by Gail Oust
He gave us both a broad smile. “Don’t y’all worry about a thing. They don’t call me Bad Jack for nothin’. I earned that title. And I’m damn, pardon the expression, proud of it.”
I gave Claudia’s shoulders a pat before Bad Jack hustled her down the hall toward the sheriff’s office to meet her doom. Doom? A slip of the tongue. I meant meet her fate.
My BFF, Pam, was waiting when I arrived at the Koffee Kup, where she had secured the large corner booth at the back of the diner. “Claudia OK?” she asked by way of a greeting.
I slid in next to her. “As OK as anyone can be after shooting her husband ‘deader ’n a doornail,’ to quote ferret-faced Bernie.”
“Ferret-faced? Kate, cut the poor guy some slack,” Pam admonished. “Please tell me the man didn’t really say that.”
I solemnly drew a giant X across my chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die. Stick a needle in my eye.”
“Figures. He can be such a jerk at times.”
“At times? You mean all the time, don’t you?”
Glancing around, I noted the diner was filled to capacity. The owner had taken its cue from the popular Cracker Barrel restaurant chain when it came to décor. Antique kitchen utensils, farm tools, and photos of long-lost relatives in ornate frames hung on the walls. Tables covered in red-checkered cloths held small vases of plastic flowers. The diner featured old-fashioned home cooking, reminiscent of Sunday dinner at grandma’s, with classic offerings such as meat loaf, mac and cheese—a staple here in the South—catfish, and, of course, finger-lickin’-good Southern-fried chicken. And pies. Pies here at the Kup were phenomenal—pecan, key lime. My hands-down favorite was the lemon meringue with its meringue mounded mile high. But I’m wandering off course. We weren’t here to talk food, but how to save Claudia’s butt.
“Where’s everyone?” I asked. “Did you stress that this is a matter of life and death?”
“Connie Sue’s having her mammogram. Said she’d call later to see what she could do.”
“What about Monica?”
“Monica’s a nervous wreck worrying about meeting the sheriff later today. She said the mere mention of food nauseates her.”
I picked up a menu but didn’t open it. “Did you call Rita?”
Pam nodded. “Rita said the sheriff instructed her not to discuss the case until he talked with her.”
The sheriff, it seemed, was a busy man. I wondered if I was on his hit list. I wasn’t sure if I should feel relieved or disappointed not to have heard from him. But on the bright side, since I hadn’t heard from him, I was free to talk about the case with whomever I chose.
Pam spread her napkin on her lap. “All I could muster on short notice were Janine and Gloria.”
“If Gloria comes, so will Polly. No way she’ll miss the excitement.”
No sooner were the words out of my mouth than the bell over the front entrance jangled. I looked up to see Janine trailed closely by Gloria and Polly. Janine’s pretty face wore a worried frown. Gloria looked somber in a gray turtleneck and a gray and burgundy plaid polyester pantsuit with a flotilla of gold chains around her neck. Polly’s face crinkled into a smile when she spied us. She’d dressed for the occasion in a marigold yellow knit top emblazoned with the purple-sequined question, AT WHAT AGE AM I OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW BETTER?
We made a production of jamming five people into a booth designed for four. A waitress, a slender brunette I hadn’t seen before, approached our booth. She wore a HELLO, MY NAME IS name tag with Krystal scrawled in the blank space provided. She handed us menus, then departed to fill our drink orders.
“Claudia been arrested?” Polly wanted to know.
I shook my head. “Not as of ten minutes ago. I stayed at the sheriff’s office until Bad Jack arrived.”
“Who’s Bad Jack?” Polly demanded. “Sounds like a bounty hunter.”
I had to remind myself the others hadn’t been present the night before. They had received all their information second or third hand. “Bad Jack, called BJ by his friends, is Badgeley Jack Davenport the Fourth, Claudia’s attorney.”
“Quite a moniker,” Gloria murmured.
“Actually, it suits him. He’s quite a guy.”
“Bad Jack, hmm?” Behind her trifocals, a wicked gleam lit Polly’s eyes. “Sounds like a man after my own heart. I could go for one of those ‘bad boy’ types. I like a man a little on the naughty side. He good-looking?”
“Mother!” Gloria sounded exasperated to the nth degree. “I swear I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”
“How’d she find him?” Janine asked, interrupting the mother-daughter exchange.
“I called Eric Olsen and asked whom he’d recommend. Apparently Eric’s watched Bad Jack’s performance in the courtroom a time or two and been impressed.”
Polly gave Pam a broad wink. “Eric’s a nice young man. He seems to be taking quite a shine to your Megan.”
I had to agree. I’d noticed the byplay between the pair as well. Megan and Eric were cast as sweethearts in Forever, My Darling—Megan the ingénue; Eric the rooky detective. They were both unattached and made a cute couple.
Pam shrugged diffidently. “Megan likes him, too, but claims they’re only friends. We’ll see how the friendship holds up once the play is over.”
The waitress returned with drinks and took our orders. We rattled off our usuals—tuna and chicken salad sandwiches, respectively, for Pam and me, a chef’s salad for Janine, BLTs for mother and daughter, who for once were on the same page.
“How’s Claudia holding up under the strain?” Janine inquired.
“Not very well, I’m afraid, though she hasn’t said much. And as we all know, that’s not like Claudia.”
“What do you suppose will happen next?” Pam posed the question on everyone’s minds.
Was I the only one who’d realized the honeymoon was over for the newlyweds? “Don’t have a clue,” I said when no one else ventured an opinion. “Claudia’s guilty as sin of firing the shot that killed Lance. We all saw her pull the trigger. That’s why she needs the best defense attorney money can buy.”
Janine tore open a packet of sweetener and added it to her iced tea. “What do you think will happen to the play now that Lance is dead?”
“Who knows?” I took a sip of coffee. I’d lost count of how many cups I’d consumed already and was surprised I didn’t have a bad case of the shakes after all the caffeine. But drastic times called for drastic measures. “I really haven’t given the matter any thought. Why?”
Janine’s brows knit as she frowned. “Lance volunteered to donate the proceeds from ticket sales from opening night to Pets in Need.”
Pets in Need, the local chapter of the Humane Society, was overflowing with abandoned cats and dogs and in dire need of funds. I knew canceling the play would be a devastating blow to her plans for a new shelter. No play meant no money.
“I announced Lance’s offer at our last meeting.” She swirled her iced tea with a straw. “The group was really counting on the money we’d receive. We’ve been talking about a new shelter for years. With the proceeds from the play, it could become a reality. Everyone’s going to be so disappointed.”
I thought of the cat I’d semi-adopted, a half-wild creature I’d been feeding canned tuna in the hope of taming. The color of orange marmalade, it was a scrawny, bedraggled feline I’d named Tang. Bill thought it might even be a feral cat—an animal abandoned and left to fend for itself. Whatever it was, the cat had the lungs and vocal cords of a feisty newborn and was as generous as Santa with gifts of mice and bits of fur and bone. An animal shelter was sorely needed to harbor poor creatures such as Tang until permanent homes could be found.
“I was hoping we’d come up with a way to help Claudia through this,” I said.
“What about her sons?” Pam asked. “They should be told what’s going on with their mother.”
“I’ll give them a call,” Gloria volunteered. “I’ll get their numbers from D
iane. I think she might still have them.”
“I don’t like the idea of Claudia’s being alone right now,” Janine said.
“I’ll move in with her for a couple days,” Polly offered quickly. “Answer the phone, see that she eats, keep the reporters at bay.”
I stifled a groan. Polly meant well, but I could see her granting interviews rather than keeping reporters at arm’s length. In no time at all, she’d become a familiar face on the nightly news.
We exchanged nervous glances.
“Shame on you.” Polly wagged an arthritic finger at us. “I know what you’re thinking, but you don’t have to worry. Claudia’s my friend, too. I know when to keep my trap shut.”
“Getting back to the play, Janine,” I said, relieved immediate problems were solved, “I don’t know how the play can continue without Lance in the picture.”
Krystal, our waitress, returned just then, carrying a tray loaded with sandwiches. “Lance?” she asked. “That wouldn’t be Lance Ledeaux, the actor, you’re talking about?”
“Yep, that’s him.” Polly reached for her BLT. “He got shot and killed deader ’n a doornail last night.”
“Ohh,” Krystal mewed. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she keeled over in a dead faint. Tuna salad merged with chicken salad and BLTs. Pickles collided with chips, all to form a messy heap on the shiny red linoleum floor.
Chapter 11
At the sound of the crashing tray, silence thicker than bread pudding spread over the Koffee Kup. Patrons and staff alike craned their necks for a better view.
In a flash, Janine was on her knees beside the young woman, feeling for a pulse as we hovered over them.
“Should I dial nine-one-one?” I asked, digging for my cell phone, which had settled in the recesses of my purse.
“I think she just fainted,” Janine said at last. “She’ll be OK.”
To my immense relief, the woman’s eyelids flickered, and she stirred. I’m never quite sure what to do in a medical emergency. I take that back. I’ve developed my own protocol of sorts that I fondly refer to as the Trinity. No reference to the Holy Trinity, mind you, but a trinity all the same when it comes to medical emergencies. First step: Reach for the cell phone. Second step: Reach for a glass of water. Step three: Pray Janine’s nearby.
“W-what happened?” the young woman asked, dazed by the sea of unfamiliar faces peering down at her.
A stout, red-faced woman in a T-shirt and jeans rushed out of the kitchen to see what all the fuss was about. Since her apron proclaimed her Queen of the Kitchen, I assumed she must be May Randolph, owner and head chef. May neatly sidestepped the mess on the floor and bent over the waitress lying sprawled on a bed of bread and gooey mayo. “Krystal, you all right? What the hell happened?” she demanded in a throaty smoker’s voice.
While Pam and Janine eased Krystal into a sitting position, I held a glass of water to her lips. The young woman shoved a dark strand of hair out of her face, then took a tentative sip. “I’m fine. Don’t know what came over me.”
“Is there someone we can call?” Gloria asked. “You still don’t look well enough to drive.”
Krystal shook her head weakly. “No,” she said. “I’m new in town.”
“This is the kid’s first day,” May explained, wiping large, work-roughened hands on her grease-stained apron. “I only hired her yesterday. Said she was on her way to Myrtle Beach to look for work when her car broke down. Claims they’re always looking for all sorts of help with the big hotels and whatnot.”
“Tough luck,” Polly commiserated.
“Felt sorry for the girl after hearing she was flat broke. From the looks of her scrawny ass, I’d say she hasn’t had a square meal in days.”
I studied the young woman closer and was relieved to see color seep into her fair skin. She had a pretty face with even features, a full mouth, not the Hollywood, puffy fish lips type currently in vogue but full in a natural sort of way, and large hazel eyes. While her lips may not have been enhanced, I couldn’t say the same about her boobs. Even though I’m not an expert in that sort of thing, they seemed a little too generous for someone with her slender build.
Reaching out, I plucked a slice of tomato from her hair. “Honey, do you know anyone here in Brookdale?”
“No.” Tears sprang to the young woman’s eyes. “My family’s back in Iowa. But I can’t go home. I’ve burned my bridges. Been on my own since I was nineteen.”
Janine and Pam helped her to her feet. I could see she was a bit unsteady, so I pulled over a chair from an adjacent table. “Here, sit. You still seem shaky.”
She gave me a tremulous smile.
May sent an anxious glance over her shoulder. The restaurant had assumed its normal hustle and bustle. “Gotta get back to work. Orders are piling up.” She turned back to Krystal. “Take the rest of the day off, but if you want this job, you’d better show up bright and early tomorrow morning. I’m puttin’ you on first shift. Good tips, but you earn every dime.”
Krystal let out an uneven sigh and made a visible attempt to pull herself together. “Thanks, May. I’ll be there; you’ll see.”
“I’ll send a boy out to clean up this mess.” With a brusque nod, May lumbered back toward the kitchen.
“Is there someplace you can lie down for a while?” Gloria asked.
Krystal burst into tears. In between sobs, she stammered, “N-no. I-I-I’ve been sleeping in my car.”
Sleeping in her car? Dear Lord, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor thing. No money, no working vehicle, no place to stay. My heart went out to her. Before my head had a chance to engage, I blurted, “I’ve got lots of room. You can stay at my place until you get back on your feet.”
Krystal’s eyes widened. “Really? You mean it?”
Pam shot a warning dart in my direction. Are you out of your frickin’ mind? I didn’t need telepathic powers to guess what she was thinking. Had the situation been reversed, I’d have posed the same question myself.
“Sure—it’ll be fun having a houseguest.”
And it would. I had plenty of room and enjoyed company now and then. My kids were always too busy to pay their poor, lonely, widowed mother a visit. I was lucky to get an occasional phone call and a card on my birthday. Perhaps I’m being a bit facetious. Truth to tell, I confess I’m neither poor nor lonely. Thanks to planning and hard work, Jim had left me comfortably well-off. And I was rarely lonely. I’d made lots of friends here in Serenity Cove Estates, and there were tons of activities to occupy my time. Golf, Tai Chi, ceramics, book club, line dancing, and last but not least, bunco. Life was good; I had no complaints.
“Well then, it’s settled,” Janine said with a smile that seemed a bit forced. I could tell she wasn’t happy with my decision, but what choice did I have? I wouldn’t sleep a wink knowing this poor young woman was homeless, broke, and going hungry.
I felt a tug on my sleeve. Glancing down, I found Polly’s scrawny fingers clutching my sweater. “Psst,” she hissed.
“What’s up?”
“Gotta tell you something. Meet me in the ladies’ room.” She scooted off before I had a chance to ask why.
I’m a sucker for cloak-and-dagger stuff. Seeing Krystal was in the capable hands of Gloria, Pam, and Janine, I mumbled an excuse and scooted after her.
“Lock the door,” Polly instructed the moment I slipped inside the restroom.
“Curiouser and curiouser!” cried Alice. The words played in my head as I locked the door. “Why the need for secrecy?” I asked.
Polly regarded me, her eyes solemn behind shiny trifocals. “You know how I hate to gossip,” she began.
I simply couldn’t help myself. I laughed out loud.
Polly folded her arms over her modest bosom and glared at me. “What’s so funny?”
“Hate to gossip?” I asked once my chuckles had subsided. “Out with it, girlfriend. Who are you, and what have you done with the real Polly?”
My veiled attempt
at humor zipped right over Polly’s head. She cast an anxious glance at the door as if expecting someone to crash through any second. “I saw something yesterday.”
All mirth vanished in the blink of an eye. My pulse quickened a tad, the way it does sometimes when I sense bad news. “Polly, for crying out loud, just tell me what’s going on.”
She inched closer. “I happened to be in town having my hair done when I spotted Lance in that flashy orange car of his parked on a side street. Thought I’d surprise him, say hello. Maybe give him an update on how things are coming along in the costume department. You know, just trying to be friendly, his being new in town.”
“And . . . ?”
“Well,” Polly said, moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue, “I was about to tap on the driver’s-side window when I realized he wasn’t alone. He was with someone—a woman.”
I frowned at hearing this. “A woman? You mean a woman other than Claudia?”
“Try to keep up with me, Kate. You’re falling behind.”
Mea culpa! Mea culpa! Shame on me for being a little slow on the uptake. “Sorry, Polly. I’ll try harder.”
“No need to get flip with your elders, young lady. I’m trying to tell you Lance had his arm around a dark-haired woman—and I think that woman was Krystal. Want my opinion, they were acting pretty chummy. Pretty chummy, indeed.”
Chapter 12
What had I done? How old did I have to be in order to think first and speak later? Would I ever learn? Instead, I’d gone and invited a perfect stranger into my home—or, in this case, maybe a not-so-perfect stranger. But it was too late now for second thoughts. With the Babes’ help, we’d transferred Krystal’s belongings from her Honda Civic to my Buick. At the moment, Krystal was napping in my guest room.
After a stressful afternoon, I was in need of comfort food—and comfort food for me often took the form of tuna noodle casserole. I opened the pantry door and stood there—thinking. Could Polly have been mistaken about the woman she’d seen with Lance? What possible connection did Krystal have with Lance Ledeaux? Was Krystal the same woman I’d seen Lance with behind the Piggly Wiggly? I absently reached for the cream of mushroom soup, and realized belatedly I’d grabbed a jar of salsa.
