Murder Gets a Life (2 page)

“What Turkett?”

“I don’t know. He was laughing too hard.” I held out the phone. “You want to call him back?”

“Turkett?”

“Like little turkey. And then he said there was a God and hung up.”

“Meemaw Turkett?”

“Maybe Sunshine will say her name.”

Mary Alice put the phone back on the end table. “Shouldn’t have called that fool anyway.”

“True.” I meant it.

She got up. “Y’all come about seven. Okay?”

“I’m looking forward to it,” I said truthfully.

Sister started out the back door. “What are y’all having for supper tonight?”

“Lean Cuisines if Fred doesn’t stop by Morrison’s Cafeteria.”

“The paint smell’s too loud in here to eat anyway.”

“We’ll probably take it to the bedroom. Eat in bed.”

“You wish.”

I was shutting the door when she turned around. “Turkett? You’re sure?”

I nodded.

“Reckon why he was laughing so? There’s nothing wrong with that name. Not Smith or Jones, but it’s a fine name.”

I shrugged. Sheriff Reuse’s laugh had been disconcerting to say the least.

From the west came the first rumble of thunder. I waved at Mary Alice and shut the door. Meemaw Turkett? I grabbed the paintbrush and climbed back on the counter. Lord!

“Looks good, sweetie.” My husband Fred came in a while later. He stood back and admired the cabinets. “You’ve done a lot today.”

“It does look good, doesn’t it? Clean and fresh. What’s in the sack?”

“Sweet and sour shrimp. Egg rolls.” He put the food on the kitchen table, came over, and patted me on the behind. “Why don’t you call it a day? I’ll finish this Saturday.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” I stretched and rubbed my neck. “How did your day go?”

“Great! It’s really working out, Patricia Anne.” What Fred has done in the last few weeks is consoli
date his fabricating business with a larger corporation based in Atlanta. He built his Metal Fab from scratch and loves it. When I retired from teaching, though, he began to realize that he had a whole company resting on his shoulders and that he wasn’t free to take small vacations, let alone do any serious traveling. Now, though he is still president of Metal Fab, many of the everyday problems have been lifted from him.

I reached down and kissed the top of his head. And a nice head of hair it is, too, thank you, ma’am, thick and steely-gray on a good-looking sixty-four-year-old guy.

“Why don’t you hop down and go get a warm shower before we eat?” he suggested.

“Sounds great.”

“I’ll even get in the shower with you. Scrub your back.”

“Okay. But only if you’re up to doing something kinky afterwards.”

“Be still, my heart. What do you have in mind?”

“A good rubdown with Ben-Gay.”

“Put the paintbrush in the sink, woman.”

F
red was delighted that we were going to a dinner that Henry was cooking. On the way over to Mary Alice’s the next night, Henry’s culinary talents were much on his mind.

“Maybe he’s fixed those little pinwheel sandwiches or some of that paté you put on those Norwegian crackers. Lord, that stuff’s good.”

“Mary Alice still doesn’t know Meemaw Turkett’s whole name,” I said. “She looked ‘Turkett’ up in the phone book and there were about five of them. One of them was ‘M.M.’ She said reckon it could be Mee Maw? I told her that was ridiculous.”

But Fred, who had laughed like hell when I first told him about Meemaw and Sister’s call to Sheriff Reuse, had other things on his mind. “Maybe he’s fixed those little chickens with the glaze and the pecan stuffing. That’s one of the best things he does. You know?”

“Rock Cornish hens.” I was beginning to feel a little testy here. Granted, Henry Lamont is one of the best chefs in the world but, to listen to Fred, you’d think Henry invented the art of cuisine. One look at
Fred and you’ll see I’ve done a pretty good job of feeding him for forty years. Okay, so occasionally I get help from the Piggly Wiggly deli or Morrison’s Cafeteria, or Stouffer’s. So what? I can whip up a mean meal when I have to.

But it was visions of Henry’s cooking that were dancing through my husband’s head. “He makes it look good, too,” he said. “I like the way he puts the green tails on the chickens.”

“Doesn’t take much talent to stick a piece of parsley up a chicken’s butt.”

Fred looked over at me, surprised. “What’s the matter, honey?”

“Nothing.” Am I going to admit I’m a jealous, spiteful person? But Lord! Forty years of slaving over a hot stove deserves some appreciation.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Fred didn’t catch on. He stopped at a light and said he hoped Henry had made those little lemon pies, the tiny ones that were just two bites and had the crust with something special in it so it didn’t taste like paper.

Fred was treading on thin ice. Ice that was getting thinner all the time. It just so happens that I make wonderful crust, thanks to Jiffy pie crust mix. And it doesn’t taste like paper.

“What did you say the girl’s name is?” Fred’s sudden veering from the subject of pie crust caught me by surprise. I had to think for a moment.

“Sunshine Dabbs. Crane now.”

“I used to have a Dabbs worked for me years ago. Pretty good old fellow. I wonder if he was her father.”

I shrugged. We Southerners do this, try to make connections. It’s as inborn as the color of our eyes or our hair. Introduce two Southerners and they never
lack for something to talk about. And it’s not the weather. It’s the search for connections. We do love to connect the dots.

“Mary Alice said the girl’s parents are separated,” I said. “Actually, what she said was the father’s never been there, whatever that means.”

“Probably wasn’t the guy who worked for me then. I don’t think he ever missed work.”

He was serious. Lord, you had to love this man.

Mary Alice lives in an English Tudor house on the crest of Red Mountain. It’s a beautiful old home with a spectacular view of downtown Birmingham. It was built by Will Alec Sullivan’s grandfather who was one of the founders of the steel industry in Birmingham. Will Alec was Sister’s first husband, the one without a chin. Even Sister admits he was slightly lantern-jawed, a nice euphemism for not having a chin. He was a nice man, though, rich and generous. When he drove his car into their driveway one afternoon, parked, and died, he left Sister not only the house but shares in a steel mill and insurance enough to choke a horse as Fred put it so aptly. He also left Marilyn, Sister’s oldest child, who fortunately is not lantern-jawed but a beautiful woman.

The house, which Mary Alice has always wished looked more like Tara, is impressive, especially at night when its location on the crest of the mountain makes it seem to float, bright lights against the sky. This August evening, however, the rays of the setting sun were still glinting off the cream-colored stucco exterior. We parked beside three other vehicles, a Honda Accord which I recognized as our daughter Haley’s car, a Bel Air Chevrolet, and Henry’s van.

“Are we late?” Fred asked.

I glanced at my watch. “Not unless Sister changed
the time and forgot to tell me. Which is possible. She didn’t tell me Haley was coming, either.”

“Well, long as Henry’s here. Come on, honey.” As we walked by the Bel Air, Fred gave its fins an admiring pat. “They shouldn’t have quit making these old beauties.”

That old beauty, I figured, had used a tank of gas to get into town from Locust Fork. I wondered if it was the one Sister said had backfired.

Haley opened the door for us and explained that she was taking Debbie’s place, that Debbie couldn’t face food, and Aunt Sister had called her, Haley, and said there was an empty place at the table and she could come over if she wanted to.

“What a gracious invitation,” I said.

Haley grinned. “I have no pride. Henry’s fixing Rock Cornish hens.”

Fred rolled his eyes upward. “Thank you, Lord.”

“Y’all come on out to the sunroom. Meemaw and Sunshine are already here,” Haley said.

“By any chance do you know Meemaw’s name?” I asked.

“She said to call her Meemaw. And Mama, that Sunshine is the cutest thing you ever saw. Her name fits her. Ray did himself proud.”

“Where’s Mary Alice?”

“Talking to Meemaw.”

“Connecting the dots?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” I walked back to the sunroom.

It’s my favorite room in Sister’s house. Light and airy, furnished with white wicker, it has windows on three sides. The west windows provide a view of the setting sun as well as of Vulcan, the giant iron statue that sits atop Red Mountain. Sister has a side view
of Vulcan and he looks majestic, holding out his torch like a blessing over Birmingham. We in the valley behind him, however, have a different view, a big bare behind. My neighbor, Mitzi Phizer, swears he’s anatomically complete under the apron he wears in front, that all the women in her bridge club know this for sure. I can’t imagine how. There’s not a member of that bridge club, or anybody else for that matter, who would ever have risked a hip to shinny up for a peek at old Vulcan’s equipment.

As I walked into the sunroom, Sunshine Dabbs Crane turned from the window where she was admiring the sunset and smiled. Blonde, tanned, dressed in a pink sundress that emphasized her tiny waist, she was a Barbie doll. And on the sofa sat an ancient Cabbage Patch doll talking to Mary Alice.

Mary Alice introduced me to Sunshine and Meemaw Turkett.

“How do you do, Mrs. Turkett,” I said to the Cabbage Patch doll.

“Just call me Meemaw.”

I glanced at Sister; she gave a slight shrug. Sunshine came across the room on those Barbie legs that reached to her boobs and took my hand. “Mrs. Hollowell—may I call you Aunt Pat? I’ve heard so much about you that I feel I know you. You and Mother Crane, too.”

Mother Crane. I sneaked a glance at Mary Alice who refused to look at me.

“Don’t bet on it.” Fred had come in behind me. “Over forty years and they still keep me confused.”

Mary Alice beamed. “What a nice thing to say, Fred.” She introduced him to Sunshine and Meemaw. I wondered if he thought like I did that they had escaped from the local Toys “R” Us.

“Give me your orders for drinks,” Mary Alice said. “Where did Haley go?”

“To check on dinner,” Fred answered. “Henry will throw her out in a minute.”

“He probably will. He brought a boy who works part-time for him at the club to help him, and it doesn’t seem to be working out well.” A crash from the kitchen underscored this. “Maybe I’d better go check.”

But Haley stuck her head in the door. “It’s okay. It was an empty tray.”

“Well, bring your father a beer and your mother a Coke.” So much for orders. Sister turned to Sunshine and Meemaw. “Would either of you like a refill?”

Sunshine shook her head no; Meemaw held out an empty glass. “Bourbon. One cube of ice.”

Haley grinned. “You got it.”

“Nice girl,” Meemaw said as Haley left. “How old is she?”

I had to stop and think. “She’ll be thirty-five in a couple of weeks.”

Meemaw patted the sofa beside her and I accepted the invitation. “She’s just a couple of years younger than my Kerrigan then,” she said.

“Kerrigan?”

“Sunny’s mama.”

Whump
. Age suddenly hit me over the head like a crowbar. Barbie over there could be my granddaughter? Ancient Meemaw had a child who was in her thirties? Lord, the woman must have made the
Guinness Book of World Records
with that birth.

“Of course Kerrigan got an early start. Just like I did.”

An early start? I looked at Mary Alice who smiled back benignly.

Haley came in with the drinks; Henry was with her. “Everything’s under control in the kitchen,” he assured us, passing around a plate of Norwegian crackers and paté. “Your favorites, Fred.” Fred grinned and helped himself liberally.

“How’s Debbie tonight?” I asked.

“She’s fine, Aunt Pat. Really. Just an unsettled stomach.”

Having barely survived the nausea of three pregnancies, I was grateful Debbie wasn’t there with a weapon when Henry described her stomach as “just unsettled.”

“Well, do we have time before dinner to see the video of the wedding?” Mary Alice asked. “I saw it yesterday, but I can’t wait to see it again.”

“Sure,” Henry said. “Dinner won’t be ready for about a half an hour.” He put the plate of hors d’oeuvres on the coffee table where Fred could reach it easily.

“It’s ready. I’ll just turn it on.” Mary Alice reached over and punched the Play button on the VCR. We all settled back.

“It’s on the beach,” Sunshine explained as the tape began to roll.

A low moan and panting sounds from the VCR. Sister looked puzzled. The screen brightened. A woman’s face was visible over a man’s shoulder as she writhed. “Yes, yes, yes!” she screamed.

“Shit!” Sunshine lunged for the VCR and hit the Off button. “Damn it, Meemaw,” she said, jerking the tape out. “You picked up one of Mama’s tapes.”

“Looked the same,” an unperturbed Meemaw said, sipping her bourbon.

“It did not. It said
Wedding
plain as anything on it.”

“Guess it’s still on the front seat of the car.”

Sunshine turned to Mary Alice who for once in her life seemed speechless. “I’m sorry, Mother Crane. I’ll just run out to the car and see if it’s out there.”

Mary Alice nodded.

“I swear,” Meemaw said, “that child expects me to keep up with everything.”

Haley was suddenly overcome by a fit of coughing and disappeared into the kitchen with Henry right behind her. Fred reached over, got the plate of hors d’oeuvres, and set it on his lap.

“That was my Kerrigan,” Meemaw said. “She’s a pretty one, isn’t she?”

“What?” I asked.

“On the tape. My Kerrigan.”

Mary Alice’s power of speech was suddenly restored. “The woman on the tape. That was your daughter?”

Meemaw nodded yes. “You can see where Sunshine gets her looks, can’t you?”

Mary Alice shook her head. “Wait a minute. I don’t think I understand.”

“Sunshine’s mama’s a movie star. I’ll bet she didn’t tell you that.”

If someone had taken a picture of us at that moment, they would have caught me with my hand to my heart, Fred with a Norwegian cracker frozen midway to his mouth, and Mary Alice squeezing her cheeks like a Macaulay Culkin lookalike. The picture would be entitled
Family Learns New In-Law Is Porn Star
.

“I do declare,” Mary Alice finally managed to say.

“It does boggle the mind. My own child in the
movies.” Meemaw drained her glass and set it on the coffee table. Fortunately, Sunshine came in at that moment with the right tape.

“Here we go,” she said brightly.

“I’ll get Haley and Henry. They won’t want to miss this.” I hopped up and went to the kitchen where those two were stuffing their faces with hors d’oeuvres and still laughing.

“Are we missing anything?” Haley asked.

“You missed the fact that the woman in that movie was Sunshine’s mother, Kerrigan.”

Both of their mouths fell open. An unpleasant sight, given the paté.

“Get on back to the sunroom. Sunshine’s got the wedding tape now.”

“Are you kidding?” Henry asked. “That was Sunshine’s mother?”

“If I’m lying, I’m dying. Now get in there.”

“Is she teasing us?” I heard Henry ask Haley as I left the kitchen.

“Not with her forehead wrinkled up like that.”

Sometimes it’s better not to overhear things.

“It’s on the beach,” Sunshine was explaining again as I entered the sunroom. “A friend of Ray’s played the wedding march on a ukelele. He wasn’t real close, so you’ll have to listen.”