by Paula Matter
“I don’t know. Seems mighty suspicious to me.”
It was his sing-song way of speaking that made some members think he was gay. I remembered that now as I listened to him. I shook my head again. “I don’t buy it. Not after what Bobby Lee said.”
Phil snickered. “Like we can trust him. He’s probably in on it with them. That would explain why there hasn’t been any arrest yet.” He gasped. “Oh! Except for you, of course.”
Catty bitch. “I wasn’t arrested, Phil. Bobby Lee just wanted to talk to me privately.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
I finished my beer, wiped my mouth, and tossed my crumpled napkin on the empty plate. I refused to get into an argument with this guy. Let him and anyone think what the hell what they wanted.
“Well, Phil, you heard wrong.” I put a ten-dollar bill down and scooted from my stool. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get going. Thanks again for the beer.”
My hands were shaking when I unlocked my car door. The gall of that little shit. I’d forgotten how malicious the gossip could be in the club. I’d listened to it night after night for years. How the hell could I have so easily forgotten? Probably because it’d never been directed at me before. Or maybe there had been gossip about me and I hadn’t known. I remembered what Pam said about wanting a male bartender. They could’ve been setting me up all along, and Jack’s murder just sped things up for them.
I took a few deep breaths before I started the ignition. My right leg shook so badly I was afraid to drive. I hadn’t felt this angry since … since I don’t know when. Maybe when the assholes suspended me. Or Pam stiffed me. Or I caught the chief of police watching my house. Or how about getting run off the road? A few more deep breaths. Oh yeah, and what about being accused of murder? Screw it. Time for big changes. I’d said it before, and this time I meant it. The time had come to kick some serious ass.
First thing to do would be to show the bastards how much I didn’t need them. Even if they came begging, crawling on their hands and knees, no way in hell would I ever go back to work at that place.
Time to move on.
Twenty
On my way back to the house, after visiting with Rob and ranting to him for a while, I splurged on a newspaper. Way past time to find another job. Easier said than done, it turned out. I searched the few classified ads and by the time I finished, I felt completely under-qualified to do anything. Definitely not good for my ego.
Wanting to hold on to the anger and not wallow in self-pity, I sat at the kitchen table and grabbed the pen and legal pad still there from the day before. I wrote down everything that Phil had said. I wanted to make sure I remembered it all so I could tell Michael.
Michael. I hadn’t seen or talked to him since the funeral yesterday. Since his date with Terri. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear he and Terri had run off and gotten married. Oh, sheesh. Now I was being ridiculous.
I needed a plan. Who could I go talk to? I looked at my list of names. All of them, with the exception of Abby and Pete, were busy with the spaghetti supper. Right about now they’d probably be cleaning up. I could go back in and casually talk to them, all friendly-like.
Yeah. I couldn’t see that happening with JC or Dick. But I could probably get Pam to pay me. That could be my excuse for going back in. I’d just have to make nice, even if it killed me. And I’d stay the hell away from Phil if he was still there.
The VFW parking lot was nearly empty. Damn shame for seven o’clock on a Friday night. One week ago exactly the place had been jumping and I’d been complaining about being tired. Be careful what you wish for.
I climbed out of my car and heard Pam’s voice before I saw her. I stood there listening.
“No, I will not stay and help clean up. It’s bad enough I had to wait on tables tonight, JC. You should be grateful for that.”
I couldn’t hear JC’s response, but I did see them on the front stoop. I slowly, quietly closed and locked my door, waiting to see if anything else happened. Pam turned and walked down the steps. JC went back inside. I made a beeline toward Pam, catching up to her just as she got to her car.
“Hi, Pam, glad I caught you. I know it was an oversight, but you didn’t pay me on Tuesday.” I smiled ever-so-sweetly.
She almost hit me with her car door she swung it open so fast. “Oh, Maggie, I don’t have time for this now. I’m late for an appointment.”
And with that, she was gone.
I don’t think so.
In mere minutes I was two cars behind her, stopped at a traffic light. I stayed on her tail for a few miles when it became obvious she was heading home. Sure enough, she turned down her street, then pulled into her driveway. I parked a block away and waited. I figured she’d be right back out and on her way to her appointment. I watched, ready to resume following her as soon as I saw her car again.
Fifteen minutes later, I was still waiting. And I had to pee. I wondered how Jessica Fletcher managed when she was on stakeouts. That thought only made it worse. I started the car, drove to Pam’s, and parked behind her car. I walked quickly and carefully to the front door.
I lost track of how many times I’d pushed the doorbell when she finally opened the door. The look on her face was priceless, but I didn’t take time to enjoy it. Not caring about rudeness, I brushed by her and said, “I need to use your bathroom. Thanks.” I rushed down the hallway.
Pam, her arms crossed and a foot tapping, leaned against the hallway wall when I came out. I smiled and said, “Sorry about that. I was in the neighborhood and suddenly had to go. I knew you wouldn’t mind.”
She pushed herself away from the wall and walked toward the spotless kitchen. I was right behind her. Her purse sat on the gathering island right next to what looked like a stack of library books, and she pulled out her checkbook. Her hands were shaking and I wondered if it was a sign of anger, the same reaction I have sometimes. Too bad, so sad. Let her be angry. I shouldn’t have had to wait three days to get paid.
“Here,” Pam said, holding out the check. She rubbed her nose and sniffed. “I’m sure you can see yourself out.”
I made it a point to study the check in front of her, then looked up at her. Interesting. I pointed to the sprinkle of white powder on her shirt. “Been baking, have you?”
I thought her eyes would pop out of her head. She brushed the powder away, and glared at me. I’m sure she wanted to lick her fingers. Sure was a waste of good cocaine. Appointment, my ass. I must’ve interrupted her little party, probably even rushed her by ringing the doorbell so many times.
I showed myself out. I practically skipped to my car. I could get used to this assertive side of myself. Man, it felt good.
Since some of my bills were paid, I could use part of the check for groceries. I drove to the store close to the house, knowing they’d have no problem cashing the check. I bought my usual supply of frozen dinners and popcorn. Toilet paper, toothpaste, deodorant and I was good to go for another month.
Both sides of the house were dark when I parked in my driveway. Michael’s car was gone and I wondered where they were. I lugged the groceries upstairs, put a bag of popcorn in the microwave, and put everything else away.
I was ready to veg out for the rest of the evening with my Lehane book and a bowl of popcorn. I set the microwave timer and went into my bedroom to get my book. A beeping noise startled me. And smoke, I smelled smoke. Oh, crap. Now my microwave was on the fritz?
I rushed to the kitchen and my microwave was humming along nicely. Where the hell was the beeping come from? And I still smelled smoke. Damn! It was the smoke detector in Michael’s apartment.
I called 911, grabbed my keys, and flew downstairs to Michael’s front door. The doorknob wasn’t hot and I unlocked and opened the door. And froze.
No. Grow the hell up. Move. Now.
“Michael? Chris?” I shouted and
stepped into the living room. No smoke in there, but the kitchen in the back of the house looked foggy, hazy. I couldn’t see any flames. A stench of burning … something. Plastic? I pulled up the collar of my shirt to cover my mouth and nose, rushed forward. Sirens in the distance. Very hot in the kitchen. My eyes watered. The smoke detector screamed. I yanked the side door open. Thick fog shifted, rolling with me as I went out the door. Cool air hit me.
People across the street were shouting, pointing, running. One woman came over to me, pulling my arm. We stumbled our way to the other side of the road.
“Anyone else in the house?” she wanted to know. I shook my head. More sirens wailed, and an ambulance and police car rounded the corner. A man ran over to me and the woman.
“Is she okay, honey? Everyone out of the house? Firemen went in through the front door. One of them outside needs to know if the house is empty.” All this rushed out of him.
The woman spoke, “She seems fine and says everyone’s out. Here comes a paramedic and the police chief.”
Forcing my gaze from the house, I turned to look. Sure enough. Bobby Lee and another man carrying what looked like an oxygen tank ran toward us. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Bobby Lee move so fast. He was panting by the time he reached us. Bent over, his hands pressed against his knees, he fought to catch his breath.
Pointing at the tank, I told the paramedic, “I think the chief needs that more than I do.”
Twenty-One
My popcorn was cold by the time we were allowed back in the house. Bobby Lee, Michael, and I sat at my kitchen table. Chris was at my computer, grumbling about its slowness. For the third time I told Bobby Lee what had happened. Time for him to answer our questions.
“What caused the fire, Bobby Lee?”
He scratched his head, and looked from me to Michael. “A pot had been left on the lit stove. I’m surprised at you, Bradley.”
Michael shook his head. “I’m surprised too, sir. I know I didn’t do that before I left the house.” As if he knew the question was coming, he said, “We left here at three to meet with my daughter’s teacher and principal. Chris and I ran a few errands, had dinner, and we got home about nine. Just as all the excitement was dying down.”
“Is there any chance Chris might’ve done it?” I really didn’t think so, but what were the alternatives? Besides a sudden onset of dementia for Michael.
“I don’t see how. Or why. Or, hell, even when she could’ve done it. Chris knows better than to use the stove.” Michael rolled a popcorn kernel back and forth in front of him. “I don’t even like her using the microwave when I’m not close by.”
“Well, Bradley, somebody started it.”
“Bobby Lee, what kind of pot? And was there any food?”
The police chief flipped through his little notepad. “A Dutch oven. Yellow. No food.” He looked at Michael again. “Did you start to boil water, then forgot about it?”
“No, sir. I’m positive. Was there any sign of a break in, forced entry?”
Bobby Lee snorted. “You think someone broke in, started to cook, and then left? That this was some sort of prank?”
Saying it like that did sound kind of silly. But weird things had been happening, so why not? I said, “Both doors were locked.”
The look on Michael’s face told me he just realized what I’d done. How I had come into the first floor of the house. I shrugged and smiled. He smiled back.
“If no one broke in,” Michael said, “how we do explain what happened? Maggie, does anyone else have keys?”
“No, definitely not. I have mine and I had one made when I listed the apartement.” I highly doubted it, but asked, “Does Chris have her own key?”
Michael shook his head.
“So, no sign of a break-in, and you and Bradley have the only sets of keys?” The smugness in Bobby Lee’s voice grated on my nerves.
“As far as I know, Bobby Lee. I was still in Miami when Rob had the closing. I could always ask the hospital administrator if you want. Actually, I think I will. It’d be good to know if there are other keys floating around.” Not very likely, and I really wanted to prove Bobby Lee wrong. I just knew someone had to have broken in, and that it wasn’t due to carelessness on Michael’s part. Bobby Lee needed to know how serious this was. Sticking to what he did know for sure, I asked, “What kind of damage did the fire do?”
“The pot’s a total loss. Also, the dish towel that had been next to it. Other than that, not too bad. Soot on the wall behind the stove, but that can be cleaned up.” The police chief pushed his chair back and stood. “I reckon painting the kitchen might be in order.”
“Which I’ll take care of, Maggie,” said Michael.
“Thanks. And tomorrow I’ll see if I can talk to the hospital administrator. I wonder if I’ll have to make an appointment to see him.”
Bobby Lee pushed his chair back in and said, “Oh, I don’t know, Maggie. North DeSoto ain’t like big cities. Mr. Jacobs will be in his office in the morning before he goes out to the golf course. That’s what he does most Saturdays. You best get there before eight.”
A little jab telling me he knew the goings-on with his town. I was a city girl, not a local, still an outsider. Just like at the club. I was the only true outsider since most of those people had grown up in North DeSoto and have known each other for years.
“I’ll see myself out, Maggie.” He put his hat on and tipped it at me. “Y’all stay out of trouble.”
“I’ll walk out with you, sir. Be right back, Maggie.”
After the day I’d had, I wanted nothing more than to soak in a hot bubble bath with a glass of wine and my novel. Instead I went over to the computer to see what Chris was up to.
I watched Chris play a spirited game of Hearts for several minutes, then Michael joined us. “Chris,” he said, “I need you to call Heather and then I want to talk with her mom.”
“Sure, Daddy. Can I finish playing this game first? Only be a couple minutes.”
“Okay.” He glanced at his watch. “Tell her it’s important and apologize for calling this late. Let me know when her mom’s on the phone. Maggie and I will be out in the hall.” He handed Chris his cell phone.
“So,” he said, “besides the fire, how’ve you been?”
Where should I start? With Brenda and me breaking into Jack’s house and finding the photograph? Finding the crushed phone? What Phil had said? What was important? What didn’t matter?
I ended up telling him everything. Even down to looking for a car for Brenda, and how we’d eaten dinner then breakfast at Sally’s. I even included the walk we’d taken downtown after dinner, our entire conversation.
Exhausted after dumping all that, I leaned back and waited.
“Wow. You’ve been busy.”
All I could do was nod.
“I can’t believe you broke into Jack’s house. And that you got away with it.” He grinned. “Too wild.”
“How’s this for too wild?” And I told him what Brenda had said about one of the guys being gay. “At first I thought she meant one I’d introduced her to, but then I figured she must’ve met Phil while I was out of the room.”
“You’re saying it can’t be anyone else? Who did she meet while you were with her?”
“Sam, Pete, and Kevin.”
Michael frowned. “Hmm.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m still wondering about motives, and now I’m thinking a gay man in a military club might be one hell of a secret,” he said. “One he wouldn’t want known.”
“Oh, you’re right about that. There was lots of gossip about Phil when he first joined as a social member. It died down after a while when it became obvious he was a woodie, and not a regular. But a lot of the older guys have a real problem with gays. Jack Hoffman had been one of the loudest complainers. If Jack knew for c
ertain, yeah, I can see it definitely being a motive.”
“I have no doubt you’ll figure it out. I just hope you do it legally. Don’t break into anyone else’s house.” He grinned again.
I shrugged. “It was all Brenda’s idea. She made me do it.”
“Yeah, right.” He rubbed his hand across his mouth, then said, “I’m glad she was here. I haven’t been much help the past couple of days.”
I reached for his hand, then stopped. Didn’t want to make that mistake again. He saw it, and instead of backing off, he reached for my hand and held it in his.
“Thanks.” He patted my hand, then pulled back. “And now I’ll tell you what’s been going on with my darling daughter. Chris was suspended yesterday and today for pouring ketchup on another girl’s head. Can you believe that? Ketchup.”
I bit my bottom lip to keep myself from laughing. “Um, why?”
“Why?” He stared at me. “What the hell does it matter why she did it?”
“She must’ve had a reason. What did she say?”
“Something about this girl took her friend’s boyfriend away.” Michael shook his head. “A ten-year-old has a boyfriend? Christ.”
“Sounds about right. Thing is, the boy probably doesn’t even know he’s involved. Girls that age have crushes on boys who still hate girls. So, what did Chris do?”
“They were at lunch when this other girl apparently said something to Chris’s friend. She started crying and Chris got mad. Went over and poured ketchup on the girl.”
“Seems harmless enough. I mean it could’ve been worse, I suppose. They could’ve had an actual fight. Chris was just sticking up for her friend.”
“Now you’re defending my daughter? You think what she did is appropriate?”
I shook my head. “No, not at all. I’m just saying it could’ve been worse, and that Chris was trying to be a supportive friend.” I should’ve just kept my mouth shut. Nothing worse than a childless person telling a parent what to do. Hell, I couldn’t even keep a houseplant alive, but that didn’t stop me. Maybe I could go at it from a different angle. “Was the little girl hurt?”
