Murder on a Girls' Night Out

by Anne George

  We could see the damage at the Skoot before we pulled into the parking lot. The window wall where the black curtains had proclaimed SWAMP CREATURES had collapsed, and the roof had come down almost intact, giving the structure the appearance of a one-sided A-frame.

  “Good Lord,” Mary Alice said. She drove in and parked. A couple of cars on the road slowed while their occupants stared at the damage.

  “Let’s get out,” she said.

  “Are you crazy? What about electrical wires and stuff?”

  “Watch where you step, Patricia Anne.” Mary Alice got out of the car and headed toward the collapsed part of the building. Debris was scattered across the parking lot—limbs, leaves, papers—and she leaned over to pick some up. Like me, she had worn jeans, and the sight of Mary Alice’s rear end as she leaned over in tight jeans did about as much as the coffee had to restore my good humor. I got out of the car and followed her, watching where I stepped. Snakes and downed power lines are two things that demand my instant respect.

  Most of the structural damage seemed to be at the end of the building, the part where the dance floor and the stage were. We got down on our hands and knees and looked under the edge of the roof. We could see bricks and shattered tiles.

  “I’m going in the front door,” Mary Alice said. “I think it’s safe over there, don’t you?”

  “Hell, no, it’s not safe! This whole damn place is unsafe. It’s the unsafest place I’ve ever been in my life! In what? A week? There’s been a murder, unbelievable vandalism, dope found in the place, and now a tornado hits it. You think the rest of the roof’s not going to fall? Don’t bet on it. Not to mention getting fried by a few hot wires.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mouse.” Mary Alice rummaged through her purse. “I hope I have the keys.”

  “What do you need the keys for? Just go through the hole in the wall. And aren’t you forgetting the little matter of the police having the place quarantined, or whatever they call it?”

  “That was before the storm. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind us going in and just seeing the damage from the inside. Aha!” Mary Alice came up with a key chain shaped like a huge four-leaf clover, which struck me as highly ironic for the Skoot, and started for the front door.

  “Aren’t you coming?” she asked when she realized I wasn’t behind her.

  “Is your phone in the car?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll just wait out here where I can call 911.”

  “Well, be that way!” She unlocked the door and walked in. I held my breath. “See?” she called. “It’s perfectly safe down at this end.” I noticed she didn’t slam the door, though.

  I squatted down and tried to look under the collapsed roof again. Pieces of black curtain material stuck out in several places like a ruffle. But since the wall had fallen in, not out, with the roof just sliding down, you couldn’t see anything beyond the bricks and tiles. I got up and walked toward the front door. “You okay?” I called.

  “Come on in. It’s fine.”

  I stuck my head in the door. Sunshine was pouring through the hole where the roof had separated.

  “See?” Sister said. “It’s not so bad.” She was standing close to the edge of the dance floor. “The kitchen’s fine, and look what I found.” She held out the glass boot that had been inlaid in the floor. “It’s not even broken. Just popped right out when the roof hit the floor, I guess. I think that’s a good sign, don’t you?”

  “A good sign of what?”

  “That the Skoot’s going to come back stronger than ever.”

  The only thing I could figure was that she was in shock. Denial, certainly. That place was the biggest mess I’d ever seen in my life. “Bulldoze it,” I said.

  She laughed. “Don’t be silly. Insurance will pay for every bit of this, and I think while I’m at it I’ll enlarge the dance floor. Line dancing takes up a lot of room.” She came over and handed me the boot, which weighed a ton. “Here hold this for me. We’ll put it right back in the new floor. And look at this, Mouse. See where the bar angles off? If it were straight, it would be much more efficient.” She wandered over to the bar.

  “Bulldoze it,” I said again. “What do you want me to do with this boot?”

  “Put it in the car. I don’t want it broken.”

  “I’d feel better if you’d get out of here.”

  “In a minute.”

  I lugged that heavy boot to the car. It was a two-foot-tall, high-heeled cowboy boot made out of glass of different colors, and even though it was hollow, it was heavy. I dumped it on the backseat and saw that some debris had gotten into it. I reached in and pulled out wadded, wet paper. I looked around for the dumpster, but the tornado seemed to have deposited it somewhere else. Probably in the next county. Maybe Oz. I stuck the damp paper into my pocket.

  “You got a measuring tape?” Sister called.

  “No.” I shook my head. “Get out of there!”

  “In a minute.”

  I walked around back, watching for downed power lines, to see how the old apple orchard had fared. I was agreeably surprised. The apples were all on the ground, but there were few broken limbs. The apples would need to be picked up soon, though. We should stop and tell Katie McCorkle on our way home.

  “You ready?” Mary Alice said, coming around the building. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  “I think I’ll get a different kind of tables and chairs,” she said as we turned out of the parking lot. “Those captain’s chairs take up so much room and they bruise your thighs.”

  “Bulldoze it,” I said.

  The curb market was open when we got back. Fly and Jackson Hannah were sitting on the end of the old pickup we had seen the third time we had gone to the Skoot, the one whose driver I had felt sorry for until Sister set me straight about who he was. Time and too much alcohol had taken their toll on him, but he was still handsome in a dissipated way. You could see that he had once had the charm and charisma his nephew, Richard, had now. Rougher edges, but that could be attractive, too. Today he had on a plaid flannel shirt and khaki pants that were freshly laundered and creased. I suspected it was because this was the first cool day and he had just moved into his seasonal uniform. But maybe that wasn’t fair. Fly wore a pair of Nikes, his concession to the season. No socks.

  Both men got down off the truck and came over to speak to us. Fly introduced us to Jackson Hannah and said Katie was home with a migraine and he was keeping the store. Jackson was helping him.

  “Y’all want a pumpkin?” Jackson Hannah asked. “Bargains.”

  “No, thank you,” we both said.

  “We’ve been out to the Skoot ’n’ Boot,” Mary Alice added. “What a mess.”

  “You the new owner?” Jackson ran his hands down the creases in his pants as if he weren’t used to them.

  “The snakebit owner.”

  “Seems like it, don’t it? I rode by there this morning and thought, Lord, that place is nothing but trouble.”

  “Did you have much storm damage?” I asked.

  “A couple of trees in the pasture. Lost our lights for a while,” Jackson said.

  “We’re okay, too,” Fly said. “But storms make Katie so nervous she can’t sleep. Walked the floor all night. Like that would help.” He scuffed at a small streak of dirt with his Nikes. “Just gave her a headache.”

  “Sara has a headache this morning, too,” Jackson said. “Dick’s wife?” We nodded. “She’s having that big party out in her backyard Thursday and she says the yard’s a mess and it’s going to be cold.”

  “We’re invited,” Sister said.

  “Well, wear boots and a coat.”

  Sister laughed. “I’ve met her. She’ll pull it off fine.”

  Jackson grinned. “You’re right. Sara can take care of her problems.”

  “Speaking of which—” Fly pointed toward Richard Hannah’s car, which was turning into the parking lot. Dick pulled up b
eside us and lowered his window.

  “Morning, everybody. Mrs. Crane, I heard about the Skoot. I’m sorry.”

  “I think the insurance will cover it,” Mary Alice said.

  “That’s good.” He looked at his uncle. “Uncle Jackson, Sara says can you please come help her? She’s got a crew coming from a lawn-care company in Birmingham, but she’s got a lot of errands to run. She said she’d feel better if you were there supervising. I’d do it, but I’ve got about ten meetings today and I’m already late.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Jackson. I’ve got to run. Ladies. Fly.” He was gone so quickly, it was almost like he had never been there.

  “Well, guess I better go see what I can do.” Jackson Hannah hiked his khaki pants up over his ample stomach and started toward his truck. He turned and grinned. “See? I told you Sara could solve her problems.”

  We told Fly about the apples and he promised to pass the word along to someone in The Gleaners, Katie’s group. It looked like Katie would be out of commission for the day. But the apples would be picked up, and thanks.

  “He’s such a nice man,” Mary Alice said as we headed home.

  “Hmmm,” I said.

  “Let’s stop at the chicken place for lunch.”

  That suited me. The morning’s lemon wafers had long ago disappeared.

  Fifteen

  We stopped again at Kentucky Fried Chicken. The restaurant was extremely busy; a lot of people were still without lights. We finally got our order just as a couple was leaving a corner booth. Mary Alice made a beeline for it. Once there, she was considerably slowed, since booths are not made for people Sister’s size. She pushed her way in, though, managing as she was doing it to move the table at least a foot in my direction. I squeezed in and shoved against the table.

  “I can’t breathe!”

  “Of course you can,” Sister said. “I’m comfortable and I’m considerably larger than you are, Patricia Anne.”

  I shoved the table again, succeeding in moving it a few inches.

  “Quit that! You’re sloshing the coffee.”

  I was still squeezed in tightly, but I could breathe. And I didn’t have to worry about spilling anything in my lap. I reached into the box and pulled out a drumstick. I had consumed enough fat over the past few days, I realized, to plug up arteries the size of a water hose. I really was going to have to start watching it.

  Mary Alice poured two packages of Sweet ’n Low into her coffee and stirred it with a little swizzle stick. Steam came up in little puffs. “Umm, smells good,” she said.

  I took a bite of the wonderful greasy chicken, which was so hot I had to grab for the water. I was still rolling it around on my tongue when I heard, “Afternoon, ladies.” I looked up and saw Sheriff Reuse balancing five boxes of chicken dinners.

  “You been out to the Skoot?” he asked.

  We nodded. I was still trying not to burn my tongue and Mary Alice was simply not being friendly.

  “I was sorry to hear about the damage.”

  Mary Alice scowled. “Tell me something I’ll believe. That place has been nothing but a pain in your butt.”

  The sheriff smiled. “True.”

  “What’s the status on Ed?” Mary Alice asked.

  “Very cold.” He smiled as if he had said something clever; we just looked at him.

  “You heard anything?”

  “Not yet, but we will.” He nodded. “Y’all enjoy your lunch.”

  “I think I hate that man,” Mary Alice said, watching him walk away in that ramrod way of his.

  “He’s just doing his job.”

  “He’s so damn serious about it. And he acts like he thinks we know something he doesn’t.”

  “We do. A little bit.” It was as good a time as any. I put down my chicken and told her all I knew, starting with my lunch with Bonnie Blue, when she had told me about Ed trying to rape Doris Chapman and Henry coming to the rescue and the trip to the hospital to have Ed’s head sewed up. I told her about going to Doris’s house and how nice it was and that she was spending the winter in Florida; about Fly keeping her dog and lying about it. I told her about Ed’s cut weenie and Henry’s dead wife, dead from an overdose, and that Henry had lived in Debbie’s house when he was a child and that he had almost been sent to prison but had ended up at a halfway house, which was where he learned to cook.

  The whole time I was talking, Mary Alice didn’t say a word, just sat there sipping her coffee. Finally, out of breath and out of information, I leaned back. She still didn’t say anything.

  “Well?” I said.

  “Oh, I already knew all that.”

  “What?” I said it so loudly, people in the next booth turned to look.

  “Debbie told me last night. She and Henry have been doing a little investigating, too.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?” I couldn’t believe this.

  “You didn’t tell me, either.”

  “I was going to yesterday when I went to your house and the Swamp Creatures were there.”

  Mary Alice rubbed a finger between her eyes. “Ah, yes.” She looked out of the window for a minute. “You know, Mouse, there’s just one thing I can’t figure.”

  “What?”

  “What does it all mean?”

  After sixty years, my sister could still surprise me. Not only could she keep secrets, she could actually wax philosophical about them.

  “God knows,” I said. “Let’s eat.”

  Which we did for a few minutes. Then I said, “I suppose you have Doris Chapman’s Florida address and know what she and Ed were arguing about, since it obviously wasn’t a rape attempt.” The sarcasm dripped.

  Sister smiled her know-it-all smile. “Apartment 901, Emerald Waters Beach, Highway 98, Destin, Florida.”

  “Know the zip code?” She couldn’t miss the sarcasm this time.

  She grinned broadly. “Better. I know the phone number.”

  “Did you tell Sheriff Reuse any of this?”

  “Did you?”

  I shook my head.

  “He probably already knows it, anyway,” Mary Alice said. “At least he’s leaving Henry alone.”

  I shivered in spite of the warmth in the restaurant and the coffee. “I think it’s time we told Sheriff Reuse everything we know, Sister. I was just trying to make sure Henry was all right, and he seems to be. Don’t you think we ought to butt out now?” A picture flashed through my mind of Ed’s body being loaded into the ambulance. I put my hands around my Styrofoam coffee cup to warm them.

  I couldn’t believe she agreed with me. “You’re right. This is the sheriff’s job.” She bit into a biscuit. I felt an enormous sense of relief. We were dealing with violence here, something we were certainly naive about. Best to stay as far away as possible.

  “I’ll call and talk to him,” she said. “But first, I think I’ll try and get Doris. I’ve called a couple of times and haven’t gotten an answer. Probably out on the beach.”

  “Let the sheriff call her. What are you going to ask her anyway?”

  “If she’ll come back to work when the Skoot ’n’ Boot’s finished.”

  “Why don’t you just ask her if she knows who killed Ed Meadows?”

  Mary Alice put the biscuit down. “You think she does?”

  I couldn’t tell if she was serious or not.

  The electricity was back on when I got home. I did some much needed housework. I mopped the kitchen floor, changed the sheets and began gathering a load of wash. And all the time I was thinking about Mary Alice not being surprised about the facts I’d told her, of her casualness. Of course Henry had been surprised when he found out Debbie was living in his old house. Delighted. Small world, wasn’t it? And she was beginning to see what I saw in Henry, how much promise the boy had. And, like Debbie said, anybody could make a youthful mistake and usually did. Henry had come through his stronger and wiser.

  I hoped she was right.

  Now I pil
ed sheets and towels on the bedroom floor. The jeans and shirt I had on could go in the same load. Both had a considerable amount of mud on them. I stepped out of the jeans, automatically felt in the pockets and discovered the paper I had taken out of the glass boot. I started to throw it into the wastebasket but saw it was an envelope that had actually been folded several times. Inside was a thick paper, the kind legal documents are printed on.

  I pulled it out, opened it and looked at Ed’s marriage certificate. The State of South Carolina duly declared that Edward Raymond Meadows and Wanda Sue Hampton were husband and wife, Charleston, South Carolina, February 17, 1980. It was signed by Edgar Bunyan, Pastor, First Baptist Church, and the witnesses, Helen Bunyan and Marilyn Cox. Folded within the certificate was a picture, obviously taken right after the ceremony. A young Ed and Wanda Sue smiled at each other, standing on what must be the church steps. She had on a street-length white dress and there was a circlet of flowers in her hair. She was plump—probably still baby fat, she looked so young—and her dark hair fell over the shoulder that was turned to the camera. Ed was dressed in a gray suit and red tie. The crease where the picture had been folded came right between them as if foretelling what would happen.

  “Whoa,” I said. “Whoa.” I sat on the edge of the bed and studied the document and the picture. Well, now we knew the name of Ed’s wife, and even if they were divorced, she should know the names of relatives. She was the one who had taken care of her in-laws’ belongings when they had died and Ed was in the Navy. I picked up the phone to tell the sheriff what I had found, but dialed Mary Alice instead. Here was something new she wouldn’t know. As usual I got her answering machine and told her to call me.

  The certificate and the picture were still slightly damp from having been down in the glass boot. On the other hand, I realized, this was not debris that had blown into the boot during the storm. I looked at the creases in the paper and in the envelope. I had reached into the boot and pulled out what I thought was trash and hadn’t considered at the time that the “trash” was not only farther down than any wind would have blown it but also was far too neatly folded. A picture flashed through my mind, the memory of the dance floor and the lights, red, green, pulsing, and the boot that had a dark spot in it. That was what I had been trying to remember a couple of days before: something wasn’t quite right with the boot. While we were dancing to “Rockytop,” I had skimmed over the boot and thought something was wrong with one of the lights, or that there was a flaw in the colored glass. It had seemed so unimportant at the time, a nothing.