Murder on a Girls' Night Out

by Anne George

“Oh, I don’t think so,” I said. Knowing Mary Alice as I did, Fay and May were Henry’s, no doubt about it, from now on.

  Sleep came in waves that night. I would sleep deeply for an hour or so and then come wide awake. Finally, to keep from disturbing Fred, I went into the den, lit the gas logs and settled on the sofa. The full October moon, the “corn moon,” shone through the skylights and streaked across the floor. It was hard to believe that a few nights before, tornadoes had been tearing up lives. I pulled the afghan around me and watched the flames dance around the logs. Red, green. I awoke with a start. Damn. I hadn’t slept the night before. This was not good. I needed some rest.

  I went into the kitchen and got some milk and aspirin. The moon was so bright through the bay window, I didn’t have to turn on the light. Outside, the trees moved slightly; down the street a light came on. Another insomniac. Other than this, everyone was asleep on this first cold night. In his igloo, Woofer slept, too old and too warm to bay at the moon. I went back to the sofa, curled up in the afghan and didn’t know anything else until the sun woke me shining in my eyes.

  My first thought was that it was going to be awfully cold tonight for a garden party, for any kind of outdoor party, including a bonfire, and that I had spent all that money on a dress nobody would see because I was getting out my winter coat. So I would smell like mothballs instead of L’Air du Temps. Damned if I was going to catch pneumonia for the sake of vanity.

  The phone rang and I reached for it.

  “They have a big heated tent,” Mary Alice said.

  “Okay, thanks.” I hung up and went to get my robe. The bed was empty; Fred had tiptoed out again. Hadn’t even had coffee. Damn it! That man drove me crazy by being so sweet that I could never stay mad at him. I went into the kitchen to put the kettle on and stepped outside to give Woofer his treat. God, it was cold!

  Woofer had his mouth open and the dog biscuit was halfway there when I thought about what had just happened. Had I dreamed Sister had called about a heated tent? I gave Woofer the biscuit I had in my hand, threw a couple of others into the yard and went in to call her.

  “What?” she said.

  “You just called me, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did. What’s the matter with you?”

  “I thought I was dreaming. I was just waking up and thinking about the cold and the party and you called about a heated tent and it just blended together.”

  “Have you had your coffee?”

  “No.”

  “I thought not. Call me back after you do.”

  Which I did, but all she wanted to know was if I wanted to borrow one of her evening “wraps,” since Debbie said I had actually bought a new dress. And I said I would wrap myself in my coat, thank you very much. The conversation was a short one.

  Once a week, I tutor at a junior high school. I thought when I volunteered that I would be tutoring English grammar, but as it turned out, the work involved a little bit of everything. The math teacher would probably have been startled to hear me explain how to divide fractions by standing them on their heads, but the kids seemed to understand, and I enjoyed working with them. The one-on-one teacher-student relationship is what every overworked teacher dreams of.

  I took a shower and dressed. Before I left for school, though, I called Sheriff Reuse. He had to be notified about the marriage certificate having been hidden in the boot. Fred had made no bones about it. “My God, Patricia Anne,” he had said, picking up the heavy boot to slide it back under our bed, “Debbie’s right about this thing being important. What’s the matter with you?”

  “The sheriff was patronizing,” I had said.

  “I don’t give a good goddamn if he’s rude as hell. Go call him.”

  “Now? It’s after eleven o’clock!”

  We had finally agreed to wait until morning. The sheriff wasn’t in, though. The man who answered the phone said he would take a message. I left my number but told him I wouldn’t be in until after three o’clock.

  “He’s gone to Atlanta,” the man said. “Won’t be back till late.”

  “I’ll be here until six,” I said. Fred wasn’t going to like this, but I had tried.

  As the day went along, my mood improved. One of my students, who was having a hard time understanding percentage, had a real breakthrough. It was another of my “stand it on its head” solutions, and it worked. I should have been teaching math all these years, I decided. Lord knows the papers were easier to grade. And several people told me they liked my hair, which had turned out a light ash blond. By the time I got home, I was looking forward to the evening. The temperature had rebounded into the high seventies, as it does this time of year in the South, and it looked like the Hannahs were going to have a nice, though chilly, night for a party.

  The sheriff hadn’t called, but Bonnie Blue had, and so had Haley. Bonnie Blue said she would call later, and Haley wanted to borrow my black evening bag if I wasn’t using it. She would come by after work.

  I took Woofer for a quick walk and still had a couple of hours to pamper myself. I soaked in a bubble bath with a mask slathered on my face, pumiced my heels, painted my toenails. When Haley came in, I had just dampened my hair and sprayed curling mousse on it. “At my age,” I admitted, “it takes a lot of upkeep.”

  “At your age, I should be so lucky.”

  My sweet Haley. I hoped her date would be everything Sister had promised. Maybe even be the one. Well, the thought wasn’t so far-fetched.

  At five I called Sheriff Reuse’s office again. He still wasn’t back from Atlanta, the man said, and yes, my message for him to call me was there. Could he help me? I thought not. I hung up, hoping Fred wouldn’t be too upset. The boot wasn’t going to go anywhere. It was just a piece of hollow, colored glass, anyway. As for the marriage certificate, the name Wanda Sue Hampton seemed to be fairly common knowledge.

  “It’s the fact that the certificate was hidden in the boot, Patricia Anne. Inlaid in the floor!” I knew exactly what Fred would say.

  Which he did. I soothed him by saying the sheriff would call at any minute and that I had done all I could to reach him.

  At least I thought I had soothed him. “Give me the phone,” he said. “What the sheriff’s number?” I sat on the sofa and watched Fred’s face while I listened to his side of the conversation.

  “Sheriff Reuse, please.

  “When will he be back?

  “I need to talk to someone who’s working on the Ed Meadows murder. The one at the Skoot ’n’ Boot.

  “My name is Fred Hollowell.

  “Yes, my wife called earlier.”

  Fred tapped on the table. “Nobody?

  “Atlanta?

  “Of course it’s important.

  “No. I need to talk to the sheriff.

  “Thank you. You have my number.” Fred hung up and turned to me. “There, Patricia Anne. He’ll call soon as he gets in from Atlanta.”

  I’ve been married to this man for forty years. I know when to keep my mouth shut.

  He went in to take a shower and I closed my eyes and said my mantra. It was just beginning to work when the phone rang. I grabbed it, thinking it might be the sheriff.

  “Hey, Patricia Anne,” Bonnie Blue said. “Guess who called me this morning? Doris. Doris Chapman.”

  “She did? Is she home?”

  “Probably by now. She called from Destin, though. She’s going to the Hannahs’ party tonight, and Mary Alice said all of y’all were going. Anyway, Doris wanted me to go to Goldstein’s and get her mink coat out of storage.”

  The two things registered simultaneously. Doris was going to be at the party and she had a fur coat. A mink.

  “She had to call the folks at Goldstein’s and give them her storage number and give the number to me, and even then they weren’t too happy about it. I finally told the woman, I said, ‘Hey, look at the size of this coat and look at me. I steal a mink, I’m getting one big enough.’” Bonnie Blue laughed. “Anyway, I thought you’
d want to know she’s going to be there tonight.”

  “I sure do, Bonnie Blue. Thanks. Are you going to be there?”

  “Absolutely. I was invited to tend bar. Damn glad to get the job, too. Come by and get some orange juice.”

  “Will you point Doris out to me?”

  “You can’t miss her. She’ll be the one the animal rights’ activists are picketing. And with good reason.” Bonnie Blue laughed at the scene she had conjured up. “Hey, I better go. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

  “Okay. And thanks, Bonnie Blue.”

  I hung up and went in to tell Fred that Doris had a mink coat and was going to be at the party. “She’s Wanda Sue, I’ll bet you. And she was blackmailing Ed.”

  Fred had just stepped out of the shower, and I took the towel to dry his back.

  “But what about?” he asked, reaching around and cupping my butt.

  That I couldn’t answer. Nor did I have time to.

  Seventeen

  Fred is neither a partygoer nor a party-giver. I get him to Sister’s parties on New Year’s Eve and the Fourth of July, and the whole family comes to our house for Thanksgiving. Sometimes we ask old friends in for supper. But lately we’ve been doing less of that. I don’t know why. I used to complain that we didn’t socialize enough, but I think I’m becoming more like Fred as we get older. It’s just so comfortable to eat supper while we watch Wheel of Fortune.

  “All those people,” he complains when we come home from Sister’s parties. “I can’t remember their names.”

  I know the feeling.

  He was in a good humor, though, as we turned into the Hannahs’ driveway, in spite of the fact that the sheriff still hadn’t called and that this was most certainly a big party. “I really like that dress,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Sure you aren’t cold? I’ve got a couple of jackets in the trunk.”

  “I’m fine. But thanks.” When push came to shove, I’d gone with L’Air du Temps and the threat of pneumonia instead of health and the smell of mothballs. As for the jackets, I’d have to be in the last stages of hypothermia to put on one of Fred’s old nylon windbreakers over my new red dress. I thought about the grease stains on them. Maybe I’d just have to die.

  We pulled up behind a Mercedes whose female passenger was alighting in a flurry of sequins, high heels and furs. Her escort wore a tux.

  “Hey,” Fred said, pointing at the man. “Hey.”

  We’ve been married so long, body language accounts for the majority of our communication.

  “Formal wear was optional, Fred. You opted not to.”

  I don’t know what his answer would have been. A rap on the window made both of us jump. A smiling young man was standing there.

  “Good evening,” he said when Fred let the window down. “I’m Douglas and I’ll park your car for you. Just pull up to the steps.”

  The Mercedes was already being whisked away by a Douglas look-alike. We pulled up as instructed.

  “Your name, sir?” Douglas asked. He wrote the name on a numbered card and handed Fred a duplicate.

  “Where are you parking them?” Fred wanted to know.

  “In the field by the stable, sir.”

  “Don’t you have a lot of mud out there?”

  I saw Douglas cast a quick glance at Fred’s 1989 Honda, which was already the worse for wear. “The field’s dry, sir. Y’all have a good time, now.” He got in the car and drove off.

  “It’s got to be a loblolly out there,” Fred grumbled. “Mud up to the bumpers.”

  “It won’t hurt the car,” I assured him.

  “Bet that Mercedes gets stuck.” Fred brightened at the thought.

  Dick and Sara Hannah were standing at the door greeting their guests. I thought then, and I still think now, that they were shining that night, that the aura surrounding them wasn’t a trick of the lighting. Blond and petite, Sara wore a dark green velveteen sheath that ended well above her knees and brought out the green of her eyes. I thought the dress was demure with its high neck and long sleeves. Later, when I saw the back, or rather what little there was of the back, I realized “demure” was hardly the right adjective. Dick, like Fred, had opted for a dark suit.

  “Mrs. Hollowell,” Dick said. “We’re so happy you came.” I was impressed that he remembered my name. Granted, he was a politician, but he had met me only a couple of times.

  I introduced Fred, and Dick introduced Sara. I knew she had been working for days to clean up the storm damage and getting everything ready for the party. But there was no sign of tiredness, not even a slight shadow under her eyes. Sara Hannah glowed this night.

  “Mrs. Crane is already here,” she said. “And I believe your daughter—Haley?”

  How did these people do this? I couldn’t remember the names of the people in my Great Books group. I wondered if there was some trick they knew. Some association thing. Like thinking about a crane at a hollow well.

  “They’re out at the tent, I believe. Right out the side door. There’s a bar out there as well as in the library. Be sure and make yourself at home.”

  We thanked her and moved into the hall as some more people came to the front door.

  “Mr. Hill, welcome,” we heard Dick say.

  “How do they do that?” Fred asked. “I’d go to parties more, Patricia Anne, if I could do that.”

  “God knows,” I said. “And no, you wouldn’t. You’re just an old recluse.”

  He patted me on the butt. “Not so old.”

  A blue-and-white tent was set up in the side yard and was huge. Barnum and Bailey would have been able to get along fine with this tent. A wooden walkway with a railing led to it from the steps. Inside there was a wooden floor and dozens of white tables and chairs, many already occupied. Each table was topped with a navy-and-white-striped cloth and a bouquet of daisies. On a small stage to one side of the tent, Jimmy Gerald’s band, which had been playing for Birmingham functions since V-J Day in 1945, was gamely charging through “In the Mood.” Several couples were already dancing.

  “Oh, my,” I said. “This is so Gatsby-ish.”

  “So what?”

  “Like The Great Gatsby. You know. I’ll bet if we looked out, we’d see the light on the pier.”

  “They got a pond this close to the house?”

  “I’ll rent the movie,” I said. “Let’s find Sister and Haley.”

  “There’s Mary Alice.” Fred nodded toward the dance floor. “Dear God. Look at that, Patricia Anne. She looks like a butterfly that got too close to Chernobyl.”

  She did. She had on a caftan that seemed to be made out of several layers of soft, flowing silk, each a different color. Lavender blended into rose, into blue, into green as the orchestra finished the song, more or less together, and Bill, yes, dipped her. I should have known.

  “He’s stronger than I thought,” Fred said.

  “Shut up.” I speared him with my elbow. Mary Alice had spotted us and was motioning toward a table on the other side of the tent. The silky material of the caftan was caught at her wrists with rhinestone cuffs, which gave her wings. A fortune, I thought. She had spent a fortune on that outfit. “You tell Mary Alice she looks good.”

  “She does. She just reminds me of the butterfly house at Callaway Gardens.”

  “Tell Haley she looks pretty, too.”

  “That won’t be a problem.”

  We wound our way toward the table Mary Alice and Bill had headed for. I saw, to my relief, that Kenneth Singleton was a very nice-looking man. He and Haley had their heads close together and were laughing at something. He hopped up immediately as we approached. Mary Alice made the introductions and Fred and Kenneth shook hands.

  “You look beautiful tonight, Baby,” Fred told Haley. Then he turned to Sister. “And I like that outfit, Mary Alice.”

  She laughed. “You’re such a nice liar, Fred.”

  We sat down and Kenneth offered to go get us drinks.

  “Where’
s the bar?” I asked.

  “On your left as you came in.”

  “We were looking at the dance floor,” Fred explained.

  I stood and looked over the tables to see if I could spot Bonnie Blue. Kenneth jumped up politely.

  “Sit down,” Sister said. I don’t know which one of us she meant, but Kenneth sat down immediately. I said I would be right back and headed across the tent to the bar. Behind me, Sister was explaining to Kenneth that it might look like I couldn’t wait for a drink but it wasn’t that at all.

  “Maybe she’s got a bladder infection,” I heard Bill say. “My wife—”

  I knew I was going to have to get Haley and Kenneth away from that table.

  The bar was doing a booming business. No wonder we hadn’t seen it when we came in; the crowd was three-deep around it. I could hear Bonnie Blue, though. “Black Jack and water, white wine, vodka tonic!” She sang the orders out.

  “Orange juice!” I yelled.

  She located me and grinned. “Orange juice coming up. Hey,” she said to the people standing between us, “let this lady up. Can’t you see she’s diabetic and about to have an insulin reaction?” The crowd parted quickly for me. “Here, honey,” she said, handing me the juice. “You’ll feel better in a minute. Just try not to spit it out like Julia Roberts did in Steel Magnolias.”

  The crowd moved away from us immediately. “You seen Doris?” I asked.

  “No. I had to get to the party. But I don’t think she’s here yet. Least she’s not out here in the tent. Most of the good food’s inside, though. She could be there. But you know, Patricia Anne, I don’t think she knows a thing. She said Ed just jumped her and she thought he was trying to rape her.”

  “You asked her?”

  “Well, when I talked to her on the phone. Sort of.”

  “Point her out to me when you get a chance,” I said.

  I got Fred a beer and headed back to the table. Mary Alice and Bill were on the dance floor again, dancing this time to “Moonlight Cocktail.” Doing a pretty good job, too. At the table, Kenneth and Fred were deep in a discussion of whether or not utility stocks were a good investment. Haley’s eyes looked slightly glazed.