Murder on a Girls' Night Out

by Anne George

  Mary Alice grabbed the picture and studied it. “I don’t see it,” she said.

  Doris was looking over her shoulder. “I do. That’s who it is.”

  Fred got up, poured us more coffee and opened a package of Lorna Doones to celebrate.

  “That’s what he was blackmailing them with, all right,” I said, taking the picture back. “Sara Hannah is Wanda Sue Hampton.”

  “But wait a minute,” Sister said. “It’s no disgrace to have been married before. Not even for a politician’s wife. That information wouldn’t be worth a thing.”

  “Oh, but it would,” I said. “Sheriff Reuse found the marriage records, but he didn’t find a record of a divorce. He’s still looking for Wanda Sue Meadows.”

  “Sara Hannah’s a bigamist?” Doris’s eyes were perfect round circles.

  “Well, Sister’s right. They wouldn’t be paying him much to keep him quiet about being her first husband,” I said.

  “Not good for politics,” Fred said, biting into a cookie.

  “But, and I know this is all speculation, why would she have married Dick Hannah without getting a divorce?”

  “Probably thought she had one,” Doris said. “My second husband was in the Marines and I signed the divorce papers he sent me and then he didn’t file them. I thought I was rid of that man a whole year before I was. See, they can get a divorce done real cheap in the service.”

  “Would it be worth killing Ed for?” Mary Alice asked.

  “For Richard, Senior, it would. He wants that boy of his in the Senate so bad he can taste it,” Doris said.

  “And that’s what jumped the ante.” Fred brushed crumbs from the table into his hand. “Our friend Ed went way up on the amount. Probably wanted a ‘final’ big payoff, and I’ll bet he thought you were going to bring it, Doris. That’s why he got so mad that day in the cooler. Hadn’t you just given him some money?”

  Doris nodded. We all looked at each other, pleased. Then Doris tuned up. “But why did Katie kill Jackson? And why is she after me?”

  “We’re going to have to sleep on that one,” Fred said. “I can’t think anymore.”

  “I’m staying here.” Sister groaned and got up. “You got a nightgown I can wear, Patricia Anne?”

  Fred saved the day. “Try some of my pajamas, Mary Alice.”

  Nineteen

  The sky was beginning to lighten when I finally fell into a deep sleep. When I awoke, it was almost eleven and I could hear the shower running. My throat felt scratchy, as if I were catching a cold; not surprising after the frigid swim of the night before.

  Fred and Doris were sitting at the kitchen table eating waffles with syrup.

  “You want some?” Fred asked, holding up his plate.

  I shook my head and got orange juice out of the refrigerator and a vitamin C tablet from the cabinet. “I’m catching a cold.”

  “It’s the only thing you can do,” Fred said.

  “What?” I asked, sitting at the table. “Catch a cold?”

  “I was talking to Doris,” he said.

  “Good morning, Doris.” She nodded my way without taking her eyes off Fred. She was still wearing Sara Hannah’s robe, but she had on eye makeup, blush and lipstick and looked smashing.

  “I know it,” she agreed.

  “They’ll give you protection.”

  “She’ll get out on bail, though.” Doris shivered. “And they’ll probably charge me with something for delivering the money to Ed.” She pushed her plate away. “I just want to go back to Florida.”

  “And let Jackson’s murderer get away with it? Knowing she’s coming after you?”

  Tears brimmed in Doris’s eyes. “I know you’re right. I’m just scared shitless.”

  Mary Alice came in, dressed in Fred’s cranberry-colored silk pajamas. Her hair was wet and, like me, she wore no makeup.

  “I am dying,” she announced and headed for the coffeepot. “Where are the aspirin, Mouse?”

  “You sick?”

  “Headache.”

  I sneezed. “I’m getting a cold.”

  “This has been a week of bad karma.” She opened the cabinet that I had pointed to and poured several aspirin tablets into her hand. Then she sat down at the table, lined the tablets up in front of her and proceeded to chew them up one at a time, occasionally taking a sip of black coffee. “You look like you just walked out of Merle Norman’s,” she told Doris. “How on God’s earth do you do it?”

  “It’s tattooed,” Doris said.

  Mary Alice nodded and chewed on another aspirin. “Very nice,” she said. “Was it painful?”

  “Hurt like hell.”

  “I have a low-pain threshold,” Sister said. “Should I consider it?”

  “No. The stupid thing was they did one side at a time. I wouldn’t have gone back the second time if I could have made the other side match.”

  Fred pushed his chair back. “Do we ask the sheriff to come here or do we go out there?”

  “Out there,” Mary Alice said. “I’ve got to go home and get dressed.”

  “Me, too,” said Doris.

  “And I need to go by the shop for a few minutes.” Fred looked at me, but I just shrugged and sneezed. “I’ll go call him.”

  “Don’t you just love men sometimes?” Mary Alice said.

  “Sometimes,” I agreed.

  Doris looked out of the window and shook.

  Fred came to the door. “He’ll meet us at one o’clock and please don’t be late, because he has to be somewhere at two.”

  “That martinet,” Sister mumbled.

  We agreed to meet at the sheriff’s office. I would take Doris by her place to get dressed. Fred and Sister left, and I threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt that proclaimed June 9, 1992, had been Doo Dah Day at the Birmingham Humane Society. Which reminded me. I ran out with some dog biscuits for Woofer and a promise of a long walk later. He’s so good.

  I asked Doris if she wanted to borrow any of my clothes, but she said she would just wear Sara’s robe and pray we didn’t have a wreck. I wondered if Mary Alice had been talking to her.

  It was after twelve when we got to Doris’s town house. She hadn’t questioned the fact that I had gone right to it without directions.

  “I’ll hurry,” she said, unlocking the door to a beautifully decorated living room that I immediately fell in love with. The dominant colors were peach and green, blended together so artfully I didn’t know how she could bear to leave the place to go to Florida.

  She noticed the look on my face. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “I’ll give you the name of my decorator.” Bless her heart, I think she was serious. “There’s a TV over in that cabinet, and Cokes in the refrigerator. I won’t be long.”

  I sank down into the luxury of the sofa. It was a forest green with small peach flowers on it. The chair beside it had the same colors in a stripe, another in a flame design. If I tried to mix all these patterns, I would end up with a mess, not this soothing blend. I could feel myself relaxing. Maybe I should get the name of Doris’s decorator.

  The doorbell rang and I came straight up.

  “Don’t open it!” Doris hissed. She was standing in the bedroom doorway with a towel wrapped around her. “Let me look.” She crossed the room and pulled the drapery back an imperceptible amount. “Mrs. Stannard,” she said in obvious relief. “My neighbor. She’s got some flowers. Will you get them, Patricia Anne?”

  “Sure.”

  Doris disappeared back into the bedroom as I opened the door to the same lady who had told me about Fly McCorkle having Doris’s dog. She was carrying a large basket of cut flowers: mums, daisies, rubric lilies. Like the living room they were going to grace, they were perfect.

  “Oh, my,” I said.

  “They’re something, aren’t they?” She looked around. “Didn’t I see Doris?”

  “She’s getting dressed. Won’t you come in?”

  Mr
s. Stannard shook her head. “Just give her these. Tell her somebody left them on my porch this morning, but they’re for her.” She handed me the basket. “I should be so lucky.”

  “You and me both,” I said. I thanked her, closed the door and put the flowers on the coffee table.

  “Aren’t those beautiful!” Doris cried. In the mirror’s reflection, I could see her wriggling into a pair of jeans. “See who they’re from, Patricia Anne.”

  There was a knock on the door. Mrs. Stannard had forgotten something. I opened it to Katie McCorkle, who held a small dog under one arm and a small pistol in the other hand that was pointed right at me.

  “I brought the dog back,” she said, letting him drop to the floor.

  I backed away from her.

  “Buffy!” I heard Doris squeal as the dog ran into the bedroom. And then: “Oh, God.”

  “It’s me, Doris,” Katie called. “How are you today?”

  Doris appeared in the doorway. “What do you want, Katie?”

  “Finish getting dressed, honey. We’re going over to the Skoot.”

  “She’s got a gun, Doris,” I said.

  “Just a little one.” Katie looked at the gun and smiled. “Remember when Nancy Reagan said she carried a gun, but just a little one? I loved that.”

  “Why are you doing this, Katie?”

  “You were in the gazebo last night. I’m sorry Patricia Anne had to get involved, though.”

  Patricia Anne was sorry, too. My mind was racing. The small cellular phone Fred had given me for Christmas was in my purse on the sofa. If I could get to it…“Mind if I sit down?” I asked.

  “Fine.” Katie reached over and got my purse. “I’ll just take this. And, Doris, don’t you try anything. Put on some sneakers and let’s go.”

  I sat down on the sofa. “Why are you taking us to the Skoot?”

  “That place is in terrible shape since the storm. Part of the roof’s just hanging in the air. Defying gravity. If it fell in and somebody happened to be under it, I’d hate to think what would happen to them.”

  “But why are you doing this, Katie? And why did you kill Jackson?” I asked.

  “Too long a story to tell now. Got your shoes, Doris? Okay,” Katie reached into her purse and brought out a roll of electrical tape. “Put this around Doris’s wrists, Patricia Anne. Wind it real tight. One of you has to drive, and I don’t want any smart moves out of the other one.”

  Doris held out her arms obediently and I started wrapping the tape around her wrists.

  “That ought to do it,” Katie said. She took a small pair of scissors from her pocket and cut the tape. If I were clever enough, I could grab those scissors. Katie smiled at me. No, I couldn’t.

  What was happening was so far from anything I had ever experienced, I didn’t know how to react. Katie McCorkle looked like the same old hippie who sold soup mix at a curb market. Her bell-bottom jeans were the same, her gray-brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she had the same sweet, friendly smile. But she was holding a pistol on us. We were going to have an “accident” at the Skoot ’n’ Boot. She had struck Jackson Hannah so hard, she had split his chest open.

  “Let’s go,” she said. She reached over to the bouquet of flowers and pulled a few out. “Here, Doris, hold these just in case that lady next door is watching. She’s a real nice lady, but I think she’s a snoop.”

  Buffy danced around our legs, wanting to go with us. “I’ll come back and get you,” Katie said, pushing him back and closing the door. “Don’t worry about him, Doris.”

  We marched to the car in what must have looked something like a wedding procession to Mrs. Stannard if she was looking out. A shotgun wedding, though she wouldn’t have been able to see the small gun in the palm of Katie’s hand. I got in the driver’s seat and Katie opened the passenger door for Doris. Then she got in the back and handed me the keys she had taken from my purse.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “You want me to go up the interstate?”

  “Why not? Get there faster.”

  I started the car and drove out of the complex. A small wall of mailboxes stood at the entrance and I considered aiming for them, but I decided it wouldn’t work. To start with, there was no one around to come running to see what had happened. And Doris would be hurt. She would slam into the dashboard and hit her head on the windshield. Plus, we would both be shot in the head immediately. That was the biggest deterrent.

  Doris was not in good shape. The flowers in her hands were shaking as if a windstorm were battering them, and she kept sniffing and wiping her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her shirt. I wasn’t much better, but at least I had the driving to think about.

  “Hey,” Katie said, leaning forward. Doris and I both jumped. “What kind of eye makeup you got on, Doris?”

  “It’s tattooed.”

  “I wondered why it wasn’t running.”

  “She said it hurt,” I added. “When they did it.”

  “Looks good.”

  “Thank you.” Doris wiped her eyes again on her sleeve.

  We were passing a row of cardboard signs that had been stuck in the ground, advertising the upcoming election. Richard Hannah, Jr., gazed at us with a slight smile. What in the world were we doing? he seemed to ask.

  “I’ll bet you both were going to vote for Dickie, weren’t you?” Katie said.

  We nodded.

  “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?”

  We agreed.

  “And brilliant, too. Levelheaded. Never let his daddy’s money spoil him.” Katie sighed. “I wish you could vote for him.”

  Both of us did, too.

  “He’ll win, anyway,” she said. “He’ll be President someday.”

  A piece of the puzzle had slid into place when I saw Richard smiling in the posters. Or at least I thought it had.

  “You’re a distant cousin, aren’t you, Katie? There’s a definite family resemblance.”

  “You think so?” She sounded pleased. “He’s my son. Nobody knows but you and me and Richard, Senior. And Fly, of course. Jackson did, but he told me I better not hurt Doris or he just might have a few things to tell the press.” She giggled. “Loose lips sink ships.”

  Loose lips sink ships? This woman must be older than I thought.

  “Oh, God,” Doris wailed.

  “He’s a fine son,” I said. “I know you’re proud of him.”

  “The light of my life.”

  “Nutty as a fruitcake,” Doris whispered.

  “I heard that,” Katie said, “and I probably am. About my son, anyway. You don’t have any children, Doris. What do you know?”

  “You’re right, Katie.” Actually, I agreed with Doris, but there was no use antagonizing this woman. I needed time to think. “I’ve got three and they’re the lights of my life, too.”

  “But they’re not running for the Senate. Mine is.”

  “And going to get it, too.” I thought for a minute. “You know, Katie, I was in labor with Freddie for almost twenty-four hours.”

  It did the trick. “I was in labor with Dickie for forty-eight. Probably should have had a cesarean, but Millie was scared to take me to the hospital.”

  “Where was he born?”

  “The Hannahs have a retreat near Knoxville. A big house up in the mountains. All the family would visit in the summer. That’s when I got pregnant. You know I almost got an abortion? I was only sixteen. But Richard wouldn’t hear of it. Hey”—she touched my shoulder—“turn on the interstate.”

  I turned and went up the ramp, past posters of a smiling Richard Hannah, Jr.

  “But what about Millie?” I asked. “She couldn’t have been too happy about her husband and a sixteen-year-old.”

  “Ha! Millie was tickled to death. She had him coming and going on this one. Richard was about to divorce her because she couldn’t have any more children, couldn’t give him that son to carry on the sacred Hannah name. And now he’d been screwing around with a sixteen-year-old
whose baby just might be a boy. Anyway, she did a great job of planning it, told everybody she was pregnant, and when I began to get a little plump, she and I went to Tennessee to see the fall leaves, and oh, my, she almost had a miscarriage. No traveling. Bed rest. Quiet, which meant no company. I was stuck up there with that woman for months. Richard came up to visit, but we couldn’t go anywhere. No TV and it snowed. The plan worked, though. Everybody was amazed at how quick Millie got her figure back. And Richard had his son.”

  “What did you do? Go back to school?”

  “Went to Europe. Bummed around. Met Fly. Didn’t come back here until Dickie was a teenager. Not that I didn’t want to, God knows. But it was best. By that time Richard was governor and Millie was Mrs. Society. They didn’t care how much I saw Dickie, long as he thought I was just his cousin.”

  “And you and Richard got together again.”

  “What do you mean, got together again? There’s always been Richard and me. And Dickie.”

  Coming from this family, I thought, Richard Hannah, Jr., was born to be a politician. His mother wasn’t who he thought she was, his real mother was a murderer and a nut case, and he wasn’t even married to his wife. To say nothing of his father, who was guilty of statutory rape and paying blackmail money, and who had probably hired a couple of thugs to do Ed Meadows in. And his uncle Jackson, who had done God knows what.

  “Where did you meet Fly?” I asked.

  “In Stockholm, on this youth-hostel boat. I bought him a coat ’cause he was freezing. The Alabama weather suits him better. The curb market was his idea, you know? A good one, too. Long as we never had to make a living with it.” Katie paused. “And we didn’t, of course.”

  “That’s nice,” Doris said.

  I looked at her.

  “Next exit’s the Skoot,” Katie said.

  “Oh, God.” Doris buried her face in the flowers again.

  I looked at the clock. It was only 12:45. Fred and the sheriff wouldn’t worry about us being late for a half hour or more. Anyone going by the Skoot ’n’ Boot wouldn’t think anything was unusual if he saw a car there. I needed to attract attention out here on the interstate, but I couldn’t think of a way. Flashing the lights wouldn’t help. Anyone who saw them would think I was signalling that the highway patrol had its radar gun aimed down the road. Besides, Katie would see the lights flashing inside. All I could do was exit and head for the Skoot.