Temple Secrets: Southern Humorous Fiction: (New for 2015) For Lovers of Southern Authors and Southern Novels

by Susan Gabriel

  From the kitchen they hear a crash in the foyer. They exchange surprised looks and Queenie rushes into the dining room toward the noise, with Violet a second or two behind. A large tropical plant in the hallway has fallen on its side with dirt scattered everywhere.

  “Maybe our toddlers have shown up again,” Violet says. “This kind of thing happened a lot right after Miss Temple passed.”

  Together they right the container, sweep dirt onto a dust pan and return it to the pot.

  “Maybe she isn’t happy with the changes we’ve been making,” Violet says.

  “Iris never did like change,” Queenie offers.

  Violet stops in the foyer and tilts her head to listen. “Oh my, Miss Temple is definitely worked up over something.”

  Will Iris ever be at peace? Queenie wonders. It’s sad to think of her half-sister rattling around this old house, dragging her unfinished business through the rooms like an invisible steamer trunk, knocking over whatever gets in her way.

  “We should tell Mama about it,” Queenie says. “I hate to worry her with stuff like this, but maybe there’s a Gullah spell that’s like Valium for ghosts.”

  “Or maybe she can conjure up something for the humans who have to put up with them,” Violet says.

  Queenie smiles. “Now there’s an idea,” she says.

  Violet pauses. “You know, Queenie, I’ve been thinking that it’s time that I learned the Gullah secrets. Old Sally’s been offering to teach me for years.”

  “She’ll be thrilled to hear that, Vi, provided she doesn’t already know through her tea leaves or something,” Queenie says. “The minute you were born she was convinced you had the family sensitivity. She even thought your gift might be stronger than hers. And, as you know, that’s saying a lot. She’ll be thrilled to hear your decision.”

  As far as Queenie is concerned, the family ‘sensitivity’ skipped a generation, leaving Queenie with a tone-deaf instrument. Not that she minds that much. Having the family gift seems as much a curse as a blessing. If she were as sensitive as Violet is to the entire goings on in this house, she would probably be popping Xanax like after-dinner mints.

  They scoop the last of the dirt back into its ornate pot and within seconds someone bangs on the front door. They both jump.

  “Maybe it’s that man watching the house,” Queenie whispers.

  “He’s kept his distance for months,” Violet whispers back. “Why would he knock on the door now?” The knocking continues harder and louder.

  “Or maybe it’s someone pissed because their secret got out,” Queenie whispers again. “Did any show up in the mailbox today?”

  “Not that I know of,” Violet says.

  They exchange a look. Thankfully, the protesting out front has all but stopped. But they’ve received packages of rat poison in the mail. A brick through a carriage house window closest to the gate. Not to mention they pull enough posters off the fence every week to build a bonfire. But who knew that that crazy Book of Secrets contained enough confidences to release one every day for over a year.

  Violet approaches the door with Queenie close behind. As she passes the ornamental stand by the door, Queenie grabs one of the large black umbrellas.

  “I’m not afraid to use this,” she says. “In fact, I welcome the opportunity.”

  Queenie pulls back the umbrella like it’s a bat and she’s winding up to hit a baseball out of the ballpark.

  “Let me in,” a voice demands.

  Every muscle in Queenie’s body tenses as she recognizes the enraged voice of Edward Temple.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Violet

  Violet’s shoulder throbs as Edward Temple pounds the ancient beveled glass. If he breaks the glass it will be next to impossible to replace. She and Queenie hide behind the door. Edward is furious and Queenie looks about as terrified as Violet feels.

  Before opening the front door, Violet takes a deep breath and tells herself to stay calm. Edward’s face is red and he smells of alcohol. Behind him, Spud has arrived for dinner and strides up the walk, looking alarmed. Violet appreciates his timing. They could use reinforcements.

  Unfortunately, Edward has at least twenty pounds on Spud, but Edward’s anger makes it seem like even more.

  Spud asks Violet if she’s all right. She says she is, but in fact she’s been better.

  “Can I help you with something?” Spud asks Edward.

  Edward narrows his eyes at Spud as if attempting to focus. “Oh, it’s you,” he says, “the family butcher. Making another delivery?” Edward smiles, as though he finds himself funny. Then he turns and glares at Violet like she has something he wants.

  “I suggest you calm down, Mister Temple,” Spud says from behind him.

  “I suggest you go fuck yourself, Mister Grainger,” Edward answers, not taking his eyes off Violet.

  A sharp pain shoots through Violet’s shoulder and she grabs the door jamb to steady herself. Meanwhile, Queenie holds up the umbrella like she’s ready to swing for the fences if Edward takes another step forward.

  Weeks ago, Violet heard that Edward’s case against Miss Temple’s will wasn’t going in his favor. This is the part about having money that Violet doesn’t like. It can make people greedy and not think clearly. She has no idea why Miss Temple didn’t take better care of Edward in her will, but she is certain she had her reasons. Miss Temple always had her reasons.

  “Perhaps we should speak about this in the lawyer’s office,” Violet says. She crosses her arms, getting a ghost of a chill.

  “Those fucking attorneys don’t know what they’re doing,” Edward says, as a spitball of saliva hits her cheek.

  Violet hates the f-word as much as she despises Edward.

  Edward’s eyes are red, like he’s had too many martinis. A piece of toilet paper clings to a small dot of blood on his neck.

  “I need to look for something in the house,” Edward tells Violet. “It’s very important.”

  Even if he is her half-brother, Violet isn’t about to let him in, and resists telling him it isn’t his house anymore.

  Seconds later a police car arrives, flashing lights twirling but no siren. Edward cusses under his breath. In Violet’s and Jack’s neighborhood the police would have sirens blasting and two or three squad cars. Yet here they don’t seem to want to disturb Savannah’s wealthiest citizens. For the first time Violet realizes that because of inheriting this house, she is now part of the wealthy, too.

  One of the police officers walks up to the front door and Edward straightens his clothes like he’s getting in character. He turns to greet the cop.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Spud asks Violet and Queenie.

  “A bit shaken, that’s all,” Violet says.

  Violet and Queenie hold hands, and Spud looks at them like he’s seeing the family resemblance for the first time. It is still odd for Violet to think of Queenie as her mother. But she looks forward to getting used to it.

  “Who called?” one of the police officers asks. He looks barely old enough to shave. A drop of mustard christens his shirt to the right of his identification tag. Violet’s first inclination is to grab the spot remover from the laundry room and get that stain out before it sets.

  Violet looks at Queenie who shrugs, her umbrella still poised. “I’m not sure who called,” she says.

  “Ma’am, I need you to put that down,” the officer says to Queenie.

  Queenie glances at the umbrella like she forgot she was holding it. Then she returns it to the stand just inside the door and the officer thanks her.

  Edward steps forward. “Officer, I’m Edward Temple.” He holds out his hand for the young officer to shake. The officer doesn’t take it, but puts his hand on his holstered gun instead.

  “Step over here, sir,” the second officer says. He is older, with a substantial middle-aged paunch.

  “Don’t you know who I am?” Edward asks the officer, his voice raised. “Who is your commanding officer? I
could have you fired, you know.”

  Edward may know how to talk to a high society crowd, but you don’t talk this way to regular people. Especially if they work for law enforcement.

  “Yes, sir, I’m sure you could get me fired,” the officer says. “And my wife would be all for it, too.” The officer leans next to Edward and sniffs. “Is that alcohol I smell on your breath, sir? Did you drive here?”

  “For God’s sake, go catch some real criminals,” Edward says.

  Within seconds, the officer has Edward walking a straight line and touching his nose. A test he appears to fail. What prompted Edward to lose control like this? In the distance, he points at Violet and Queenie like they are the real criminals.

  “Those women have something I need,” Edward says. “They are thieves. They are living in my house under false pretenses. They must be removed immediately.”

  Edward holds his stomach and releases a burst of flatulence like a warning shot over the bow of a ship. Violet cringes, feeling mortified for Edward. But Edward doesn’t seem embarrassed by it at all.

  “Good heavens, man.” The older officer covers his nose with his sleeve.

  Edward points a finger at Violet and Queenie. “It’s my house. Not theirs. Look at them,” Edward continues. “Do they look like they belong here?”

  The older officer looks at Edward, then at Violet and Queenie. He shakes his head like he’s sick and tired of dealing with people like Edward.

  “I think we’d better take them all downtown,” the older officer says to his partner. The younger officer agrees.

  Edward turns toward the house. “But I need to find the key,” he says.

  Violet’s shoulder throbs again. The younger officer takes Edward to the squad car as Edward keeps yelling about needing to find a key. Does he mean a key to the front door? Then the older officer walks up to the porch to escort Violet and Queenie down the walk.

  “Excuse me, officer,” Spud says. “Do you mind if I drive these women to the station? We could follow you.”

  The officer hesitates, but then agrees.

  “It’s just a formality,” Spud says to Violet and Queenie, as he opens the door of his small Toyota. Queenie eyes the back seat like she’s wondering if she can fit.

  “Would it still be a formality if we weren’t a darker color than them?” Violet asks.

  Spud says he doesn’t know, but he hopes that isn’t the case.

  Meanwhile, Queenie falls into the back seat of the Toyota, saying: “Heaven help me, this car was made for midgets!”

  Violet laughs and gets in on the passenger side.

  “Why was Edward making all that noise about a key?” Spud asks.

  “This is the first I’ve heard anything about a missing key,” Violet says. But her shoulder confirms that it is something important.

  “Maybe he’s trying to find the key to the safe deposit box,” Queenie says from the back seat. “That means there’s probably a whole lot more in there besides the Temple Book of Secrets. For all we know, there may be secrets about people that don’t even have ties to Savannah. Senators. U.S. Presidents. Iris’s grandfather dealt with foreign heads of state,” she continues. “The possibilities are endless as to what the Temples—what we—have lorded over people.”

  It is still strange for Violet to realize she is even remotely related to the Temples.

  “But I thought this last year of being in the spotlight would be the end of it,” Violet says.

  “We may be closer to the beginning than the end,” Queenie says.

  The pain in Violet’s shoulder intensifies, confirming that whatever has Edward worked up has placed them all in grave danger.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Queenie

  “Happy Anniversary, Iris.”

  Queenie addresses the chandelier in the dining room which always shakes with the cold blast of Iris’s presence. She and Violet clear dinner dishes from the dining room table, which hasn’t been used since Iris’s stroke. But they wanted to have a special dinner to celebrate Rose and Max’s arrival earlier that afternoon. They had driven for three days and have already retired to a guest room upstairs to get some rest. The moving trucks are scheduled to arrive next week.

  “I’d forgotten how handsome Max is, in a rugged cowboy sort of way,” Queenie says. She follows Violet into the kitchen and wonders if Denzel Washington has ever made a western.

  “Max seems quiet, but nice,” Violet says. She stacks dishes next to the sink.

  “He certainly loved your roast,” Queenie says, “and the apple pie.”

  Violet smiles and then rubs her left shoulder. “Something isn’t right,” she says.

  “It’s bothering you again?” Queenie asks.

  “Maybe I’m just getting old,” Violet says.

  “Nonsense. I’ve got panty hose older than you. Besides, that shoulder is better than having a crystal ball.”

  Violet frowns. “The last time it did this was the night Edward showed up at the door, and we ended up at the police station,” she says.

  Queenie and Violet spent nearly an hour explaining their relationship to the Temples to a police sergeant who took notes like he was writing a screenplay. Finally, Queenie thought to call Bo Rivers, who showed up in the middle of the night to clear things up. As much as she tries to resist it, there is something about him that she likes. Bo asked for a temporary restraining order against Edward, which she is certain didn’t go over very well. Edward wasn’t charged with anything, and luckily neither were they.

  After that night, Queenie and Violet began an earnest search for the key to the safe deposit box that holds the Temple Book of Secrets, and no telling what else. So far, they’ve found nothing.

  “Surely Edward won’t show up tonight,” Queenie says, addressing the concerns of Violet’s shoulder. “He doesn’t even know Rose is here. Plus, we’ve got a cowboy in the house, and I don’t think Max will let Edward get away with anything.”

  Violet doesn’t look convinced. “All I know is, that as soon as Rose and Max arrived, Miss Temple’s ghost started throwing fits,” she says. “Then the others got on the bandwagon. I’ve never heard them this high-spirited.”

  “Maybe it’s because of the anniversary that Mama warned us about,” Queenie says.

  Anniversaries of deaths don’t usually bother her, but for some reason this one has her biting her nails. Queenie is nowhere near as sensitive as Violet, but even she can feel a tension in the air.

  “I guess it could be a false alarm,” Violet says. It sounds like she’s trying to convince herself, as well as Queenie.

  “I guess I could be a size six,” Queenie says with a laugh, thinking the last time she was a size six was probably when she was about six years old.

  Violet rolls her eyes and it reminds Queenie of how Violet did this as a girl.

  “Well, I’m going to leave the dishes until the morning,” Violet says. “I’ve got to get home. Jack will be wondering what happened to me. Will you be okay?” she adds.

  “Don’t worry about us. I’ll keep an eye on things,” Queenie says. “And tell my son-in-law hello.”

  As they hug, Queenie feels grateful again for Violet’s forgiveness. Life is much more enjoyable—not to mention simpler—without so many secrets to keep. Although she has a feeling the Temples have a few more hidden away.

  After Violet leaves, the house is quiet. Almost too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes people use clichés like: the calm before the storm. It doesn’t help that Queenie has been reading a new murder mystery in the sun room, now dark except for a single Tiffany lamp near her chair. The room itself looks staged for a murder and it helps to remember that Rose and Max are upstairs.

  The sound of rattling glassware comes from Oscar’s old office. Queenie gets up and walks toward the noise.

  I’m acting like every nitwit in every horror movie I’ve ever seen, she tells herself, but this awareness doesn’t stop her.

  She opens the door to his st
udy and turns on the light. Nothing is out of place. No shadows grace the corners. With the exception of Iris, who doesn’t seem to mind being blatant with her gusts of cold air, it’s hard to catch the Temple ghosts haunting the place. She pulls her sweater closer. Her attention is drawn toward the leather couch against one wall, the scene of more than one secret.

  “Are you getting in on the excitement, too, Oscar?” Queenie asks. She looks at the large leather chair behind the desk where he often sat nursing a glass of bourbon. A photograph of Iris glares at Queenie from the desk. “You stay out of this,” she says, pointing a finger at Iris’s framed stare.

  Violet is right, Queenie thinks, the knocks and creaks in the old house are turned up on high tonight.

  Maybe, without her knowledge, a family reunion of dead Temples has been called. Queenie shivers with the thought, then returns to the sun room to get her book before going upstairs. Despite the extra noises, Queenie anticipates sleeping better tonight with Rose and Max nearby. She hasn’t liked sleeping in the house alone since Iris died. Violet didn’t want to move her family in until it was clear Edward would lose his legal challenge. She also didn’t want to disrupt Tia and Leisha’s school year, which Queenie could understand.

  In bed now, Queenie finishes another chapter of her book. A murderer stalks within the pages of the novel she’s reading and she can’t help feeling that someone is stalking here, too. Certainly not Rose or Max, but it is a big house with plenty of room for murderers to hide. Not to mention most of Savannah has it in for them right now.

  Queenie reaches into her nightstand to retrieve a hefty stack of letters. She hasn’t told Violet how many death threats she’s received in the last eleven months. At first they were all addressed to Iris, but since her death they aren’t addressed to anyone in particular. They arrive anonymously. No return address. The threat typed on plain white paper, as if they all watched the same television mystery. Some say they are watching and when we least expect it, they will get us. Others say to stop telling secrets or we’ll live to regret it. Threats are rarely very creative. At least the lawsuits have been dropped since Iris’s death.