Murder on a Girls' Night Out

by Anne George

  I picked up the marriage certificate and looked at it again. This was the reason the light hadn’t shone through one small spot on the boot. Edward Raymond Meadows had folded the certificate four times over the picture and hidden them in the boot before the boot was inlaid in the floor.

  “Shit!” I said to my reflection in the mirror. “Shit, shit, shit!” I knew I had discovered something important, something I should turn over to the sheriff immediately. I reached for the phone and nearly jumped out of my skin as it rang.

  “Mama?” Haley said. “You okay? You sound funny.”

  “I’m fine. I was just going to call Sheriff Reuse. I found out the name of Ed Meadows’s wife.”

  “Who told you?”

  “I found the marriage certificate in the glass boot from the Skoot ’n’ Boot. A picture, too.”

  “Oh.” A pause. “Well, you still want to go shopping tomorrow?”

  Haley may look like Fred, but sometimes she acts like Mary Alice. You would think from her reaction that a marriage certificate hidden in a glass boot was an everyday occurrence. “Call me when you get off from work,” I said.

  I laid the certificate and the picture on my dresser, took a quick shower, then put the clothes in the washing machine. Afterward I called Sheriff Reuse, who was in and who picked up the call immediately.

  “Enjoy your lunch, Mrs. Hollowell?” he asked.

  “Yes. Did you enjoy all of yours?”

  “They were great.” I remembered he didn’t have anyone to fix him meals at home and my conscience hurt me. Just a little.

  “Anything I can do for you?” he asked.

  “I know the name of Ed Meadows’s wife.”

  “Wanda Sue Hampton?”

  I was totally deflated. “You already knew.”

  “Mrs. Hollowell, all we had to do was feed Ed Meadows’ name into the computer of South Carolina’s public records, and there it was.”

  “I thought you were looking for her.”

  “We are. Mrs. Hampton-Meadows seems to have disappeared. Probably remarried and not using her maiden name. We lose ladies all the time like that. We’re working on it, though.”

  I assumed he meant he was working on finding Wanda Sue Meadows, not on changing the archaic system of names that females have always been burdened with. Sheriff Reuse did not strike me as a feminist.

  “Well, I just thought you ought to know,” I said.

  “And we thank you for your help. You find out anything more, call us.”

  I said good-bye and hung up. I could just see him sitting there at that perfectly clean desk, smiling that superior smile of his because I had actually thought I had some news for him. I kicked the washing machine, which was making an ungodly noise and succeeded in doing nothing but hurting my toe. And then I remembered I hadn’t told the sheriff how I had found out Wanda Sue Hampton’s name. Well, damned if I’d call him back! If he’d been any good at his job, he’d have asked.

  “When you remarry, Haley,” I said, getting into the car, “I want you to keep your maiden name.”

  “‘Haley Hollowell’ is too alliterative,” she said.

  I bristled. “I happen to like it.”

  “I know you do, Mama. You gave it to me.”

  “Haley Marie Hollowell is all the name you need. I should still be Patricia Anne Tate.”

  Haley looked over at me. “What’s your problem, Mama?”

  “Sheriff Reuse says they lose women all the time because they change their names.”

  “Bet Aunt Sister’s been lost a lot, then.”

  “It’s not funny,” I said.

  “I’m assuming you called and told him Ed’s wife’s name.”

  “He already knew it. He just can’t find her.”

  Haley nodded. “The name-change thing.”

  “Yes.”

  “Am I detecting a certain annoyance at one Sheriff Reuse?”

  “He was patronizing. Like why was I telling him something he already knew. Didn’t even give me a chance to tell him the marriage certificate was hidden in the boot.”

  “Seems to me that’s pretty important information.”

  “Well, there’s nothing on that certificate he doesn’t know. Where it had been couldn’t be too important.”

  “But why would Ed hide it? Go to so much trouble?”

  “Who knows?”

  Haley pulled into the shopping-center parking garage. “Maybe you ought to call the sheriff back.”

  “Why?”

  Haley parked expertly in a small space between two vans. “Because,” she said, cutting the switch, “I don’t have a good feeling about this. Never have. You and Aunt Sister shouldn’t be involved in something so obviously dangerous. Don’t you realize that the person who slit Ed Meadows’s throat and vandalized the Skoot is someone you’ve probably met up there?” She took the key out of the ignition and reached for her purse. “Stay away, Mama. Please.”

  “I’ll call the sheriff back,” I promised.

  In the quiet elegance of Lillie Rubin’s, the Skoot ’n’ Boot seemed far away. Haley tried on several blue dresses, finally choosing a clingy shift with a sequined jacket. It was wonderfully flattering on her and she knew it. She preened before the mirror in a way that did my heart good. Thank God for Monday’s tears. They seemed to have been the release she needed. There was even color in her cheeks.

  The saleslady who saw me admiring a red dress on a mannequin assured me they had it in my size.

  “Try it on, Mama,” Haley insisted.

  I did. The bodice was fitted; there was a wide embroidered belt, and a full chiffon skirt that ended just above my knees. I thought it looked terrific.

  “It’s too young for me,” I said, twirling in front of the mirror.

  Haley and the saleslady both said, “Nonsense,” which was all I wanted to hear. My daughter and I left with new dresses.

  “Now shoes,” Haley said.

  “Whoops,” I said.

  “What?”

  “It’s a garden party and they’re working hard to get everything fixed from the storm, but I don’t know how much they can get done in such a short time.”

  “Then I’ll just stay on the porch,” Haley said, breezing into the most expensive shoe store in the mall. “They do have a porch, don’t they?”

  “Probably,” I said. “They have everything else.”

  “How did we get invited, anyway?”

  “It’s a fund-raiser thing. People were ‘invited’ to contribute so much to attend.”

  Haley looked surprised. “You contributed to Richard Hannah’s campaign?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did, but not enough to get all of us invited to his home. This is your aunt Sister’s clout we’re partying on.”

  “I didn’t think the Hannahs needed any fund-raisers.”

  “I’m sure they don’t. They just have to act like they do.”

  Haley nodded. “Makes sense.”

  Well, maybe it did, I thought.

  We both ended up buying shoes. With heels. Then, on the way home, we stopped at the drugstore and bought a hair streaking kit for Haley, the kind that has a plastic cap with little holes that you have to pull the hair through with a crochet hook. It looks like torture the Spanish Inquisition guys would have bragged about, but it makes Haley’s red-blond hair come alive. This would be the first time she streaked her hair since Tom died. Another good sign. We also got a rinse for my hair called “Spun Sand.” If it turned out to be the color of Mary Alice’s, I could shampoo it out. I hoped.

  Just after we parked in my driveway, Debbie’s car pulled in beside us.

  “Hey, y’all,” she said, getting out and eyeing the packages we were removing. “And have we made the Visa people happy today?”

  “Come see,” Haley said.

  “Okay. I brought you something, Aunt Pat.” She moved around the car to open the passenger door and lifted a foil-wrapped casserole off the floor. “Henry sent it. It’s shrimp and chicken and pas
ta, and broccoli and God knows what else.” She loosened a corner of the foil and sniffed appreciatively. “Boy, that smells good.”

  I groaned. “In a white sauce, I’ll bet.”

  “Some kind of cheese,” Debbie said.

  Your cholesterol, my conscience reminded me. Fred’s cholesterol.

  Shut up, I told it, accepting the casserole and agreeing with Debbie that it did, indeed, smell wonderful. “Come on in,” I told her. “You’ve got to see our dresses.”

  They carried the packages into my bedroom while I put the casserole on the stove and turned the water on for tea. It was chilly in the house, so I went into the hall to raise the thermostat. Fred had checked the furnace several days before and it came right on, blowing the smell of first heat of the season through the ducts. I could hear the girls talking in the bedroom. I went back in and saw Debbie holding up the glass boot.

  “In here?” she was asking Haley.

  “Where I found the wedding certificate?” I answered her. “Yes, here they are.” I took the documents from my dresser drawer. “And the picture.”

  Debbie picked them up and held them so Haley could see, too.

  “All folded and down in the toe of the boot?”

  “Yes. They were definitely hidden there.”

  “How did you find them?”

  I went through the story of the roof caving in on the dance floor and how we rescued the boot so we could put it back in later. The kettle began to whistle on the stove, and Debbie and Haley followed me into the kitchen while I finished the story. They sat at the table, still studying the document and the picture as I fixed tea and set out cookies.

  “I didn’t think you were interested,” I told Haley, handing her a cup of tea. “When I first told you, you acted like a wedding certificate hidden in a boot in a dance floor was something that happened every day.”

  “I was just halfway listening,” she admitted.

  “Well, I think it’s important.” Debbie held the paper up to the light as if she were searching for some secret message. “I think what we’ve got here just might be the reason Ed Meadows was killed.”

  I nearly spilled my tea. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. But why would he have gone to so much trouble to hide it? I mean, he had to have planned this. It must have been put in when the floor was laid. And I’ll bet this is what the vandals were looking for, too. They really tore the place up, didn’t they?”

  “And hid dope in the bathroom,” Haley added.

  Debbie got up, opened the junk drawer by the sink and got out an old envelope and a pencil. “Okay,” she said, sitting back down. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  “What are you doing?” Haley asked.

  “Just making a list. Henry and I’ve already been working on one. But, Aunt Pat, maybe you can add to it. I guess it’s more of a diagram than a list.”

  “Where is Henry?” I asked.

  “School.”

  “And the babies?”

  “With Richardena.” Debbie drew a circle at the top of the envelope. “Okay, Aunt Pat, give me the name of someone at the Skoot.”

  “Henry,” I said.

  Debbie wrote his name into the circle.

  “Bonnie Blue Butler.”

  Debbie drew another circle and put the name in.

  “Doris Chapman, the Swamp Creatures, Fly McCorkle, the students who help in the kitchen—whatever their names are—Sheriff Reuse, Mary Alice, the man Ed bought the place from.”

  “Don’t forget Wanda Sue Hampton,” Haley said, looking at the picture.

  “And Ed Meadows.”

  “I’ve got him in the middle,” Debbie said, holding up the envelope for us to see. “Okay, let’s see if we can get any connections. Just free-associate and see if anything jumps out at us. We’re assuming now that the marriage certificate is at the core.”

  “He got married in Charleston,” I said. Debbie drew a line between Ed and Wanda Sue Hampton and wrote “Charleston” on it. “He was in the Navy,” I added.

  “Stationed in Charleston?”

  I shook my head. “It was his home. His parents lived there.”

  “And he showed up here when?”

  “I think when he bought the Skoot. About two years ago, maybe three. Probably when he got out of the Navy.”

  “Could he have served twenty years? Be eligible for retirement?”

  Haley spoke up. “The paper gave his age as forty-one. If he went in at eighteen, it would work out. Why?”

  Debbie drew an anchor beside Ed’s name. “I don’t know. We’re just thinking here.” She tapped the envelope with the pencil. “Any other connection to Charleston?”

  “Maybe Doris Chapman is Wanda Sue Hampton,” Haley said, “and Ed was messing up her new life and that’s what they were arguing about.”

  “He had PMS,” I said. “Bonnie Blue said she and Doris talked about it.”

  “You mean like every fourth week?” Haley smiled.

  “Henry said he had mood swings, but he didn’t say they were regular,” Debbie said.

  “Men don’t notice things like that. Bonnie Blue said they were like clockwork,” I said. “She said they knew when to stay away from him, he’d be so mean.”

  “Hmm.” Debbie wrote “PMS” by the circle with Ed’s name in it.

  “You want a regular sheet of paper?” I asked.

  Debbie shook her head.

  Haley pointed to the certificate. “He was blackmailing Doris and she was giving him a hard time every month about the payments.”

  “She lives way beyond the means of a waitress at the Skoot,” I said. “She’s got a new town house and she’s planning on spending the winter in Florida.”

  “Maybe she inherited some money,” Haley said. “And she could be working in Florida.”

  “Fly McCorkle has her dog and lied about it.”

  “Good, Aunt Pat.” Debbie drew a line between Fly and Doris and wrote “dog” on it. “Could he be a boyfriend who’s giving her money?”

  “He doesn’t have a pot to pee in. And I got the idea he’s pretty well tied to his wife’s apron strings. She runs a curb market right off the interstate. Seems like a real nice person. She’ll probably be at the party Thursday night. She’s some kin to the Hannahs.”

  “A curb market would be a perfect place to sell drugs,” Haley said. “You could hide them in all sorts of vegetables.”

  “Speaking of which,” I told Debbie, “when I got to your mother’s yesterday, one of the Swamp Creatures was out on the porch smoking dope. Your mama said it was cinnamon, but it wasn’t.”

  Debbie wrote “dope” by the Swamp Creatures’ circle.

  “Where are we now?” Haley asked, looking at Debbie’s envelope.

  “We’ve got to find Doris Chapman,” Debbie said.

  “Your mother has her phone number,” I said. “I thought she got it from you.”

  Debbie looked startled. “Not from me.”

  “She’s been trying to call her. We’ve already figured out she’s involved some way.”

  “I’ll bet she’s Wanda Sue,” Haley said.

  “We’ll let Sheriff Reuse find out, okay? It’s his job, remember. That’s what both of you have been telling Mary Alice and me, not to get involved in anything dangerous.”

  “You’re right, Aunt Pat.” Debbie picked up the certificate and studied it again. “Did Mama give you the phone number by any chance?”

  Sixteen

  When Debbie left, I followed her to the porch. I was still not happy about the speed with which Henry Lamont had moved in on her, but I couldn’t think of a way to broach the subject. I knew she was a mature, capable woman, but I also knew she was vulnerable. Standing on the steps, looking up at me in the late-afternoon sun, she seemed especially young.

  “Do you know this Kenneth your mother has fixed Haley up with?” I asked, skirting the issue.

  “Mama says he’s terrific.” Debbie laughed. “She’s had her eye on him for me,
but I guess she gave up.”

  “Your mama told me she’s decided she likes Henry.”

  “You’re so subtle, Aunt Pat. Why don’t you just come out and ask me what’s going on with Henry and me? You’ve been dying to since the other night.”

  “Okay. What’s going on with Henry and you?”

  “We’re friends. I think he’s the nicest man I’ve met in a long, long time, and something may come of it, I just don’t know. But I think there’s a chance. He nearly flipped when I gave him my card and he saw I was living in his old house.” She smiled. “I think he thinks I’m his fate or something. He says there’s no such thing as coincidence.”

  “I hope he’s wrong. About the coincidence.”

  Debbie examined her palm as if she could read her future there. “He hasn’t moved in, and I haven’t slept with him, Aunt Pat.”

  I was old-fashioned enough to be both startled and relieved at this announcement. “Fine, darling. You just take your time. There’s nothing like getting to know each other well.”

  “He could be the twins’ father, though.”

  “What?” I wasn’t sure I had heard her right.

  “He was a donor at the sperm bank at UAB when he was a student. They keep that stuff frozen, you know.”

  “Good God Almighty!” I spluttered.

  Debbie burst out laughing, and in a moment so did I. We laughed so hard we both were crying. We were just calming down when Haley came to the door, asking what had happened. That started us all over again.

  Debbie left, still giggling, dabbing at mascara that had streaked under her eyes and leaving me to explain to Haley why we were laughing so.

  “Aunt Sister’s going to find out who the father is, “Haley said.