Flori was still smiling when we reached our room. In fact, I think she slept with it plastered to her face because when I woke up in the morning, there she was, smiling down at me.
“I let you sleep in a bit, Mabel, but now you’d better get up and shower. Stella is going to be here any minute. She’s taking us out for breakfast. She knows this little restaurant down on 25th, I think she said it was. Anyway, she has a car so she’s going to be driving us.” She flung the covers off me. “I’ve already started the shower running. Now, scoot.”
I stared up at her. “You are my best friend, Flori, but now I remember why I never wanted to go on a vacation with you. My own mother never started the shower running for me or told me to scoot.”
“That’s because you were an only child and your mother didn’t know how to handle you.”
There was no use in arguing with her so I trudged to the bathroom. Little streams of steam were seeping through the opening along the floor.
“By the way,” I said, before entering the steam room, “did I tell you that Stella is black?”
Flori looked a bit confused. “Black? Black what?”
“Black skin. What do you think I meant?”
Just before I shut the door, I heard her say, “She didn’t sound black.”
Chapter Fifteen
“I think we should set up surveillance on Cecile’s house.” That was my first idea – with the emphasis on my.
Flori whispered, “Since you live next door, Stella, and have all those windows facing his house, I think that should be your job. What do you think?”
Stella replied, in a hoarse whisper, “I s'pose I could. Only thing is, I might not know what to watch for. Don’ forget, I ain’t done no sneaky things before. I’m innocent like a little lamb.” She roared. Flori did too but I’m not sure she knew why. “My bedroom faces Grace’s house," she continued to whisper. "I s’pose I could sit in the dark and keep watch. That little weasel comes home, I’ll let you know.”
“What about your husband?” I asked.
“Oh, she doesn’t have one,” Flori said. “Her husband, Rocky, died seven years ago. He was a firefighter. She lives with her oldest son, Spencer. He’s a fireman too, but he works in Houston. Right now, he’s on a two-day shift so he won’t be there.”
Why did I feel like I was the one out of the loop?
Stella opened her huge handbag and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Here,” she said, as she handed it over to Flori. “I made a list of some of the places drug dealers visit.” Realizing her voice was back to normal, she looked around and whispered, “Not that we’d go in or anything but we could sit outside and watch. Surveillance, you know.”
There was actually no need to whisper, the place was so noisy, you couldn’t hear yourself think. All I could do was wonder how this woman knew where all the drug deals were going down.
Not to be outdone, I opened my handbag. It was about one-third the size of Stella’s bag. I laid my envelope of pictures on the table.
“I thought you gave all your pictures to Reg,” Flori said.
“He doesn’t need all of them.” I spread them out. “Here’s every picture I kept that has a human being in it.”
Stella gasped. “That’s him,” she said, pointing to the picture of the man in front of the mechanical cowboy. “Why do you have a picture of him?”
“Who's him? Why do I have a picture of whom?”
“Grace’s husband, that’s who.” Stella looked at me as if I might be joking. “You’re telling me you don’t know who that is?”
“I’m telling you, I had no idea who that was. Flori and I just thought he was some creepy guy who accidently got into one of my pictures.” I looked at the man. “That’s Grace’s husband? Are you sure?” I handed the picture to her so she could get a better look.
She took it and nodded. “I recognized him upside down.” She gave it back. “See how evil he looks?” She shook her head. “That’s Cecile Tucker, sure as I’m sittin’ here.”
“Cecile Tucker? But Grace said her name was Grace Hobbs.”
Stella raised her eyebrows almost as high as Flori raises hers.
She nodded. "Sad, ain't it? Now, why would she say that? Maybe she’s ashamed to use his name cause it connects her to a drug dealer. Come to think of it, I guess I never really knew if she used his name or not. Some women don’t, you know. I gotta say I was always proud to use my husband's name.”
“Me, too," Flori stated. Then, she bowed her head and whispered, "Maybe they weren’t even married. I bet they were living in sin. Those kinds of people do.”
Stella nodded and murmured in agreement.
“Flori,” I said, “one of your kids lives in sin.”
“All right, Mabel, I’m just making a point. You didn’t have to bring that up. You know it breaks my heart.”
“It’s all right, darlin’,” Stella said. “One of mine does too. Nothin’ I say does any good. Young people nowadays got no moral sense a’tall.”
“Okay, you two, let’s get back to what’s at hand here. Now we know why the name in the phone book was Hobbs. Grace is the one who took care of the phone bill.”
Stella leaned forward, glancing around before she spoke. “Or, it could've been in her sister’s name. She used to live there but then she died. Maybe Grace and Cecile never changed it.”
“She died?”
Stella leaned over farther and nodded. “That’s what I hear. Strange circumstances, too. Mind you, this is mostly hearsay but I’m sure there’s truth to it. Nothing anyone could prove but it was a suspicious death. Know what I mean?” Her eyes looked like two black marbles floating in a sea of white milk.
Without realizing it, I had started leaning over the table too. “How suspicious are we talking about?”
Stella did another quick look around. No one was watching; certainly, no one could hear over the din.
“Ginger lived there first. Everybody called her that ‘cause of her hair. She was a real nice friendly girl. Not sure where she worked. She seemed to be comin’ and goin’ a lot too. Onct I happened to notice a gun layin’ on her kitchen table when I walked past the window. ‘Course, lots o’ girls have those for protection, you know. Kept her yard all nice and neat. Then, along comes Cecile and Grace. Grace, I don’t mind. All of a sudden, I notice Ginger isn’t lookin’ so healthy. Kind of limpin’ around. I axe her, ‘what’s wrong wich you, honey?’ She say, ‘I’m okay. Just got injured from some fall.’ But, you know what I’m thinkin’? I’m thinkin’ gunshot wound. That’s what I’m thinkin.’ Next thing you know, Ginger is nowhere to be seen and Grace and Cecile take over the house. Do that sound suspicious to you?”
Flori and I nodded in agreement.
“Do you think Grace left Cecile?” Flori piped up. “Maybe that’s why he was in Vegas. He was checking up on her. If that’s the case we might’ve come all the way down here for nothing. Who knows where he might be.”
“Not for nothing,” I said. “I’m sure he would’ve come back to his house. Where else would he go? It would all belong to him now. Not that’s it’s anything to brag about.” It sounded to me like it was a cursed house no matter which way you looked at it. “Somehow,” I said, “I have a feeling that he’s probably the killer.”
Stella and Flori widened their eyes, raised their eyebrows simultaneously, and nodded in agreement.
“So what can we do?” Flori asked. “I don’t want to make a citizen’s arrest, you know.”
“Oh sugar, you wouldn’t want to make a citizen’s arrest on this guy if you were armed with a bazooka. Trust me; he’s nobody to fool with. It’s a good thing he’s never in his yard because when he’s out there, I go inside.”
“We won’t make any arrests. When we spot him, we’ll simply call the police and tell them what we know.”
“What about Grace’s friend?” Stella asked. “Didn’t you say she had a friend who lived here too?”
“Well, they weren’t friends before. They
met on the trip. I think they sort of paired off because they both spent all their time in the gambling rooms.”
The server cleared away our plates and filled our cups up for the third time. There were people still standing by the door, waiting for a table. I tried not to make eye contact. I was glad Flori was facing me because she would insist we get up and give our table to someone. She would for sure if she knew there was a woman with crutches waiting there. There were people sitting, nursing a cup of coffee, who’d been here much longer than us, so let them move on.
“We should really let her know about Grace, don’ you think?” Stella asked. “That would be the Christian thing to do, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, it would,” Flori gushed. “It would be and besides,” she looked at me, “she might be able to tell us something about Grace.”
“What’d you say her name was?” Stella asked.
“Andrea Williams.”
“Hmm. Williams is a common name. Lots of folks by that name here in Yellow Rose.” Stella seemed to be trying to conjure up a face. “Don’ think I know any Andrea though. What’d she look like?”
I shrugged. “Sort of everyday looking. Her hair was dirty blonde. She was a bit on the heavy side.”
“Honey, that’s about how every woman in Texas looks.” She and Flori burst out laughing.
“'Cept for us black folk, that is.” And she burst out laughing again.
Flori blushed. She’d already forgotten that their skin tones were different.
I sorted through the pictures that I’d brought.
“Here. This is Andrea.” I handed her the picture I had of Andrea and Grace standing together in the hotel lobby. I hadn’t thought about it before but now I remembered how Andrea hated getting her picture taken. I thought it was because she didn’t like the way she looked. That’s why, when we were in the lobby, I snapped it quickly before she noticed. She wasn’t facing the camera but there was enough of her face showing to be able to identify her easily. Grace was looking the other way so I only got her back.
Stella picked it up and examined it carefully. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen her around here and I pretty much know everyone. Yellow Rose ain’t exactly that big, you know. Her face looks familiar but that's all I can say. Unless, she’s from the west end where all the rich folk live and I happened to bump into her on the beach.”
“No, I’m pretty sure she isn’t from any rich area.”
“I don’ think so either. She look more like po’ folk. Isn’t dressed too sharp, is she?”
I looked at the picture. Now that Stella mentioned it, Andrea did look more like po’ folk than rich folk.
She grabbed hold of the waitress’ apron as she walked by.
“Honey, you gotta phone book I can look at?”
“Si. Up by the register.”
Stella slid out of the seat and went to the counter by the entrance. Before grabbing the phone book, she walked over to the woman with the crutches and said, “How y’all doin,’ sweetie? We’ll be out of here soon as anything, sugar. Can you jus’ hang on a bit longer?” The woman gave a little hop as she tried straightening her crutches, nodded, and smiled. Stella gave her a hug that sent one crutch flying. I kept talking to Flori so she wouldn’t see.
The server filled our cups again.
“Aren’t these the friendliest folks you ever met, Mabel?” Flori said.
I had to admit they were right up there in the top ten. It was quite all right, however, to let a handicapped person keep standing, as long as you called her ‘honey’ and gave her a hug. It’s the same in Parson’s Cove, except we don’t call just anyone ‘honey’ and Flori is about the only person who hugs.
Stella came back and opened the phone book.
“Lots of ‘Williams’ here,” she said. “Can’t find an Andrea though.” She slid her finger down the row.
“Oh, shucks, I never thought of it, Stella, but that’s probably because she’s married and unlike Grace, the phone is listed in her husband's name. I got the impression she was glad to be rid of him for a few days. Just the way she talked, you know.”
“Wouldn’t it be a coincidence if the two husbands knew each other?” Flori said.
Stella grunted. “If this Williams guy is a jerk, for sure Cecile will know him.”
She took a piece of paper out of her purse and wrote down the addresses of all the Williams in the phone book.
“Do you think we should leave?” I said. Our cups were empty and the waiter was heading our way with the coffee pot again. “There’s quite a line-up at the door waiting for a table.”
“Good idea.” Stella stood up, waved to the woman with the crutches, and shouted, “Y’all can have our seat now, baby.”
The young woman hobbled over and gave Stella a kiss on the cheek before sitting down.
We got back into her car. Stella drove a 1975 pink Cadillac. I love my 1969 Buick but riding in this was like floating on a massive cloud - an earsplitting cloud that emanated gas fumes. I sat in the backseat with several empty paper coffee cups, French fry containers, and at least two dozen ketchup packets, some empty and some unopened. There was a child’s car seat in the other corner, filled with several stained and worn stuffed animals.
I moved the refuse off my seat and let it fall to the floor. Flori looked around at me. Not that I’m a neat freak but I’m sure she thought I might say something offensive so before I could, she said, “Stella has almost as many grandkids as I do, Mabel. She babysits every week so that’s why she has a car seat back there.” Then, to make sure I got the point, she added, “They always have to eat on the run because Stella has a very hectic schedule.”
“Thank you for that information, Flori,” I said. “How many places do we have to check out, Stella?” I asked.
“’Bout five or six. Seven, I think.”
It was almost ten by this time. We started on the houses closest to the beach, driving along the avenues from east to west and sometimes, detouring around schools or churches. Most weren’t home and the ones who were had never heard of Andrea. Or, maybe she was someone’s second cousin who moved to California back in 1973. When it was almost noon, we decided to try one last house before going for lunch. I was still burping up eggs and salsa from breakfast. Stella and Flori announced that they were starving.
The house was close to Avenue K. It was old and had seen much better days. If it had survived any of the hurricanes, no one would’ve known the difference. I went to the door alone. The small yard was overflowing with weeds. The sidewalk was heaving and cracking. I banged on the wooden door. I heard some movement inside. I banged on the windowpane this time. Someone from inside yelled something. No one came. I took my fist to the window again. Maybe if they thought the window might break, they’d come to the door.
“Who is it and what do you want?” The voice was raspy and sounded like someone who’d smoked a pack-a-day for at least forty years. It was hard to tell if it was male or female.
I yelled, “It’s Mabel Wickles and I’d like to talk to you.”
The voice was louder and closer. “Mabel who?”
“Mabel Wickles.”
“Do I know you?”
“I’m looking for Andrea.”
“She ain’t here.”
“Do you know where I can find her?”
“She don’ live here no more.”
“Can you tell me what her husband’s name is?”
“Ha! Far as I know, she ain’t got no husband.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“I met Andrea on a trip to Las Vegas. A friend of hers, Grace, died and I wanted to let her know.”
I could hear several latches clicking and the door slowly opened.
“Andrea won a trip to Vegas? I’m Veronica, Andrea’s momma.”
Veronica was about my age and my size.
And, she was black.
Chapter Sixteen
“There are obviously two A
ndrea Williams,” Flori said when I got back into the car and explained our conundrum.
I nodded. There had to be. “I showed her the picture but she’d never seen our Andrea. I guess that means we stop to eat and then start up again. It’s a bit disappointing though.”
“Wait one minute,” Stella said. “Seems to me, if I remember right, I used to know a Veronica Williams a few years ago. I’ll be back in a minute.” She climbed out of the car with as much agility as a three hundred pound woman can and waddled almost gracefully to the door that I had just exited. She knocked, the door opened instantly, and she was inside. We waited for ten minutes.
“Do you think I ought to go in and see if she’s all right?” Flori wondered.
“Somehow, I think Stella can look after herself. Veronica is about my size. I wonder what she’s finding out.” I reached over and patted Flori’s arm. “This was a good idea having Stella with us; she can get into places we never could.”
Flori beamed and pointed toward the house. “Here she comes.”
Stella heaved herself back behind the wheel, a smug look on her face.
It took several seconds for her to catch her breath and then she said, “Thought I recognized the name. Her and me used to work at the same store years ago. We used to have this shoppin’ center called the White Mall. An’ trust me, that’s mostly who was in it too. The white folks. We was doin’ the work and they was spendin’ the money.” She laughed. “Never had two nickels to rub together. I guess it ain’t changed all that much.”
“Oh surely, it has,” Flori said. “Your home sounds lovely and look at all the people in the restaurant this morning. Everyone was laughing and talking.”
“Oh, sugar, you don’ understand unless you come from the south. But, let’s not talk about that. I got some news to tell you and I’m startin’ to think there’s more goin’ on in this little town than I ever knew. You wanna hear it?”
“We aren’t sitting here hanging on to your every word for nothing, Stella.”
Mabel, Murder, & Muffins Page 9
