A Case of Sour Grapes

by Gae-Lynn Woods

  Blue did.

  “Who’s that?”

  “The winery’s host, Will.”

  “He’s the spitting image of Baxter.”

  “No,” said Blue. She leaned closer. “You think?”

  “Wow,” said Frannie. “He’s a looker. Where are those photos of Bret when he was younger?” She tottered to the boxes they’d brought with them and grabbed a stack of photos. “Here,” she said. “In this one. And this one.”

  They were casual photos of BB Ivy and the Dismembered Bunnies in the studio, at gigs, rehearsing, and preparing for a photo shoot. The women looked back and forth between the old photos and the new.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t see it,” Blue said.

  “Pull up the current photo of Baxter,” Nicole said. “He’s got about twenty years on that kid. His hair is short now and Will’s hair is darker. There are similarities, but if you didn’t see them together, you wouldn’t notice.”

  “He can’t be Bret’s child,” Blue said. “He never had any kids.”

  “That we know of,” Nicole clarified. “How old is Will?”

  Blue frowned. “Mid to late twenties?”

  “That would put Baxter in his early twenties when Will was born. Who was he married to then?” Nicole opened her phone and studied the photos she’d taken of the white boards. “Here we go. He married Mary Sterling in 1983, divorced her in 1987.”

  “Nobody else?” Frannie asked.

  “Only Mary as far as we know.”

  “Do we have a picture of her?”

  Blue motioned to the boxes. “Somewhere in there.”

  Nicole found the death notice and accompanying photo. “Could be her kid. Hey Blue,” she held up the photo. “She looks like you.”

  “Yvette said the same thing,” Blue said. “Do you think Will is their kid?”

  Frannie was still digging and came up with the photo of a younger Bret that Blue had seen earlier. “Yeah, Will’s definitely his kid. Look at this.” She turned it to face them, then examined the back of the photo, squinting to see better. “Unbelievable. He knew.”

  “What do you mean?” Nicole asked.

  “He knew he had a kid. This is Will, not Bret. Look.” She shoved the photo at Blue and dug deeper in the box, pulling out more photos and looking at their backs. “He’s got pictures of Will when he’s an infant through to his high school photos. That one,” she pointed to the photo Blue still held, “must’ve been taken when he was about college age.”

  Blue studied the pictures of Will. “How did he get these? Mary divorced him because he was cheating. There’s a Dear Bret letter somewhere in that box.”

  “She must’ve sent them to him.”

  “I wonder if Will knew his father?” Nicole asked.

  “How could he?” Blue asked. “None of us knew he had a kid. Bret traveled a lot, but he didn’t spend that much time in California.”

  “How could a man have a son this cute,” Frannie said, holding up a studio photo of Will as a toddler in a jon-jon romper with a rubber ball in one hand, “and not adore him?”

  THE FALL

  I WAS WALKING DOWN the stairs to ground level, my head bent over my handbag digging for my keys, when I fell into the door and stumbled out onto the street. A pair of strong arms caught me and the next thing I knew, I was looking up into a pair of warm brown eyes flecked with gold. Butterflies came to life in my stomach. Bruce looked as surprised as I did, and was slow to put me back on my feet.

  “Easy there,” he said. “You in a hurry?”

  “I can’t find my keys. Would you hold this?” I held out my bag.

  He took it warily and balanced it on two hands. “What do you have in this thing? It must weigh twenty pounds.”

  “The essentials. Stop looking. There’s girl stuff in here.” I found my keys right where they were supposed to be: on that cute little strap inside the bag. I raised them in triumph. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” Bruce shifted the purse back to me and I slung it over my shoulder. “Are you headed somewhere?”

  “I was going to call Cass and see if she wanted to come to my place and order dinner in. A cleaning crew was supposed to clear out stuff that can’t be repaired, and I need to make a list of what has to be replaced.”

  “Kado’s taken her out.” He glanced across the square at Arcadia’s only Italian restaurant. The decor was cheesy, but the food was carb rich and very good. “I could cook while you inventory.”

  That was a bolt out of the blue and although it was a welcome one, I wasn’t sure how I felt about having a man in this apartment. It was sacred ground, my bolt hole, the place I had felt safest in the world. Now, I wasn’t sure how safe it was and in truth, I was reluctant to go back alone. Logically, I knew my interlopers were safely tucked away in Forney County’s fine jail, but the fear lingered. I wanted to explore a relationship with this man, but I was struggling with the thought of letting Bruce into my abode when it struck me that he wasn’t the first man to have been there. Yes, the complex’s manager and the maintenance guys had been in and out, but they didn’t count. But Sugar Murphy had been there. He was a man. And he’d certainly made himself at home, evidenced by the fingerprints Truman found on the toilet handle. So why not let Bruce in? If things didn’t work out, I could always move.

  “Sounds great. I need to run out to the winery later, and I don’t know what I’ve got in the fridge.”

  A smile split his face and he ran a hand over his hair. “I’ll stop by the grocery store on the way. Are you allergic to anything?”

  I assured him I wasn’t and gave him my apartment number. The butterflies soared into full flight and it was all I could do not to burst into song as I climbed into the Lexus.

  SECRETS

  HOW INDEED? WILL THOUGHT from his position outside the music room. He’d crept through the house and to the second floor, cringing when he stepped on the squeaky stair by mistake. He’d ducked into a room just before Blue stuck her head into the hall, then moved slowly to stand by the door. He listened to their conversation with morbid fascination, growing more disgusted by the minute with his father and the women he’d bedded.

  Will had never known hate until right before his mother died, when she told him the truth about his father. He’d found the box his mother had secreted on a high shelf in her closet and finally understood why her mouth had always been a little pinched. Why she’d been so watchful whenever they were out of the house. Why she’d always been so protective.

  His mother’s life had been wrecked by a blackmailer whose lies and half-truths had sent her to an early grave. Bret had only gotten what he deserved when he ended up in that tank of wine. Now the women who’d helped him would get what they deserved.

  Will tightened the grip on his bat and waited.

  A KISS ISN’T JUST A KISS

  BRUCE BAKED AN AMAZING white fish and used a dented pot to steam vegetables while I wandered around the apartment, despairing at the damage. The cleaning crew had done an amazing job of scrubbing away the fingerprint powder and salvaging what they could. But most of the apartment was a loss. Thankfully, I am meticulous about taking pictures of my belongings for insurance purposes - I don’t know where I get that obsessiveness, but I’m glad I’ve got it - and keeping them in a safe deposit box. I knew my insurance agent would thank me when I delivered my list and photos tomorrow morning. Or maybe not, given how much they’d have to pay out.

  The crew managed to salvage four plates, a cereal bowl with three chips on its lip, and two salad plates. Bruce surveyed the contents of my cabinets and said, “Minimalist is in.”

  By the time I finished my inventory, dinner was ready. The crew had glued two of the barstools back together, and although they listed severely to starboard, we balanced and ate a fabulous dinner at the bar. Bruce had brought a bottle of the pink stuff from Cedar Bend Winery, and I asked how he knew that was my favorite.

  “I have my ways,” he said with a sly smile. “Hey, how come
nobody heard the guy trashing your place?”

  “There are only two apartments on this floor. The other one is empty, so are the two directly below me.”

  He looked around the nearly empty space. “Are you okay to stay here tonight?”

  I hadn’t thought about that. The mattress and box springs in my bedroom and the guest room had been slashed and were gone, whisked away by the cleaning crew. My beautiful red sofa was also gone. “I think I have a sleeping bag in one of the closets,” I said.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Bruce said. “Are you okay to stay here alone?”

  I hadn’t thought about that, either. Not directly. It was one of those things I could avoid until I had to face it head on, and now was the moment of truth. Tears stung the back of my eyes and my lower lip quivered. I bit it to keep it still.

  Bruce watched, and then took me in his arms, pulling me close. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so safe in my life. I rested my head against his chest and let the rhythm of his breathing and his thumb tracing circles on the back of my neck relax me. He leaned into the kitchen bar and we stood like that for a long time.

  At last I lifted my head, intending to thank him, but he brought his lips to mine and kissed me. Softly at first, and then with more heat. I lifted my arms to his broad shoulders and stood on my toes to reach him, and he circled my waist with his arms. His hands, rough with calluses, slipped under my blouse and electricity crackled through me. He pulled my hips to his and desire coupled with a pulsing panic exploded through me.

  The old images arced through my mind. Flashing lights, thumping bass, Richard Nixon’s crumpled face. I’d never had sex since the rape without the images intruding. Usually I was drunk enough to push them away, but tonight I was almost sober. Fear overwhelmed desire, and I pushed away from Bruce.

  His soft brown eyes shone with lust and concern in equal measure. “Are you okay?” he asked. “We can stop whenever you say so.”

  There’s nothing sexier than a man who puts control of his lovemaking in a woman’s hands. I trembled with desire and gratitude, then cleared my throat. “I promised to go to the winery to pick something up for Kado.”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Why don’t you pack some clothes and stay with us for a few days? At least until your new furniture arrives.”

  “I could stay with Babby or Kay.”

  “Or Vivienne?” he asked with a sardonic grin. The angst between my mother and me was legendary.

  I snorted. “Never with Mother.”

  “Stay with us. Please. I promise I’ll stay out of your room. Unless you tell me to come in.”

  His face was so open and full of hope I couldn’t help but say yes.

  “Good,” Bruce said. “I’ll do the dishes while you pack.”

  A man who cooks and does the dishes? That’s the second most sexy thing out there. My knees trembled as he picked up a sponge.

  REVENGE

  “I’M WORN OUT,” FRANNIE said, and gestured to the neat stacks of paper on the floor. “This is too much to take in. Can you believe one man can keep communications going with all these women?”

  The wives had gone through most of the paperwork and arranged it by wife and in date order. Mary’s letters to Bret were stacked chronologically, as were the photos of Will. They’d found no information about any other members of Bret’s family. Not parents, siblings, aunts or uncles, grandparents, or cousins.

  Nicole walked to the CD player and slipped The Best of The Guess Who into the tray, then began slow dancing to “These Eyes.”

  One box remained and Frannie eyed it with suspicion. “I wonder what we’ll find in there.”

  “I’m not sure I want to know,” Blue said. “Poor Mary. She had the worst of it for all these years.”

  “He got a lot more money out of the other wives,” Nicole countered in her nasally voice, her eyes closed as she swayed to the music. “Us included. I wonder if the kid inherited any of his father’s philandering ways? He certainly got Baxter’s looks and wouldn’t have any trouble with the girls.” She opened her eyes and surveyed the wrecked music room. “I’ll go get some water and we can finish that last box, then get some sleep. Wine, anyone?”

  “I’ll go,” Frannie said. “I’ve got to pee anyway. And yes, I could use another glass. Anybody else?” The Guess Who swung into “Laughing” and she’d nearly crossed the threshold into the hall when she snapped her fingers and turned back. “I’ll take the dirty dish -”

  Her words died in a shriek of pain. Blue and Nicole stood transfixed as a baseball bat whipped out of the dark hall and connected with Frannie’s left arm, just at the elbow. The shriek faded to a whimper as she looked at the broken arm and slipped to the floor.

  “Frannie!” Blue yelled, racing to the other woman and crouching beside her.

  Nicole was right behind her but pulled up short as Will materialized in the doorway, bat raised for another swing. Nicole grabbed the collar of Blue’s shirt and yanked her off balance. Blue fell on her butt and did a fast crab-walk backwards. His bat missed her head by inches.

  He was hissing as he stalked into the room, bat raised again. “Bitches. Every one of you, bitches in heat.”

  “Will,” Blue said, her voice quiet but shaking. “Calm down. We’re no threat to you.”

  “No threat?” He coughed a laugh. “Do you have any idea what my mother suffered because of women like you?”

  “No, but we know a little. We’ve got her letters.” Blue pointed at the neat stack on the floor and watched as Will grew still. She and Nicole inched away, stepping carefully to avoid the musical clutter. “She did suffer, Will. She loved you very much and wouldn’t want you to do this.”

  Will turned his gaze on them, his beautiful gray eyes now the color of a troubled ocean, blazing with hate. “Oh yes. She would.”

  He raised the bat and took a step forward.

  FROM A HORROR MOVIE

  THE DRIVE FROM MY apartment to the winery was shorter than usual because I was in a lust-fueled trance and missed most of the trip. How I managed to arrive without doing a mischief to myself or anyone else is a mystery.

  I waved at the officer stationed on the county road just before the winery’s entrance and he waved back. The parking lot was positively packed, and I left the Lexus along the drive to the house. I excused my way through the crowd on the patio and stepped inside to the sound of the three piece jazz band from Friday night. The guitar player was crooning Chet Baker’s version of “Funny Valentine”, yet he managed to wince at the sight of my face and blow me a sympathetic kiss.

  I glanced around, looking for Will, but didn’t see him. One of the waitresses fussed over my black eye and said he’d left to run an errand and she wished he’d hurry back.

  “Business is booming since word of the murders and Blue’s alleged role in them got out. People adore Blue,” she said. “They were a little leery of Bret, maybe because he was such a flirt, but nobody can imagine Blue killing anyone. People are coming from all over to show their support. Even the publishers want to include something about the murders in the cookbook. Long may it continue.”

  I saw Wally Pugh, reporter for the Forney Cater and KOIL, the local radio station, sitting with an attractive woman near the stage. His eyebrows twitched at the sight of my battered face, and I remembered I had a bone to pick with him over how he portrayed Blue in today’s newspaper. But that would have to wait.

  When I asked if Blue was in the kitchen, the waitress directed me to the house. The wives’ cars were parked in the drive and lights glowed in some of the upstairs windows. I was reaching for the doorbell when I realized the door was ajar.

  If I’d been smart, I would’ve hightailed it back to the winery and called the police, letting them investigate. But you’ve probably figured out that I’ve never been one to follow my head. As it turns out, it was a good thing logic didn’t prevail.

  I slung my lucky purse higher on my shoulder and pushed the door open enough
to slip inside. Music drifted down the stairs and I recognized “Laughing” by The Guess Who. I grabbed the banister and headed up, apologizing to my healing knees as I went.

  I’d made it only a few steps when the first shriek sounded. My blood ran cold and my pain disappeared. I bounded up the rest of the stairs and stopped in the hallway. More screaming and the sounds of scuffling were coming from Bret’s music room and I ran to it.

  The scene I found was from a horror movie. Frannie lay unmoving on the floor near the door, her left arm splayed at an unnatural angle. Nicole was yelling at a man stalking towards them, baseball bat held high. She stumbled over a piece of drum kit and sprawled on her butt, then grabbed a cowbell and heaved it. The man ducked but kept moving.

  Blue’s face was ashen as she helped Nicole up, but I realized she was speaking softly to their attacker. Given the amount of clutter on the floor, there was little space for the women to retreat. A shot of adrenaline flushed through me. I dropped my lucky purse, stepped over Frannie’s body, and grabbed a mostly intact banjo.

  I hefted it and swung with all my might, smacking the attacker in the back. He went down with a ‘whoof’ and Blue and Nicole jumped him while he was stunned, but he pushed his upper body from the floor. I grabbed an orange extension cord and dropped to my knees, scrambling to wrap it around his legs. I got it around once, pulled it tight, and felt a surge of glee as he fell face forward again.

  He was still struggling but Nicole engaged in a tug-of-war over his bat and won, then raised it over her head in a double-handed grip, letting loose with an unholy scream. The CD changed tracks to “Undun” and despite the fight swirling around me, I couldn’t help but think how appropriate the opening lyrics, “She’s come undone,” were to the scene.

  Nicole started a vicious downward swing but Blue stopped her. “No,” she said, shoving the bat away. “We can’t do this.”