A knock at the back door sent all four dogs scrambling over the sun room's wood floor into the kitchen. Thankfully, when the barking began, I had an excuse to end the morning's interminable phone conversation with theoretical cosmologist, Dr. Arnold Schippmann of CalTech.
"I'm so sorry, Arnie - the dogs are going crazy," I said, loudly. I guess he didn't hear me because he kept right on talking about his latest theory on dark matter.
"Hello? Anybody home?" Aunt Rob had successfully calmed the dogs down.
"Arnie, Arnie - listen I have to hang up now. My aunt is here." A brief pause as he began to talk again. "Arnie, I'll be waiting for your overnight envelope; I'll email you the address. I am looking forward to working with you again. Thank you so much and.... yes, you have a wonderful day, too." Finally! I ended the call and dropped the phone on the desk. I'd been listening to him for over an hour.
"Are you busy, honey? Because I can come back later," Aunt Rob said from the kitchen, where he was handing out dogs treats to his adoring fans.
"No, no, no," I said. "I need a break. I felt like I was back in school. I love Arnie and I appreciate his intellect, but Lord - sometimes he needs to lighten up and give it a rest. How are you today?"
"Out and about for my morning errands. I thought I'd come and take some measurements in your - what did you tell Jeff it was? - spare room."
"I told him it was full of junk we had to unpack yet. Then I said we had plenty of time to deal with all that stuff later. As you might imagine, he hasn't even opened the door." I led the way through the cluttered great room to what had originally been the formal parlor. Aunt Rob threw open the french doors to survey his empty canvas.
"The moulding is amazing," he said, admiring the chair rail. "It looks like it's original to the house. We can do a lot with this room. I'm thinking sage green on the walls."
I hoped Jeff would be surprised with his own space. In all the places we'd lived over the years, he'd never had his own private spot. Our big (or so we thought) house in Virginia had plenty of room for an office for Jeff - until we found out that Jake was on the way. When we looked at this old place, I knew the minute I saw this room that it was Jeff's. Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Rob had found just the right antique desk. I had a leather sofa stashed in the carriage house and I'd had to order a desk chair. Who knew it was so hard to find a decent chair for a guy who's six feet four inches tall?
"You know," Rob said, "We have this wonderful barrister bookcase that would look great along this wall. Hey - how much of that fishing fly fabric did you buy in New York last year?"
"Two bolts," I answered and Rob gasped.
"Did you say bolts?"
"I know, I know - overkill. But Jimmy talked his friend into such a good deal and it was so perfect and well, thank God Jeff doesn't look at the credit card bills. I wanted to be sure I had enough to upholster an armchair, make window valances and cover some pillows." It was an amazing heavy taupe upholstery fabric with embroidered fishing flies. Jeff was going to love it - as much as men love fabric-covered chairs and fabulous window treatments. He might not notice the details, but I was positive he would see that it had been a labor of love .
"Honey, you have enough to cover a sofa and then some. I'm also thinking a nice Mission lamp - no stained glass in this room - the rest of the house is saturated." Rob smiled and shook his head.
I chose to ignore his comment about my lamp obsession. "I have a couple of prints for the walls and Taylor has cross-stitched three fishing lures that I've had matted and framed together. Jake's contribution is several drawings of him and his dad out fishing. They are really excited about this, too."
"We all are - Jimmy says he should be finished with the desk this afternoon. If the bookcase will fit where I'm seeing it, he'll give that a once over and we should be able to get everything done by this weekend. Is that time enough for you to make the valances?"
"Sure - but you all are going to have to hang the blinds," I said sweetly. "You know I don't do ladders."
"Where are we hanging blinds?" asked a familiar voice from the doorway. Jeff stood there, surrounded by the dogs. Honestly, they never bark when you'd like them to.
"Uh, we - uh," I stammered.
"In the guest room." Aunt Rob to the rescue. "Too much sun on that side of the house. We decided that blinds were a better alternative than window shutters." He shot me a panicked glance.
"Oh, okay," Jeff said. "I thought this room was full of junk."
Shooing him and the dogs toward the kitchen, I told him that Uncle Jimmy and his dad had cleared it out to surprise me and that everything was out in the garage. "Wasn't that nice of them?"
Jeff, typical man that he is, was staring into the open refrigerator. "Sure. What's for lunch? I am starving."
"Rough morning?" I asked, taking plates out of the cupboard. "Sit down. I'll make you and Rob a sandwich."
"Oh - nothing for me," Rob said. "I've got a million things to do and then the garden club at four. They're planning the Christmas Festival of Trees already and I want to be sure I don't miss the meeting. Last year was a disaster and well, I'll tell you about it later. Love you both - y'all come for dinner tonight. I've got a big pot of chili going." With that, he was out the door and down the walk.
Jeff watched as I made him a turkey sandwich with lettuce and tomato. I cut it in half and set the plate in front of him. "What would you like to drink?" I asked. "Iced tea?" He nodded. Hmm - a little quiet. Either something work-related was bothering him or he had seen the credit card bills somewhere along the way. My money was on work, but I decided to wait him out. I filled his glass and set about making the second sandwich I was pretty sure he'd ask for in a few minutes. Of course, he hadn't touched the first one, yet.
"I thought you were starving," I prompted.
"I guess." He looked at me. "I just went to see Jerry Maguire."
There it was - the conversation he had been dreading.
"And? How did he take it?" I cut the second sandwich in two and put one half on Jeff's plate and took a bite of the other piece. "I can't imagine he was too upset. I mean, after everything that happened between the two of them."
Well, no," Jeff said. "I don't really think he gave a crap about Millie being dug up. He was more concerned that it was some sort of threat from one of the ladies - and I use that term loosely - he'd been seeing and dumped. So I asked him if he could tell me who he thought the likely suspect might be."
"Yes," I said. Sometimes you had to drag a story out of Jeff. "Go on."
"Babe, the list is two pages long. I'm expecting two, three - maybe four names at the most and this guy just kept giving me name after name. It's like the Who's Who of Piney Point."
No wonder Jeff looked mildly stunned. He still hadn't touched his lunch. "I tell you, I'd rather track a psychotic axe murderer on PCP armed with a rocket-propelled grenade launcher through Yellowstone during bear-mating season than go and question any of these women about their assignations with old Pump-up Pecker Maguire." Jeff leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling.
I couldn't help myself. I burst out laughing. I don't know what was funnier, imagining Jeff's discomfort at actually questioning any of the, ahem, ladies of our little town or picturing him hot on the trail of an armed and dangerous nutcase while being pursued through a forest by a gang of horny bears. He just looked at me. The more I tried to stop laughing, the harder I giggled.
"It's not funny," he said.
"Yes," I gasped, "it is." At that moment, the Jeff in my head was wearing a plaid Elmer Fudd hat, carrying a musket and chasing Bugs Bunny through a thicket while trying to evade Yogi Bear and Boo Boo. You know how you laugh so hard you think you're going to pass out? Well, I was almost there.
"Stop. It. Now. Please," my husband said, with just a hint of a smile. "I need to eat lunch and choking to death on a turkey sandwich isn't high on my list of ways to meet my Maker."
I put my face in my hands and willed myself to stop making light of Jeff's predicament. Here was a decorated Marine who had willingly served his country. His return to civilian life was continued service to his fellow citizens by tracking down and arresting fugitives from justice. I know he loved that job, but he loves his family more and he was willing to make this move back to small town life, and a small town job, for us. In that moment, my laughter turned to tears that I didn't want Jeff to see. I wiped my eyes and looked up at my husband.
"I'm sorry, honey," I said. "I know this is a big adjustment for you. I shouldn't have laughed."
"It's okay, babe. It is sort of funny. Hell, it's a lot funny - but it's still a serious matter." He picked up the third sandwich half. "But I am thinking of delegating the interviews to Danny. He sure could use the experience and it would get me out of having to face these women. I mean, one of them was our Sunday School teacher."
Danny was the police department's only other law enforcement professional. He was long on good looks, manners and muscles, but had gotten short shrift when it came to brains - a combination that made him very popular with the younger women in town. While Danny was not immune to the charms of the fairer sex, he did draw the line at dating married women. Yes, perhaps he was just the man for the job.
"Good idea, dear. Delegate." I picked up the pitcher. "More tea?"
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Friday, January 6, 2012
Chapter 6
"Took them a while to wind down, huh?" I closed my book and put it on the table next to the bed as Jeff appeared in the doorway.
"We had to read another chapter of David Copperfield," he said. "Jake was really fighting drifting off."
"They needed some daddy time after a steady diet of Mom and Grandpa for the past two weeks."
Jeff sat down on his side of the bed. "I missed you guys. I think that was the longest two weeks of my life. No wife, no kids, no meatloaf. No dessert." He pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it into the chair.
"You poor thing - most men would have loved the vacation." I laughed and turned on my side to face him. "Think of all the unpacking you avoided."
"Well, there is that. And I didn't have to drive from Virginia to Alabama in an SUV with two kids, four dogs and a cat. Speaking of cat, where is the old dustmop? I haven't seen him since I got home."
"When the movers arrived, Pop corralled him in the carriage house so he wouldn't run out of the open doors. Apparently he's decided that he likes having your father for a roommate. They may have adopted each other permanently."
"We'll see how that works out; nothing much is permanent with my dad," Jeff replied. "Except maybe the way he likes to move around."
"He was a big help with the unpacking and the kids. Maybe he'll stick around for a while. I know Jake would love it; they're quite the pair. He's been promising to take Jake fishing - and I think they've both been waiting for you to get here. They've invited Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Rob to come along, but I can't see that happening."
"Jimmy maybe, but Rob -no. But that is something I'd pay good money to see." Jeff laughed.
"Aunt Rob baiting a hook? Or even touching a fish. Not in this lifetime." I smiled at the thought. "We'll make the picnic lunch while you all fish."
"Speaking of fishing, are you going to fill me in on your expedition this afternoon?"
"Oh, I'm sure I didn't find out anything you didn't already know or suspect. You're a lot more perceptive about people that I am. I should just learn to observe instead of asking questions." I reached over and took Jeff's hand. "I ended up hearing a bunch of stuff that surprised me, things that were disappointing and revelations that really just grossed me out."
"You, observant?" he laughed. "That's not how your mind works. It's your nature to ask questions and figure out the truth for yourself. And let's face it, honey, people do some weird stuff and then try to rationalize their behavior. You still think of this town as the insulated little world you were raised in - but times and people change. But you, my darlin' girl, are almost exactly the same as you were when we were kids: sweet, funny, kind and you wouldn't intentionally hurt a soul. But for some reason, which I've never understood for somebody so damned smart, you expect people to actually treat other people with kindness because it's what you do. I hate to see you surprised and disappointed when they don't, but there's nothing I can do about it." Jeff turned to face me.
"Well, I don't think we've heard the last of the Jerry Maguire story," I said, looking away from him. "He is something of a ladies man and always has been, it would seem. Remember when we were in high school and he had that accident that crippled him?"
"Yeah. The truck backed into him at the packing plant."
"There's some speculation that it wasn't an accident. I guess his wife thought it was the most expeditious way to, uh, neuter him." I'm pretty sure I was blushing.
Jeff let out with a howl of laughter. "A divorce would have been too expensive, I guess."
"I remember Aunt Rob telling a story, years and years ago, about how Millie had found out about an apartment in Mobile that Jerry had bought without her knowledge. I guess the business actually owned it. Well, she started following him and caught Jerry going into his little love nest with some bimbo half his age. Millie was so enraged that the next week she followed them and set the place on fire with them inside."
"So what happened?" Jeff was curious now.
"Nothing. Millie came from old money and the fire was ruled accidental by her daddy's good friend the fire marshal. Not long after, there was the incident with the truck. I never really connected the two until Billie Jo was telling me today that Millie's elaborate neutering plan didn't work anyway."
"The truck about crushed the man to death," Jeff said, incredulously. "He's about a foot shorter than he used to be and honestly, babe, I can't imagine that he has any real motor function anywhere below the waist anymore."
I could feel my face burning. "I guess Jerry has a, a..." I was searching for the right word. Oh, what is the matter with me, I thought - this is my husband I'm talking to. "He has a prosthetic device that..."
"You have got to be kidding me," Jeff said. "I don't even want to know how BJ knows that."
"At any rate, his philandering continued right up until the day Millie passed. I guess Jerry has some proof that Millie was behind the alleged truck accident and she agreed not to divorce him and to let him have his dalliances. And since he's been a free man, so to speak, Jerry has been dallying" - Jeff started to snicker at this point - "with more than his share of ladies around town, married, single and widowed." I finished.
The snickering had turned into full scale laughter.
"Billie Jo said that his company is well, sought after," I added.
Jeff's laughter had morphed into a severe case of the giggles. I guess it really was a funny mental image - even though I couldn't for the life of me imagine how this alleged device might actually work. I must have looked puzzled because Jeff said, "Think inflatable," and burst out laughing again. He always seems to know what I'm thinking and I'm pretty sure that he was laughing at me now.
"It's not funny," I said and smacked him on the arm.
"Yes, it is. The look on your face was priceless - you were mentally reverse engineering how the thing might work." He was still grinning.
"But, Jeff, that's not even the most interesting part," I said. "I think I discovered a clue that pertains to Millie's unceremoniously exhumed body."
Jeff was suddenly serious. "And what is that?"
"The shoes. Remember Aunt Rob said that they were Tory Burch shoes? Well, that's what Jerry buys his lady friends when he's ready to dump them. Ruinously expensive designer shoes. The last four ladies have each gotten a pair of Tory Burch shoes as their parting gift from the old lech."
"But Millie was rich - maybe they were her designer shoes." Jeff was still processing the information.
"They don't normally bury people with their shoes on. Remember I tried to make them put shoes on Daddy when he passed and they wouldn't let me? And besides, Millie died two years ago."
"So this designer didn't make shoes two years ago?" Jeff's knowledge of fashion runs to work boots and Levi's 501 button-fly jeans.
"Sure, but Aunt Rob said the body was wearing leopard print flats from last spring's collection. Those couldn't have been Millie's shoes." I smiled at the well-I'll-be-damned look on Jeff's face.
"Not bad, Miss Marple." He pulled me closer and kissed me. "But can we talk about something besides Jerry's alleged amorous exploits and dead women in designer shoes?"
"It's just that it might be an important clue to figuring out who dug Millie up and why."
"And I will definitely make a note in the file. As soon as I get to work tomorrow." Jeff kissed me again.
"You won't forget?" I asked. "I'll remind you in the morning."
"Babe, you're killing me," Jeff said. "Here I am hoping for a proper welcome home and you're still talking."
"As I recall, I welcomed you home quite enthusiastically on Saturday night after the kids were asleep."
"You did?" he replied, "it's been so long I can't remember."
"Jeff, it's only Monday."
"Shut up and kiss me."
What can I say? I do as I'm told.
"We had to read another chapter of David Copperfield," he said. "Jake was really fighting drifting off."
"They needed some daddy time after a steady diet of Mom and Grandpa for the past two weeks."
Jeff sat down on his side of the bed. "I missed you guys. I think that was the longest two weeks of my life. No wife, no kids, no meatloaf. No dessert." He pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it into the chair.
"You poor thing - most men would have loved the vacation." I laughed and turned on my side to face him. "Think of all the unpacking you avoided."
"Well, there is that. And I didn't have to drive from Virginia to Alabama in an SUV with two kids, four dogs and a cat. Speaking of cat, where is the old dustmop? I haven't seen him since I got home."
"When the movers arrived, Pop corralled him in the carriage house so he wouldn't run out of the open doors. Apparently he's decided that he likes having your father for a roommate. They may have adopted each other permanently."
"We'll see how that works out; nothing much is permanent with my dad," Jeff replied. "Except maybe the way he likes to move around."
"He was a big help with the unpacking and the kids. Maybe he'll stick around for a while. I know Jake would love it; they're quite the pair. He's been promising to take Jake fishing - and I think they've both been waiting for you to get here. They've invited Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Rob to come along, but I can't see that happening."
"Jimmy maybe, but Rob -no. But that is something I'd pay good money to see." Jeff laughed.
"Aunt Rob baiting a hook? Or even touching a fish. Not in this lifetime." I smiled at the thought. "We'll make the picnic lunch while you all fish."
"Speaking of fishing, are you going to fill me in on your expedition this afternoon?"
"Oh, I'm sure I didn't find out anything you didn't already know or suspect. You're a lot more perceptive about people that I am. I should just learn to observe instead of asking questions." I reached over and took Jeff's hand. "I ended up hearing a bunch of stuff that surprised me, things that were disappointing and revelations that really just grossed me out."
"You, observant?" he laughed. "That's not how your mind works. It's your nature to ask questions and figure out the truth for yourself. And let's face it, honey, people do some weird stuff and then try to rationalize their behavior. You still think of this town as the insulated little world you were raised in - but times and people change. But you, my darlin' girl, are almost exactly the same as you were when we were kids: sweet, funny, kind and you wouldn't intentionally hurt a soul. But for some reason, which I've never understood for somebody so damned smart, you expect people to actually treat other people with kindness because it's what you do. I hate to see you surprised and disappointed when they don't, but there's nothing I can do about it." Jeff turned to face me.
"Well, I don't think we've heard the last of the Jerry Maguire story," I said, looking away from him. "He is something of a ladies man and always has been, it would seem. Remember when we were in high school and he had that accident that crippled him?"
"Yeah. The truck backed into him at the packing plant."
"There's some speculation that it wasn't an accident. I guess his wife thought it was the most expeditious way to, uh, neuter him." I'm pretty sure I was blushing.
Jeff let out with a howl of laughter. "A divorce would have been too expensive, I guess."
"I remember Aunt Rob telling a story, years and years ago, about how Millie had found out about an apartment in Mobile that Jerry had bought without her knowledge. I guess the business actually owned it. Well, she started following him and caught Jerry going into his little love nest with some bimbo half his age. Millie was so enraged that the next week she followed them and set the place on fire with them inside."
"So what happened?" Jeff was curious now.
"Nothing. Millie came from old money and the fire was ruled accidental by her daddy's good friend the fire marshal. Not long after, there was the incident with the truck. I never really connected the two until Billie Jo was telling me today that Millie's elaborate neutering plan didn't work anyway."
"The truck about crushed the man to death," Jeff said, incredulously. "He's about a foot shorter than he used to be and honestly, babe, I can't imagine that he has any real motor function anywhere below the waist anymore."
I could feel my face burning. "I guess Jerry has a, a..." I was searching for the right word. Oh, what is the matter with me, I thought - this is my husband I'm talking to. "He has a prosthetic device that..."
"You have got to be kidding me," Jeff said. "I don't even want to know how BJ knows that."
"At any rate, his philandering continued right up until the day Millie passed. I guess Jerry has some proof that Millie was behind the alleged truck accident and she agreed not to divorce him and to let him have his dalliances. And since he's been a free man, so to speak, Jerry has been dallying" - Jeff started to snicker at this point - "with more than his share of ladies around town, married, single and widowed." I finished.
The snickering had turned into full scale laughter.
"Billie Jo said that his company is well, sought after," I added.
Jeff's laughter had morphed into a severe case of the giggles. I guess it really was a funny mental image - even though I couldn't for the life of me imagine how this alleged device might actually work. I must have looked puzzled because Jeff said, "Think inflatable," and burst out laughing again. He always seems to know what I'm thinking and I'm pretty sure that he was laughing at me now.
"It's not funny," I said and smacked him on the arm.
"Yes, it is. The look on your face was priceless - you were mentally reverse engineering how the thing might work." He was still grinning.
"But, Jeff, that's not even the most interesting part," I said. "I think I discovered a clue that pertains to Millie's unceremoniously exhumed body."
Jeff was suddenly serious. "And what is that?"
"The shoes. Remember Aunt Rob said that they were Tory Burch shoes? Well, that's what Jerry buys his lady friends when he's ready to dump them. Ruinously expensive designer shoes. The last four ladies have each gotten a pair of Tory Burch shoes as their parting gift from the old lech."
"But Millie was rich - maybe they were her designer shoes." Jeff was still processing the information.
"They don't normally bury people with their shoes on. Remember I tried to make them put shoes on Daddy when he passed and they wouldn't let me? And besides, Millie died two years ago."
"So this designer didn't make shoes two years ago?" Jeff's knowledge of fashion runs to work boots and Levi's 501 button-fly jeans.
"Sure, but Aunt Rob said the body was wearing leopard print flats from last spring's collection. Those couldn't have been Millie's shoes." I smiled at the well-I'll-be-damned look on Jeff's face.
"Not bad, Miss Marple." He pulled me closer and kissed me. "But can we talk about something besides Jerry's alleged amorous exploits and dead women in designer shoes?"
"It's just that it might be an important clue to figuring out who dug Millie up and why."
"And I will definitely make a note in the file. As soon as I get to work tomorrow." Jeff kissed me again.
"You won't forget?" I asked. "I'll remind you in the morning."
"Babe, you're killing me," Jeff said. "Here I am hoping for a proper welcome home and you're still talking."
"As I recall, I welcomed you home quite enthusiastically on Saturday night after the kids were asleep."
"You did?" he replied, "it's been so long I can't remember."
"Jeff, it's only Monday."
"Shut up and kiss me."
What can I say? I do as I'm told.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Chapter 5
"And after we filled up two carts at the grocery, we came home and me and Grandpa carried it all inside. Taylor helped Mommy put everything away. Then me and Tay did our homework while Mommy cooked the supper. And then..." Jake stopped to take a breath and swallow his last bite of mashed potatoes.
"You mean 'Grandpa and I,' " Jeff said. Taylor started to giggle.
"No, Daddy," Jake said. "You weren't even home. We carried it in."
"Give it up, Daddy," my daughter said. "He just doesn't get it."
Alas, grammar is not my son's strong suit - but story telling is. I think it's genetic. I decided to get a word in while Jake was chewing. "Who's ready for dessert?" I asked, looking around the table at empty plates.
"Me!" Jake shouted. "Me oh my, I love pie!" He burst into a fit of giggles.
"Honey, that's the best meatloaf I've had in a month of Sundays," Jeff said. "But for pie, I'll even help clear the table and load the dishwasher." Bless his heart, Jeff will eat anything I cook and never complains. I guess living on military rations for six months at a time will make your wife's cooking seem like manna from heaven.
I'd gotten more than just information at Billie Jo's place; we came home with two of her specialties: chocolate French silk pie and sour cream apple pecan tart. Taylor made sure I didn't forget to buy ice cream while we were at the store.
"I want some of each," Pop said as he began to stack the empty plates. "I never did eat lunch today. But I did win at dominoes."
"Where'd you play dominoes?" Taylor asked. Our girl loves a game of any kind.
"BJ's place," Pop answered, taking another bite of apple tart.
"Daddy, why do they call Billie Jo BJ?" Jake asked, looking at his father expectantly.
I think Jeff inhaled half a glass of sweet tea. He started to cough and I handed him another napkin. Pop and I looked at each other, trying not to laugh.
"Because those are her initials, dopey," said Taylor matter-of-factly.
Of course, that's why. I took another bite of chocolate pie.
His curiosity satisfied, Jake continued to regale us with his first-day-of-school adventures and during his momentary silences, Taylor managed to fill us on on sixth grade, her teachers and a potential new best friend. When the pie plates were empty, Pop challenged both kids to a game of checkers and suddenly the kitchen was silent. Jeff and I sat across the table looking at one another.
"You know, you always thought that's why everyone called your friend BJ. I think I finally explained the real reason why after we were married," Jeff reminded me. "It might even have been after Taylor was born."
"It was not and you know it. I do recall that you explained her nickname to me - but I am fairly sure we were still in high school."
"And I'm fairly sure that you were completely horrified. I don't think you spoke to her for a week."
"Well, that's a pretty, um, shocking thing to find out about your best friend. You know I love Billie Jo, but I sure hope Taylor's new friend isn't anything like her." I searched the apple tart pan for edible crumbs.
Jeff leaned back in his chair and looked at me intently.
"Well?" he asked. "Anything you want to share from your undercover fact-finding mission?"
I ignored the question and carried a stack of plates to the sink. Jeff followed me with the empty pie plates and a hand full of silverware. As I rinsed the dishes, I handed them to him and he loaded the dishwasher. We worked quietly for a few minutes.
I sighed, remembering all the things BJ had told me. "I just heard all the gossip. Way more than Aunt Rob ever shares. Some of it was funny, some of it was pretty enlightening and a few things were downright crazy. A couple of the things she told me were pretty, you know, awful. Shocking, really." I wasn't going to admit it, but I was really appalled at some of the things people actually do to one another or with someone else behind their spouse's back. I wondered if they even realized how hurtful their actions were to other people. "I'll tell you later," I said quietly and put the last glass on the top rack.
Jeff put his arms around me from behind and rested his chin on the top of my head. "You know, babe, in the big scheme of things, nothing really matters but our own little family. Let's go enjoy them for a while."
And is there anything sweeter than a big, strong, gentle man who is willing to play Guitar Hero with his two adoring kids? Oh, and not many people know this, but he knows all the words to I Love Rock and Roll.
"You mean 'Grandpa and I,' " Jeff said. Taylor started to giggle.
"No, Daddy," Jake said. "You weren't even home. We carried it in."
"Give it up, Daddy," my daughter said. "He just doesn't get it."
Alas, grammar is not my son's strong suit - but story telling is. I think it's genetic. I decided to get a word in while Jake was chewing. "Who's ready for dessert?" I asked, looking around the table at empty plates.
"Me!" Jake shouted. "Me oh my, I love pie!" He burst into a fit of giggles.
"Honey, that's the best meatloaf I've had in a month of Sundays," Jeff said. "But for pie, I'll even help clear the table and load the dishwasher." Bless his heart, Jeff will eat anything I cook and never complains. I guess living on military rations for six months at a time will make your wife's cooking seem like manna from heaven.
I'd gotten more than just information at Billie Jo's place; we came home with two of her specialties: chocolate French silk pie and sour cream apple pecan tart. Taylor made sure I didn't forget to buy ice cream while we were at the store.
"I want some of each," Pop said as he began to stack the empty plates. "I never did eat lunch today. But I did win at dominoes."
"Where'd you play dominoes?" Taylor asked. Our girl loves a game of any kind.
"BJ's place," Pop answered, taking another bite of apple tart.
"Daddy, why do they call Billie Jo BJ?" Jake asked, looking at his father expectantly.
I think Jeff inhaled half a glass of sweet tea. He started to cough and I handed him another napkin. Pop and I looked at each other, trying not to laugh.
"Because those are her initials, dopey," said Taylor matter-of-factly.
Of course, that's why. I took another bite of chocolate pie.
His curiosity satisfied, Jake continued to regale us with his first-day-of-school adventures and during his momentary silences, Taylor managed to fill us on on sixth grade, her teachers and a potential new best friend. When the pie plates were empty, Pop challenged both kids to a game of checkers and suddenly the kitchen was silent. Jeff and I sat across the table looking at one another.
"You know, you always thought that's why everyone called your friend BJ. I think I finally explained the real reason why after we were married," Jeff reminded me. "It might even have been after Taylor was born."
"It was not and you know it. I do recall that you explained her nickname to me - but I am fairly sure we were still in high school."
"And I'm fairly sure that you were completely horrified. I don't think you spoke to her for a week."
"Well, that's a pretty, um, shocking thing to find out about your best friend. You know I love Billie Jo, but I sure hope Taylor's new friend isn't anything like her." I searched the apple tart pan for edible crumbs.
Jeff leaned back in his chair and looked at me intently.
"Well?" he asked. "Anything you want to share from your undercover fact-finding mission?"
I ignored the question and carried a stack of plates to the sink. Jeff followed me with the empty pie plates and a hand full of silverware. As I rinsed the dishes, I handed them to him and he loaded the dishwasher. We worked quietly for a few minutes.
I sighed, remembering all the things BJ had told me. "I just heard all the gossip. Way more than Aunt Rob ever shares. Some of it was funny, some of it was pretty enlightening and a few things were downright crazy. A couple of the things she told me were pretty, you know, awful. Shocking, really." I wasn't going to admit it, but I was really appalled at some of the things people actually do to one another or with someone else behind their spouse's back. I wondered if they even realized how hurtful their actions were to other people. "I'll tell you later," I said quietly and put the last glass on the top rack.
Jeff put his arms around me from behind and rested his chin on the top of my head. "You know, babe, in the big scheme of things, nothing really matters but our own little family. Let's go enjoy them for a while."
And is there anything sweeter than a big, strong, gentle man who is willing to play Guitar Hero with his two adoring kids? Oh, and not many people know this, but he knows all the words to I Love Rock and Roll.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Chapter 4
I finished folding the last towel and placed it on the top of the pile in the laundry basket. How in the world do four people create so much laundry, I wondered. I'd discovered that little boys were a much dirtier lot than little girls - and Taylor wasn't even the girly sort. I hoped that didn't change when she hit the dreaded teen years. Her father had announced that she would not be dating until she was thirty, so I couldn't imagine that the latest fashion would make a big difference to her until she was at least twenty-nine. Yeah, and monkeys are going to fly out of my butt. I laughed out loud.
"So now laundry is funny?" My father-in-law stood in the laundry room doorway, munching on an apple. "There's nothing funny about Jake's dirty socks, I can tell you."
"No - I was just thinking about Jeff's ban on Taylor ever dating a teen-age boy. If he has his way, it'll be an arranged marriage with a Nobel laureate."
"I think he's forgotten how the two of you circumvented the rules your daddy set down for you girls."
"Hardly - I think he's more aware of the various ways teenage boys come up with to ignore those rules completely," I answered. ""I thought you were willing to submit to an interrogation over lunch?"
He took another bite of the apple. "Well, I was but I'm about starved."
I looked at the kitchen clock. "I need to go to the market before time to pick up the kids from school. I'll buy you lunch at Billie Jo's - she has chicken salad on Mondays."
"I know you think you're sneaky for being so smart and all that, but I know you just want to see what you can find out at that hotbed of gossip. And what not." He tossed the apple core into the garbage can. "I never get tired of this lid that opens itself."
I shook my head. "What not? What do you mean by that?"
"I mean your friend Billie Jo knows all the gossip. Hotbed was probably a poor choice of words." He chuckled and opened the back door. "If you know what I mean."
Yes, I knew exactly what he meant. I'll admit that I laughed, too. Just a little.
Billie Jo Byrd and I have been friends since kindergarten when she pulled the ribbons off my braids and told me that pink was a sissy color and that her mama said it clashed with red hair. "Pink is only for strawberry blondes like me," she announced. My five-year-old self appreciated her directness and her fashion advice. I've never worn pink since.
BJ, as she is affectionately known by everyone who knows her, and not-so-affectionately by the wives whose husbands have been known by her, owns the busy local lunch place: Me Oh My I Love Pie. You can order just about any sandwich or salad you can think up - there's no menu. There is, however, a menu for the pie. She's got apple, blueberry, cherry, raspberry - double crust or single. Hot or cold, naked or a la mode. There's cream pies, custard pies - and, if you show up early enough, there's several different kinds of quiche for those diners who missed breakfast but aren't quite ready for lunch. When the lunch crowd finally dies down, she closes for a few hours and then re-opens at eight as Piney Point's version of a happenin' night spot. There's lots of cold beer, a lukewarm live band and hot local singles - who may or may not be either hot or single. Most likely neither one, but then, I don't judge.
Because it's really the only place in town to have lunch - and by that I mean the only place within walking distance of municipal offices, the bank, courthouse and local businesses - everyone goes to Billie Jo's place at least three times a week, if not every day. The food's good, the prices are reasonable and in Piney Point, it's the place to see and be seen. Couples meet and fall in love there; spouses break up and sometimes meet to sign their divorce papers over pie. I think BJ calls that the Heartbreak Special and the coffee is free - $2.75 for pie. Politicians conduct their business, and sometimes other affairs, there. Billie Jo has a unique talent for eavesdropping while appearing to be completely oblivious to everyone in the room. She's our own homegrown Hedda Hopper. I keep telling her she should write a book; she's afraid of getting sued, or worse. Add the things she observes and the gossip she overhears to the information she gleans from unwitting informants in, um, other places and she is a veritable font of information, a database of dirty laundry of epic proportions. About this, I do not exaggerate. The funny thing is, she keeps the vast majority of these delectable tidbits to herself and everyone knows it. Billie Jo will only spill her guts to one of the few people she trusts. One of those people is me.
Pop opened the door and we were met by the intoxicating aroma of hot grease and frying potatoes. I didn't know about pie, but I was definitely having some french fries - extra crispy, lots of salt. I caught BJ's eye and waved. "Come on up and sit at the bar," she yelled. Pop took a seat at a table full of his cronies and their never-ending game of dominoes. I wove my way through the maze of tables and hopped up on a bar stool as BJ set a big glass of sweet tea in front of me.
"Well, hey," I said and took a sip. Perfect - just enough sugar, just enough lemon. Southern nectar of the gods on ice. Life is good.
"How the hell are you?" my friend asked. "I haven't seen you since you and HunkaHunka were here for his interview. Then all of a sudden, I hear we've got a new police chief and he's gone and moved his nerdy smart-ass wife and two kids to town. That was almost two weeks ago and this is the first time you drag your prissy self in here for lunch?" She turned around to bark out what I assumed was my order to the cook. "Seriously, it is good to see you, Mrs. Burnin' Love. Or do I have to call you Dr. Ryan now?"
I made a face at her. "I'm sorry I haven't called - I was trying to get settled before the kids started school. We haven't even been to church. Jake has been having fits over that - he's afraid God will forget who he is. And Jeff only just got here on Friday. He was finishing up a case and training his replacement in DC. It's really good to see you, too. I can't wait to meet the new Mr. Byrd." I smiled innocently and BJ burst out laughing.
"He's about to be the ex-Mr. Byrd. You know that. I tell you, life was a hell of a lot simpler before I tried to be respectable and started marrying these guys."
"Slut," I said.
"Prude," she replied.
We both shrieked with laughter. "Lordy, I've missed you," I said. "Now bring me some french fries and tell me every little thing about everyone you know and don't you dare leave anything out."
"So now laundry is funny?" My father-in-law stood in the laundry room doorway, munching on an apple. "There's nothing funny about Jake's dirty socks, I can tell you."
"No - I was just thinking about Jeff's ban on Taylor ever dating a teen-age boy. If he has his way, it'll be an arranged marriage with a Nobel laureate."
"I think he's forgotten how the two of you circumvented the rules your daddy set down for you girls."
"Hardly - I think he's more aware of the various ways teenage boys come up with to ignore those rules completely," I answered. ""I thought you were willing to submit to an interrogation over lunch?"
He took another bite of the apple. "Well, I was but I'm about starved."
I looked at the kitchen clock. "I need to go to the market before time to pick up the kids from school. I'll buy you lunch at Billie Jo's - she has chicken salad on Mondays."
"I know you think you're sneaky for being so smart and all that, but I know you just want to see what you can find out at that hotbed of gossip. And what not." He tossed the apple core into the garbage can. "I never get tired of this lid that opens itself."
I shook my head. "What not? What do you mean by that?"
"I mean your friend Billie Jo knows all the gossip. Hotbed was probably a poor choice of words." He chuckled and opened the back door. "If you know what I mean."
Yes, I knew exactly what he meant. I'll admit that I laughed, too. Just a little.
Billie Jo Byrd and I have been friends since kindergarten when she pulled the ribbons off my braids and told me that pink was a sissy color and that her mama said it clashed with red hair. "Pink is only for strawberry blondes like me," she announced. My five-year-old self appreciated her directness and her fashion advice. I've never worn pink since.
BJ, as she is affectionately known by everyone who knows her, and not-so-affectionately by the wives whose husbands have been known by her, owns the busy local lunch place: Me Oh My I Love Pie. You can order just about any sandwich or salad you can think up - there's no menu. There is, however, a menu for the pie. She's got apple, blueberry, cherry, raspberry - double crust or single. Hot or cold, naked or a la mode. There's cream pies, custard pies - and, if you show up early enough, there's several different kinds of quiche for those diners who missed breakfast but aren't quite ready for lunch. When the lunch crowd finally dies down, she closes for a few hours and then re-opens at eight as Piney Point's version of a happenin' night spot. There's lots of cold beer, a lukewarm live band and hot local singles - who may or may not be either hot or single. Most likely neither one, but then, I don't judge.
Because it's really the only place in town to have lunch - and by that I mean the only place within walking distance of municipal offices, the bank, courthouse and local businesses - everyone goes to Billie Jo's place at least three times a week, if not every day. The food's good, the prices are reasonable and in Piney Point, it's the place to see and be seen. Couples meet and fall in love there; spouses break up and sometimes meet to sign their divorce papers over pie. I think BJ calls that the Heartbreak Special and the coffee is free - $2.75 for pie. Politicians conduct their business, and sometimes other affairs, there. Billie Jo has a unique talent for eavesdropping while appearing to be completely oblivious to everyone in the room. She's our own homegrown Hedda Hopper. I keep telling her she should write a book; she's afraid of getting sued, or worse. Add the things she observes and the gossip she overhears to the information she gleans from unwitting informants in, um, other places and she is a veritable font of information, a database of dirty laundry of epic proportions. About this, I do not exaggerate. The funny thing is, she keeps the vast majority of these delectable tidbits to herself and everyone knows it. Billie Jo will only spill her guts to one of the few people she trusts. One of those people is me.
Pop opened the door and we were met by the intoxicating aroma of hot grease and frying potatoes. I didn't know about pie, but I was definitely having some french fries - extra crispy, lots of salt. I caught BJ's eye and waved. "Come on up and sit at the bar," she yelled. Pop took a seat at a table full of his cronies and their never-ending game of dominoes. I wove my way through the maze of tables and hopped up on a bar stool as BJ set a big glass of sweet tea in front of me.
"Well, hey," I said and took a sip. Perfect - just enough sugar, just enough lemon. Southern nectar of the gods on ice. Life is good.
"How the hell are you?" my friend asked. "I haven't seen you since you and HunkaHunka were here for his interview. Then all of a sudden, I hear we've got a new police chief and he's gone and moved his nerdy smart-ass wife and two kids to town. That was almost two weeks ago and this is the first time you drag your prissy self in here for lunch?" She turned around to bark out what I assumed was my order to the cook. "Seriously, it is good to see you, Mrs. Burnin' Love. Or do I have to call you Dr. Ryan now?"
I made a face at her. "I'm sorry I haven't called - I was trying to get settled before the kids started school. We haven't even been to church. Jake has been having fits over that - he's afraid God will forget who he is. And Jeff only just got here on Friday. He was finishing up a case and training his replacement in DC. It's really good to see you, too. I can't wait to meet the new Mr. Byrd." I smiled innocently and BJ burst out laughing.
"He's about to be the ex-Mr. Byrd. You know that. I tell you, life was a hell of a lot simpler before I tried to be respectable and started marrying these guys."
"Slut," I said.
"Prude," she replied.
We both shrieked with laughter. "Lordy, I've missed you," I said. "Now bring me some french fries and tell me every little thing about everyone you know and don't you dare leave anything out."
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Chapter 3
By the time I got home, I had a mental list of people to talk to and questions to ask about a mile long. Well, a page anyway. I closed the garden gate and hurried after the dogs to the back porch. I nearly tripped on the steps in my rush to answer the telephone. Why is it that the phone always rings when you're just outside the door? Or worse yet, in the bathroom? I'd pondered that particular mystery of the universe on more than one occasion. I dropped the leashes and grabbed the phone off the kitchen counter.
"Hello?" I fished three dog treats from the jar and leaned down to distribute them to my eager companions and unhook the leads from their collars.
"Mrs. MacFayden?" a somewhat officious, but familiar, voice intoned.
"Yes," I replied. "Erin?"
"Oh, Lord - you recognized me! I was trying to be professional. I told her that you don't use Jeff's last name, but she insisted that I call you Mrs. MacFayden," she said and giggled quietly. "The dragon lady wants to talk to you," she practically whispered. And then louder, "Yes, Principal VanBeek would like to speak with you about an important matter."
"Laying it on a little thick, aren't you?" I said. And then I realized that Erin had transferred me to her boss, the aforementioned Dragon Lady.
"I'm not sure what you mean, Mrs. MacFayden," another cold, horribly familiar voice said. "I'd like to speak to you about your son. Jake, I believe."
"Yes, I believe Jake is my son." I laughed nervously, in spite of myself.
"Still not taking anything seriously, I see," she continued. "Well, like mother, like son. Young Jake announced at the new students assembly this morning that his dog found a dead body on the way to school. He said that his father would be arresting and probably hanging the bad guy who did it. He also said, and I quote, 'My daddy used to work with Wyatt Earp' and then he stated that before that, his father shot people for a living. You might not understand the gravity of this situation, but I simply cannot have children making up stories like this to get the attention of the other students. You and your husband may condone this type of behavior, but I will not tolerate it."
It's a pity that Jeff wasn't there to see it, because I was speechless. But only for a minute or so. Principal VanBeek was not going to browbeat me - or my children.
"Jake isn't making up stories," I said. "Everything he said is true. Or has an element of truth in it, from a six-year-old's limited point of view."
"A dead body? Please, do you take me for a fool?" the principal asked indignantly.
"I don't take you for anything other than the mean-spirited woman you've always been," I answered calmly. "We did find a body on the way to school and Jeff is investigating the crime in his official capacity as police chief here in Piney Point. He used to work in fugitive apprehension for the US Marshal Service; if you recall any history of the American West, you would know that Wyatt Earp was indeed a Deputy US Marshal. You might also remember that my husband joined the Marines after high school where he was trained and deployed as a sniper. Snipers, by definition, shoot people. Let me reiterate: my son does not make up stories. Oh, and Jeff would probably really like it if you called him Chief MacFayden. But next time you have your secretary call me, and I really hope there is no next time, my name is Dr. Ryan."
With a satisfied smirk, I hung up the phone and did a childish victory dance right there in the kitchen. The dogs looked at me like I was nuts. Unfortunately, so did Jeff, from where he was leaning against the kitchen door jamb. I wound my way around the island to the stool on the other side.
"How long have you been standing there?" I asked sheepishly.
"Long enough. Pissed Mama Bear off, did she?" He sat down and leaned his elbows on the counter.
"It's the first day of school, for God's sake. She couldn't wait until one of them actually did something wrong? I mean, it's inevitable and I know that. They are our kids, after all. She just couldn't wait to..."
"To what?" Jeff interrupted. "Honey, she may not have liked us very much, but she doesn't even know our kids. Think about it - if Jake came home and told you that he found a dead body, wouldn't you want to see it for yourself? He's six - and as you so eloquently put it, he has a limited six-year-old point of view."
I hate that the man is so rational. But he's usually right and while I don't always tell him so, I'm glad he is. "I guess I was a little mean, wasn't I? I should call her and apologize. What was I thinking?"
"You were pretty bitchy, Dr. Ryan. But never apologize, you don't want the enemy to think you're weak." Jeff grinned at me. "I thought you were going to wait for me at Uncle Jimmy's."
"Oh, I had things to do so I came on home." I filled the tea pot with water and set it on the stove.
"Couldn't get much information out of Pop so you decided to come home and start making a list of questions to ask and people to call?"
Like I said, infuriating. "No - I have laundry to do and..."
"Oh, yeah - housewife stuff. Well, it's a moot point anyway." He came around the island and got a mug out of the cupboard. And didn't say anything else. I waited.
"And?"
"What?" He was tormenting me now. "I thought you had work to do. I'm just going to have a cup of tea and get back to the office." He slowly tore open the packet and dropped the tea bag into the mug.
"You said it was a moot point."
"Uh-huh. You know, I've been thinking you might want to look into doing some consulting work for that astrophysicist you used to work with in California. It would give you something to occupy your time when the kids are at school." I caught him trying not to smile as he poured boiling water into his mug.
"You mean so I won't interfere with your criminal investigations?"
"That would be an added benefit, but I am serious about your needing something to occupy your inquisitive mind. You know I love you, honey, but I'm the cop. You're the mathematician. And you have to admit, you did go off in five different directions on this alleged murder before we had any of the facts." He was sitting down across from me again.
"Which are?" I stirred sugar into my own mug of tea.
"The facts are these: there was no murder. The body buried in a shallow grave on Jerry Maguire's front lawn was already dead. And embalmed. The coroner identified her as Jerry's late wife, Millie. Apparently, it was someone's idea of a sick prank to dig her up and deliver her to Jerry's lawn. I am not looking forward to having to tell him about it when he finally gets home."
I shook my head. "Now that's just nasty - dead and dug up. Then dug up by a dog." I thought for a minute. "Are you sure it was a prank? Maybe it was a threat of some kind."
"Honey, I beg you, call your astrophysicist friend. What's his name? Schippmann - that's the one. He needs your help and you need the distraction. And I need to get back to work." Jeff walked behind me to put the empty mug in the sink. He kissed me on top of the head.
"Go on, then," I said. "I have things to do, people to call, groceries to buy. Don't be late for dinner."
"Not to worry - nothing ever happens in Piney Point."
Maybe. Maybe not. I just had a feeling that something was about to.
"Hello?" I fished three dog treats from the jar and leaned down to distribute them to my eager companions and unhook the leads from their collars.
"Mrs. MacFayden?" a somewhat officious, but familiar, voice intoned.
"Yes," I replied. "Erin?"
"Oh, Lord - you recognized me! I was trying to be professional. I told her that you don't use Jeff's last name, but she insisted that I call you Mrs. MacFayden," she said and giggled quietly. "The dragon lady wants to talk to you," she practically whispered. And then louder, "Yes, Principal VanBeek would like to speak with you about an important matter."
"Laying it on a little thick, aren't you?" I said. And then I realized that Erin had transferred me to her boss, the aforementioned Dragon Lady.
"I'm not sure what you mean, Mrs. MacFayden," another cold, horribly familiar voice said. "I'd like to speak to you about your son. Jake, I believe."
"Yes, I believe Jake is my son." I laughed nervously, in spite of myself.
"Still not taking anything seriously, I see," she continued. "Well, like mother, like son. Young Jake announced at the new students assembly this morning that his dog found a dead body on the way to school. He said that his father would be arresting and probably hanging the bad guy who did it. He also said, and I quote, 'My daddy used to work with Wyatt Earp' and then he stated that before that, his father shot people for a living. You might not understand the gravity of this situation, but I simply cannot have children making up stories like this to get the attention of the other students. You and your husband may condone this type of behavior, but I will not tolerate it."
It's a pity that Jeff wasn't there to see it, because I was speechless. But only for a minute or so. Principal VanBeek was not going to browbeat me - or my children.
"Jake isn't making up stories," I said. "Everything he said is true. Or has an element of truth in it, from a six-year-old's limited point of view."
"A dead body? Please, do you take me for a fool?" the principal asked indignantly.
"I don't take you for anything other than the mean-spirited woman you've always been," I answered calmly. "We did find a body on the way to school and Jeff is investigating the crime in his official capacity as police chief here in Piney Point. He used to work in fugitive apprehension for the US Marshal Service; if you recall any history of the American West, you would know that Wyatt Earp was indeed a Deputy US Marshal. You might also remember that my husband joined the Marines after high school where he was trained and deployed as a sniper. Snipers, by definition, shoot people. Let me reiterate: my son does not make up stories. Oh, and Jeff would probably really like it if you called him Chief MacFayden. But next time you have your secretary call me, and I really hope there is no next time, my name is Dr. Ryan."
With a satisfied smirk, I hung up the phone and did a childish victory dance right there in the kitchen. The dogs looked at me like I was nuts. Unfortunately, so did Jeff, from where he was leaning against the kitchen door jamb. I wound my way around the island to the stool on the other side.
"How long have you been standing there?" I asked sheepishly.
"Long enough. Pissed Mama Bear off, did she?" He sat down and leaned his elbows on the counter.
"It's the first day of school, for God's sake. She couldn't wait until one of them actually did something wrong? I mean, it's inevitable and I know that. They are our kids, after all. She just couldn't wait to..."
"To what?" Jeff interrupted. "Honey, she may not have liked us very much, but she doesn't even know our kids. Think about it - if Jake came home and told you that he found a dead body, wouldn't you want to see it for yourself? He's six - and as you so eloquently put it, he has a limited six-year-old point of view."
I hate that the man is so rational. But he's usually right and while I don't always tell him so, I'm glad he is. "I guess I was a little mean, wasn't I? I should call her and apologize. What was I thinking?"
"You were pretty bitchy, Dr. Ryan. But never apologize, you don't want the enemy to think you're weak." Jeff grinned at me. "I thought you were going to wait for me at Uncle Jimmy's."
"Oh, I had things to do so I came on home." I filled the tea pot with water and set it on the stove.
"Couldn't get much information out of Pop so you decided to come home and start making a list of questions to ask and people to call?"
Like I said, infuriating. "No - I have laundry to do and..."
"Oh, yeah - housewife stuff. Well, it's a moot point anyway." He came around the island and got a mug out of the cupboard. And didn't say anything else. I waited.
"And?"
"What?" He was tormenting me now. "I thought you had work to do. I'm just going to have a cup of tea and get back to the office." He slowly tore open the packet and dropped the tea bag into the mug.
"You said it was a moot point."
"Uh-huh. You know, I've been thinking you might want to look into doing some consulting work for that astrophysicist you used to work with in California. It would give you something to occupy your time when the kids are at school." I caught him trying not to smile as he poured boiling water into his mug.
"You mean so I won't interfere with your criminal investigations?"
"That would be an added benefit, but I am serious about your needing something to occupy your inquisitive mind. You know I love you, honey, but I'm the cop. You're the mathematician. And you have to admit, you did go off in five different directions on this alleged murder before we had any of the facts." He was sitting down across from me again.
"Which are?" I stirred sugar into my own mug of tea.
"The facts are these: there was no murder. The body buried in a shallow grave on Jerry Maguire's front lawn was already dead. And embalmed. The coroner identified her as Jerry's late wife, Millie. Apparently, it was someone's idea of a sick prank to dig her up and deliver her to Jerry's lawn. I am not looking forward to having to tell him about it when he finally gets home."
I shook my head. "Now that's just nasty - dead and dug up. Then dug up by a dog." I thought for a minute. "Are you sure it was a prank? Maybe it was a threat of some kind."
"Honey, I beg you, call your astrophysicist friend. What's his name? Schippmann - that's the one. He needs your help and you need the distraction. And I need to get back to work." Jeff walked behind me to put the empty mug in the sink. He kissed me on top of the head.
"Go on, then," I said. "I have things to do, people to call, groceries to buy. Don't be late for dinner."
"Not to worry - nothing ever happens in Piney Point."
Maybe. Maybe not. I just had a feeling that something was about to.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Chapter 2
I am not going to throw up, I am not going to throw up, I chanted silently as I stood on the sidewalk, a safe distance from the ominous pile of dirt on Mr. Maguire's lawn. I am a rational adult with two advanced degrees and this is just a dead body; I am not going to throw up. The chanting was not working. Duncan guarded his macabre discovery like a dappled Cerberus from Down Under. The subdued terriers sat at my feet and watched as Uncle Jimmy ran down the sidewalk toward us.
"What the hell?" he huffed, stopping in front of the hastily dug grave. "Did you call Jeff?"
I nodded as Duncan padded over to sniff my uncle's shoes. Uncle Jimmy absent-mindedly patted him on the head and leaned down to have a look.
"I have no idea who it could be," I said, "unless it's Mr. Maguire."
"Nope - Jerry's out of town." Yes, his name is Jerry Maguire and he is not a sports agent. "Besides," Uncle Jimmy continued, "there'd be a metal brace on the leg. I think this is a woman."
I didn't answer; I was still trying to convince myself not to throw up. I leaned over and took a deep breath.
"You'd better sit down before you fall down," Uncle Jimmy said. "Here comes Rob - he'll take the dogs." I handed the leashes over to Aunt Rob and sat down hard on the sidewalk. My head was pounding and I was starting to see spots. The chanting was definitely not working.
"Was she chanting?" Rob asked. He stepped closer to the mound of dirt and peered at the visible leg. "That's definitely a woman. Tory Burch shoes."
Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Rob own an antique business that takes them on buying trips all over the world. They love New York City as much as they love to shop. It was Jimmy who finally persuaded my father - his elder brother - to let me take advantage of a great scholarship to Columbia and live with their older sister, Elaine, in the big city. Between the three of them, they taught me how to dress well, sniff out a serious bargain and put a killer room together. And not to throw up at important events. Mastering three out of four isn't bad.
I finally raised my head when I heard a car drive up. Jake was going to be so disappointed that his father didn't use the siren as he arrived at the crime scene. Jeff got out of the car and walked over to me, shaking his head.
"Please tell me that you didn't throw up on the body."
"Shut up," I moaned and leaned my forehead on my knees.
Jeff joined the other two men looking down at the dirt pile, evidence of a possible homicide, such as it was. He took a pair of latex gloves out of his shirt pocket and pulled them on. Jeff then knelt down and began to brush some of the dirt away from on top of the recently departed. "Huh," was all he said.
That got my attention. His first day on the job and he has a murder case, or at least I thought it was a murder, and all he can say is "Huh?" I stood up and brushed off the back of my jeans. "What did you see?" I asked, walking over to my husband.
"I'm not sure." He took his cell phone out and dialed a number. "Hey - is Sheriff Wells in? This is Jeff MacFayden over in Piney Point. Yep, I'll hold." He grinned at me. "Did you hurl?"
"No, I did not." I crossed my arms and glared at him.
"Not yet, anyway," he said and smirked. "Yeah - hey Charlie." Pause. "First day - listen can I borrow a Crime Scene Unit? We've got what looks like a homicide here." Pause. "Okay, that's great." After another brief pause, Jeff gave the county sheriff the location, thanked him and hung up.
"Well?" I asked. Jimmy and Rob looked at Jeff expectantly. "What now?"
"Now," Jeff said, putting his arm around my shoulders, "You and the dogs are going to walk up the street to Uncle Jimmy's and stay there. Rob is going to stay here with the body and wait for CSU while Uncle Jimmy and I go have a look around the other side of Mr. Maguire's house."
"But..." I began and Jeff cut me off.
"No buts," he said. "Go on up there and sit on the porch and I will come talk to you after CSU gets here. Don't argue with me, babe. Just go."
Lord, I hate when he does the babe thing. I am not the village idiot and he knows it. In fact, I am sure that I can provide all sorts of intelligent insight into solving this crime. He knows that, too. We have discussed his work on a regular basis. But I also know he really doesn't want me to throw up and contaminate his first crime scene in Piney Point and I would never do it on purpose - but he knows me. Let's just say I've thrown up on him at inopportune moments in the past and it's never well received.
I trudged up the street with Willie, Mac and Duncan in tow. We parked ourselves on the porch swing where I had a pretty good view of the initial examination of the scene. Jeff and Uncle Jimmy came back around to the front of the house and joined Rob at the sidewalk. I couldn't hear them, but it looked like Jeff was asking them questions. Well, I'd be getting the lowdown on Jerry Maguire if I were the one asking the questions. I mean, we've known him since we were kids - but only as an adult who lived three houses down from my favorite uncle. He's now in his sixties and widowed. I can't imagine that he murdered anyone, let alone buried the body in his front yard, next to the damn sidewalk. That's no way to hide a body. Besides, he couldn't do it without help. Mr. Maguire is about four-and-a-half feet tall; he wears leg braces and walks with crutches. No - it's more like he lurches. He might have beat someone to death with his crutch - but he'd need help getting rid of the body. And it's not like he could call one of his friends or neighbors and ask them to come by and help him out. Can you imagine the conversation? "Hey listen, I just beat Zelda to death with my crutch and I really think I'd like to bury her out by the curb. Have you got time to stop by and give me a hand?" I laughed out loud, as I am wont to do at things that really aren't very funny at all.
"I can't believe you found something funny about this already," said my father-in-law as he and Zippy stepped up on the porch. He turned the rocking chair to face the ongoing investigation and sat down. "You're picturing old Jerry dragging a body out on the lawn, aren't you?" He smiled; I could tell he was trying not to laugh.
"Well, unless you sneaked out in the night to help him, you know he didn't do it. Besides, Aunt Rob said he's out of town."
"I know he is," Pop replied. "Gone all the way up to Wetumpka to see his pen pal. Cute little thing - showed me her picture."
"At Tutwiler?" I asked. "She's an inmate? What's she in for?"
"I didn't ask. It wasn't any of my business. So unless the victim's been dead for a couple of days, Jerry's got an alibi."
"Interesting." I filed that fact away for future reference. "Was he seeing anybody around here?" Pop wasn't an out and out gossip like Aunt Rob, but he would answer questions if you weren't too pushy.
"Oh, he used to take a couple of ladies from church out to dinner now and then, nothing serious since Millie passed. He went out with that spinster teacher from the elementary school for a bit, but she thought he looked like her first husband. Jerry wasn't having any of that."
"Did they have a fight or did he just stop asking her out?" I hoped I hadn't gone too far in my line of questioning.
"Are you writing a book?" Pop said. "I don't know. He just said he wasn't aiming to marry anybody." He narrowed his eyes at me. "You're startin' your own investigation here, aren't you? Jeff isn't going to like that."
"I'm just curious, that's all." I stood up and stretched. "I'm going on home; I have things to do. Are you coming or are you going to keep an eye on the proceedings?"
"You just go on," he said as I headed down the steps with the dogs. "I'll be along directly. And don't worry, you can question me over lunch."
I tell you - like father, like son. It's infuriating.
"What the hell?" he huffed, stopping in front of the hastily dug grave. "Did you call Jeff?"
I nodded as Duncan padded over to sniff my uncle's shoes. Uncle Jimmy absent-mindedly patted him on the head and leaned down to have a look.
"I have no idea who it could be," I said, "unless it's Mr. Maguire."
"Nope - Jerry's out of town." Yes, his name is Jerry Maguire and he is not a sports agent. "Besides," Uncle Jimmy continued, "there'd be a metal brace on the leg. I think this is a woman."
I didn't answer; I was still trying to convince myself not to throw up. I leaned over and took a deep breath.
"You'd better sit down before you fall down," Uncle Jimmy said. "Here comes Rob - he'll take the dogs." I handed the leashes over to Aunt Rob and sat down hard on the sidewalk. My head was pounding and I was starting to see spots. The chanting was definitely not working.
"Was she chanting?" Rob asked. He stepped closer to the mound of dirt and peered at the visible leg. "That's definitely a woman. Tory Burch shoes."
Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Rob own an antique business that takes them on buying trips all over the world. They love New York City as much as they love to shop. It was Jimmy who finally persuaded my father - his elder brother - to let me take advantage of a great scholarship to Columbia and live with their older sister, Elaine, in the big city. Between the three of them, they taught me how to dress well, sniff out a serious bargain and put a killer room together. And not to throw up at important events. Mastering three out of four isn't bad.
I finally raised my head when I heard a car drive up. Jake was going to be so disappointed that his father didn't use the siren as he arrived at the crime scene. Jeff got out of the car and walked over to me, shaking his head.
"Please tell me that you didn't throw up on the body."
"Shut up," I moaned and leaned my forehead on my knees.
Jeff joined the other two men looking down at the dirt pile, evidence of a possible homicide, such as it was. He took a pair of latex gloves out of his shirt pocket and pulled them on. Jeff then knelt down and began to brush some of the dirt away from on top of the recently departed. "Huh," was all he said.
That got my attention. His first day on the job and he has a murder case, or at least I thought it was a murder, and all he can say is "Huh?" I stood up and brushed off the back of my jeans. "What did you see?" I asked, walking over to my husband.
"I'm not sure." He took his cell phone out and dialed a number. "Hey - is Sheriff Wells in? This is Jeff MacFayden over in Piney Point. Yep, I'll hold." He grinned at me. "Did you hurl?"
"No, I did not." I crossed my arms and glared at him.
"Not yet, anyway," he said and smirked. "Yeah - hey Charlie." Pause. "First day - listen can I borrow a Crime Scene Unit? We've got what looks like a homicide here." Pause. "Okay, that's great." After another brief pause, Jeff gave the county sheriff the location, thanked him and hung up.
"Well?" I asked. Jimmy and Rob looked at Jeff expectantly. "What now?"
"Now," Jeff said, putting his arm around my shoulders, "You and the dogs are going to walk up the street to Uncle Jimmy's and stay there. Rob is going to stay here with the body and wait for CSU while Uncle Jimmy and I go have a look around the other side of Mr. Maguire's house."
"But..." I began and Jeff cut me off.
"No buts," he said. "Go on up there and sit on the porch and I will come talk to you after CSU gets here. Don't argue with me, babe. Just go."
Lord, I hate when he does the babe thing. I am not the village idiot and he knows it. In fact, I am sure that I can provide all sorts of intelligent insight into solving this crime. He knows that, too. We have discussed his work on a regular basis. But I also know he really doesn't want me to throw up and contaminate his first crime scene in Piney Point and I would never do it on purpose - but he knows me. Let's just say I've thrown up on him at inopportune moments in the past and it's never well received.
I trudged up the street with Willie, Mac and Duncan in tow. We parked ourselves on the porch swing where I had a pretty good view of the initial examination of the scene. Jeff and Uncle Jimmy came back around to the front of the house and joined Rob at the sidewalk. I couldn't hear them, but it looked like Jeff was asking them questions. Well, I'd be getting the lowdown on Jerry Maguire if I were the one asking the questions. I mean, we've known him since we were kids - but only as an adult who lived three houses down from my favorite uncle. He's now in his sixties and widowed. I can't imagine that he murdered anyone, let alone buried the body in his front yard, next to the damn sidewalk. That's no way to hide a body. Besides, he couldn't do it without help. Mr. Maguire is about four-and-a-half feet tall; he wears leg braces and walks with crutches. No - it's more like he lurches. He might have beat someone to death with his crutch - but he'd need help getting rid of the body. And it's not like he could call one of his friends or neighbors and ask them to come by and help him out. Can you imagine the conversation? "Hey listen, I just beat Zelda to death with my crutch and I really think I'd like to bury her out by the curb. Have you got time to stop by and give me a hand?" I laughed out loud, as I am wont to do at things that really aren't very funny at all.
"I can't believe you found something funny about this already," said my father-in-law as he and Zippy stepped up on the porch. He turned the rocking chair to face the ongoing investigation and sat down. "You're picturing old Jerry dragging a body out on the lawn, aren't you?" He smiled; I could tell he was trying not to laugh.
"Well, unless you sneaked out in the night to help him, you know he didn't do it. Besides, Aunt Rob said he's out of town."
"I know he is," Pop replied. "Gone all the way up to Wetumpka to see his pen pal. Cute little thing - showed me her picture."
"At Tutwiler?" I asked. "She's an inmate? What's she in for?"
"I didn't ask. It wasn't any of my business. So unless the victim's been dead for a couple of days, Jerry's got an alibi."
"Interesting." I filed that fact away for future reference. "Was he seeing anybody around here?" Pop wasn't an out and out gossip like Aunt Rob, but he would answer questions if you weren't too pushy.
"Oh, he used to take a couple of ladies from church out to dinner now and then, nothing serious since Millie passed. He went out with that spinster teacher from the elementary school for a bit, but she thought he looked like her first husband. Jerry wasn't having any of that."
"Did they have a fight or did he just stop asking her out?" I hoped I hadn't gone too far in my line of questioning.
"Are you writing a book?" Pop said. "I don't know. He just said he wasn't aiming to marry anybody." He narrowed his eyes at me. "You're startin' your own investigation here, aren't you? Jeff isn't going to like that."
"I'm just curious, that's all." I stood up and stretched. "I'm going on home; I have things to do. Are you coming or are you going to keep an eye on the proceedings?"
"You just go on," he said as I headed down the steps with the dogs. "I'll be along directly. And don't worry, you can question me over lunch."
I tell you - like father, like son. It's infuriating.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Chapter 1
"First day of school for the kids, first day at your new job - I wonder what my first for today'll be," I said as I poured my husband another cup of coffee. "Maybe I'll join the PTA." I couldn't be sure, but I think Jeff might have snorted. He sure put his coffee cup down in a hurry.
"Darlin', I don't think the PTA here is quite ready for you." He put his napkin on the table and stood up. "I'd better not be late. Gotta make a good impression on the new bosses."
It was my turn to snort. "These people have known you since you were a kid; it's a little late to think about impressing them now." I brushed a few crumbs off the front of his shirt as he leaned down to kiss me goodbye.
"Jake! Taylor! Daddy's leaving for work - y'all come say goodbye!" I stepped back just as two children and four dogs came barreling into the kitchen. Twelve-year-old Taylor launched herself into her father's arms and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.
"I hope you have a good day, Daddy," she said. "Jake says he wants to take you for show and tell."
Jake is six and I am not sure he even knows what show and tell is - apart from what his sister may have told him about the longstanding school tradition. I wasn't sure they still had show and tell at the elementary school in Piney Point - we'd just moved back home after living light years away in Washington, D.C. Jake had attended kindergarten mornings at the church school near our house. Our daughter, much wiser for having survived the fifth grade, was mentoring her brother in the ins and outs of first grade. This should be interesting, considering their ongoing love-hate relationship.
"I don't think they'll have show and tell right away, but when they do, I'll come - okay, buddy?" Jake gave his dad one of those little boy leg hugs and climbed into his chair at the table to do battle with his morning bowl of cereal. "Milk, please," Jake said, holding his spoon aloft. I dutifully poured until he gave the when sign and then dug in.
Jeff playfully smacked me on the behind as he headed toward the door. "I'll be home on time for dinner. Nothing ever happens in Piney Point."
We both knew that to be true, having grown up in this small town just a little bit north and east of Mobile, Alabama. My childhood home was on the west side of the town park and Jeff's was on the north; we met on the sidewalk when we were both eleven. My dad made me go and ask the new boy if he'd like to play baseball with us. We've been inseparable ever since - well, except when I went off to college and he joined the Marines. We got married when I was working on my PhD at CalTech and he was stationed at Camp Pendleton. Later when I took a job with a government think tank in the nation's capital, Jeff put in for a transfer to Quantico where he trained the next generation of jarhead snipers. After twenty years in the Corps, Jeff went to work for the US Marshal Service and we decided that I should try my hand at being a stay-at-home mom when we were surprised by Jake's impending arrival. Taylor was thrilled at the idea of a little brother or sister; I had pretty much decided I was way too old for another addition to the family.
Fortunately, between the two of us, Jeff and I have a handle on the parenting thing and while we aren't sure whose idea it really was, we've adopted four dogs over the past five years: two cairn terriers named Willie & MacTavish, Zippy, the golden retriever and an Australian shepherd who answers to Duncan. Add Jeff's dad, who lives in our carriage house, to the mix and that's the MacFayden clan. The back door slammed just as I finished pouring out the morning dog rations.
"You all had better get a move on if we're going to walk to school and get there on time!" my father-in-law's voice boomed up the back stairs. "Are they ready yet?" he asked me as he perched on a stool at the kitchen island. I set a coffee cup in front of him.
"They've eaten, they're dressed and they are allegedly making their beds. I thought we'd all go and walk the dogs at the same time." I grabbed the mass of tangled leashes from the wall hook. "Come on, you guys! Grandpa's waiting on you!"
Once again, two kids and four dogs bounded into the kitchen. I held up the leashes and three of the four canines stood patiently in front of me while I attached the leads to their collars. Duncan peered at me from around the corner of the island as if to say, "Leash? I don't need no stinkin' leash." And he didn't actually; he is the best behaved of the four. "Backpacks? Lunches? Brushed your teeth?" Both children nodded in the affirmative. And out the door we went, my children racing ahead down the sidewalk, headed off for their first day of school in the town where their parents grew up. I guess everything does come full circle.
When Jeff had decided to take the job in Piney Point, we were both a little hesitant about moving back home to the scene of our youthful indiscretions and various misdeeds. Southerners may be forgiving, but they don't forget anything. Apparently, my husband had managed to make a good impression on his new bosses because they offered him the job on the spot. Another sign that we had made the right choice in uprooting our little family was the amazing good fortune that an old house we had both loved since we were kids was for sale. It had recently been gutted and renovated by yuppies who soon tired of the slow pace of Piney Point and moved back to the big city from whence they came. Could it get any better? The only fly in the ointment, as Pop would say, was that the teacher who had despised us both during our slightly wild high school days was now principal of the only elementary school in town. I told Jeff that I hoped Miss VanBeek wouldn't recognize me; he laughed and reminded me that I hadn't changed in twenty-five years. Besides, he told me, she thought he was the bad influence. I was just afraid that our two apples hadn't fallen far from the tree.
Duncan, the shepherd of our flock, ran ahead and then back to check on the progress of his charges. Jake was speed-walking up the sidewalk trying to stay ahead of his sister. Pop and Zippy strolled along as if they didn't have a care in the world. As usual, Willie and Mac strained at their leashes trying to sniff every blade of grass along the way. About a block from my Uncle Jimmy's house, Duncan stopped in front of a fresh pile of dirt on Mr. Maguire's lawn. He began to alternately bark and whine. Jake bent over to inspect the upturned sod on the otherwise pristine lawn.
"Mom?" his little voice quavered. "What's this?"
I stopped next to Jake on the driveway and looked down. It looked like something had been buried in a hurry. Duncan barked again and to my horror, the two terriers began to dig. Yes - something had been buried in a hurry. I took Jake by the hand and turned to my father-in-law who had finally caught up with us.
"Pop, will you walk Jake on to school right now?" I pushed Jake toward his grandfather. "Now," I said. "Taylor, run up to Uncle Jimmy's house and ask him to come down here. Then you go on to school with Jake and Grandpa. I mean it - go. Now."
The three of them hurried off, with Zippy in tow. I dragged the dogs away from Duncan's discovery, fished my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Jeff. He answered on the first ring.
"You know how they say nothing ever happens in Piney Point?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"Well, Mr. Chief of Police, we just found a dead body." I told him where I was and he said he'd be right there. I put my phone back in my pocket and looked back at the pile of dirt. As my dad used to say, some days you step in it and some days you don't.
"Darlin', I don't think the PTA here is quite ready for you." He put his napkin on the table and stood up. "I'd better not be late. Gotta make a good impression on the new bosses."
It was my turn to snort. "These people have known you since you were a kid; it's a little late to think about impressing them now." I brushed a few crumbs off the front of his shirt as he leaned down to kiss me goodbye.
"Jake! Taylor! Daddy's leaving for work - y'all come say goodbye!" I stepped back just as two children and four dogs came barreling into the kitchen. Twelve-year-old Taylor launched herself into her father's arms and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.
"I hope you have a good day, Daddy," she said. "Jake says he wants to take you for show and tell."
Jake is six and I am not sure he even knows what show and tell is - apart from what his sister may have told him about the longstanding school tradition. I wasn't sure they still had show and tell at the elementary school in Piney Point - we'd just moved back home after living light years away in Washington, D.C. Jake had attended kindergarten mornings at the church school near our house. Our daughter, much wiser for having survived the fifth grade, was mentoring her brother in the ins and outs of first grade. This should be interesting, considering their ongoing love-hate relationship.
"I don't think they'll have show and tell right away, but when they do, I'll come - okay, buddy?" Jake gave his dad one of those little boy leg hugs and climbed into his chair at the table to do battle with his morning bowl of cereal. "Milk, please," Jake said, holding his spoon aloft. I dutifully poured until he gave the when sign and then dug in.
Jeff playfully smacked me on the behind as he headed toward the door. "I'll be home on time for dinner. Nothing ever happens in Piney Point."
We both knew that to be true, having grown up in this small town just a little bit north and east of Mobile, Alabama. My childhood home was on the west side of the town park and Jeff's was on the north; we met on the sidewalk when we were both eleven. My dad made me go and ask the new boy if he'd like to play baseball with us. We've been inseparable ever since - well, except when I went off to college and he joined the Marines. We got married when I was working on my PhD at CalTech and he was stationed at Camp Pendleton. Later when I took a job with a government think tank in the nation's capital, Jeff put in for a transfer to Quantico where he trained the next generation of jarhead snipers. After twenty years in the Corps, Jeff went to work for the US Marshal Service and we decided that I should try my hand at being a stay-at-home mom when we were surprised by Jake's impending arrival. Taylor was thrilled at the idea of a little brother or sister; I had pretty much decided I was way too old for another addition to the family.
Fortunately, between the two of us, Jeff and I have a handle on the parenting thing and while we aren't sure whose idea it really was, we've adopted four dogs over the past five years: two cairn terriers named Willie & MacTavish, Zippy, the golden retriever and an Australian shepherd who answers to Duncan. Add Jeff's dad, who lives in our carriage house, to the mix and that's the MacFayden clan. The back door slammed just as I finished pouring out the morning dog rations.
"You all had better get a move on if we're going to walk to school and get there on time!" my father-in-law's voice boomed up the back stairs. "Are they ready yet?" he asked me as he perched on a stool at the kitchen island. I set a coffee cup in front of him.
"They've eaten, they're dressed and they are allegedly making their beds. I thought we'd all go and walk the dogs at the same time." I grabbed the mass of tangled leashes from the wall hook. "Come on, you guys! Grandpa's waiting on you!"
Once again, two kids and four dogs bounded into the kitchen. I held up the leashes and three of the four canines stood patiently in front of me while I attached the leads to their collars. Duncan peered at me from around the corner of the island as if to say, "Leash? I don't need no stinkin' leash." And he didn't actually; he is the best behaved of the four. "Backpacks? Lunches? Brushed your teeth?" Both children nodded in the affirmative. And out the door we went, my children racing ahead down the sidewalk, headed off for their first day of school in the town where their parents grew up. I guess everything does come full circle.
When Jeff had decided to take the job in Piney Point, we were both a little hesitant about moving back home to the scene of our youthful indiscretions and various misdeeds. Southerners may be forgiving, but they don't forget anything. Apparently, my husband had managed to make a good impression on his new bosses because they offered him the job on the spot. Another sign that we had made the right choice in uprooting our little family was the amazing good fortune that an old house we had both loved since we were kids was for sale. It had recently been gutted and renovated by yuppies who soon tired of the slow pace of Piney Point and moved back to the big city from whence they came. Could it get any better? The only fly in the ointment, as Pop would say, was that the teacher who had despised us both during our slightly wild high school days was now principal of the only elementary school in town. I told Jeff that I hoped Miss VanBeek wouldn't recognize me; he laughed and reminded me that I hadn't changed in twenty-five years. Besides, he told me, she thought he was the bad influence. I was just afraid that our two apples hadn't fallen far from the tree.
Duncan, the shepherd of our flock, ran ahead and then back to check on the progress of his charges. Jake was speed-walking up the sidewalk trying to stay ahead of his sister. Pop and Zippy strolled along as if they didn't have a care in the world. As usual, Willie and Mac strained at their leashes trying to sniff every blade of grass along the way. About a block from my Uncle Jimmy's house, Duncan stopped in front of a fresh pile of dirt on Mr. Maguire's lawn. He began to alternately bark and whine. Jake bent over to inspect the upturned sod on the otherwise pristine lawn.
"Mom?" his little voice quavered. "What's this?"
I stopped next to Jake on the driveway and looked down. It looked like something had been buried in a hurry. Duncan barked again and to my horror, the two terriers began to dig. Yes - something had been buried in a hurry. I took Jake by the hand and turned to my father-in-law who had finally caught up with us.
"Pop, will you walk Jake on to school right now?" I pushed Jake toward his grandfather. "Now," I said. "Taylor, run up to Uncle Jimmy's house and ask him to come down here. Then you go on to school with Jake and Grandpa. I mean it - go. Now."
The three of them hurried off, with Zippy in tow. I dragged the dogs away from Duncan's discovery, fished my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Jeff. He answered on the first ring.
"You know how they say nothing ever happens in Piney Point?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"Well, Mr. Chief of Police, we just found a dead body." I told him where I was and he said he'd be right there. I put my phone back in my pocket and looked back at the pile of dirt. As my dad used to say, some days you step in it and some days you don't.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)