by Paula Matter
Any or all of them could be in on it.
That’s ridiculous. Now I was getting paranoid, like there was some VFW conspiracy.
I stared blankly at my reflection in the mirror. Paranoid? Well, duh. And with good reason.
I resolved to treat all of them with suspicion until Michael and I had it figured out. I finished tying my hair back, grabbed my purse, and headed out to the driveway, where Michael stood by his car. He whistled and Chris came skipping up the sidewalk.
“Look, Daddy, that nice lady gave me these.” She showed us a small box of multicolored geraniums. “Aren’t they pretty? Can we plant them? The lady said they need to be in the ground so they won’t die.”
“What lady, Chris?” Michael asked, frowning.
“She said her name was Dottie and welcomed me to the neighborhood.”
“It’s okay, Michael, I know Dottie. She’s an elderly lady who lives somewhere down the street. She’s harmless.”
“Can we plant them now, Dad?”
Michael shook his head. “Tomorrow. If it’s okay with Maggie.”
“Sure, Chris. We’ll find a good place for them. How about putting them on the concrete steps for now? They’ll be fine.”
“Why are those steps there by the house where there’s no door?” Chris asked when she came back to the car. “They look really dumb.”
“Okay, kiddo, backseat,” Michael said. He waited for both of us to get buckled up, checked his mirrors, then asked, “Where to?”
Alrighty then. I guess we were going to ignore Chris’s question about the steps. They did look stupid sitting several feet from the house, leading nowhere. At the time it was cheaper to leave them there. No way I could spare the additional hundred bucks they wanted to haul them away. I remembered the puzzled facial expressions on the contractors I’d hired to demolish the perfectly refinished mudroom after Rob’s murder. That soon after his death, everything seemed easier to put off for another day. Top priority that day had been getting rid of the room where he’d died, even if it meant closing off the whole back of the house. Bobby Lee had been pissed when he found out. He suspected me of getting rid of evidence.
“Maggie, where to?” Michael repeated, bringing me back to the present.
Definitely not Mickey D’s, I thought. Or maybe I should show my face there. Peggy Dougal would see for herself I had my freedom. At the very least, she’d probably think I’d made bail.
“Maggie?”
“I’m sorry, Michael, daydreaming again. Can’t seem to stop doing that.” Turning my head toward Chris, I asked her where she wanted to go.
“Pizza!”
“Fine by me,” I said.
We spent the next couple hours stuffing our faces with pan pizza and soda. A beer or two would’ve gone down good, but I figured sober was better. Chris entertained us with stories of elementary-school happenings. A fifth grader now, she and her classmates were the big shots in school. Next fall she’d be right back at the bottom of the pecking order at the junior high school.
“And she’s my BFF, for real!”
Michael frowned. “BFF?”
“Best friends forever,” Chris and I spoke at the same time. I grinned and said, “It’s a girl thing, Michael.”
Chris just rolled her eyes.
The waitress dropped off the check, and Michael grabbed it.
“Hey! I’m supposed to buy dinner tonight,” I reminded him.
“With the way Chris ate? All that pizza, all those bread sticks?” He winked at her, and I swear to God, I think she winked back. I let it go.
Michael handed Chris the check and a few bills and asked her to go pay. “Ready, Maggie?”
“As ready as I’m going to be. I’m really dreading this. Just the idea of going back in the club makes me—I don’t know. I’m glad I have tonight off, but I do need my car.” Truthfully, I would’ve preferred a root canal and a pap smear topped off with a mammogram to setting foot in the club. Not something I could say to Michael.
He asked, “Since you’re just getting your car, why do you need to go inside?”
“I want to sign the book. With my luck, if I skip one day, that’ll be when my number’s pulled.”
“So, might as well get it done?”
I nodded.
I always liked the way everything was so close in this town. I could do all of my errands without driving all over the place. One of the few things I liked about North DeSoto.
Until tonight.
It took us no time at all to get to the club. As Michael pulled into the parking lot, I looked to see what cars were there. I wanted to be prepared for who would be inside. Surprisingly, I didn’t see JC’s car or Dick’s truck. I studiously avoided looking at the corner where Jack’s truck had been as Michael parked next to my car. I felt sad for a second, as if no one had wanted to be near my little blue Honda. Oh, sheesh. Get a grip, Maggie.
“This is a funny-looking place,” Chris said. “It looks like a spider with three legs. A red body and her legs are white. Weird.”
I’d never thought about it before, but looking at it, I saw Chris was right. The main red-bricked building where the bar and dining area were had three white rectangular annexes jutting out. Over the years, depending on how much money the post had, these additions were built. One held the offices, another the big kitchen used for the monthly dinners, and the third was the hall that was rented out for special functions. The hall was also used for the many funeral receptions we had. I imagined there’d be one scheduled soon for Jack.
“Thanks again for the ride and for dinner,” I said, reaching for the door handle. “Have a good night.”
“Nope, we’re going in with you. I want to check out the place.”
Cool. My first shot at watching Michael be a detective. “Okay, but Chris is going to have to sit at a table, she’s not allowed at the bar.”
“Sure,” Michael said.
“What does VFW stand for?” Chris asked as we crossed the gravel lot.
“Veterans of Foreign Wars,” Michael and I answered at the same time.
I reached into my wallet and pulled out my key card. Since we were a members-only club, all nonmembers had to ring the buzzer to gain access. I slid my key card into the slot. It still worked. Exhaling a deep breath, I realized I’d half expected them to change the locks.
“Here we go.” I opened the door and let Michael and Chris walk in ahead of me. The bar, off to the left, was full. All eyes turned toward us. That’s the way it usually worked. Any time someone entered the building, everyone at the bar had to see who’d come in. Not too nosey, huh?
I led Michael and Chris to a table and walked up to the bar. Sam stood waiting for me.
“Hey, Maggie. Hurry up and get to work, we need a real bartender back there,” someone hollered. Laughter followed, then silence as it became clear I wasn’t going behind the bar to start working.
My hand shook as I signed the daily book. I dreamed of the day I’d actually win. Five years and nothing yet. It was worth a quarter a day to keep trying.
You could’ve cut the friggin’ air with a knife. I’d never heard the place so quiet. Of course, it didn’t last long.
“Sam? Maggie?”
“What the hell?”
“Hey, Maggie, did you hear about Jack Hoffman?”
“What’s going on?”
“Why isn’t she working?”
I shrugged, kept my eyes on Sam the whole time. He looked down, then away.
“Seriously, what’s going on? Why aren’t you working?”
“Maggie, did you quit?”
A low rumbling started from the others. I heard my name whispered up and down the bar. A few words drifted back to me. Quit. Arrested. Fired. Murder. The bolder members spoke louder.
“Nah, she wouldn’t quit, she loves us too
much to leave us.”
Oh, yeah, feel the love.
“I want to buy Maggie and her friends there a drink.”
Kevin Beamer. God love him. I looked over at him and smiled. My face didn’t crack as I thought it might if I’d dared show any emotion. He walked over to me. Kevin slid his arm around my shoulder and squeezed. His wispy beard tickled my cheek as he said, “This really sucks, Maggie, and I’m so sorry. I know you had nothing to do with Jack’s murder.” He pushed away, pulled out his wallet, and tossed some money on the bar. “Sam, whatever they’re drinking.” He returned to his barstool.
I turned to Michael, and he joined me at the bar. Time, finally, for a beer for myself. Michael ordered two sodas, took one to the table, then came back to me. “Chris said she’ll be fine. Introduce me to your friends, Maggie.”
My friends? Was he nuts? Oh, I get it. Sam still stood in front of us, so I guess he’d be first. He and Michael shook hands, neither one saying a word. A very large man, Sam towered over Michael.
“And how about the gentleman who bought us drinks? I’d like to thank him,” Michael said.
We made our way down the bar to Kevin, stopping as members reached out to hug me or pat me on the back. I smiled and nodded to each one, never really saying much.
“Kevin, this is Michael Bradley. Michael, Kevin Beamer and Pete Snyder.” Handshakes all around.
“What’s this, Pete? No girl with you tonight?” I teased. I explained to Michael how Pete is our Casanova, always bringing in a different gorgeous girl practically every week.
“Aw, knock it off, Maggie,” Pete said. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“Oh, so this is Abby’s boyfriend?” Michael asked. Very innocently.
Pete did look embarrassed this time. He rubbed his hand across his clean-shaven chiseled jaw. “Um, actually, no. Abby decided to move back home. This town wasn’t big enough for her.”
“What wasn’t big enough for her, Pete?” someone hollered out, with loud guffaws following. “Are you sure it was the town that was too small?” More laughter.
Michael asked Pete, “So, where’s Abby from?”
“Korea, I think,” he answered.
“No, I mean where’s home for Abby?” Michael asked. Again very innocently.
“Ft. Walton Beach, over in the panhandle.”
“What does Abby do?” Michael asked. He sipped his soda. “Did she have a job to go back to, I hope?”
Pete frowned. I knew he was wondering just who the hell this guy was asking all these questions.
I jumped into the conversation. “My guess is she’s not a bartender.” I batted my eyes instead of rolling them. “Just kidding, Pete. I thought she was a nice girl.”
“Yeah, she is. She’d just broken up with a boyfriend and wanted to get the hell out of that town. I offered her a ride and that’s it.”
“Pete’s a trucker,” I explained. “A knight of the road.”
Michael tipped his glass toward Pete and said, “I admire you. I’m sure that’s a tough job.”
Pete shrugged his broad shoulders. “Hell, it’s just a job. The guys you should admire are some of the ones in here.” He pointed at Kevin and continued. “Kevin here is the hero. And Sam there was in the Navy during the Cuban Missile Crisis in the early sixties.”
“Oh, c’mon, Pete, you know I don’t like to talk about it. Besides, I’m sure Michael isn’t interested in hearing any war stories,” said Kevin. He swallowed his beer and pushed the empty glass to the edge of the bar. Sam shuffled away to refill it. Kevin’s remark surprised me because he usually liked swapping war stories. Maybe he somehow knew Michael had never served in the military. I’ve learned vets are funny that way. Some of them will only share stories with other veterans. Some won’t talk about their war experiences at all.
“Let me buy that one for you, Kevin. A way of thanking you.” Michael pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, reached inside, and pulled money out.
I grabbed the five-dollar bill out of his hand. “No can-do, Michael. We have rules. Only members can buy drinks here.” I placed the bill on the bar and slid it toward Sam, who’d come back with a full glass. I told Sam, “I’d like to buy Kevin’s beer.”
“You got it, Maggie,” Sam said and took the money.
“Thanks, Michael, cheers.” Kevin clinked his glass with Michael’s and winked at me.
“There’s always ways to get around proper procedure,” I explained to Michael. I laughed when I saw the expression on his face when Sam returned with his change.
“Wow,” Michael said. “Sixty-five cents for a glass of beer?” He left the coins and a dollar on the bar, then flipped three bills around until they faced each other and slipped them into his wallet.
The others laughed along with me. God, it felt good to laugh. I had forgotten for awhile how terribly screwed up my life had become. Michael, though, apparently hadn’t because he turned his attention to Sam, who leaned against the bar.
“Sam, will you be around tomorrow morning? Maggie would like to talk to you.”
Sam straightened, backed up a step. “Mondays are pretty busy for me.”
“Oh, I’m sure she won’t take up too much of your time.” Michael drained his glass and set it on the bar. “She’ll stop by in the morning. Nine o’clock good?”
More murmurs up and down the bar. Everyone was wondering who was the guy with all the questions, and yeah, it looked like I wasn’t working. Rumors would be flying as soon as we walked out the door. This place was like Cheers, except here they not only knew your name, they knew all your damn business.
Sam asked, “What does she want to talk to me about?”
“Maggie wants to talk to you about who framed her for Jack Hoffman’s murder.”
Six
Sam looked so pitiful, at such a loss for words, I almost felt sorry for him. The only thing that prevented any sympathy was the fact that he hadn’t stood up for me. That he had turned my scrunchie over to JC in the first place.
“Your comment will surely stir up some shit,” I said to Michael as we walked out into the parking lot.
“That was my intention. It’ll be interesting to see what happens next.” He held the door open for Chris and she jumped into the backseat. Michael and I remained outside the car.
I looked at him over the roof of the car and asked, “What do you mean, Michael? Do you think something will happen?”
“People lie. We all do. Whether it’s a little white lie or some huge one, we all lie. I expect them to now try to cover their tracks. Getting you arrested didn’t work as planned, so he/she/they/whomever will try something else. Count on it. There’ll be plenty of talk.”
I glanced over at the building we’d just left and said, “They’re all in there right now talking about us. I know from experience how they are. Don’t get me wrong, they’re good people, but they do love their gossip.”
“That’s the best way to get information. It’ll be your job to weed out the bullshit from the truth. Simply talk to people. Just like we did in there. Think you can do it? I know you can.”
I woke up exhausted on Monday morning. I’d tossed and turned most of the night, and when I did finally manage to sleep I dreamt about being chased by giant bulls through a large field of weeds. The weirdest part was when Michael arrived on a white horse wearing blinders. The horse was wearing blinders, not Michael. Anyway, Michael scooped me up away from the running bulls and we rode off into the sunset.
I wasn’t sure what bothered me more—dreaming about Michael, or losing sleep over these jerks trying to frame me for Jack’s murder. For now, I’d focus on getting myself out of this jam, and find out who had set me up. And find out who killed Jack. Piece of cake.
Ooh, cake. I nuked the two-day old coffee cake I’d picked up last night. A special inexpensive treat for myself. I focused on pigging o
ut until it was time to get ready to go see Sam.
For mid-March it was warm, so I put on my favorite jeans and T-shirt. When I arrived at the club, Sam’s truck sat alone in the parking lot. Deep sigh of relief. I’d wondered about JC and Dick. They usually were there every morning for “coffee.” Yeah, right. Well, JC drinks coffee because he opens his store by ten. They’re usually here for a couple hours. Dick’s retired, so it doesn’t matter if he starts drinking beer this early. Plus he drinks for free. Those two do their planning when no other board members are around. They decide what’s best for the club, then round up voting members who’ll side with them when the time comes for making decisions. Sneaky bastards.
The bar had that musky smell when I entered through the back door. The smoke eaters were running full blast trying to clean the air. Smoking was still permitted inside veteran clubs as long as there was a unanimous vote among members. At this time of morning, the only lights on in the bar were a few of the neon beer signs. The whiteboard showed me that the daily book drawing still hadn’t been won. The place was quiet and kind of spooky. I remembered when I’d first started working here how scary it could be at night after everyone else had left. I had to go around making sure all the doors and windows were locked. Sam told me to make sure no one was hiding anywhere. That scared the crap out of me because I always wondered what I would do if I did find someone.
Since we didn’t open until five, I knew Sam would be in the office he shared with JC doing paperwork, counting money—all of the stuff he had to do as steward. Following the twang of country music that Sam always had playing on his radio, I passed Pam’s office—the one JC used to have until she decided she needed one. It had taken days for Pam to air it out from all the cigarettes JC had smoked. At home, Pam made JC smoke outside. Now Sam had to put up with it. Poor guy. But Sam always caved in to their demands. I think it had something to do with following orders no matter what. Sure enough, I smelled the nasty cigarette odor and heard Tammy Wynette going on about standing by her man.
