by Rhett DeVane
Elvina glanced toward the row of windows on the back of the mansion. Mandy Andrews, co-owner and head stylist, darted back and forth readying her workstation for the first patron.
“Jolene Sims—frost, wash and set,” Elvina recited, “and for Wanda Orenstein, Takweeta White for one of those fancy braided African-American styles. Melody won’t be in from her dental appointment until mid-morning, so no manicures on her schedule till Suzanne Peters at eleven. Stephanie’s off for the day, so no massage therapy clients.”
She studied the diamond-studded gold watch Piddie had bequeathed in her last will and testament.
“I’ve got a half-hour, Piddie. I’m moving a bit slow this morning, so I’ll have to cut to the chase.”
Elvina smoothed a wrinkle from the paisley print cotton dress Piddie’s daughter Evelyn had designed and settled into the daily monologue. The grief counselor had strongly recommended venting pent-up emotions, and the routine of chatting with her deceased best friend had become a soothing balm. For forty years, Piddie Longman and Elvina Houston had started every day with a lengthy telephone conversation. That, plus the two had been two-doors-down neighbors. Since Piddie had provided no forwarding number upon death, Elvina figured the daily memorial-side chat was the next best thing.
She glanced toward the heavens. “Hope it’s as pretty up there as it is down here. The trees have painted themselves a bright shade of lime green, and the dogwoods are near to busting out in bloom all over town. The azaleas we helped the Ladies’ Beautification Committee plant along Main Street are just splendid this year! Some springs are better’n others, it seems.”
Her expression grew wistful.
“I can’t fathom it’s been right at a year since you left us. I miss you as bad now as then. So much has happened.”
Elvina chuckled. “Good thing the hospital uptown is more a prison nowadays than a mental institution. If this was back in the fifties and someone caught me sitting here yakking to thin air, they’d lock me up for sure!
“You’d be proud to know that scoundrel Hank Henderson has ended up in the Forensic Unit up there. He’s crazy as a bedbug, I hear tell. Doesn’t look like he’ll ever stand trial for all the bad he did to those younguns, Tameka and Moses Clark. Can you imagine? We had a gen-u-wine child pornographer right here amongst us!”
She snorted. “Course, you and me knew it all along, that something stunk to high Heaven about that man. Lordy, if Jake’s beating didn’t put us on the map, then Hank’s dirty philanderings surely did! Both of them, something to be known for. It’s a downright crying shame. Chattahoochee’ll take a while before it can come up from under it all.
“Let’s see . . . Angelina Palazzolo had a skin cancer cut off her temple. It didn’t look like a whole lot of nothing, but turns out it was. Mandy spotted it when Angelina was in for a cut and blow dry. Told her to get it checked out. Sure enough, it was cancer. Doctor over in Tallahassee cut on her, took a chunk from her face. He did a good job, though. You can barely see the divot. Mandy said she’ll trim some soft fringe there to cover up the spot as soon as the wound clears up.”
Elvina swatted the air with one hand.
“Now, everyone for miles is scrambling to Mandy to check for bad spots. She keeps a’telling them she ain’t allowed by law to diagnose, but that don’t mean a hill a’beans to folks. She just gives them the name of the skin doctor and sends them packing if she suspects anything. So far, she’s found four places that had to be removed.
“Hattie was by yesterday with the baby. That youngun is growing like a weed, I’ll tell you. She still looks around like she’s searching for you. Near to breaks my heart.”
Elvina jumped as if she’d been stung by one of the bumblebees servicing the azaleas.
“I almost forgot! Lordy, I’m getting as bad as you were about remembering things. Evelyn just called here no more than five minutes ago. She was all riled up about something, but I couldn’t wedge a word out of her, no matter how hard I tried. She told me to spread an invite to all the gang here and the rest of the family. We’re to show up at her house this evening at six-thirty. Must be important if she’s called a conference. Said she wouldn’t be in a’tall this morning. That, in itself, is odd. She’s not finished with the outfits for her TV debut day after tomorrow.
“Any-who, I’ll keep you posted on that one. It must be rich, to have gotten your daughter so all het up.”
Inside the mansion in the staff kitchen and lounge, Jon “Shug” Presley draped a coat-length lab jacket over a brass hook on the antique hall tree and slipped off his mud-encrusted shoes. “I’ve really got to remind Jake to call the plumber about the faucet by the back door. I step right in the puddle it’s created every dang time.”
Wanda Orenstein smiled over the top of a steaming mug of strong black coffee. “It’s ’cause you wear nurse-y shoes, doll. White’s a magnet for mud. Now, if it’s light-colored clothing, it’ll attract red sauce. Don’t suppose I have a single white shirt without a stain on the front.”
Jon pointed toward the coffeemaker. “That fresh?”
“Hawaiian Kona, special dark roast. Just made it myself, so I know it’ll do you.”
Wanda watched him choose a tall pottery mug and fill it with the spoon-dissolving liquid. His usually military-straight shoulders drooped slightly.
“Jake said you were up and gone this morning long before daybreak.”
Jon eased into a ladder-back chair and leaned on the round oak table. “My lady across the river went bad about two-thirty. Family paged me.” He took a sip of coffee and moaned. “Gah, this is so what I needed.”
“I don’t know how you do it, Shug, facing death all the time. And the hours you keep! Are you sure floor nursing at Tallahassee Memorial wasn’t better?”
Jon shrugged. “Pros and cons both ways. I like the hands-on care I give with my hospice work. These days, being in a supervisory position like I was at Memorial, means a pile of paperwork. When I was there, I barely got a pee break, much less time to spend with my patients. And they’re the whole reason I went into the field to start with. As to the death thing, I don’t fear it. Death’s just another part of life. Hopefully, I make it a little easier, somehow.”
“The lady, did she die?”
He nodded. “About an hour and a half ago. I left when the social workers came in. She has three adult daughters, and they were all there at the end. Great family. Very little bickering amongst themselves.”
“Bet you see some doozies.”
Jon rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t believe the stuff I’ve witnessed. Wave a little inheritance in front of some folks, and it’s like throwing a pot roast to a pack of pit bulls.”
“You off for the day, now?”
“You kidding? I just stopped in for coffee. I have one client in Grand Ridge and another, this side of Marianna. That’s just this morning. You have a busy day?”
“Elvina sees to it that we’re booked solid, not that I’m complaining. Pays the mortgage.”
Jon grinned impishly. “Today a Pinky day? Elvina tells me you’ve got one heck of an admirer there.”
“Elvina needs to learn to keep her trap closed.” She laughed. “That’ll be the day, now won’t it?”
“How many times a week does Pinky Green come in for a trim? I swear he’s in there every time I pass the salon.”
“He has sideburn issues, or so he says. Every time I turn around, he’s in my chair. If he wants to ask me out, I sure hope he’ll hurry and get to it. I feel almost bad about taking his money.”
“He’s shy, Wanda’loo. Maybe you should ask him out. Save the man some bucks.”
“Lord, why are we talking about this anyway? I’ve been married three times already, and thrown every one back. I don’t need a man to clutter up my life. It’s nice and simple now, just me and the dog.”
“Still, a little companionship would be nice.”
Wanda shrugged. “I’ve got you, Shug.”
“News flash. Number o
ne, I’m gay. Number two, I’m happily united to Jake. You need someone else in your life besides me, sweetie.”
“It’s less complicated with you, though.” Wanda looked pensive for a moment, then grinned. “Pinky lights up bright red in a half second if he’s the least bit put on the spot. It might come in handy, you know, him being that way. It’d be like having a nightlight when I get up to go to the bathroom in the dark.”
“You are so bad. Speaking of Elvina, where is the old girl? I thought she’d be bustling around here somewhere. The Oldsmobile’s parked out back.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t see her when you came in. She’s out having her morning chat with Piddie.”
From her viewpoint, Wanda could see the edge of the memorial flower garden. “Just breaks my heart when I see her out there. She’s talked to Piddie every day since she passed. Rain or shine, she hasn’t missed a single day.”
Jon pushed away from the table and returned his empty cup to the kitchen. “People find all sorts of ways to grieve, Wanda’loo. Take a stroll through any graveyard, and you can see all sorts of earthly mementos left next to headstones.”
“Elvina hand-picks the weeds from Piddie’s daisy patch.” Wanda’s eyes watered slightly. “I hope I have a friend like her, one that will watch over me.”
Jon rested a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, sugar plum. I’ll pick the briars off your plot.”
“Homemade vegetable soup. Made with a big beef bone to give it flavor. Try as I may, I can never make my soup taste as good as my mama’s. On a cold day, when I would come in the house half-frozen with my nose dripping and fingers numb, Daddy would build a roaring fire. Bobby and I would help him bring in the wood. Then, we would all sit down to bowls of steaming soup, rich with the summer’s homegrown vegetables from the freezer and home-canned tomatoes. The warmth would sear down my throat, and pretty soon my whole body thawed from the outside chill.”
Hattie Davis Lewis
Chapter Three
Jake Witherspoon, florist extraordinaire, plucked a faded blossom from a miniature azalea bush and returned it to the “Spring in the South” front window display.
“Mind if I ride with you over to Evelyn and Joe’s, Sister-girl? The delivery van’s packed to the gills with candelabras for the Fillmore wedding.”
“Sure.” Hattie Davis Lewis gathered several sets of soiled sheets from a wicker hamper by the treatment room and stuffed them into a laundry bag. “Let me set up the massage table for my first client tomorrow morning, and I’ll be good to go.”
Jake and Hattie’s West Washington Street business was a study in diversity. Half of the brick façade building was devoted to Jake’s Dragonfly Florist. The remainder housed The Madhatter’s Sweet Shop and Massage Parlor. In one lazy afternoon, a patron could receive a relaxation massage from Hattie, a sugary confection with fresh gourmet coffee, and a bouquet of fresh-cut flowers. Small wonder the establishment possessed such a cheerful ambience. Touch, taste, and scent could be satisfied in one stop.
A few minutes later, Hattie parked her Ford Escape SUV on the grass beside Evelyn and Joe Fletcher’s ranch style house on Main Street.
“Any idea what this is about?” Jake asked when he spotted the vehicles lining the circular driveway.
“Nope. Elvina left a voicemail message this morning. I haven’t had time to call her back. Must be important, though. Last time Evelyn called us all together like this, Bobby and Leigh announced they had gotten married, remember?” She groaned. “You don’t suppose Ev’s cooking, do you?”
Hattie’s cousin was locally famous for her terrible culinary skills. Though her kitchen sported every gadget known to mankind, Evelyn couldn’t resist the urge to embellish recipes. The results were predictably disastrous.
Jake shook his head. “Joe’s pretty much taken over in that department since Evelyn’s started her clothing design business.”
“Thank heavens.” She laughed. “Remember the casserole she made for you when you first came home from the hospital?”
“How could I forget? Nature doesn’t even make that shade of green. She told me the recipe came from some cookbook channeled by alien visitors.”
Hattie rolled her eyes. “Lord help.”
Evelyn’s spacious living room was filled to capacity with select family and friends. Hattie settled on the couch by her husband Holston. Her brother Bobby and his wife Leigh sat on the matching loveseat. Mandy, Melody, Stephanie and Wanda had brought extra chairs from the dining room, and Elvina Houston occupied the leather wingback chair by the entertainment unit. Jake and Jon nestled into an oversized chair with matching ottoman. Bobby and Leigh’s toddler, Josh Tank Davis, and Hattie and Holston’s adopted Chinese baby girl, Sarah Chuntian Lewis, played on a handmade quilt in one corner.
Joe walked in, wiping his hands on a clean dishtowel. “Y’all come on back to the kitchen. I’ve thrown together some sandwiches.”
“You know what this is all about?” Hattie asked.
“Beats the heck out of me, Hattie.” He shrugged. “I’m as clueless as you all are. Ev’s in the back. Says she’ll come out to talk to us after we’ve had a bite to eat.”
“Sounds serious,” Mandy said.
Joe dabbed a bead of sweat from his upper lip. “She’s been holed up in Piddie’s apartment all day. Can’t get a peep out of her. One thing I’ve learned about my wife after all these years: she’ll come out when she’s good and ready. Now, y’all come on back and fix a plate. The roast beef is hot, and I don’t like to leave potato salad sitting out too long.”
Well after coffee and Joe’s famous eight-layer Slap-Your-Pappy chocolate cake, the door to Piddie’s suite opened. The addition contained a small sitting room, bathroom, and bedroom where the beloved family matriarch had lived the last years of her life. Evelyn often took to her mama’s rooms when she needed peace of mind.
Evelyn stood in the doorway, twisting her hands together. Her usually perfectly coiffed light brown hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she wore no makeup. Her nose and the rims of her hazel eyes were bright red.
“Thank you all for coming on such short notice.” She glanced around the room, taking a moment to rest her eyes briefly on each person.
“I’m going to need all of you.” Her lips pinched into a thin line.
“What the devil has got off with you, Evelyn?” Elvina asked, “I’ve yet to see you at such a loss for words.”
“Karen has come back to us,” Evelyn said.
Elvina smirked. “After all these years of making your life miserable, she’s decided we’re worth claiming?”
Evelyn wrung her hands. “My daughter has breast cancer.”
“My mother burned everything she touched. My brother Byron and I got used to having a little charcoal in our diets. One thing reminds me of her love, though: plain white Wonder bread spread with butter and sprinkled with sugar. She used to give it to us when we were hungry before meals. Since it didn’t require my mother to cook, it was always wonderful. I still have a slice every now and then. Of course, now I eat whole wheat bread and Turbinado sugar—loses a bit in the modern translation.”
Karen Fletcher
Chapter Four
Karen Fletcher stood in the Italian-tiled threshold of a richly-appointed Atlanta town home. She glanced around the first floor living quarters. She was an intruder in the cherished home of another woman, one with European style and refined tastes. Her alter ego, Mary Elizabeth Kensington: beautiful, talented, well-spoken, generous with her time and money, and a complete fabrication.
Her deceased grandmother’s favorite Shakespearean quote floated in the air: oh, what a tangled web we weave, when once we practice to deceive. The woven filaments were unraveling, strand by carefully spun strand.
“How did you come to this, old girl?” she said aloud with the practiced British lilt she had perfected over the years. “Got yourself in a bit of a jam, I’d say.”
Taizer, a s
ix-month old rescue kitten, zipped into the room and trilled when he spotted his owner. Karen reached down and ruffled his grey striped coat.
“Where’s your big sis?”
Tequila, the three-year-old princess Persian, would not acknowledge Karen’s return for at least twenty-four hours. By then, she would be on her way back to Florida for who knows how long.
“You guys are going to have to stay put. I’m pushing my luck just being at mother’s myself. Don’t think I could show up with two cats in tow.”
Taizer skittered toward the food bowls and mewed as if he hadn’t been fed for centuries.
“I can see where I’m needed,” she said as she filled two bowls with dry kibble. Tequila materialized next to her bowl and picked delicately at the offerings, ignoring her mistress.
“Good of you to make an appearance . . . missed you, too.”
She wandered through the kitchen and living room to the covered garden patio. The outdoor room was tastefully decorated with a white wicker cushioned sofa and matching chair. A wicker porch swing piled high with plush blue-striped pillows was suspended from an overhead beam. A thick Swedish ivy vine created a solid wall of green on one end of the porch. Dappled light filtered through the leaves.
Was this how relocated government witnesses felt, stepping into someone else’s reality? Just pull on a new identity as if it was a pair of dark sunglasses, change your name, and reinvent your life. Only, she couldn’t blame her current state on anyone except herself.
Karen allowed her thoughts to drift to the recurring nightly adventure she had named the cave dream. The first time she experienced the vivid lucid dream had been around Christmastime, two months prior to diagnosis, before the screening mammogram, ultrasound, and needle biopsy. Long before her physician mouthed the dreaded word: cancer.
In the dream, she was hiking, an activity she had not enjoyed since college—before her work became her entire world. The forest surrounding the broad trail was open and airy with speckles of light playing across layers of spring green leaves. Steep hills laced with switchbacks every few feet, the pungent aroma of damp fertile earth, and a lack of the omnipresent North Florida humidity led her to believe the path traversed a Carolina mountain glen.
