He almost ran into Elvin in the foyer, as the Sheriff came through the front door. Before he shut it, Gus caught a look at the porch, almost clear of snow, dry down to the pavement drive and the pine tree that had come down in the circle lawn during the storm.
“Want to move the tree before the Team gets here?”
“They’re here, takin’ tea in the dinin’ room with Miss Parrish an’ her daddy.” Elvin stamped snow on one of Aunt Phoebe’s braided rugs. “And the tree’s took care of. Didn’t need the truck or the tow bar.”
“You moved a tree off Cydney’s Jeep bare-handed?”
“Wasn’t much of a tree, hoss, and it was already broke.”
“You any good at moving pianos, Elvin?”
He explained and Elvin agreed to move Aunt Phoebe’s grand into the great room. “Providin’, o’course, that I don’t hafta arrest you.”
“You’ll never take me alive, copper.”
“That’s what they all say, hoss.”
He didn’t think he’d be arrested. It depended on what Parrish told the Crisis Management Team. Gus doubted he’d repeat the comment that provoked him. He might confess it to Bob Dole. To the CMT, never. Parrish lived in his pride and his image.
His face was puffy and his eyes bleary, but he looked pretty good for a guy who’d been punched twice and knocked out. The split in his lip resembled a zipper but his nose was the piece de resistance, a black-and-blue bulb smack in the middle of his face. Gus knew exactly what it felt like and smiled.
Parrish sat at the head of the table in navy trousers and a multicolored sweater. He lounged on one elbow in the armchair, a cigarette in a gold holder in an ashtray near his teacup.
“Here he is, ladies,” he said with a sweep of his arm as Gus came into the room with Elvin. “My assailant.”
“I believe that would be your alleged assailant,” chirped Cloris Figgle, wife of Clovis Figgle, the mayor of Crooked Possum.
She sat facing the door, a notepad and pen next to her Blue Willow teacup. Her little black church hat sat on her tiny gray head, its net veil plucked over her forehead. When Gus winked at her she blushed.
Eighty-something Mamie Buckles sat next to Cloris. In a white lace blouse and flowered stretch pants that sagged on her like Saran Wrap with a bad case of static cling when she got up to bring Gus a pint jar with a little chintz collar on it.
“Here you go, Gussie. A jar o’ my prickly pear jelly.”
“Thank you, Mamie.” She had a face like a hedge apple and bright, snappy blue eyes. He kissed her cheek and she patted his chest. “If you end up in the big house—” she slid Elvin a look that said he’d better not “—I’ll fetch you your supper ever’ night.”
“Sheriff.” Parrish stood up. “Are you going to allow this?”
“It ain’t against the law to give a neighbor a jar o’ jelly.”
In the case of Mamie’s prickly pear jelly it probably ought to be, but Gus didn’t say so. Parrish shut his mouth, sat down and reached for his cigarette. He took a puff, winced and pressed a finger to his mouth.
Cloris leaned toward him, peering at him with a raised finger so tiny it looked like a bird bone. “Is that the alleged split in your lip?”
“The split in my lip is not alleged, madam,” Parrish replied. “It’s there for all the world to see. What is alleged is who put it there.”
“Thank you.” Cloris wiggled her little bird finger at him and picked up her pen. “I’ll just write that down so I don’t forget.”
A trill of laughter came through the swinging door. It was Cydney’s and it gave Gus a zip up his back to realize he recognized it. She pushed into the dining room, carrying a tray with plates on it, cloth napkins and a platter of munchies, her head turned over her shoulder.
She’d put clothes on. Khaki slacks, a shimmery sweater the color of lime sherbet and woven brown flats. When she turned her head and her gaze fell on Gus, her laugh died. Her smile stayed but her eyes hardened and her steps veered toward the sideboard.
Louella Cantwell, Elvin’s sister and the captain of the Crooked Possum Crisis Management Team, followed Cydney through the door. She was a nurse practitioner, warmhearted, good-humored. And God love her, in a forest-green pantsuit with a tunic top and a gold headband holding her glossy black pageboy, she looked like Elvin in drag. She carried a teapot tucked in a cozy crocheted by Aunt Phoebe. In Louella’s hands it looked like it belonged to a child’s tea set.
“Hey there, Gus.” She put the teapot on a trivet in the center of the table and glanced at him over her shoulder. “How’s your hand?”
“Fine, Louella. I’m icing it.” Gus stuck his right hand behind him and hurried to the sideboard where Cydney stood arranging the goody plate on a lace doily. He slid up beside her and reached for a cracker. A Ritz topped with cream cheese and a smoked oyster. “God bless Georgette.”
Cydney slapped his hand away. “You won’t be needing those.”
“I didn’t intend to hit him, babe. It just happened.”
“Twice? I came downstairs after you’d knocked him out and Elvin was helping him up.”
“I was provoked.”
“Dad says he was provoked, but he won’t tell me what you said.”
“Coward. What I said is—”
“I think we should start now.” Louella tapped her spoon on her teacup. “Please sit down, everyone.”
She sat at the end of the table opposite Parrish, Cloris and Mamie on one side, Gus and Elvin with Cydney between them on the other.
“We always begin with a prayer.” Louella folded her hands. “Dear Father in heaven—”
“No offense, madam,” Parrish interrupted. “But I’m an atheist.”
“I’ll say a special prayer for you, Mr. Parrish.” Louella closed her eyes. “Dear Lord, we ask Your guidance and wisdom—”
“I thought this was an intervention, not a prayer meeting.”
“Mr. Parrish.” Louella opened her eyes. Cydney shut hers and leaned her fingertips against her forehead. “Heavenly intervention is always welcome in our work with troubled families.”
“Ah. But what about intellectual intervention?” Parrish leaned on an elbow, the cigarette in his hand trailing blue smoke. “A concise and unbiased gathering of the facts. The cold, critical eye of logic and reason. The irrefutable reality—”
“That you’re making a fool of yourself?” Gus suggested.
“The reality”—Parrish glared at him—”that my daughter is not this man’s fiancee and he has no intention of marrying her.”
“Listen, you pompous sonofa—”
“You’re right, Dad. Clever you.” Cydney pushed to her feet. “Gus and I aren’t engaged. We’re having an affair. He told you I was his fiancee so I wouldn’t be embarrassed. It was a kind and lovely gesture. I’ll always remember it. And I’ll never forget what you said—‘In a pig’s eye.’ “
Parrish took a last drag on his cigarette and rubbed it out in the ashtray. “The minute I heard it I knew it was horseshit.”
“That’s because you’re always right, Dad. Even when you’re wrong you’re right, and anyone who doubts that just has to ask you.”
Parrish sat up straight, an affronted frown on his face. Cydney swung away from him and nodded to Cloris, Mamie and Louella.
“That’s my statement, ladies. It was lovely to meet you.”
Elvin stood up on one side of her, Gus the other. He wanted to go with her, but he wouldn’t ruin her exit for the world. Elvin held her chair as she turned away, head high and shoulders straight, crossed the dining room and climbed the back stairs.
“I don’t know you from Adam, mister, but I’ve known plenty of your sort,” Mamie said bluntly to Parrish. “You’re a horse’s petoot.”
“Mamie!” Cloris gasped. “It’s the Sabbath!”
“My compliments, madam. You’re an astute judge of character.”
The twinkle in Parrish’s eyes said he thought Mamie was a character. An old, dried-up bac
k-country kook.
“And you’re a jackass,” she told him, then turned toward Louella. “I vote we let Gussie clobber him again.”
“Let’s don’t rush to judgment, Mamie. Let’s ask a few questions.” Louella patted her hand and looked at Gus. “Is that what happened?”
“Pretty much.” He and Elvin sat down. “That’s when I clocked him, when he said, ‘In a pig’s eye.’ “
“You and Cydney aren’t engaged to be married?”
“No, Louella. I ad-libbed that.”
“And not very well.” Parrish lit the fresh cigarette in his holder and blew smoke through his nose. “The look on your face gave it away. The abject terror at the mere thought of marrying Cydney. Can’t say I blame you, but you need to work on your poker face, Munroe.”
“I was thinking I need to work on my right jab.”
“Gus,” Louella said sternly. “Now, Mr. Parrish—”
“I’d like to say something, Louella.” Cloris turned in her chair and looked Parrish in the eye. “I believe you think that you have to be nasty to show people how smart you are. I also believe you must be a very angry and unhappy man to insult your daughter in front of strangers. I feel sorry for you, and I will surely say a prayer for you, but it’s my judgment that you’re an awful man and I vote with Mamie to let Gus clobber you.”
Parrish sat a notch straighter, a startled, my-God-the-woman-has-a-brain flicker in his eyes. He wasn’t the first person to mistake the citizens of Crooked Possum for half-witted, inbred hillbillies. He wouldn’t be the last to misread their slower speech and pace, their faith and respectful manners for backwards, raised-in-the-holler lack of worldliness.
“But Cloris,” Louella said, “we haven’t heard from Mr. Parrish.”
“Yes we have,” she replied tartly. “I’ve heard all I care to hear.”
“Gracious, ladies. Are you sure this is how you want to vote?”
“Did I mumble?” Mamie snapped. “Wore m’teeth so I wouldn’t.”
“Cloris? Are you sure about this?”
“Absolutely,” she said firmly.
“Very well. I have your recommendation.” Louella looked down the table at Parrish. “I don’t agree with Mamie and Cloris, which I will note in my report, but I’ve been outvoted. I’m sorry.”
“Let me carry out the sentence for you, madam.” Parrish slapped his hand and laughed. “There. I’ve been chastised.”
“You ain’t gettin’ this, are you?” Elvin put on his Pm-the-Sheriff face and let Parrish have a good look at it. “This here is the Crooked Possum Crisis Management Team, duly empowered and granted full authority by the City Council to resolve domestic disputes by whatever means they deem appropriate. They jus’ gave their recommendation. Now it’s my job t’see to it that it’s enforced.”
“You have got to be kidding!” Parrish exclaimed with a laugh.
Elvin glanced at his sister. “Are we kiddin’, Louella?”
“No, we are not.” She spread her hands and shrugged. “The best I can offer you is the choice of where you’d like Gusto hit you.”
“What do you mean, ‘where’?”
“Face, body, arm, leg. Wherever you think you can take a punch.”
“This is outrageous!” Parrish roared to his feet. “A travesty!”
“It’s the law in Crooked Possum, Missouri.” Elvin pronounced it Mizzou-rah and stood up. “You c’n abide by it or I c’n take you to jail.”
“This no-talent hack hits me twice and your solution to a clearly unprovoked double assault is to let him hit me again?”
“In our opinion it wasn’t unprovoked,” Cloris answered. “In our opinion it was justifiable.”
“There is no such thing, madam, as justifiable assault!”
“There is if we say there is, jackass.” Mamie gave Gus a go-for-it swing of her fist. “Have at ‘im, Gussie. Belt ‘im a good one.”
“Love to, Mamie.” Gus stretched his hand across the table so she could see it. “But I don’t think I can right now.”
“Dang.” She frowned at his bruised knuckles and glanced at Louella. “Could we let Gussie hit the jackass with somethin’?”
“No,” Louella said firmly, gave Gus a thank-you smile and turned to Elvin. “What do you suggest, Sheriff?”
“A suspended sentence till Gus’ hand heals up. With the understandin’—” Elvin shot an I-mean-this-hoss look at Gus and frowned at Parrish “—that you two keep your hands offa each other till this weddin’s over. B’lieve that’s why you’re here, ain’t it, Parrish?”
“To give my granddaughter away, yes,” he said stiffly. “The second she’s married I’ll be on my way back to Cannes. In the meantime, I give you my word, Sheriff, that I will avoid this hack like the plague.”
“I’ll give the has-been a wide berth,” Gus told Elvin. To Parrish, he said, “Cydney wants you here, so you can stay. Go find yourself a room that isn’t already occupied. And haul your own damn luggage.”
“Ladies.” Parrish nodded to them. “Sheriff,” he said to Elvin.
He ignored Gus and strode out of the dining room.
“Make you a poultice for that hand, Gussie,” Mamie offered. “Sure would like to see you coldcock that jackass ‘fore he leaves.”
Somebody ought to coldcock you, Munroe, his inner voice said. What d’you mean you can’t think of a soul to invite to the wedding?
“Don’t remind me,” Gus snapped. “I mean, that reminds me. There wasn’t time to mail invitations, but you’re all invited to Aldo’s wedding next Saturday. The whole town, spread the word. It’s three o’clock. Maybe four. I’ll check with Cydney and let Elvin know.”
“Ooh, a wedding!” Cloris clapped her hands. “I just love weddings!”
“Thank you, Gus.” Louella gave him a misty-eyed smile. “I don’t think we’ve all been up to Tall Pines since Phoebe passed, Lord rest her.”
Five years. My God. Gus felt small and mean-spirited. Like Parrish, like he’d had his head stuck in a hole—or up the butt of his own misery—until Mamie winked and said, “I’ll bring a li’l somethin’ for the punch.”
“You do that, Mamie.” He laughed. “Louella, Cloris, thank you.”
“I don’t think we accomplished much.” Louella gave her teammates a hard look. “But you’re welcome, Gus.”
“I need a favor,” he said to Elvin. “My car’s in Branson. Could you run me in to pick it up?”
“Sure thing, hoss.”
“Let me tell Cydney. Be right back.”
Gus raced up the back stairs. Maybe she’d want to ride along, get away from her old man. He could buy her dinner, maybe some lingerie. He tapped on her door and called her name but she didn’t answer. Domino did, from the room across the alcove at the end of the hall, sliding into the doorway in a short, silk robe that showed lots of leg below and lots of bosom up top.
“Cindy is not there,” she said.
“Cydney. Where’d she go?”
“For the little walk. I loan her my fur and she went.”
So did Gus, with a curt “Thanks,” dashing through the house and out onto the deck. He saw lots of tracks in the snow, mostly deer and coyote. He tried the porch next, went back inside for an old sheepskin jacket in the foyer closet, and jogged out to the garage, then partway down the drive, but there was no sign of Cydney. She could walk to the North Pole on dry pavement and be warm as toast in a sable coat, but she wouldn’t get far overland without snowshoes. Under the trees along the drive, the ice-crusted snow was about eight inches deep. In the open, where the almost fifty-degree sun had melted huge chunks of it, the bare ground was a muddy slop hole.
He gave up finally, hiked back to the house and met Elvin by his truck, a big red Chevy 4×4. Louella’s dark green Suburban sat next to it, and she and Cloris and Mamie were just coming down the porch steps.
“Findher?” Elvin asked.
Gus shook his head no. “Beats the hell outta me where she went.”
“She’ll b
e fine, Gus.” Louella opened the Suburban’s passenger door, lifted Mamie first and then Cloris off their feet and up into the high-rise truck. “Don’t worry about her.”
But he did, all the way to Branson and back. He worried that she was stuck in the woods, knee-deep in mud and being circled by a coyote. Or stuck in the house with Parrish, being circled by her father and his bitter tongue. He shouldn’t have left her; the Jag could’ve waited.
It was almost six and almost dark when he got back to Tall Pines. He parked the Jag by the front porch and switched off the engine. He didn’t see any lights on in the house, grabbed the bags of Chinese food he’d bought in Branson and dashed up the steps.
“Is that beef and broccoli?”
Gus swung around and saw a lump of fur in one of the Adirondack chairs. “Yeah, it is. I thought maybe this time we could eat it.”
Cydney laughed, straightened her jean-clad legs toward the porch rail and leaned her heels on it. Her white Keds were caked with mud.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Watching the stars come out.”
Gus put the bags by the door, crossed the porch and sat on the arm of her chair. She leaned her head against his side. He ducked his chin and looked under the porch eave at the tiny diamonds of light dotting the gray and purple sky. He smelled snow in Cydney’s hair and a reek of perfume from Domino’s sable coat.
“How far did you walk?” he asked.
“Not far.” She raised her arms and let the fur sleeves slide past her wrists. “It dawned on me I could be mistaken for a bear and shot.”
Gus chuckled. It wasn’t cold, just chilly enough that he could see his breath. “Have you been outside the whole time I was gone?”
“In and out. Louella came back to check on me. Then Elvin showed up to say he’d dropped you in Branson and you’d be home directly.” She tipped her head up and looked at him, her eyes glistening in the twilight. “Louella said you were worried about me.”
Mother of the Bride Page 26
