“Probably just a rumor.” Ernie pours the last cup of coffee from the percolator and sits down, carefully, so as not to wrinkle his slacks.
“I don’t think so. Seems that there’s this little nurse who is chasing him around. I’ll never understand women like that, women like Juanita.”
“I can’t believe that Ted would cheat on Nancy.” Ernie is sweating a little around the neck, under the arms. He takes a sip of coffee and looks out at that cool blue pool of his, and it’s concrete, too, not that plastic stuff like the Fosters have.
“Well, you know that if it was put right there in front of him he might would. Imagine a woman doing that to a man.”
“Yeah, can’t be true.”
“I hope you’re right, because we’ve got that big couples dinner slated for Labor Day Weekend and I don’t know who we’d get to replace the Millers, I mean a table just doesn’t look right with eighteen places instead of twenty. There’s nobody else in this town who would fit in, and it would be a shame to try out someone who would possibly feel left out or you know, not good enough.”
“Yeah.” Ernie is watching that water, the sun hitting it, shimmering. He is home free, just that easy. Here he is, a man with everything. He can remember the first time he ever saw a pool. He was working construction when the Country Club was first built. The workmen were not allowed to get into the pool once it was completed. They were only allowed to stand back and see their accomplished work enjoyed by others. Ah, but never more. He had stood by that pool and told himself that one day he’d be there and he’d have more, a self-made man who is in with the best of them!
“I swear Ernie, Mother is worse than ever. Rose called and said that Mother got all upset this morning about something in the paper, said it was your fault.”
“She blames everything on us.” Ernie turns his attention back to Kate. “And here we are the ones offering the financial assistance for her to move where she can be cared for.”
“Mother has never been real appreciative. Of course, look at my father, land rich and pocket poor, and didn’t even care, didn’t even try, knowing how much it meant to me to have nice clothes and go off to school.”
“You had it far better than I did, Kate, at least you had electricity.”
“Well, your mother was no problem like mine.”
“She died.” Even now it makes Ernie a little sad to think of his mother dying, to remember getting that phone call that she was dead, and he didn’t mess around, either, wasn’t about to put her out in that graveyard near the swamp where his Daddy was buried, bought her a fine corner lot right in the new cemetery in town. She was put away right, all right, everyone said so. Kate even went out and bought her a lovely silk dress, because none of his mother’s clothes in that house were appropriate for the viewing. He was good to his mother. “Your mother is probably going to be around another fifty years.”
“I’m going to have a talk with her again about the retirement home.” Kate pulls out her cross-stitch and starts working, a lovely pineapple welcome sign. “Harold doesn’t want her to move because he thinks that he’s going to get that house and move in when she’s dead.”
“But we own the lot next door.”
“Well, I know, but Harold just doesn’t think, he never has. If he did, he would have tried to get himself cleaned up a little and found somebody other than Juanita Suggs.” Kate’s plump fingers work in and out, in and out, she works so hard on these cross-stitch designs that some days her fingers get tired and stiff, and framing, she used to do her own framing but it got to be too much for her. “Speaking of dying, Ern, Petie Rose was all upset when Rose called because that old tomcat was run over this morning.”
“Oh my,” Ernie opens the paper and shakes his head. “It’s a shame that Booty’s kittens aren’t going to be pedigreed, or we could give her one of those.”
“She needs a house cat, that’s what I told Rose, or a little puppy like a schnauzer or shih tzu, but Rose says that she isn’t going to have an animal in the house with that new baby.”
“Don’t blame her. Poor Petie Rose. She’s got to learn that life isn’t always easy.”
“Serves that ugly old tomcat right for being out and prowling. I wish that all the old stray toms were dead.”
Ernie looks up from his paper just as seriously as he can without giving any indication of his guilt. “That’s not very nice, Kate. He was only doing what tomcats do.”
“Prowling and screwing anything on four legs, like Booty!” With this Booty waddles over and rubs against Kate’s chair, arches her back, those little paws not making a sound, so gentle. It just doesn’t seem right that a tomcat would be punished for simply doing what he was put on earth to do, even a male pedigreed would do the same.
Bob Bobbin has been riding around Marshboro all morning and has yet to see anything unusual, any stranger that resembles Harold’s description. He hasn’t even seen that many people out and around, and he doesn’t blame them; a person would be a fool to be out in this heat instead of finding themselves a nice cool spot in front of an air-conditioner. That man that killed Charles Husky is probably long gone by now, probably got right out there on 95 and is now halfway to either Miami or New York with that little bit of money in his pocket.
Ahead on the right is one of those roadside markets that set up every now and then, where they got all kinds of artwork like black velvet tapestries all painted up in glow-in-the-dark paint and lamps made out of a bust of Elvis Presley. Bob has always found it amazing, the similarity that those busts have to Elvis. It’s quality art, all right, though he would never buy an Elvis for himself. He’d rather have one of Marilyn Monroe or one of those coiled up cobras. All kinds of people stop at these markets so he decides to pull off for a while and see if these people have seen anybody today or last night that fits the description.
He gets out of his car and stretches, puts on his sunglasses. Those lamps really are nice. If he can ever get Corky to give in, that’s what he’ll give her for her birthday or Christmas. Corky loves Elvis Presley music and even wired some flowers to Tennessee when he died.
“Interested in that lamp, officer?” this cute little curly-haired woman asks. “Give it to you at a good price.” She sure is a business woman, out in this hot sun, and yet dressed to kill, right down to those little two-tone shoes with the dots all over them like so many professional women wear. Bob Bobbin saw a picture of a girl in Hustler one time who said she wanted to be a lawyer one day, and that’s what kind of shoes she was wearing. It always has bothered Bob to see those women showing all they’ve got, even though he does like to look, can’t help but wonder what their Mamas and Daddys must think.
“Not buying today, ma’am, though I really think that’s a fine piece.” He pushes his hat back on his head so that he can see better. This woman is real nice looking. She ain’t Corky Revels, but she’s getting close. “No, gotta ask you a question or two.”
“We have a license.”
“I’m sure you do, not that at all.” Bob bends over to get a closer look at Elvis. “There was a murder right near here last night.”
“Near here?”
“Right down there at the Quik Pik, got a description but it ain’t much to go on.” Bob picks up one of the lamps and holds it arm length in front of him.
“I haven’t heard a thing about a murder,” she says and then steps closer. “Only one man has stopped here all morning.”
“Nigger?”
“No, white, said he might come back and buy all five of those Elvis lamps. Was the murderer a black man?”
“Yep.” Bob puts the lamp down and stands back up. “When was he coming back to buy those, today?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Do you live here?” Bob pulls out his handkerchief and wipes his forehead. He wishes that girl would at least ask him to step into that trailer parked in the shade.
“No.” She waits a minute and then volunteers some information. “I live near here, though
.” Damn, he wants her address, not all this playing around like Corky does.
“Married?”
“No way!” She laughs again. “Now about that lamp.” She picks it up. “It’s even got Elvis’ autograph right here on this scarf around his neck. Difficult ceramics.”
“Never seen you around. You from this area?”
“No, I’m sort of new in town, but I really like it here, got myself a good job, a few friends.”
“Oh, so you make these lamps, huh?” Bob is liking this girl more and more and he knows what it feels like to be new in town; he knows how hard it is to find a spot for yourself.
“Oh no, matter of fact I don’t work here at all. I help out from time to time.” She puts the lamp back down and brushes away some dust from Elvis’ hair.
“Where do you work, miss? Oh, by the way, the name’s Bobbin, Bob Bobbin.”
“Like in the song,” she says and then hums Red, Red Robin. “I’m sorry, you must get a lot of teasing about that.”
“I don’t mind a little teasing,” which is true, he’s used to teasing by now and it doesn’t bother him when it’s coming from a nice-looking woman.
“I’m Janie Morris and I’m a secretary over at Marshboro Land and Real Estate Company.”
“Ernie Stubbs’ outfit! Well, that’s something. I rent one of those new apartments right near that office. It was Ernie’s brother-in-law that saw that murderer and gave me the description.” Bob steps closer to her. “So why you hang out around here? You know, who’s here all the time?”
“Oh, I’ll go get him,” she says and walks over to that trailer. “Tommy, honey, there’s somebody that wants to meet you.” She goes into the trailer; she called that man honey. Well, that still doesn’t make her unavailable, because she is single. Bob checks his watch, almost noon. He can go to lunch pretty soon, try to make up with Corky, might surprise her and come in with this one on his arm. Even if she does have a boyfriend, she was being mighty friendly. Good God, what’s a cute woman like that doing in a trailer with a nigger?
“Tommy, this is Bob Bobbin. This is Tommy McNair.”
“Janie tells me that you’re interested in a lamp.”
“I’ve never seen you around here before.” Bob takes off his sunglasses and stares at this man, the bright loose shirt that he’s wearing.
“Haven’t been around in a while.” He puts his arm around that little woman’s waist. “I’m from here but you know, been traveling around.”
“We met in Richmond,” she says and grins at that man.
“Is that your car?” Bob asks and points to the red Granada parked beside the trailer. The man nods and steps closer to Bob. “What’s with all the questions?” This guy is big, too, probably ought to box or play basketball instead of making ceramics.
“Do you drink any alcoholic beverages?”
“What? Man, I got work to do. Do you want that lamp, or don’t you?”
“Answer the question,” Bob says and rests his hand on his gun.
“Scotch, I like scotch, okay?”
“Where were you between midnight and one A.M.?”
“Hey, wait a minute, man, what’s this all about?”
“Routine questions, got a description that you match.”
“You mean that murderer? the description of that murderer?” Janie steps in front of that man. “Tommy wouldn’t murder somebody!”
“Of course I didn’t. Don’t you accuse me of something.”
“So answer the question. Where were you?”
“In bed and asleep.”
“Right there in that trailer?”
“No, I don’t live here. Live in a trailer park outside of the city limits.”
“Got any proof that you were there and asleep?”
“What the hell? Yes, Janie must’ve seen me. She came in after I was asleep. I went to bed at ten.”
“I thought you said you live near here,” Bob says and looks at her now. He may as well forget this one.
“I do, but sometimes I stay with Tommy.”
“Tell him, Janie, tell him that I was at home so he can get the hell on and I can get back to work.”
“Tommy was asleep when I got there.” She goes and picks that lamp up again. “Are you going to buy this, officer?”
“Maybe, business first.” Bob takes the lamp from her and places it beside his foot. If he does buy one he ain’t going to take her word for it; hell check over every one of those lamps to make certain that he doesn’t get one with a chip.
“You know everybody thought that Elvis was a black guy when he first came out.” Tommy McNair shakes his head and laughs. “That white man could sing.”
“Don’t go changing the subject with some lie I don’t want to hear.” Bob turns back to Janie Morris. “What time did you get home, miss?” He waits and she looks at that man. “Don’t look to him for an answer. Remember, I know your boss and whatever your story is, I’ll check it out.”
“Well, I was a little later than usual.” She is looking at that man, shying away like he might hit her or something, and he probably does hit her from time to time. Bob bets they do all sorts of crazy things like he’s read about before. “I got home after two.”
“What in the hell were you doing until two?” That Tommy is mad now. He twists her arm and makes her face him. “Of all goddamn times. Where were you?”
“I was at work, honey, we had a lot to do. Don’t be mad at me.” She puts her arm around him but he pushes her away. “I made lots of extra money and I’m going to be up for a promotion soon.”
“A promotion? What the hell did you do, or is it because of that young white face?”
“Tommy! Don’t talk to me that way. Everything I do is for us, so you can go back to school. You know love is colorblind.”
“Plain damn blind is all,” Bob says and pulls out his handbook that he always keeps with him.
“I worked late for us, honey.”
“Forget it,” he says. “I know I was at home and asleep.”
“Still got to take you in,” Bob says, “get the witness in to look at you.”
“But I didn’t do anything!”
“It’s procedure.” Bob pulls out his wallet. “Now, how much for that lamp?”
“It’s not for sale!”
“How much?” Bob looks at the woman this time, those eyes filling up with tears cause her man ain’t being all sweet to her, cause there’s a chance she’s been living with a murderer. “I got every right to buy it. You’re open to the public and I’m public.”
“Thirty dollars,” she says, and doesn’t even look at him or at her boyfriend. Bob hands her the money and goes and picks up a lamp that neither one of them have touched that he’s seen, and puts it in the trunk of the squad car. Not a bad price for it at all.
“Okay,” he says and opens his book. “You have the right to remain silent …” but Tommy McNair isn’t silent, raises hell to the point that Bob just about has to take him by force. He pushes him into the back seat and that woman is crying and carrying on all over his back window, saying how she’s going to put everything away and get down there as fast as she can. That man raises hell all the way to the station, calls Bob crazy, ignorant, some words that Bob has never even heard before. It seems to Bob that an innocent man wouldn’t carry on this way. They’ll just keep the guy until Harold Weeks comes down to see him, can only keep him twenty-four hours, but Bob wants to make damn sure that all the guys see that he’s run in this man. He wants them to see the guy and to hear him tell how he found this nigger that matches the description. Then they’ll never call him nigger lover; then it’ll all balance out and he can go back to saying Negro or black outside of the station, of course; then he could be proud of the way that he saved that old man’s life. He could tell Corky that he never meant all those things that he said; he can tell her how weak and frightened and relieved he was when he lay back on that old man’s bed and watched the rescue squad carry him off. Corky will smile at hi
m again when she hears all of that, probably will rub his head, the way that she was rubbing that filthy boy’s this morning. Hell, he could explain it all to Corky anyway, tell her never to tell that he sent a card to that old man, never to tell how good it all made him feel deep inside. And he bought that lamp for her for just thirty dollars. Good investment, and if this guy does turn out to be the murderer and winds up sitting on death row in Raleigh that lamp will probably jump in price. Matter of fact, he should have bought another one, one for Corky and one for his bedside table; then, if they got married, they’d have a matched set.
Rose Stubbs Tyner has finally gotten her deviled eggs and baked beans ready to go to Granner’s party, and now she is checking to make sure that everything that she is supposed to have is in her Lamaze bag. It is very important to make sure that her bag is ready to go at all times. For Rose it is almost like being pregnant for the first time. With Petie Rose she had been so nervous and upset and having so much trouble that they had knocked her out and done a C-section. Not this time, though, not with Pete right there with her, not with the doctor who has told her repeatedly that he sees no signs of trouble. After all, Petie Rose had been backwards. If they hadn’t done a C-section, Petie Rose would have come out feetfirst and Rose is certain that that would have killed her. But Rose isn’t scared now. If Lady Di and Charles could do it and turn out with such a fine looking baby as little William, then she and Pete Tyner can, too.
She stands and stretches, her hands on the small of her back, her eyes focused on her stomach. Granner swears it’s a boy, the way that she is all out front, and Granner wants a boy; Pete really wants a boy though he isn’t saying; her Daddy wants a boy, thinking it will be named after him, when Rose has no intentions of ever naming a child Ernie; the only Ernies that she will have around are her Daddy, who doesn’t have time to come around too often, and the one on Sesame Street that Petie Rose loves so much. Her mother wants a debutante, Petie Rose wants a kitten, and Rose just wants a baby; she just wants a baby that will hurry up, because the days are getting hotter and hotter and the only way she has of getting cool is to put on one of those sacky lightweight dresses and stand over the air-conditioning vent and let a current of air whip up her full body. It’s a struggle these days even to get into the bathtub. She could go out and sit by her parents’ pool because they have said it would be okay, but God knows what she would do if she was out there with just herself and Petie, and the baby started coming. Ooh, it’s too hot. She stands over the vent, wishing that she could just take her dress off and stand there without a stitch. Oh boy, and now she’s got to go to Granner’s house, and Granner has never invested in central air; Granner only has one window unit that she doesn’t even use because it chills her. Lord knows, it will probably be a hundred in that house by the time everybody gets there and Granner starts heating up food. These parties always get a little heated anyway, and not just because of the weather. That’s why Pete doesn’t like to go. Deep down, Pete has always liked Juanita and Harold, and then if he spends much time with either of them her parents get mad at him. They even get mad at her if she is nice to Juanita, or if Petie Rose plays with Harold, Jr.
July 7th Page 13
