“This here’s a hoist. A hunter could dress a deer with that.” As Johnny talked, his hand reached for the wall behind him. A flick, a sizzle, and a fluorescent light hummed to life.
“Yuck,” squealed Trudy. “Deer hooves. Is that gross or what?” I heard her, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the pattern of blood that had seeped into the concrete floor and spattered the drywall behind the hook.
“Maybe Allen or Devon are members of that group. Hunters for the Hungry, or whatever you called them, Mert.” I was trying to be funny, but my voice cracked. All that dried blood was too much for me.
“I guess we’ve found the source of the venison.” Mert nodded. “One more mess to clean up, huh? Okay, showtime’s over. Johnny, did you find a recycling bin we can use?”
“No, Sis.”
“How about if I ask Mr. Ernest if we can borrow a recycling bin from him?” Trudy bounced on her toes. “That’ll hold us for a while. I need a break anyway. I love slasher movies but this makes me want to toss my cookies.”
“Go ask him,” said Mert. “I need to talk to Ali Timmons. While none of this wooden pole mess appeals to me, a person might call it art. What do you think, Kiki?”
I was relieved to turn my attention to the carvings. “I don’t know much about it, but I do recall that the Osage Indians populated this area. The bald eagle was one of their favorite images. You don’t want to mess with any of those without making sure you know what you’re doing. Who knows? That ugly chunk of wood might be worth a fortune.”
Not to me.
Leaving Johnny to work around the totem, Mert and I walked out of the garage and into the sunshine. Over at the coolers, we gulped our fill of cold water. Neither of us spoke for a long, long while. Finally, she said, “I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”
“Is that how it happened? I thought it was the other way around.”
“Iff’n so, you owe me a giant-sized apology.” We both laughed, although the sound of our guffaws was slightly strained.
Trudy came back with a blue bin in tow and a big grin on her face. “You should see that guy’s place. It’s like, like, the Playboy mansion. His landscaping is fabulous. His lawn looks like a golf course!”
“Really?” I was only half-listening.
“Flowers blooming everywhere. All sorts of neat high-tech stuff.”
I’d just pulled my gloves back on to start hauling more newspapers when Devon Timmons pulled up in the drive again.
“I’ve told Ali I’m going to list this place. I’ve got a real estate agent who’ll be here this Friday. You need to be done,” he said as he planted his fists on his hips. “I want all this junk out of here.”
“We’re doing our best, Mr. Timmons,” Mert said. “I hadn’t heard about your deadline. Your wife didn’t share that with me.”
Although her words were perfectly conciliatory, there was an edge to her tone. An edge that Devon Timmons wasn’t about to ignore. He got right in Mert’s face and shook his index finger. “Now you listen to me. I’m the boss of your boss. Get it? And I plan to tear this house down and build a place worth a fortune on this lot. This’ll be a big real estate deal. In fact, I might even be able to put up two houses here. I’ll know for sure soon enough. You aren’t going to ruin this for me, understand?”
Johnny came out from where he’d been working in the garage. In one hand was a tire iron. “I suggest you back off Mr. Timmons.”
Mert moved her body to put a barrier between her brother and Devon Timmons. “Mr. Timmons, sir, I haven’t heard from your wife about what she wants to do. I’d appreciate it if you’d have her call me. I’m not disputing your authority. I jest need everything to be crystal clear.”
“I’ll tell you what’s crystal clear,” he said, but he did take a step backwards and he didn’t lock eyes with Johnny. “My mother-in-law isn’t coming out of her coma. She’s brain dead. We got the word an hour ago. So Ali’s got power of attorney. My wife will do what I tell her to. You can take that to the bank.”
“Excuse me, sir, but I still have Marla’s photos at my store. How should I get them to your wife? Is she coming by?”
In retrospect, I should have kept my mouth shut. I could have gotten Ali’s address from Mert. I was thinking out loud rather than buttoning my lip. As the kids say, “My bad.”
“You again? I want you off this property and I want you to leave right now. I plan to sit here in my car with the A/C running until I see you go.”
34
Why on earth were these people blaming me for Marla’s problems? In my little pea brain, I thought they should be thanking me for finding her and getting her out alive!
“Don’t let him bother you,” said Mert, putting an arm around my shoulder. The move was brief because it was too hot for human contact. “They’re all looking for somebody to point the finger at, and you’re an easy target. I put in a call to Ali Timmons, and she’s on her way here in person to calm down her husband. I gave her our condolences. She still seems to think there’s hope for her mother, but she ain’t being honest with herself.”
“I am so sorry, Mert. I should have waited and asked you about how to return Marla’s stuff. I jumped the gun.” I shook my head. “It’s this heat. It’s getting to me.”
“You’re hyper-responsible when it comes to people’s pictures. I know that. But yeah, I wished you’d kept your yapper shut.”
We stood under the maple tree, letting the cool breeze play over our wet skin. Mert had sent Johnny to buy more water for us. Trudy had cheerfully gone with him.
“Good thinking on your part getting your brother out of here,” I said. The sight of him holding that tire iron had put a scare into me. What was he capable of? I didn’t want to know.
But Mert read my mind. “When Johnny was locked up in Petosi, he learned never to back down. I can understand that. I mean, in prison that was smart ‘cause if you show fear, you’re doomed. But out here, it’s not smart. I need to talk with him about being such an alpha male.”
“Did you notice how quickly Trudy jumped in the truck with him?” I was trying to lighten the mood. Devon Timmons still glowered at us from his silver Toyota. I could feel the heat of his glare as Mert and I wiped our bare skin with damp washcloths.
“That brother of mine’s always been a hit with the ladies. As for Trudy, let’s just say the elastic on her panties is stretched out from pulling them off so often, okay?”
I laughed at that. The release felt great.
“And nosy? That woman! I can’t let her clean the bathrooms when she comes with me on a job, ‘cause she snoops around and looks at all the pill containers and such.”
We both snickered at Trudy’s insatiable curiosity. Mert sighed. “Speaking of my brother, he’s got his eye on you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
I couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say, so I kept my mouth shut. However, Mert wasn’t done talking. “I know you still have the hots for that there detective, and I heard your mother-in-law is pushing that Ben Novak on you. But I just wanted you to know, Johnny’s a good man with a good heart. He’s had a few hard knocks, but he’ll make someone a loving husband. Someday.”
She was probably right, but I couldn’t see myself with him. Yes, Johnny was exciting, but when I was brutally honest with myself, I wanted more out of life than he could give me. Even if I fell in love with him, I doubted that I could ever be wholly content with the life we would make together.
If I’d learned nothing from my first marriage except for one thing, it was this: A marriage can’t be successful unless the spouses are pulling in the same direction. They can have different backgrounds, experiences, and outlooks, but they have to agree on their goals—and on the sort of lifestyle they want. Sure, I liked backyard barbecues and country music, but I also wanted to dress up, eat at a fancy restaurant, and hear the symphony. To make my world complete, I needed a man who was comfortable at both ends of the cultural spectrum.
My musings were i
nterrupted with a squeal of tires. Ali Timmons’ car came racing around the corner. Her husband got out of his Toyota. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but it must have been a doozy because he was red in the face and shouting obscenities before he hopped back in his car and drove off.
“Golly,” I said, as he spun rubber on the hot pavement. “All three of them should have been race car drivers.”
“Nope,” Mert said. “Takes a cool head to drive a hot car on a fast track. None of those dopes could manage it.”
I stood off to one side while Mert talked to Ali Timmons. The confab didn’t last long. They looked like they were done talking when Johnny and Trudy returned and climbed out of Mert’s truck. The three of us worked to restock the ice chest with bottles of water. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Mert wave goodbye to Ali Timmons.
My friend joined us under the maple tree.
“Mrs. Timmons would like us to get this done by Friday. She’s got an expert in aboriginal art coming by on Saturday to look at the totem poles. I told her I didn’t know if we could get a wide path cleared through the garage to haul them out. Can we, Johnny?”
“Don’t need one. You can get through the back door.”
“What back door?”
“Didn’t I show it to you, Sis? I found it earlier, but it was blocked from the inside. A trellis is propped against it on the outside so’s you couldn’t see it. But them hinges have been oiled recently. Shouldn’t be a problem getting in and out, as long as Mrs. Timmons comes in from the back.”
“Thank the Lord for small favors. I thought we’d have most of the junk cleared, but this is taking longer than I expected. Ali Timmons started whining because she just promised her hubby he could bring in a hot-shot real estate agent he was bragging on. We compromised with that agent coming over this Friday afternoon. Like he said, they’re hoping they can build two houses on this one lot. They got a local agent who can tell them if that’s gonna work. It’s bigger than a lot of other plots in this neighborhood, so there’s a chance that might work.”
“That would mean a lot of money,” I said.
“But Marla has to die first, and as Ali Timmons pointed out, she’s not dead yet,” said Mert. “Can you imagine? Having your family eager to see you go so they can get their mitts on your worldly goods? Shoot fire, I’d rather be poor. Rather have nothing of value. What a miserable excuse for kin folk.”
“Maybe that’s why Marla loved those cats.”
“That’s why mothers eat their young,” Mert said. “Nine months of labor, six hours of pain, and misery ever after.”
35
Monday evening…
On the way home from Marla’s, I stopped by Pasta House, a local chain, and picked up several dishes that I knew Anya, Rebekkah, and I would enjoy. Since I had a little extra cash coming in, I splurged and bought a couple of their stuffed artichokes. A little green dough buys a lot of pasta dough at Pasta House, and I struggled to my car with a shopping bag full of food. The spicy Italian dressing that they use on their salads is a house specialty. My mouth watered with anticipation as I imagined chomping into those cool, crunchy bits of lettuce, red onion, pimentos, and artichoke hearts. Their freshly baked miniature bread loaves beckoned me, but I knew better than to even indulge myself by pinching off the end of one.
If I did, I wouldn’t stop. However, the smell of the yeast was intoxicating. Finally, while sitting at a red light, I broke down, reached deep in the bag, and located a warm loaf and crammed it into my mouth, whole.
Practicing restraint isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
At another stoplight, I phoned Rebekkah and asked her to set the table. She said she would be happy to. That put a smile on my face.
Despite the yucky work conditions I’d endured, this was shaping up to be a good day. Fortunately, I was scheduled at the store the next day. That meant I’d get a well-deserved break from the heat and the filth.
As soon as I walked through the back door, I handed the paper shopping bag full of food to Rebekkah. “I’m so gross. I really, really need a shower, if you don’t mind.”
She didn’t. She could see what a mess I was.
Standing under the hot water, I soaped myself repeatedly, trying to wash away any traces of Marla Lever’s house of horrors. I was patting myself dry when I heard voices outside the bathroom door. My mother-in-law’s distinctively precise enunciation has a tendency to carry. Wrapping a towel around my head, I quickly threw on a pair of drawstring pants and a tee shirt to make myself presentable.
“Honestly, Kiki, how on earth do you get involved in these awful situations?” asked Sheila as I stepped out of the bathroom and into the hallway.
As usual her makeup was perfectly applied, and her hair freshly styled. Today she wore nicely tailored slacks in a lovely shade of blue, nearly royal but more navy. Her chiffon blouse picked up that color and added a jade green. On her feet were strappy sandals in the same shade of jade. At least I hadn’t walked out of my bathroom naked.
“Pardon?” I decided to play dumb. “What awful situation?”
“Robbie told me that you’re the one who alerted the police to the condition of Marla Lever’s house. He says you were actually there, on the scene. On her doorstep! That you went inside!”
“Yup.”
“Please speak like an educated person and not a hillbilly.”
“Yes, ma’am. I went inside. I am the responsible party. Or the irresponsible party, depending on your viewpoint.”
“What on earth possessed you? I thought that place had been condemned. I can’t imagine stepping foot inside. That must have been ghastly.”
I covered my mouth with the towel I was using on my hair so she wouldn’t see my smile. Ghastly? Sheila had a wide vocabulary and wasn’t afraid to use it.
“It wasn’t staged for an Architectural Digest photo shoot, that’s for sure.”
Sheila blocked my way. I couldn’t get past her to go to my kitchen. All I could do was sniff the food and salivate.
“I do hope you aren’t planning to return there. Not under any circumstances. Think of the germs. The vermin. Why, you might have brought home something contagious like head lice!”
“I hope not.”
“She brought home a cat, Gran,” said my daughter. Anya slipped her arms around her grandmother’s waist and stared up at her. Both women had denim blue eyes and thin builds. Anya looked more like Sheila than she did like me. Together they made a stunning pair.
Despite my mother-in-law’s obsession with cleanliness and propriety, she adored my daughter from day one. No amount of baby spit up or disgusting diapers could dissuade Sheila from spending time with her grandchild. Once when Anya had a stomach virus, she upchucked all over a beautiful silk blouse that Sheila was wearing. Although a tiny “eeek!” escaped my mother-in-law’s lips, she didn’t carry on about how my baby had clearly ruined an expensive garment. Instead, she handed Anya to me, excused herself, and changed into another blouse.
I admired that about Sheila. She certainly had her priorities in the right place when it came to Anya.
“Your mother brought you a what? A cat? From that awful, horrible, disgusting—”
“A kitten. A survivor,” I broke in. “Anya, why don’t you introduce your grandmother to Martin?”
I wasn’t sure how Sheila felt about cats. I’d only recently learned she actually liked dogs. Small dogs, that is. As Sheila pouted there in my hallway, I figured this should prove interesting. Anya disappeared and came back cuddling Martin.
“My, my. He’s a handsome fellow.” Sheila held out her arms and took the kitten. Holding him close to her face, she cooed, “Oh, listen to him purr.”
I have to admit: Sheila never failed to amaze me. Just about the time I thought she’d given the word “insufferable” a new twist, she did something entirely out of character. Beneath that iceberg exterior there had to be a heart. Somewhere. Even if it was flash-frozen.
“Rebekkah, isn’t he adorable
?” Sheila walked off toward my tiny living room and left me trailing behind. She knew Rebekkah because she knew Dodie. Our families attended the same temple.
“He is so, so cute.” Rebekkah stood there, stroking Martin’s head with her thick fingers.
“Well, I’m going to turn this little fellow over to you,” Sheila said reluctantly, handing Martin back to Anya. “Robbie is taking me to dinner tonight and I promised I wouldn’t be late. What are your plans for tomorrow, Anya darling?”
“Mom’s making me go to that horrible summer camp. I get out at four.”
“How about if I come and pick you up? I wanted to take you to Frontenac. We need to look for school clothes.”
Bless her. Thanks to Sheila my daughter attended the Charles and Anne Lindbergh Academy, known locally as CALA. Being a student there was a family tradition, and since the education was top-notch I couldn’t complain. However, on account of my husband’s untimely demise, I couldn’t dress Anya in the sort of clothes most of the students wore. Nor could I afford the yearly “gift” expected of all families. That’s where Sheila stepped up to the plate. She made sure that Anya fit in with her fellow students.
“Is that all right with you, Kiki?” Sheila asked. “Picking up Anya and taking her shopping?”
And of course, I said yes.
“By the way,” Sheila added, “Leah Novak and I are trying to find a suitable date for our families to have dinner together. Please tell me that you’ll be done with this horrible part-time job, cleaning that disgusting house in Ladue, sooner rather than later? I’d really rather not have that mess become a topic of conversation at the dinner table.”
Good old Sheila. It didn’t matter that one woman was dead and another had one foot in the grave. My mother-in-law had her priorities, and by golly, a pleasant conversation over dinner was right up there at the top of the list.
Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books! Page 59
