I heard a loud yawn from the audience as Oscar Larry continued. Martha Hoffman came back into the room, followed by Vanessa, who quietly took her chair. Martha didn't look as smitten with Vanessa as she had been earlier in the evening. I wondered if Vanessa finally told her she only liked her for her library. Martha looked at her watch, and her face took on a pained expression.
I checked my second text, this one from my father:
Zach and Danny tried to break the world record for eating boiled eggs. Where is the antacid?
Martha Hoffman was striding toward the speakers' table from the back of the room. "And thank you so much, Mr. Larry for your ... detailed description of the world of aliens."
"But I wasn't finished yet," Oscar Larry stuttered, his face reddening as he realized he would leave us uninformed about space aliens. He still hadn't told us the five-note sequence to play on our kazoos when the giant crafts landed.
"No, no, Mr. Larry. We need to save something for the people who will read your book now, mustn't we?" Larry looked disappointed, but then the realization came over him that people would have to buy his book to read it. He nodded vigorously and sat back down.
"Oh, dear where does the time go? It seems we are going to have reschedule our author night for next week so that we can hear from the rest of our panelists," said Martha." She turned toward the rest of us at the table. "Authors, can we count on you to come back next week to speak about your life's work?" Everyone looked to each other and nodded in agreement. Great, another night of literary abandon. I didn't know if I could take it.
"Then it's all settled. We will all meet back here next week to visit with the rest of our esteemed guests and try to budget our time a little more appropriately." The remaining audience clapped. I noticed several chairs were now empty, probably finding the slide show a good time to slip out unnoticed, just as our hostess had.
As soon as we were dismissed, I rose from my chair and told Aunt Maggie of the twin bellyaches we were about to encounter. "Will those two ever stop?" Maggie sighed.
"They might end up being the most notable record-breakers in the emergency room," I answered.
*****
When Maggie and I got to the house, we found both boys lying on the couch holding their midsections. "Oooh, this was a bad idea," said Zach.
"Where did you get enough eggs to break a record?"
"We didn't have enough, we just wanted to see if we could eat enough to get close to the record."
"How many is the record?"
"Sixty-five in seven minutes."
"How many did you eat?" Danny held up five fingers. "You each ate five eggs?" Maggie asked.
"I ate five, Zach ate four," said Danny. "Oooh," repeated Zach.
My dad, the Texas gun-totin' all-around tough guy, started giggling.
"They asked me to boil 'em all the eggs in the refrigerator. I didn't expect them to eat 'em all at once. You two characters shoulda thought this one out." My dad spooned up some pink antacid medicine for each of the potential record-breakers to swallow.
"I think this is all silly," said Aunt Maggie. "The sooner you boys stop trying to break some fool record, the sooner you'll be safer from yourselves."
"Mama, we'll be famous," said Danny.
"There's a lot more important things in this world than being famous."
"Yeah, like being rich," Zach added.
My father started laughing again. "Good to know you've raised these boys right."
"Don't encourage them, Judd." Maggie said.
"Sorry, but you have to admit it is pretty funny. How was your author talk, Betsy?"
"I wouldn't know. I never had a chance to talk."
Aunt Maggie sat down on the couch next to Danny and started patting his hand. "Some looney UFO fella got up there first and bored us all to death with his out-of-focus pictures."
"Why Maggie, I'm surprised at you, who purports to believe in the paranormal," said my dad.
"This is totally different, Judd, and you know it," Maggie replied. "This guy was loco, and the worst part was he took the entire evening. Our little Betsy didn't get to utter one word. She would have been the best one up there."
"I'm pretty sure there were four other very good authors waiting to speak before me," I said, "but don't worry, the librarian made us all promise to come back again next week."
"So I'm the lead babysitter next week, too?"
"If you don't mind, Daddy. Pattie said she wouldn't talk about her book unless I got to do the same. She brings the cupcakes for the evening, which makes me a necessary inconvenience for Martha Hoffman."
My dad's cell phone went off, and I could tell from the expression on his face it was the police department. He answered and went into the next room. My aunt helped Danny come off the couch. "We'd better get home too, Betsy."
"Did you notice the librarian and Vanessa Markham went out during the presentation?"
"No. Maybe if she had stayed she would have shut loony Larry up."
My dad returned to the living room. "Looks like you got home just in time. I need to head out."
"Is everything okay?" I asked. Being the daughter of a policeman, I had my share of anxiety when he took a call like this at night. Even in small towns, bad things could happen.
"Sure, darlin'. It's just something on an old case that George needs some help on, that's all." He reached over and gave me a quick hug and then bent down to Zach on the couch and tweaked his nose. "Stay out of the eggs, partner. I think you've had enough cholesterol to last you 'til you're twelve."
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next day I had to go by the newspaper office to pick up my paycheck from Rocky Whitson. The Pecan Bayou Gazette office was a two-story brick building located at the end of Main Street. The paper had served our community proudly since 1955. The bottom floor of the office served as the "newsroom" with a mottled assortment of mismatched desks, each with a computer. Stacks of paper, newspapers and reference books were everywhere. The top floor served as an archive, storing papers that dated back for fifty years.
Rocky's desk was in the very back of the newsroom, facing the other four desks. Peter Markham, who sat across from Rocky, covered all the sports in town, from Little League to the high school championship of every sport. There was also a high school girl who came in one afternoon a week to work on the classified advertising. Rocky handled the circulation and did general reporting. He'd hired a kid from the junior college to set up the website, which he then maintained himself. He could update daily on the web in addition to the standard weekly issue. It was a winning situation for the paper, but it was still a lot of hard work for Rocky, and unless he won the lottery, he would never be rich.
Rocky wore a plaid shirt in muted browns and golds with a white T-shirt underneath. He reminded me of old photos of my father from the '60s. Rocky would have looked more suited to a plow than a newsroom, but he was a reporter who had dutifully recorded history in these parts. The day JFK was shot in Dallas, Rocky was there covering the story for the paper. His pictures of Kennedy and his wife were now a part of the national collection at the Smithsonian. When the boy did the shooting from the University of Texas clock tower, Rocky knew some of the students who were there that day. Their first-hand accounts appeared in the Gazette, and the stories were picked up by papers all over the world. He was a legend in this town, yet he looked like a farmer.
As I walked in, Rocky was busy working at his desk. When he saw me he quickly reached into a drawer and pulled out an envelope. Peter Markham was watching videos of football on his computer and dully nodded as I walked by.
"Needin' that cold, hard cash there, Betsy?" Rocky handed me the envelope and leaned back in his squeaky black leather chair. "Now try not to spend it all in one place," he joked.
"That's getting harder and harder."
"Loved the column you wrote about getting rid of moths. Old Simmons down at the hardware store loved it even more. He said he's sold out of cheesecloth and all the stuff
that goes in it. He told me he'd like to know what you're going to write about next so he can stock up."
"Glad I could be of help," I said.
Vanessa Markham stomped into the office, slamming the door. Today she had on a tangerine-and-white print dress with a short white jacket flapping as she strode over to Peter and slapped a piece of paper down on his desk. He rolled back in his office chair.
"What the hell is this?" she demanded.
There is just nothing like being trapped in a room when a married couple decides to have it out, I thought.
"A receipt?" he answered dumbly.
"That's right, a receipt from the Worthington Arms in San Marcos."
San Marcos is where all the best shopping outlets were in this part of Texas. Had Peter been on a little shopping spree and then decided to spend the night? In my own marriage, some of the most bitter fights were about money.
"Right, sweetie. Remember I was there covering the state football championship."
"You were there covering the championship in December. This receipt is for February," she said.
"Uh ..." A line of sweat appeared above his lip. "Right. Well, let me check my calendar to see what I was doing there that weekend." He rolled up to his desk and pulled up his calendar on his screen.
Vanessa rolled him back around to face her. "Don't bother. You told me you were in Corpus Christi that weekend visiting your cousin Charlie. Funny, I didn't know you and ol' Chuck had a yen for outlet shopping."
"No, no, I think you're mistaken."
"I'm not mistaken about anything and you know it."
I heard Rocky clear his throat behind me in an attempt to make Vanessa aware that we were both observing this scene. Vanessa glanced up, finally registering that I was in the office standing next to Rocky. She straightened the lapels of her white jacket as if she were challenging me to say something.
"Peter, why don't you take an early lunch with your Missus?" Rocky suggested.
Peter's head jerked back. "Yeah. Sure, boss." He grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair while Vanessa stormed out the door ahead of him. After all of the feelings of insecurity she caused in me, I couldn't imagine what it would be like to be married to her. Peter was a handsome, athletic man. He was just the kind of person who would attract Vanessa in her way of acquiring all that makes a person look good. That would also mean that Peter would attract other women, and if he wasn't feeling good about his marriage, it was just possible he was cheating on her.
"Glad you're single, Betsy. This old man couldn't take watching another scene like that this morning."
"I'm pretty glad about it myself," I said. "Have they ever fought like that before?"
"Some, but I have to say that was the biggest one yet." He scratched the side of his head.
"Hell hath no fury like Vanessa scorned."
"Guess you know that first-hand," Rocky chuckled.
*****
My second evening preparing for author night at the library, I wasn't half as nervous as the first. I had my index cards prepared and some business cards with my blog address on it. I had a list of the three bookstores in the area where my book was available. Okay, one of the stores also sold bait, but that was just an added incentive, right? The sweet smell of success. It also didn't hurt that I had seen Vanessa in a major brawl with her husband. Everyone had their little troubles, even Vanessa Scarlett, Chick Lit Sweetheart.
My screen door creaked. "Ready for another night of little green men there, Betsy?" my dad said as he and Aunt Maggie came in with Danny, who was holding a mesh laundry bag stuffed with what looked to be socks of all colors.
"We're going to break a record, Betsy," my cousin said, a look of great importance on his sweet face.
"What record are you trying for tonight, Danny? Matching socks for the land-speed record?"
Zach came into the kitchen from the den. "No," he said, sarcasm in his voice as if any idiot knows that matching socks is actually a chore and no kid in his right mind would do that on purpose. "Mom, we are going to break the record for how many socks can be put on a single foot. According to the book, some woman in Ireland holds the record at 126. Piece of cake."
"That coming from the guy who dove head-first into cake at the mall."
"We told you that wasn't our fault," said Zach.
"Not our fault," echoed Danny.
"I know, I know," I said, thinking about whose fault it really was.
My home phone rang on the counter. Danny ran to it and answered, "Livingstons. How can I help you?"He listened for a minute and then said, "Okay, I'll get her for you, Mr. Fitzpatrick."He handed the phone to me. "It's Tyler's dad." "Thanks," I said, pressing my lips into a thin line and slowly taking the phone.
"Come on boys, let's go count those socks," Maggie said, rounding up the boys and heading toward the den. My dad didn't move until Maggie came back and yanked into the next room.
"I finally got you on the phone," Fitzpatrick said.
"Sorry I haven't gotten back to you," I said. "Crazy week. I'm about to head out the door now."
"Really? I was hoping we would have a chance to talk about you coming up for the weekend. Look, I sense you backing off in this and well, if you're not comfortable with it, I just want you to know that's okay."
That was so sweet and just like the Leo Fitzpatrick I got to know last fall. It was so hard for me to believe he had more than one relationship going at the same time, but there so many things about Barry I never would have believed when I was married to him.
"That's very nice of you to say. I want you to know I have been thinking about it, and I need to ask you a question."
"Go ahead. Ask me anything." That seemed honest enough.
"I just wanted to know if ... you might ... have a girlfriend in Dallas." There. It was out, even if it did sound like teen anxiety asking if he had a "girlfriend."
The other end of the line was quiet. Then Fitzpatrick spoke. "Fair enough question," he conceded. "At present, I don't have a girlfriend, although there is a really nice single mom I took a shine to a few months ago."
"There is?"
"It's you." He laughed, and finally, so did I."Listen, Betsy. I work a lot covering this crazy Texas weather. The other night I got called out at 7:30 to go cover a tornado sweeping through the area. I don't have time for too many women in my life."
"A tornado?"
"You know, a rotating column of air ranging in width from a few yards to more than a mile and whirling at destructively high speeds, usually accompanied by a funnel-shaped downward extension of a cumulonimbus cloud."
If I hadn't known, I did now. "What night was that?"
"Last Tuesday, I think. I had to call in Mrs. Alvarez to watch Tyler."
"Mrs. Alvarez?"
"Yes, she's a sweet lady in our neighborhood that all the kids call 'Grandma.' Taylor really felt comfortable with her, so I asked her if she would get him off the bus after school and cook dinner for us every day. She's a godsend."
"I'll say," I murmured, agreeing on more than one level.
"So what about our weekend?"
"I think ... it sounds like a wonderful idea. Plan on it."
Overdue for Murder (Pecan Bayou) Page 6
