Last Call

by Paula Matter

  Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I turned. Diane Reid stood next to me. “Oh, Maggie, I’m so sorry about what happened. Dick feels just awful about it. He told me to leave you alone, but I had to come over and say something.”

  “Thanks, Diane, I appreciate the support.” It hurt to make nice, but I was determined. I trusted this woman about as much as I trusted her husband and all of his old cronies. I smiled at her, and said, “It was nice of you to come over and talk with me.” The little voice inside my head screamed Liar! Another long sip of beer drowned it out.

  “I also wanted to make sure you weren’t going to drop out of the Ladies Auxiliary. Your membership is very important to us, y’know. We do so much …”

  As treasurer of the Ladies Auxiliary, I knew Diane was really only interested in getting my money each year for dues. More beer. Before I knew it, I’d drained my glass. I waved it at Sam and he immediately refilled it. This time he took my money.

  My membership. Hell, for only twenty-five bucks a year it was worth a shot at winning the daily book one of these times. I said, “Yes, Diane, as of now I plan on keeping my membership. Thanks so much for your concern.” Good thing my words weren’t made of sugar. My teeth would rot.

  “I’m so glad to hear you say that. I’d hate for there to be any hard feelings. Dick and JC were just talking about it, and Dick mentioned how he was the one who told Bobby Lee not to handcuff you. Darlene said it was just like her daddy to be so thoughtful. You remember our Darlene, don’t you? She’s the one who married into the Nelson family.”

  Married into the Nelson family? Sheesh. Who talks like that? A southern belle wannabe, that’s who. “Oh, yeah, sure, I remember her. Nice girl.” I thought of Darlene as a whiny little mouse of a girl, just like her mother. Another sip of beer. If I didn’t watch it, I’d soon be drunk.

  “I’d better get back over to the table before Dick spends all our money trying to win that knife. He’s been playing that gambling board like crazy.”

  My ears picked up on that. “Knife? The one on the gambling board?” I glanced at Michael to make sure he was listening. He sat facing the bar and not looking at us, but he seemed like he was on alert. Just like a loyal German Shepherd.

  “Yeah. JC said it’s been on there for a while now, and nobody’s been playing for it. He and Dick are having a fun little competition over who wins it.”

  “Funny, but I’ve never known Dick or JC to ever gamble on any of the games,” I said. “I know that knife board has been up there for a few weeks, but they never showed any interest in it before.” As president of the club, Kevin shopped a few times a month, buying stuff to put on the gambling boards. The boards are actually cardboard sheets with paper tickets we sell for a buck each. When all the tickets have been pulled off, the bartender hands over the prize to the holder of the winning ticket. Since most members own at least one knife—hell, even I have Rob’s knife in my purse—this board had been sitting for a long time. Members had been complaining about the lousy prizes lately. In the past, fishing equipment, gift certificates for Nelson’s Hardware or the local meat market, and camping gear had been popular prizes. Kevin seemed to be slacking off on buying quality stuff.

  Diane lowered her voice and moved closer to me. “JC said it’s been up there too long. He said you never pushed the gambling and that’ll change now that you’re gone.”

  A long-ass gulp of beer. I used both hands to hold the glass to keep myself from decking her.

  Michael turned at that point, smart man that he is. “Hi, I’m Michael Bradley, a friend of Maggie’s. I couldn’t help but hear your conversation.”

  Diane smiled and said, “Oh, you’re Maggie’s tenant, aren’t you? I forgot you were a landlady, Maggie.”

  She said it in a way that sounded dirty, low-class. I turned away from her and Sam stood there with a fresh glass of beer for me. I swallowed the last of mine and took it from him.

  “That’s right, my daughter and I live on the first floor.”

  She nudged me and said, “I don’t suppose you have a connecting door between bedrooms, do you? Oh, that was so naughty of me!”

  Dick must’ve heard that last comment because he suddenly appeared at Diane’s side. He latched on to her wrist. “C’mon, Diane, why don’t you leave these good people alone and come sit back down at our table.”

  “Oh, now Dick,” Diane whined, “I’m just talking.”

  Dick yanked her wrist. “I said now.” He offered an apologetic smile and pulled her away from us.

  I simply drank more beer. We hadn’t even been there fifteen minutes and I was already in the middle of my third beer. I excused myself and staggered into the ladies’ room. And there Pam Nelson stood before one of the mirrors, using her professionally manicured nails to finger comb her hair. Even on a night out at the VFW, she was dressed to kill.

  “Maggie, I’m surprised to see you here!” Pam didn’t bother turning, instead she talked to my reflection.

  “I’ve got to pee,” I responded, my voice slurring.

  “Really, Maggie.” She frowned and said, “No, I mean here at the club. I figured you’d never show your face again after the humiliation of being suspended and God forbid, arrested.”

  “Not arrested, just questioned.” I blinked, tried to focus. Too much beer in a short time on only a little bit of ice cream. “Suspended … oh well, shit happens. Now, if you’ll ’scuse me,” I said and wobbled past her into one of the stalls. I closed and locked the door and tried to mind my own business. Too bad Pam couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do the same.

  “All I know is everyone’s talking about it. How they found evidence pointing to you in Jack Hoffman’s truck. And how the stab wounds weren’t very deep and that it was obvious a woman could’ve killed him. Of course, you’re the only woman who could’ve done it.”

  Man, I had never heard Pam talk so fast. What the hell? She acted like she needed some Ritalin. I hoped the sound of peeing would either stop her from talking, or drown out her words. But, no, of course not. She continued.

  “We all know how it’s just men who are here into the wee hours at the bar, and that you’re the only woman here with them.” She sniffed. “That is, used to be the only woman. I understand that’s about to change, and Sam will be the bartender. Not paying him a salary will save us a lot of money. Of course, that’s how it should’ve been all along.”

  I couldn’t help myself. That last remark was way too weird to ignore. “How what should have been all along?” I asked.

  “Why, having a man behind the bar. I mean, you’re not that much to look at, but after our husbands have been drinking all night, you must surely have been appealing.”

  Good thing my jeans were draped around my ankles. Otherwise I would’ve gone barreling through that door.

  “Oh, I hope that didn’t offend you, dear. I certainly didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I really should get going. Bye now.” I heard the door open, then, “Oh, and please don’t forget to wash your hands.”

  Fourteen

  I shoved the door leading out of the bathroom and ran into a wall. Well, a wall of Dick Reid. He blocked my path to the bar, to the dining room, to Pam. Seemed like I kept running into him.

  “Excuse me,” I mumbled and tried to go around him. Michael, carrying my purse, was headed in my direction.

  Dick moved closer to me. He said, “I want to talk to you, Maggie.”

  “And I’m sure she wants to talk to you, but it won’t be right now. We have to get going.” Michael, once more to my rescue, handed me my purse. “C’mon, Maggie, time to go.” I simply grabbed my purse and followed him mutely. I had nothing good to say to anybody in that place.

  The cool night air did nothing to sober me up. Michael helped me to the car, even buckled me in. I leaned against the headrest and closed my eyes. When I opened them minutes later, Michael was pulling into the
drive-thru of Steak ‘n Shake.

  “Neither of us ate dinner,” he said.

  My stomach grumbled in confirmation and I told him what I wanted. When the food came, he handed me the bags and I held them on my lap. We got back to the house and decided to eat out on the patio because Chris would be getting back fairly soon.

  Rob had installed a partial six-foot privacy fence that hid our cozy little patio from the street but still gave us access to the driveway. We’d splurged on a nice wrought iron table and four chairs. The verdigris lamp post cast soft light over the patio. Empty flower baskets hung from hooks Rob had attached to the fence. He had been the gardener. Shoot, I still needed to help Chris plant those flowers.

  Michael and I settled ourselves at the table and dug in. Considering how this man had seen me at my absolute worst the past couple of days, I made no pretense as to how hungry I was. I scarfed my double bacon cheeseburger and milkshake.

  “Feel better?” Michael asked. He held out his half-eaten sandwich. “Want some of mine?”

  I laughed and shook my head. “I’m stuffed, and yes, I feel much better. Thanks.”

  And I did feel much better. Most of the beer seemed to’ve worn off and my tummy was happy. Warm and fuzzy, that’s how I felt.

  Wanting to share the warmth, I reached across the table to take Michael’s hand. He jerked away, a really weird look on his face.

  “Uh, Maggie, I—” A car pulled into the driveway, and he practically jumped from the table. “That must be Chris.”

  The warmth faded quickly. Not quite true: my face suddenly felt very warm. What a stupid move. Why the hell did I do that? Maybe the beer hadn’t actually quite worn off all the way. Yeah, that was it.

  No, that wasn’t it. I had no feelings for Michael. If he had let me finish, I would’ve been able to tell him how much I appreciated his friendship. That was all.

  Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Maggie.

  Enough. Sheesh. How many voices did I have in my head? And when had I started arguing with them? I shook my head to clear it and realized Michael was talking to me from where he stood at the car’s driver side door.

  “And this is my landlady, Maggie Lewis. Maggie, this is Terri, Heather’s mom.”

  A very attractive, tall blonde stood next to him, her nicely manicured hand draped around the shoulder of a little girl.

  “Nice to meet you, Maggie,” said Terri, then she turned to Michael. “And I really enjoyed seeing you again, Michael. I hope we’ll see more of each other.” He didn’t jerk away from her when she reached for his hand. She shook his hand, and it sure seemed like a long time before they released.

  Every time I opened my eyes the next morning, my head let me know it was not time to get up. I listened to it and finally rolled out of bed in the early afternoon. I dragged myself to the kitchen, made coffee, and slumped over the counter to watch it drip slowly, so damn slowly, into the pot. I gulped down the first cup, then poured another.

  I went to my desk, found my legal pad and pen, and added to my lists and notes. I spent a good few hours doing this and impressed myself with my results. I came up with a list of people to talk to—who I’d already talked to and those I still needed to go see. Feeling pretty clever, I added specific questions I wanted to ask each person. I wanted to know more about the night Jack was killed.

  I knew from the conversation Bobby Lee had with us all at the bar Sunday morning that Pete, Sam, JC, Dick, and Kevin had all been there Saturday night. And Abby. JC and Dick said they left just after the news, and Kevin about the same time. No mention of their wives, but Pam and Diane didn’t usually stay much past ten o’clock, so that sounded right.

  We knew Sam was working with Abby. But Gussie had only seen Abby and probably Pete leave at closing time. She must’ve missed Sam leaving. Pete was hanging out because of Abby. He was her ride, but he would’ve been there anyway, just like any other weekend night. Same with Kevin. Sometimes Scott hung out with his parents and in-laws after work.

  Motive. Why did Jack get murdered? Why wasn’t his notebook in his truck? What had he said or done? When had he said or done it? I wish I’d been there that night. Instead, the person who could’ve heard something left town. What was that all about? Did Abby leave because she didn’t like it here? Didn’t like Pete? How had he talked her into coming here, leaving Ft. Walton Beach? She had sure looked happy in that website photo, but who knows how long ago it had been taken. How did she get that black eye? Did she have family that she left behind? Was there a connection between Abby and Jack? How long had Pete and Abby known each other? Did she really leave town on her own?

  Oh, this was good stuff. Great questions. Now all I needed were answers. Before I could decide who to tackle first, someone knocked on the front door. Shave and a haircut. Two bits. That could only be one person, and I ran downstairs to eagerly swing open the door.

  “Brenda! Come in, come in.”

  Brenda Blackwell, my best friend, hugged me, then held me at arm’s length. “Where the hell were you at eleven o’clock?”

  “My appointment! I’m so sorry, I forgot.”

  “You’re forgiven, now turn around.” She fingered my ponytail and said, “Looking good. Another couple of inches and we can send it in.”

  Brenda, my only real friend since Rob died, was also my hair stylist. Several months ago she had talked me into letting my hair grow, then when it got to at least ten inches, she’d cut it off and donate it to the Locks of Love foundation. Every eight weeks or so, Brenda spends the day in her Jacksonville salon (she owns three in the northern part of the state) and she trims my hair. I had missed my scheduled appointment.

  I grabbed a couple of beers out of the fridge, and we got comfortable at the kitchen table. I really needed to start thinking about getting some decent living room furniture. I’d had more company in the last forty-eight hours than almost all last year. I was too ashamed to let anyone see the ratty-looking loveseat in what should be the living room. Easier to just close the door on that room.

  “So, what’s going on? I called the club a half hour ago and some guy answered, so I hung up. Why aren’t you at work?”

  I took a long sip from my bottle before answering her. Once I started talking, I couldn’t stop. God love her, Brenda didn’t interrupt me once as I told her about the last four days of my life.

  “Finish your beer, then let’s go. I’m taking you out for dinner. Nowhere fancy, so you’re fine the way you are.” She draped her arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “Hell, you’re always fine. Straight up.”

  No wonder she’s my best friend. A liar with a good heart. I told her as much. She chucked me on the shoulder she’d squeezed and gently pushed me out the door.

  “We’ll take both cars because I need to get to West Palm tonight. I’ll leave right from the restaurant. If I get on the road by eight, I should get there by midnight. No big deal.”

  Her little red Miata convertible looked nice, really nice, in my driveway. I was even more grateful my poor little Honda had a new battery. He would’ve felt bad otherwise. As we got into our cars, Brenda shouted, “Just follow me. Try to keep up. Okay?”

  I let my mind wander as I followed Little Miss Lead Foot. Rather than dwell on the murder investigation, I thought about the good things in my life. My blessings. Brenda was on the top of that list. We had the kind of friendship where months could—and often did—go by without us seeing or talking to each other. We always seemed to pick up right where we’d left off.

  I remembered the day we’d met. Not too long after Rob died, I’d gotten in my car and drove with no destination in mind, just wanting to get away. I pulled off in Jacksonville and wandered aimlessly through some mall. Up one side, down the other, over and over again. Normally, I despise going anywhere near a shopping mall, but on that day I needed the busy noise of others around me to deflect the quiet numbness overtakin
g my body and mind.

  “You don’t need the exercise, but you could use a shampoo.”

  It had taken me a second to realize someone had spoken to me. I stopped and turned. A tall, slender brunette woman leaned against the doorjamb of one of the shops. She smiled and said, “I’ve seen you pass by my salon at least a dozen times today. I could do wonders with that gorgeous red hair of yours.” She stepped forward, her hand outstretched. “I’m Brenda Blackwell, owner of Blackwell Hair Salon. Catchy, huh?”

  I shook her hand, mumbled it was nice meeting her, and started to move on my way.

  “Hey, today’s my birthday and I’m giving away a free shampoo and cut. You’re the lucky recipient.” She pulled me into her shop and I spent the next couple of hours being pampered. It was truly the beginning of a beautiful relationship. Two years later, and here she was again bein my savior. So, yeah, Brenda was definitely on the top of my list of blessings.

  My trusty little Honda kept up just fine, and I pulled in right next to her at the seafood restaurant she’d chosen. We ordered our meals and decided to split a carafe of wine. Brenda poured generous amounts into each of our glasses, then leaned forward and said, “Okay, tell me all about this Michael Bradley. Last time I’d talked to you, he had just moved in. Bring me up to speed.”

  “Michael? He’s just a tenant. He has a little girl named Christina, she’s ten. I know he’s divorced, but I don’t know for how long or why. He’s a former police officer, soon to be a private investigator.” I sipped my wine. “Nice guy who’s agreed to help me out on this whole bum rap deal I’m in. So, what do you think of that whole situation? Pretty crazy for anyone to think I’d kill somebody, huh?”

  “Nice try, hon. Don’t change the subject. I want to know more about Michael, and if you’re getting any.”

  Embarrassed, I looked around to make sure no one nearby had heard. I looked back at Brenda. “You’re bad, you know that? Michael and I are really just friends, nothing more.” I sipped more wine, then remembered my decision to not get drunk in public again. “So, tell me about what you’ve been up to.”