2 Maid in the Shade

by Bridget Allison

  He brightened, “Maybe she could just teach me how to bake a pie. I would want my own name on anything that come outa my expertise.”

  “I imagine she could name it after you and cut you in, but Diva Mama? You just can’t approach that kind of pie like an ordinary one. Diva raises the whole concept to an art form. She has the following.”

  “Just like Mae’s books”, I continued, “plenty of people have the knowledge but Mae knew how to serve it up.”

  “That don’t make it just hers though,” he said huffily. “If you had you a dinner party and you hired people to set the table and bring it out of the kitchen they shouldn’t get more credit than the person doing all the cookin’. Life should be more fair; people should be more fair.”

  “What would make things right Herb? What would make things fair for you?”

  “I know one thing now; you make things right for yourself. You gotta make the deal from the start, and you can’t trust other people to recognize what you contributed.”

  “Of course not,” I soothed, “I’m just saying maybe you and Len could work something out. Sometimes it takes two. Like you and Mae you know? You two were a team. Maybe you and Diva Mama could do a forest berry pie. Although that would definitely go under “cautionary cuisine" too wouldn’t it? You can’t have just anyone out there picking berries.”

  He stiffened giving me a steely look as I smiled at him kindly. His shoulders relaxed as he went on, “I’m just happy to have the book, still being married to Mae makes it easier to change things I don’t like.”

  “I thought it was finished.”

  “No, not completely. It hadn’t been tweaked, my name needed to go first on there and all.”

  I didn’t answer, I wondered if he knew Mae had packaged up the manuscript without any acknowledgment of Herb’s contribution, let alone a co-authoring change.

  “And I just feel funny about inheritin’,” he continued, “what's mine I got a right to but I ain't looking for anything I don't deserve.”

  Lucy spoke up quickly, “It’s legally yours though right? And married or not, you two were close and you were helping her with her book.”

  “Like I SAID, wasn't her book this time, it was ours, mine really if you want to get technical about it. I don't know about her others, but she only used the best resource she could find on each title when we were together, I told her that was kinda lazy on her part, not to speak ill, you should use more than one source. But in my case I really don’t need anything I said verified. She was practically just a typist on this one. I'm the most knowledgeable person in the country on wild edibles. I’ve studied on it practically since I was a gleam in my daddy’s eye.”

  “And she agreed to the co-authoring credit?” I asked.

  Suddenly his voice hardened, “Yes Ma'am that was the deal at the start, what makes you ask?”

  “It’s just that I only noticed her name on it. Maybe she was planning to add you and just forgot out of habit? It doesn’t matter though really does it? I mean, you’ll get all the royalties from the book anyway.”

  “It ain’t about money, it never was, it’s about recognition for something I’ve devoted my life to being an expert in. “Doctors should be calling me, nutritionists, everybody. This book should accomplish that. I never had a kid, so this is what I can leave behind.”

  “So this book was supposed to be your legacy?” I shook my head. “I don’t know Herb; I’m not so sure it will be.”

  “And how would you know that? What do you know about anything? You get as old as me and you’ll see. My book is going to be saving lives long after I’m gone.”

  Seated in the middle as we quickly finished our pie, Lucy was watching the two of us like a spectator at a ping pong match that was turning inexplicably ugly.

  “Well,” I continued after an awkward silence was beginning to lengthen, “you can’t just take Mae’s name off the book of course, not that you would want to, and call the book completely yours. The publishing deal was made with Mae; they have some of her chapters already. In their eyes she’s the author.”

  Herb’s face blanched and it looked like he was struggling to keep from an angry retort, but he just got up, his heavily calloused hands snatching our plates and placing them on the counter. He started toward the front door, signaling our visit was over. Lucy jumped up, still chewing and we followed him from the table.

  “I do thank you for the pie and the book, but I gotta go see Bill, see what he wants to do about her final arrangements.”

  I looked over at Lucy who was still trying to swallow that last bite then back at Herb.

  “Whew! I'm just relieved I didn't do anything wrong, I should have asked you, but the night she died I noticed a package addressed to a publisher all stamped and everything. I’m surprised they don’t just email it but maybe she liked to do her final changes by hand. I took it, intending to send it off but I forgot about it, I just stuck it in Mae's mailbox before we came here.”

  “That's fine, but if you'll excuse me, like I said, I'm going to have to get to town.”

  “Oh it's probably been picked up by now Herb.”

  “I don't know what you're talking about.”

  “The package, I guess you're nervous about it being sent off without your revisions, but Mae must have thought it was finished.” I patted his hand. “Don't you worry, if you want the publisher to make changes and you're really the author, Mae would have told them, in fact your name will be on the contract. All you have to do is email them. The mail lady will be by soon; but you can probably email the publisher before the document makes it to New York right?”

  “Sure,” he said ushering us toward the door, “I never thought of that. But I was serious about needing to go to town. I hope you all stop back when we have more time. Thank you kindly for the pie.”

  “Well,” I said, as we suddenly found ourselves standing outside, “so much for the condolence call.”

  Lucy gave me a dry look. “Next time you say 'let’s deliver supper to the bereaved' just give me the heads up that it’s code for ‘pick a fight with an old guy’.”

  I was blocking Herb's truck, but I made a quick call on my way to my own car. He gunned his engine impatiently and I dropped my keys, startled that he had moved so quickly. Lucy and I both scrambled for the keys and bumped heads. Lucy started laughing. Before I could get in and give him a little wave he had backed out through his own front yard.

  “Jesus!” Lucy said and I flinched more from her language than what must have been startling behavior to her on Herb’s part. You can be quite colorful in your swearing in Union County, but that is just not the expletive of choice. However, in her defense, driving through your yard is one of those disreputable activities you only associate with people whose lawns are littered with empty bottles of Rebel Yell and cars on blocks.

  Lucy was clearly looking for an explanation from me, but I just stared at the road ahead. “I think it would be prudent to deposit Herb’s check on the way home if you don’t mind.”

  Lucy nodded and said, “Indeed; that would be prudent, I have never seen an old farmer that pissed off, and I’m completely confused about what just happened.”

  I grinned, “I am the mistress of the dark arts. We all have our gifts; you turn all the men on and I tick ‘em off. Ready to head home after the bank?”

  “I thought you were going to get Jared something to repay him for the phone?”

  “Bah! Shopping for men. Other than the Diva pie I can’t think of a thing can you?”

  “I can think of one thing he’d like to have.”

  I looked over and she licked her lips lasciviously and winked.

  “Hmmm,” I said thoughtfully, “There’s an idea, mind if we do dinner later or rain check it?”

  Her eyes widened. “You are just going to go over there and what? Rip his clothes off?”

  The fact that I was teasing her had nothing to do with the stinging ripple of heat that washed over me. “You know, I just migh
t. Of course I don’t know how far I would really go with it.” My brow furrowed, “Probably not tonight though, the line is probably already forming for him at some drinking hole. And then there’s—“

  “What?” She asked excitedly.

  I reached over and tugged at her hair playfully. “You’ll never know.”

  I dropped her off at her house twenty minutes later and she gave me a mournful look. “You really aren’t going to tell me if you go over there?”

  “Nope,” I said cheerfully.

  She sighed heavily, “I could always take him out and get him hammered afterwards and get the scoop.”

  I smirked, “You might have to wait. He’ll probably be really tired for awhile.”

  “You aren’t actually going to do this.”

  It was fun to toy with her and I had to admit, kind of exciting to think about. I winked at her and restarted the engine. “You enjoy those pies now, you hear?”

  Jared called me about an hour later, just as I was bringing Mosey back in.

  “We just so happened to have a car nearby when Herb took the manuscript from Mae’s mailbox. We can’t hold him on anything, even a felony mail offense since it's his home already, and his mail.”

  “What if you bring up the fact that there were no carrot leavings in the garbage or compost bin, the fact that she had no plans to acknowledge him at all according to her latest manuscript, and I saw him with heavy gloves on shortly after she died?”

  “What do the gloves have to do with it?”

  “You can be sickened just by handling it. Those gloves were thick as oven mitts and his hands are so calloused I don't know that he ordinarily used them at all other than to handle something like Western Water Hemlock. Someone had to have taken away the scraps. Plus, look at her notes; she has the descriptions for the wild carrot which is Queen Anne’s Lace and the hemlock very carefully reversed. If you get a search warrant you'll see his class lecture notes are the opposite.”

  “Won't he just say he had them confused too?”

  “Never, his expertise was his whole identity. That will shake his pride. It’s why he killed her, not for the money, but the recognition. I suspect he was the one who called Anita with the fake injured hawk story to keep her from being poisoned. He must have heard Mae was inviting Anita over to try the recipe.

  “You know,” I added thoughtfully, “I wonder if you’d just ask him informally about the berries he and his friends were picking back when he was a young man out with the woman who he ended up marrying. I’d be curious to know how he would react; it might really throw him off; especially if you ask him if deadly nightshade grew in that area.”

  I had another idea. “Ask him why he hired me. He was able to go in there and mop up. Although I will say, I think he did that to protect me from the poison.”

  I was reconsidering having a bagged salad for supper when Jared called again. “You were right; his class notes were the reverse for identification of the two plants, and the opposite of the pictures he emailed Mae for the book. It’s not enough to find him guilty. We used your idea, hammered away at the fact that he just might not know his topic as well as he thought... Man that got him riled. He even offered to eat the stew when we brought it out.”

  “You should have let him.” I said my voice hard.

  “I don’t know that you’re right on this one. The medical examiner is backed up, checking her stomach contents tomorrow. We ran the stew to the lab.

  One strange thing,” he continued, “when we asked him about the berry thing with his former wife, he seemed to sink into his own skin, he just deflated and asked if he could leave. He looked shocked and grief stricken. I felt like we are just torturing that poor guy.”

  “I still think he did it,” I said stubbornly. “Wow, you hear about your garden variety killers but in this case he actually is...”

  “Gretchen! That's terrible!” Jared exclaimed.

  “My God, I have lived to see the day when Jared occupies the moral high ground. Just about anything could happen next.”

  “Girl, anything can happen if you let it.”

  “Another cryptic reference to a roll in the hay?”

  “You know, I don't even think of you that way anymore. I'm free of your feminine wiles.”

  “Good to know,” I said sweetly. “Now in your professional opinion, as a lawman, is there any point in wearing anything to bed? How often do you get called out to emergencies where people didn't have time to dress?”

  “Just in a fire situation.”

  “Hmm, worth the risk then? I mean what is the point of having new silk sheets if you can't feel them against bare skin, am I right? Thank goodness I have my friendly neighborhood lawman to ask these sensitive questions. Asking you is like asking Consuela, better, since I know you well enough to come right out and say, “Hey I was going to sleep in the nude tonight, is there any good reason not to? Consuela might find that weird.”

  “She'd probably think you were hitting on her. Anyway, this season in North Carolina is an iffy time for temperature. You might catch a chill.”

  “True, I'll give that some thought.”

  “You are not dragging me into this little game Gretchen. I don't have an opinion one way or another.”

  “Just checking,” I laughed.

  “So that was just a test? You never, you know, sleep naked?”

  “Gotcha,” I laughed, “I'm never, you know, going to tell you.”

  After we disconnected the phone rang again; it was a blocked call. I had no desire to let my voice mail back up, so I grudgingly answered, knowing it had to be some telemarketer who had mined my miniscule business from a list, hoping to gouge me for the next fabulous way to get my name out to the public. I answered with my name instead of the business, planning to tell them I was not working presently; feeling guilty about the twilight of half lies telemarketers must deal with.

  “Gretchen Gallen,” I answered.

  The voice on the other end had a husky and foreign tone. “I am looking for Ben,” she said, launching into the conversation without preamble.

  “He doesn't live here and he’s away on business.” I said curtly, disliking her immediately. “And you are?”

  “Irinia,” she said, as though that should be enough.

  “He’s away and I’m not sure when he will return to the States,” I ventured uneasily.

  “That is the thing,” she said, “he was supposed to meet me and he has not turned up. I will need his itinerary.”

  “I don’t have his itinerary. Are you one of his clients?”

  “Who would have his schedule?”

  “Ma’am, I have no idea. Someone he works with? How did you get this number?”

  She ignored my question. “I had hoped you would be better informed, what is your relationship?”

  “Close friend.”

  “And yet I’ve never heard him speak of you.”

  I was quickly turning from uneasy to mad as hell. “How did you get my name and number then? Maybe YOU aren’t as close to him as you imagine. He’s working for companies abroad. Again, who are you? Who are you to him?”

  “We are in a relationship.”

  “You’re his girlfriend?” I asked, stunned.

  “That is a child’s word, we are intimate.”

  “For how long?” I asked, reeling.

  “Long enough for me to have his personal contacts,” she said smugly.

  “Oh, okay, well then I’m certainly no threat to your intimate relationship. Have you tried his mother?”

  “No,” she said smoothly, “I seem to have spilled wine on our address book; your number is one I could still read.”

  “Try to see if you can find the one under Elizabeth then, his mother, she’s frail and bedridden most of the time…”

  “I know that,” Irinia said brusquely.

  “And I know you lie like a rug.”

  “Perhaps,” She laughed again.

  Clearly only one of us was having
any fun here.

  “I can describe his body in intimate detail if you want to verify the depth of our relations,” she offered huskily. “I was with him when he got his scar.”

  “No thanks,” I said, getting pretty hot tempered by now. ”I wouldn't know if you were right. Looks like our boy Ben got tired of you, I'm tired of you already. Besides, you obviously know little about him, Ben's mother is fit and lives in London, always has.”

  “So who is the liar?”

  “I don’t care what you call me; you don’t know Ben as well as you claim. Tell me what you really want.”

  “I want to find him of course. That was not a lie.”

  “Then good luck to you. If he wants to find you, he may be delayed but he will move heaven and earth to--I have to go.” I didn’t bother to say goodbye, I just hung up.

  Afterward I let Mosey out and settled at the foot of a massive oak in the clearing. I kept an eye on my dog as I reflected on this new development: Irinia. It was a sexy name, Irinia. It sounded like a woman who smoldered with sensuality, kept secrets, and had assignations. In comparison Gretchen sounded like a wholesome milkmaid, eyes wide with naïveté who enjoyed a small and predictable life.

  Of course, I reasoned, Ben would have relationships before me. And since there never had been any “during me” phase yet, I had no right to be so incensed. And perhaps she didn’t have more details of his life because he didn’t see a future in it or because they didn’t spend time talking.

  Actually it was something of a relief, I persuaded myself. Ben could hardly charm me into a commitment if he already had companionship here and there. But when he came back things would be different, at least initially. My view of him had changed. I felt as though the best part of my life that I had taken for granted had been cast into eclipse.

  If I believed only a little of Irinia’s story, I imagined that was how he spent his time away; girls tucked away in villas and villages or stealthy assignations in posh suites. Maybe he had hoped to make a life with me someday as he claimed. It didn’t seem as though the wait had been too onerous.