leash, and she ran to Marc, practically jumping up into his arms. He grinned and hugged her squirming little body. I let him enjoy the moment, because I was about to tear him a new one.
“Hey, El. Mornin,” he called.
I marched up and glared at him. “What did you tell Lou last night?”
Derek held up both hands and took a step back. “I sense you two need to be alone.”
“You can stay,” I snapped. “In fact, maybe you’d better. That way, you can tell the judge I was perfectly justified.”
Marc let Boot slide to the ground. “I don’t know why you’re upset,” he said in a calm, soothing voice.
“What?” My voice was pitched so high I think a window cracked somewhere. “You don’t know why I’d be upset that you told Lou we were getting back together when I have a boyfriend, and you just met him, and you and I have never even discussed the possibility?”
Boot whined. Maybe her ears hurt.
Marc leaned in. “I told you I still loved you.”
“Yeah? So?”
He looked hurt. “Ellie, I made a mistake. You and I both know we’re perfect together.”
“No, I don’t know that. The year before our divorce, we were pretty imperfect together. In fact, I think we were miserable together.” I could see Derek out of the corner of my eye, stepping slowly backward. “Derek,” I snarled, “don’t even think about moving. I told you I may need a witness.”
“Mags,” Derek called. “Help.”
I pointed my finger. “Saying you still love me may mean something to you, but to me, it’s just a bunch of words. You think we should get back together? Fine. Prove to me you’re worth my time. Only I gotta tell you, Sam takes up all the extra time I’ve got these days, so you’d better start doing something pretty special.” I wasn’t exactly sure I meant that, but I was fuming inside and had to say something. I thrust the do
g’s leash at him. “And you keep the dog today.” I whirled around to face Derek. “Good morning. Happy Founders’ Day.” I stood on tiptoe, kissed him on the cheek, and then went up onto the porch.
Maggie stuck her head out the door. She was young—just thirty-six—and had five tattoos, my favorite being a tiny musical clef on the inside of her left wrist. “Is it too early for a drink?” she asked.
I settled deep into a chair and continued to glare at Marc. “It’s never too early.”
She popped back out seconds later with a tray loaded with mason jar glasses and a tall clear pitcher filled with smoky red liquid. “Allow me,” she said, pouring a glass and adding a pickle spear. She poured one for herself, and we clinked.
“Happy Founders’ Day,” we said in unison, then laughed.
She nodded to Marc and Derek, still in the middle of the street, now deep in conversation. “Although it was very civilized of you and Marc to arrange for joint custody of your friends, doesn’t it feel awkward sometimes?”
I nodded. “Up until now, we really only spent any time together on Founders’ Day. And it was all very polite. Marc didn’t really like the people here.” I flashed her a grin. “After all, we’re a unique bunch. But he did make a few friends. And he knows the girls love it here.”
She nodded. “True. So what was this all about? You mentioned Lou. Lou Lombardi?”
“You know she always crashes on my couch, right? Well, this morning she told me that Marc told her we were getting back together.”
“No!”
“Yes.” I stared into my drink. “She also said she thought the body in Emma’s garden might be Walt Malleck.”
Maggie’s eyes popped open. “Really? Wow. That was before my time, but boy, I remember when I moved in, that was still the thing everybody was talking about, him running off, and then the house burning down.”
“You’ve been here that long?”
She nodded. “We moved from Brooklyn twelve years ago this December.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. We were such hipsters, two artists looking for a simpler life. Now, we’re full-blown suburbanites, with a kid and a mortgage, just like everybody else.”
I stared at her, her head shaved on one side, the short hair on the other side bleached blonde. Then I looked at Derek, his entire left arm tattooed in some sort of hieroglyph, dreadlocks to his waist, his earring glinting. “You guys will never be like everybody else,” I told her.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and we laughed again.
Vivian Brewster was coming up the street, a huge basket draped over her arm. She always brought her homemade biscuits with a jar of wild clover honey. She saw us on the porch and started yelling.
“Girl, you started without me? You crazy!” She was a realtor and had probably handled every real estate transaction in Mt. Abrams in the past six years. She and Maggie were best of friends. As she reached Derek and Marc, she gave them both a kiss. Her skin was lighter than Derek’s, but not by much. Her face was beautiful. She looked like a queen, but when she started talking, any illusions of royalty fell quickly to the side.
“Can you believe this drama?” she asked, dropping her basket on the table and reaching for a glass. “We don’t need no more dead bodies ’round here. Hard enough gettin’ people to look at houses up on the hill. Folk think we’re a cult or some such bullshit.” She shook her head. “Although I did just find a new renter for that Davis Road house. You know, Kate’s old place?”
Kate Fisher had vacated a cute little place on Davis Road, one of the few rental houses in Mt. Abrams, after she was arrested for murdering her son-in-law. She was, it was generally believed, a bit off her nut. Since she had tried to strangle me with a tea towel, my feelings about her were much stronger.
“Family? Another divorcée?” Maggie asked.
Viv took a long drink and shook her head. “No. One fine-lookin’ gentleman. I never mix business with pleasure, but I will absolutely make an exception for Mr. James Fergus. He is fine, and I want him mine.” She burst into laughter, and Maggie and I joined in.
“Great,” I said. “But you’re going to have a lot of competition. There are lots of single ladies up here.”
Viv shook her head. “Not quite like me though, right?”
We laughed again and waved at Rita Ferris as she trotted up the hill.
“Where you going?” Maggie called.
“I left my phone up at the Clubhouse last night. At least, I think that’s where it is,” she said.
“It might be locked,” I said.
“I got the key,” she said.
“Better find it quick,” Maggie said. “The parade starts in, like, fifteen minutes.”
Rita grinned and picked up her pace. Viv opened her basket, and I reached for a biscuit. I could see Sam coming down the hill, and he spoke briefly to Rita as they passed each other. Off in the distance, I could hear the blast of a siren, signaling all that the parade, lined up in Lower Main Park, was about to start. Maggie’s daughter, Serif, came running out of the house, clutching a plastic bag to collect her candy.
The Founders’ day Parade was about to begin.
Chapter 5
Another siren sounded to officially start the parade. Between the first siren and when the parade participants finally made their way to Maggie’s corner, Cait and Kyle came by to say hello; Tessa came and dragged Marc off to sit with Jerome and his family up on Davis Road, and Mike and Shelly Goodwin arrived, carrying extra folding chairs and a French toast breakfast bake. Also in that time Sam refused to tell me anything about the body in Emma’s garden.
“I’m not attached to the case,” he kept saying.
“But you went down last night, right? And talked to whoever was in charge, right? So, he must have told you something.”
Sam just grinned. He was a big man, not just tall, but broad shouldered and muscular. He was wearing a white polo shirt tucked into khaki shorts, with scuffed Docksides and no socks. He looked absolutely yummy. I could have eaten him right up if I wasn’t so aggravated at him. I recklessly poured a second Bloody Mary.
“At least, do they know how long it’s been there?”
He shook his head. “No idea. This is real life, Ellie, not Bones. We have no forensic expert who can simply look at the body and determine fifteen separate and completely accurate facts. Tests need to be done. It takes time. There was one body, probably male, and since there appeared to be clothing remains, probably not in the ground more than twenty years.” He bit into a cinnamon roll and smiled from pure bliss. “Please, don’t ruin this for me. This is the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Since I had to admit that Maggie’s rolls were extraordinary, I kept my mouth shut until he had swallowed the last bit and licked his lips.
“So, maybe it was Walt Malleck?” I asked.
His shoulders slumped. “Ellie, stop, please.”
Viv laughed. “Give your man a break, girl. He is not working today. Let him sit and enjoy his very first Founders’ Day parade. You know that as soon as anyone knows anything, we’ll all know it.”
She was right there.
I gazed longingly at the French toast. It smelled amazing. But, if I wanted even one Tootsie Roll, I was going to have to control myself. I bit down on the pickle in my drink. I knew for a fact that pickles had practically no calories, whereas one bite of baked French toast would instantly add at least two inches to my hips.
“Here they come,” Serif called excitedly. Derek stood beside his daughter in the street to prevent her from running into the middle of the parade in search of candy.
The first group to round the corner was the Historical Society, or, as Viv affectionately called them, The Mt. Abrams Hysterical Society. They were all dressed in Victorian garb, and I had to admit, looked pretty spectacular. Lynn Fahey was up front in a lilac and white number, complete with shirtwaist and bustle, and carried a parasol. Viv made gagging noises, and the rest of us tried not to laugh. Sh
aron Butler was in the Historical Society, but as president of Founders’ Day, was not walking with them. Her husband was there. They had been high school sweethearts, and to me they were a very odd couple. Sharon was big, not just physically, but she had a personality that tended to take over the room. David was a thin, short man who didn’t talk much and rarely smiled. Right now he looked completely miserable, sweating in striped pants, suspenders, and spats.
We watched a few Girl Scout troops, the Garden Club, and then real fun started.
First came the decorated bikes and strollers. The kids always had fun with this, and both of Shelly’s boys had their bikes decked out. Strollers were also cute, particularly for the sleeping baby cuteness factor. Music came next. The older kids usually put together some sort of marching band, and this year there was a kazoo choir of fifteen- and sixteen-year-old boys, some of them contributing percussion through various manufactured burping and fart noises. Gotta love the willingness to participate.
Finally, the floats. The Newsome family, numbering into the hundreds some years, had an elaborate homage to King Titan, with six-year-old Thomas rising from a Plaster of Paris shell, complete with beard and trident, surrounded by little girls in mermaid costumes. Six adults were needed to pull the platform along, each sweating grown-up wearing a “We Serve The King” T-shirt. Thomas threw candy from a large basket cleverly disguised as a block of coral.
Sam looked on in amazement. “They did that themselves?”
Maggie and Viv burst into giggles. I nodded and poured another drink.
And so it went, a total of eight floats by Mt. Abrams’s best, brightest, and most competitive families. I put my money on the Gastons, who had managed to create a very convincing submarine being attacked by a giant squid.
Last came a mounted police officer, followed by the Wyatt sisters dressed as clowns and carrying a broom, shovel, and bucket, in case the policeman’s trusty steed decided to anoint any of Mt. Abrams’s streets.
