by Vickie Fee
A waitress offered to show Di the private dining rooms that were not currently in use. She had pretended to be interested in the big and medium rooms while sneaking a peek at the small dining room. Through the glass-panel door she could see Lucinda and Pierce, but couldn’t hear what they were saying.
About forty-five minutes after Di returned to the car, Lucinda and Pierce exited through the same side door. They shared a very friendly hug before leaving in their separate cars.
“They seem pretty chummy,” I noted.
“They looked pretty cozy in the restaurant, too,” Di said. “Still, it was a hug, not a kiss. And that little dining room is private enough for discreet chats, but the glass door nixes any take-off-your-clothes kind of privacy.”
“You think there’s any point to following either one of them?”
“Naw,” Di said. “If they were going to get physically intimate, they would have just met at a hotel or apartment to begin with.”
“Pierce is an attorney,” I said. “I suppose there’s a chance she’s talking to him about a legal matter.”
“There’s a better chance pigs can fly. I’m sure Lucinda has some big celebrity attorney in L.A.,” Di said. “Besides, if it was strictly business, I don’t think they’d bother with the whole cloak-and-dagger kind of meeting.”
“Well, we’re pretty sure Morgan and Pierce were having or previously had an affair. And Pierce, Morgan, and Lucinda all went to college at Ole Miss. Morgan and Lucinda were a little younger than Pierce. I’ll try to find out if their time at Ole Miss overlapped—maybe they’re simply old school chums.”
“I’d like to know just how chummy,” Di said.
Chapter 14
I dropped Di off at her place and drove out to the Dodds’ house to check on things. The movers were just about finished. Holly said the day had been pretty uneventful—nothing broken, fortunately. I told her I’d stay so she could still salvage a bit of her Sunday.
Mrs. Dodd had asked us to leave the lights hanging from the oak tree. She thought they’d make a nice addition to their holiday decorations. For Halloween, I suggested they could aim a spotlight covered with an orange filter upward from the base of the tree.
I hurried over to the Dixie Public library, which closes at five on Sundays. Miss Hicks, the librarian, cast a look of displeasure in my direction when I walked through the door at five minutes to five o’clock. But I had just enough time to check the Dixie High School yearbooks.
I quickly calculated Morgan’s year of graduation based on the age listed in her newspaper obituary. I thumbed along the shelf and picked the book from two years before her senior year. It only took moments to flip through the class pictures. Pierce Davenport was a senior when Morgan and Lucinda were sophomores, so their time at Ole Miss could have overlapped with Pierce’s by two or even three years, depending on his course load. I strolled leisurely past Miss Hicks and out the door before the clock ticked to the hour mark.
I got in my car and phoned Di to let her know that Pierce, Lucinda, and Morgan were all at Ole Miss at the same time.
“So he could be an old flame who’s burning brightly again,” Di said.
“Could be,” I acknowledged. “Di, I can’t remember if I told you, but when I had lunch with Ted I asked him about that phone call to Naomi. He said, off the record, that Dave thinks Naomi didn’t really get a phone call—that she just made it up. I’m having a hard time believing that.”
“Yeah, me too,” Di said. “I chatted for a minute with Trudy while she was home for lunch on Friday, and she said she’d never seen Naomi as upset as she was after she got the phone call about her sister’s death.”
“Is Dave sure nobody else called the bank besides those two businesses and the old lady?”
“When I’m back on speaking terms with Dave, I’ll ask,” Di said.
* * *
I drove home and rushed inside the house to change clothes. We were supposed to be at my in-laws’ house for dinner at six. It was Daddy Wayne’s birthday. I had offered to plan a party at a local restaurant to celebrate since we had almost lost Larry Joe’s dad a couple of months ago when he had a major heart attack. But my father-in-law flatly refused to let us make a fuss over his birthday. His exact words were, “Sixty-three is not any kind of milestone. Y’all are trying to trick me by throwing a retirement party and inviting witnesses.”
We were doing no such thing, of course. We were genuinely thankful to still have the old curmudgeon around after his close call with the grim reaper. Still, we didn’t want to raise his blood pressure, so we settled on a private family dinner with my in-laws, Larry Joe and me, and my mom and Earl.
Mama always feels the need to point out that Earl isn’t family, just a good friend. I don’t know if she’s trying to convince me or herself.
I arrived home and called out to Larry Joe as I ran up the stairs. “Honey, are you about ready to go to your folks’ house?”
He stepped out of the upstairs bathroom with uncombed hair, wearing a stained T-shirt.
“We don’t have to be there for another forty-five minutes,” he said.
I kissed him on the cheek, looked him up and down, and said, “That should give you just enough time to shower and change.”
He groaned. “It’s not exactly a dress-up affair, you know.”
“I think hygiene is in order whether it’s a dressy affair or not. Besides, you know Mama will dress nice and she’ll probably make Earl wear a tie.”
“I’m not wearing a tie.”
“I think a shirt with buttons will be just fine.”
Larry Joe dropped his wrench into the toolbox and shuffled down the hall with a schoolboy pout.
“I bet Daddy will be wearing a sweatshirt,” he groused.
“He’s the birthday boy. He can wear what he wants.”
“Does that mean I can wear a sweatshirt for my next birthday party?”
“Sure,” I said. Since his birthday is at the end of June it was a pretty hollow threat.
I changed into brown dress slacks and a blouse with an autumn leaves design and then called to see if Miss Betty needed us to pick up any last-minute items from the store.
“No, hon. I think I have everything.”
“I have a full pitcher of sweet tea in the fridge. Do you want us to bring it along?”
“No thanks. I made up two big pitchers myself—one with real sugar and one with Splenda.”
“Sounds good. We’ll see you in a few minutes.”
“Oh, Liv, ” she said just as I was about to hang up, “could you ask Larry Joe not to bring up politics? With the November elections coming up soon, Wayne’s been reading the papers and fussing and cussing about politics and taxes and everything else.”
“I’ll remind Larry Joe to keep the conversation upbeat. I think that you, Mama, and I can keep the conversation under control if we pull together.”
I called out to Larry Joe that we needed to get going and then gave my mom a quick call.
“Mama, Miss Betty asked me to tell Larry Joe to avoid talking politics tonight. She’s afraid Daddy Wayne will get all riled up. Could you ask Earl to steer clear of election talk, too?”
“Sure, Liv. Talking football and golf should be enough to keep them busy. What are you wearing?”
I told her what I had on.
“I hope I’m not overdressed. I’ve got on my red silk pantsuit.”
“That sounds good to me. Daddy Wayne probably won’t dress up, but I’m sure Miss Betty will wear something spiffy.”
“You’re probably right. I tried to get Earl to wear a tie, but he made a big stink about it. I finally told him to wear whatever he dang well pleased, as long as his shirt had buttons up the front. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Click.
Realizing I had said pretty much the same thing to Larry Joe about what he should wear made me worry I was turning into my mother. I felt a little better when I saw Larry Joe bounding down the stairs wearing a light blue button-down with jeans. Ea
rl might rebel about wearing a tie, but he wouldn’t dare wear denim, especially when Mama was wearing her red silk pantsuit.
* * *
Earl was helping Mama out of the passenger seat of her Cadillac when we pulled up in front of my in-laws’ house. He was wearing khakis, as I’d expected, with a green-and-tan checked button-up shirt.
Earl retrieved a wrapped package with a big bow from the trunk and handed it to Mama. I walked over to her, carrying a gift bag. Miss Betty was holding the front door open for us as we approached the house.
“Y’all come on inside,” Miss Betty said. “It’s starting to get chilly out.”
We entered the living room and set the birthday gifts on the coffee table before sharing hugs all around.
“That’s a big box, Virginia,” Miss Betty said. “I’m not sure Wayne’s been that good.”
“I know he hasn’t, but I’m too old to give him the birthday whupping he deserves,” Mama said.
“Age hasn’t slowed Betty down any,” Daddy Wayne said. “She’s been on my back nonstop since I got out of the hospital.”
“Well, good for her, you old goat,” Mama said.
This kind of talk was the way my mama and Daddy Wayne showed their affection for one another.
“Something sure smells good,” Earl said.
“Sure does. What’s for supper, Mama?” Larry Joe said.
“Chicken and dressing,” she replied.
“I hope y’all are hungry, son,” my father-in-law said. “Your mother made enough to feed an army.”
“Oh, Wayne,” my mother-in-law said. “It’s not like you can make just a little bit of chicken and dressing. If everybody’s ready to eat, why don’t you go ahead and say grace, honey.”
My father-in-law thanked God for family and friends, good food, and the hands that prepared it. We all punctuated his prayer with an “Amen.”
We gathered around the table with Daddy Wayne at one end and Earl at the other. Mama sat next to me, and Larry Joe took a seat next to his mom.
We passed around serving dishes. Green beans, glazed carrots, deviled eggs, and buttered biscuits accompanied the chicken and dressing.
“I’m getting to eat real food because we have company,” Daddy Wayne said. “Most days she only lets me have lettuce and cottage cheese.”
“Oh, Wayne McKay, just shut up and eat your supper,” Mama said. “It’s a mystery why Betty puts up with you at all.”
“I could say the same about Earl with you,” he said.
Mama narrowed her eyes and gave him a mean squint.
“But I won’t,” Daddy Wayne added, wisely deciding not to go there.
“So Virginia, when’s Emma going to have that baby?” Miss Betty said.
“In about three weeks, we expect.”
“How exciting. Does she know if it’s a boy or a girl?” Miss Betty said.
“No,” I chimed in. “She and Hobie wanted to be surprised.
“Surprised,” Mama said. “Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard? I wish we could’ve found out back in my day. It sure would’ve helped with buying clothes and decorating the nursery.”
“Oh, Mama, it’s easy enough to buy baby clothes that will work for either a boy or a girl.”
“I bet Hobie’s hoping for a boy this time since he’s already got a little princess,” Daddy Wayne said.
“I don’t know if she’s a princess,” I said. “She’s a mess.”
I shared the story Emma had told me about Lulu refusing to share her drawer space with the new baby.
“I’ve never known a woman yet who thought she had enough drawer or closet space,” Larry Joe said.
“Lulu’s got your eyes, Virginia,” Miss Betty said.
“Sounds like she’s got Virginia’s mouth on her, too,” Daddy Wayne said.
“Have they picked out baby names?” my mother-in-law quickly interjected.
“I don’t know if they’ve settled on a girl’s name, but if it’s a boy they’re naming him the third, after Hobie and his dad,” I said. “They’ll probably call him ‘Trey.’”
We had made it through most of our supper peacefully enough. Then Earl said, “So, Wayne, how’s business?”
This may have seemed like an innocuous question to an outsider, but it turned out to be the incendiary that lit my father-in-law’s fuse.
“Damned if I know, Earl,” he said. “Nobody tells me a blessed thing. Even our new shop manager goes around me to talk to Larry Joe. Betty’s insisted I cut my hours, and she and my son are conspiring behind my back to shut me completely out of the business I helped my daddy build.”
“Now, Wayne, you know that’s just not true,” my mother-in-law said.
“It’s a crying shame the way they’re trying to keep you from killing yourself, you old goat,” Mama said.
“This old goat would be doing a whole lot better if they weren’t hiding things from me. I can handle problems at work. Been doing it for more than forty years. What I can’t handle is not knowing what the hell’s going on in my own company and having my family trying to make decisions for me. I’m not a child,” he said, getting up from the table and storming out of the room.
“I’m so sorry for Wayne’s behavior,” Miss Betty said.
“You don’t have to sorry about anything, Mama,” Larry Joe said. He excused himself from the table and went after his dad.
“Larry Joe’s right, Betty. Don’t you worry about us,” Mama said. “We’re family. And if Wayne’s going to blow off some steam, it’s better for him to do it at home.”
Miss Betty, Mama, and I started clearing away dishes. Earl hovered awkwardly in the corner of the dining room, not sure if he should venture into the other room where Larry Joe was trying to calm his dad.
“Earl, go on in the den with Wayne and Larry Joe,” Mama finally said. “Maybe you can serve as a buffer. Try to get Wayne talking about football or something.”
My mother-in-law was close to tears.
“It’s been less than two months since Wayne had his heart attack and had those stents put in,” Miss Betty said. “We’ve just been trying to get him to do what the doctor said.”
“We know that,” Mama said. “And Wayne knows that, too. He’s just stubborn and too proud for his own good. He doesn’t understand the stress he’s putting on you. Betty, you’d better take care of yourself, too. If you need to talk, day or night, or if you need me to come over and kick Wayne McKay in the seat of his sassy pants, you call me, you hear?”
My mother-in-law smiled, and I heard the men tossing around names I recognized as football players. We lit the candles on the cake and I carried the cake in, followed by my mother-in-law carrying plates and Mama carrying forks and napkins.
I set the cake plate on the buffet and we all joined in as Mama started singing “Happy Birthday.” While the rest of us sang “Dad,” “Daddy Wayne,” or “Wayne,” Mama warbled “You old goat.”
My father-in-law opened his gift from us, some kind of attachment for the drill press in his workshop that Larry Joe had ordered. He seemed pleased when he opened the oversized box from Mama and Earl that contained a ball cap with the logo of his favorite football team; one of those big, foam hands signifying his team is Number One; and a whistle he can blow whenever he disagrees with the referees. That one will probably wear on Miss Betty’s nerves after a while.
After Daddy Wayne had opened his gifts, he thanked everyone with a sheepish look and my mother-in-law started serving the birthday cake.
We talked about the upcoming Halloween fund-raiser and how Christmas would be here before you know it as we savored Miss Betty’s double fudge chocolate cake.
Suddenly, Daddy Wayne went all quiet, set his plate down, sat up ramrod straight in his chair, and slapped his hand to the middle of his chest. We all froze as we watched him with concern. Larry Joe leaned over and put his hand on his dad’s shoulder.
“Daddy, are you okay?”
Just then my father-in-
law let loose a roaring belch that practically rattled the windows, followed by a look of relief.
“Ah, I feel better now,” he said.
“Wayne McKay, don’t you dare scare me like that again,” Miss Betty said.
We all relaxed and started laughing. In a bit, we finished up our cake and said our good nights.
On the way home I noticed a number of houses had put up Halloween decorations since I last drove past. Some were as simple as a lighted jack-o’-lantern by the door or a strand of orange lights strung along the porch railing. One house, though, had gone all out this year. A giant spider web adorned the front door, and a life-size inflatable witch stood beside a large cauldron on the front porch. Orange light strands framed the door and wrapped the porch columns. Plastic bats and ghosts hung from a tree, and the front yard was filled with plastic tombstones.
“I don’t remember that house ever being decorated for Halloween before,” I said.
“New people live there,” Larry Joe said. “I remember seeing a moving van there a few weeks back.
As we pulled into our driveway, I couldn’t help but note that our house was devoid of any seasonal decorations, although our slightly dilapidated Victorian had a certain scary gothic vibe that was perfectly suited to Halloween even without decorations.
After we’d gone inside, Larry Joe switched on the TV in the den to watch the news. I headed upstairs, dressed for bed, and gave Di a quick call.
I filled her in on the birthday dinner and our little family drama.
“Hopefully your father-in-law will start coming to terms with his need to take things a little easier,” she said.
“I hope so. I know when he blows up like that, Miss Betty worries he’ll have another heart attack,” I said. “I tell her he’s probably more likely to have a heart attack if he holds it all in.”
“That’s true,” Di said. “It’s exciting to think you’ll have a new little niece or nephew in a couple of weeks. Have Emma and Hobie picked out names?”
“Not sure for a girl, but if it’s a boy they’re going to name him Winfield Hobart Phillips the Third,” I said.
“Does the world really need three of them?”
