Murder Gets a Life

by Anne George

  It didn’t. Fortunately, after a few hundred yards, we came into a clearing and Sister stopped abruptly.

  Five large house trailers were pulled into a circle.

  “The Blount County Indians must be acting up again,” I said, the last effort I made at being humorous that day. I looked over at Sister and she was doing the Macaulay Culkin palms-against-cheeks again.

  “Oh, Lord, Mouse. The washing machines are in the yard.”

  “So is everything else,” I said. And it was true. The “everything” ranged from tires to old bicycles. Several dogs untangled themselves from various forms of scrap and eyed us silently.

  “Are those pit bulls?” Sister asked.

  “I don’t know; I don’t plan to find out. And where did Meemaw go?”

  As if in answer to my question, Meemaw stepped from behind one of the trailers and motioned us to come that way. Sister pulled the car up and let the window down.

  “You can park right here.” Meemaw pointed to a space between two trailers. “This is Kerrigan’s place.”

  “What about the dogs?” I asked.

  “There’s sticks all around. If they get too close, just act like you’re gonna hit them. I don’t think they’ll bother you, though.” She pointed to her right. “This is my trailer. Won’t take but a second for you to get over here, but I’ll wait right here for you if you’re scared of the dogs.” She turned toward the trailer and screamed, “Sunshine! We’ve got company.”

  The dogs began to howl.

  “Do you see any sticks?” Sister whispered.

  “Lots of them.”

  “Lead the way, Meemaw,” she said. And then to me, “Marco!”

  “Polo!” I shouted as we dived from the car and scrambled up the trailer steps behind Meemaw.

  The door slammed behind us and we were safe. We looked at each other, grinning. And that was how we all ended up on the floor. Meemaw stopped dead still and screamed and Sister and I walked right into her and knocked her down.

  Later on, the sheriff kept asking Mary Alice and me to tell him exactly what things were like as we walked into the trailer, but all either of us could remember was confusion. It was like one of those pileups you see in football. Take one of the players out and see how much he remembers about the field at that particular time.

  Neither Sister nor I knew there were four of us on the floor for a couple of minutes. I thought Meemaw was screaming because Sister had fallen on her, a reasonable conclusion. I don’t know what Sister thought, but she figured out before I did when Meemaw’s scream changed to “Call 911! Call 911!” She was also the one who helped Meemaw to a sitting position and discovered a man at the bottom of the pile. A man with what appeared to be a very large knife sticking out of his chest. A very dead man.

  “Call 911, Mouse,” Sister said in a calm voice. Then she stretched out on the floor and closed her eyes.

  “Sunny!” Meemaw screamed. “Sunshine!”

  “Where’s the phone?” I asked.

  “Kitchen counter. Sunshine! Where are you?”

  “Dead man,” I managed to say to the woman who answered the emergency call.

  “Your name? Address?”

  “I’m Patricia Anne Hollowell, and oh, God. I don’t know where I am.” I turned around to Meemaw. “Where are we?”

  “Primrose Lane. Turkett Compound.”

  I related the information to the operator who then wanted to know if we needed an ambulance.

  “Send everything you’ve got. It’s a dead man with a knife in him.”

  “And the name of the deceased?”

  “Meemaw, who’s the man?”

  “I don’t know who the hell he is. But he’s got my goddamn good hog-butchering knife sticking out of him.”

  “She doesn’t know who he is, but he’s got her goddamn good hog-butchering knife sticking out of him.”

  “I’ll have someone there in a few minutes,” the 911 operator said. “Just hang on, Mrs. Hollowell.”

  “I will, thank you. And you probably ought to tell the rescue people that they’ll need sticks for the dogs. I think they’re pit bulls.”

  “Yes ma’am. Sticks for the dogs.”

  I turned around and surveyed the scene. Sister and the man were both still lying on the floor, but she had moved over against the sofa. Meemaw was sitting next to her.

  “My good hog-butchering knife,” Meemaw said again. “And who the hell is he, and where is Sunny? Here’s her soup. I didn’t even spill any.”

  “I’ll put it in the refrigerator,” I said. And I walked around the little man in the dark suit with the hog-butchering knife sticking out of his chest, and got the Styrofoam container of soup from Meemaw.

  “Sunny!” she screamed. “I know you’re here. Answer me, girl, right this minute or I’ll beat your butt.”

  Sister opened her eyes for a second and then closed them again.

  Four

  Mary Alice and I have always reacted to traumatic situations differently. She tends to react physically, sometimes fainting dead away which may or may not have happened on this occasion. I, on the other hand, remove myself mentally from the situation. Sister describes my reaction as taking little trips. And I guess I do. After I put the soup in the refrigerator, I sat at a table that folded down from the wall and on which I assumed Meemaw and Sunshine had been playing checkers on a worn board. Some of the checkers were lost, and they had substituted corn and pebbles. I looked away from the sad unfinished game and thought about the white sale Sears was having and how it was a strange time to have a white sale which should be in January. August was the time for back-to-school sales. But maybe kids going off to school needed towels and things.

  “Sunshine?” Meemaw called weakly.

  I continued my musing. A couple of down pillows would be nice. They cost an arm and a leg, so you have to get them on sale. It would be a nice surprise for Fred, though. And maybe a new bedspread for the middle bedroom. A flowered one?

  Sister sat up. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  Meemaw pointed toward what I had assumed was a small pantry. “But maybe Sunshine’s in there.”

  “Open the door, Mouse, and see,” Sister said. “You’re closer.”

  My vision of Sears’ white sale evaporated. There was no way I was going to open that bathroom door. “You open it.”

  “I swear,” Meemaw said, looking around. “I wasn’t gone more than fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.” She struggled to her feet and opened the bathroom door. “It’s empty.”

  Sister got up and managed to squeeze in. Years of plane travel helped, I’m sure.

  “Maybe Sunshine’s asleep,” Meemaw said, walking back to the bedroom area. Fat chance anyone could have slept through a murder or through our screaming. I held my breath until she turned around and said, “No, she’s not here.” One dead body in that trailer was one too many.

  I forced myself to look down at the man. He was smaller than average with dark hair and olive skin. He was dressed neatly, though warmly for such a hot day, in a gray suit, white dress shirt, and a red-and-gray-striped tie; polished cordovan shoes splayed outward, showing the tops of black silk socks. There was surprisingly little blood on the white shirt. Apparently the hog-butchering knife had gone straight in and was, in effect, sealing the wound. Or—oh, God—was it possible that the knife had gone all the way through the man’s body? That he was impaled to the floor?

  That thought did me in. Not even Sears’ white sale could save me.

  “I’ve got to get out of here right now,” I said, heading for the door.

  “Grab a stick,” Meemaw said.

  “Those dogs better not come near me.”

  “I’m right behind you,” Sister said, stepping out of the bathroom, still pulling up her crumpled white linen slacks.

  “See if you see Sunny,” Meemaw called as we dived for the car. Not a single dog even looked up.

  The car was burning-up hot, but Sister and I both had the shakes so bad, it
felt good. We huddled on the warm leather of the front seat, our teeth clicking like castanets.

  “Who the hell do you suppose he is?” Sister asked.

  “No idea.”

  “And reckon where Sunny is?”

  “No idea.” I watched Meemaw leave her trailer and walk to Kerrigan’s. “Maybe she’s in there, in her mother’s trailer.”

  “Dead.”

  “Of course not. She heard the dead man, whoever he is, coming in whatever vehicle he came in, and she knew what he was up to, and she had time to hide somewhere.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Absolutely. Now if we just knew who he is and how he got here and what he was up to, we’d know where Sunshine is.” I was babbling, but it seemed to make Mary Alice feel better.

  “Are you sure, Mouse?”

  “Of course. Sunshine’s fine.” In a pig’s eye. The girl was kidnapped, murdered, or a murderer. Take your pick.

  Meemaw came from Kerrigan’s trailer and waddled quickly toward us. For just a second, she reminded me of our grandmother Alice. The housedress, I realized. How long since I’d seen anyone wear a printed housedress with a belt to show where the waist is?

  Mary Alice let down the window on my side and Meemaw leaned in, panting. “Everything in there’s just torn up! I mean everything. They even broke the Elvis magnets on the refrigerator.” Meemaw began to cry and held out her hand. Elvis’s head had left the building. The white jumpsuit and blue suede shoes remained.

  “Kerrigan just loved these.”

  “Get in, Meemaw,” Sister said. “I’ll turn on the air-conditioning.”

  “I want to find Elvis’s head for Kerrigan. It can be glued back on.”

  “We’ll find it after the police come,” Sister said. “We really shouldn’t compromise the crime scene.”

  I looked at her and she seemed serious. Compromise the crime scene? We had only stepped, fallen, touched, and peed on every inch of Meemaw’s trailer.

  Meemaw opened the back door and got in. “Oh, Lord.” She began to cry in earnest. “Anybody got a Kleenex? Something awful’s happened to my Sunshine. I just know it. And that girl’s my heart. Always has been.”

  Mary Alice fished in her purse and handed Meemaw a tissue. “Sunshine’s all right. I’m sure.”

  Meemaw looked up. “You haven’t seen what they did to Kerrigan’s trailer.”

  “But why would someone come in here and do something like that?” I asked.

  Meemaw shrugged and blew her nose. For a few minutes we sat quietly, each lost in our own thoughts. Mary Alice started the motor and turned on the air; the dogs looked up.

  “Who lives in the other mobile homes, Meemaw?” I asked finally.

  Meemaw sniffed and leaned forward. “The one next to Kerrigan’s with the Christmas lights around it belongs to Eddie. He’s my oldest, works at the chicken plant in Trussville. The one next to that’s Howard’s. He’s the baby. Does something in Atlanta for the city. I’m not sure what, but the Olympics just about wore him out. And then the last one’s Pawpaw’s. The one next to mine.”

  Mary Alice, who had been only half listening, looked up in surprise. “Pawpaw? I thought you were a widow.”

  “A widow? Lord, no, child. Far from it. Pawpaw and I visit each other real frequently. But he likes his privacy. And he’s deaf as a post since that accident he had at NASA ages ago when he was working with Wernher von Braun.” She began to cry again. “How am I going to tell him that there’s a dead man in my trailer and Sunny’s gone? He’ll have an attack.”

  I patted Meemaw’s hand. “He has heart trouble?”

  “No. He just has these attacks.”

  “What about Eddie and Howard?” Mary Alice asked. “Do they have wives and children?”

  “Several. The manufactured homes are the boys’ homes away from home, though.”

  The sound of a siren coming through the briar patch was a relief. It was also a signal to the dogs to rise up as one, their hackles rigid. Meemaw got out of the car and picked up a stick.

  “I’m gonna get you!” she yelled. The dogs slunk back into their somnolent states. “It’s Junior Reuse,” she said through Mary Alice’s window. “Shit!”

  We knew what she was talking about. Sheriff Reuse, while very polite and efficient, is one of the most rigid people God ever put on earth.

  “I’ll bet he’s not sweating,” Sister said to me. “You want to lay money on it?”

  “I’d lose. We heard him laugh the other day, though.”

  “Probably choked on something.”

  The sheriff got out of the patrol car and walked toward us. Meemaw met him, and though we couldn’t hear what she was saying, the words were accompanied by gestures, one of which appeared to be the insertion of a hog-butchering knife into a man’s chest.

  The sheriff listened closely and motioned the man who was with him toward Meemaw’s trailer. The man, I noticed, picked up a stick. Sheriff Reuse took Meemaw by the arm and led her toward our car. His khaki shirt was starched and dry.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Crane, Mrs. Hollowell.”

  “Sheriff Reuse,” Sister said coolly. I nodded.

  “Mrs. Turkett needs to sit in your car while I go see what’s going on.”

  “What’s going on is a murder and a kidnapping. I told you that,” Meemaw said. “Sunshine’s gone and we need to be looking for her.”

  “Yes, ma’am. You just wait here in the cool, and I’ll go check.”

  “Asshole,” Meemaw said to the sheriff’s back. We watched him go up the trailer steps and disappear.

  “You got that right,” Sister agreed. “And he used to date Patricia Anne’s daughter. Hard to believe.”

  Meemaw looked shocked. “Haley? That precious child who was there last night?”

  “She just went out with him a couple of times,” I explained. “One time was to a policemen’s ball.”

  “Kerrigan loves policemen’s balls.” Meemaw leaned over the front seat between Mary Alice and me and began to sob. Tears pinged against maroon leather. Mary Alice pointed toward the glove compartment where I found a small packet of Kleenex. I handed the packet to Meemaw, saving a couple of the tissues to mop the seat with. “Everything’s going to be all right,” I lied.

  The young deputy exited Meemaw’s trailer, stick in hand, nodded as he passed us, and then got in the police car. Calling for help, I assumed. Or the coroner. Probably both. In a few minutes he went back to the trailer.

  “Why aren’t they out looking for Sunny?” Meemaw sobbed.

  “I’m sure that’s what that young man was doing,” Mary Alice said. “Putting out an APB on her.”

  Meemaw looked up. “An APB on Sunshine?”

  “An all-points bulletin.” Miss Know-it-all dispensing knowledge.

  “Good God, what am I doing in this car?” Meemaw groaned.

  The question was never answered because just at that second there was a tap on Mary Alice’s window. All three of us screamed at the face that peered in.

  My first thought was that it was a bear. Mary Alice told me later that she thought the same thing. There’s a sizable black bear population still left in rural Alabama. Occasionally they even get confused and end up in a metropolitan area where they have to be tranquilized and returned to the wild.

  But this bear, I realized immediately, was wearing a hat, an old brown felt one with a wide brim. I also realized immediately that, in spite of the overabundance of hair follicles, this was Pawpaw Turkett. Meemaw clued me in on that by shouting for Sister to let down her window, that she had to tell her stud muffin what had happened.

  The window came down, and the stud muffin leaned into the car and smiled, actually a very sweet smile, at Mary Alice. “Hey, pretty lady,” he said. “What’s going on?” That’s when Meemaw lunged and grabbed him by his beard, nearly breaking Mary Alice’s neck in the swiftness of her reaction. At least that’s what Mary Alice claimed later.

  Now Pawpaw couldn’t come in the
window, Meemaw couldn’t go out of it, and Mary Alice was caught in between. There was a dead man impaled to the floor of a trailer a few yards away and a police car parked behind us with a blue light flashing that looked for all the world like a beacon for a Kmart special.

  And all I had done was accept an invitation to lunch.

  Enough. I activated the old schoolteacher voice, the one that skims across ice as authoritatively as any Olympian.

  “Quit this right now. Meemaw, get out of the car and tell your husband what’s happened.”

  She didn’t get out of the car, but she did let go of Pawpaw’s beard and sit back, allowing Sister to scoot over toward me.

  “Pawpaw,” Meemaw shouted, “Sunshine’s been kidnapped and there’s a murdered man in my trailer.”

  Pawpaw leaned forward cautiously, rubbing his chin. “What?” Then, to Sheriff Reuse who walked up and touched his shoulder, “Hey, Junior. What are you doing here?”

  “Got a problem, Melvin. There’s a man in Meemaw’s trailer been stabbed.”

  “Bad?” Pawpaw asked.

  “He’s stuck to the linoleum,” Meemaw said loudly.

  The sheriff gave her a hard look. “He’s dead, Melvin.”

  Pawpaw’s hands went to his chest. “Oh, my Lord!”

  “He’s fixing to have an attack,” Mary Alice whispered.

  The sheriff must have thought so, too. He opened the back car door and had Pawpaw sit down.

  “Who is it?” Pawpaw asked, hands still pressed to his chest.

  “Deputy Carter thinks it’s Chief Joseph, the Mexican guy who chiefs down at Crystal Caverns weekends. You know him?”

  “An Indian chief? I don’t know any Indian chiefs.”

  “He’s not a real Indian, Melvin. Just dresses up like one and charges people to pose for pictures with their kids.”

  Pawpaw took off his old felt hat and rubbed the back of his arm across his forehead. A long Willie Nelson braid hung down his back.

  “He told you he doesn’t know any Indian chief, Junior.” Meemaw jerked on Pawpaw’s braid. He turned to look at her. “Sunshine’s gone, sweetheart. Our Sunshine’s been kidnapped.”