A Piggly Wiggly Christmas (24 page)

“How do you know it will be windy? Have you seen an extended forecast yet?”

Gaylie Girl glanced down at her notes with a subtle shake of her head. Mr. Choppy’s “brilliant” idea for dealing with Lady Roth that he’d slept on had fallen on deaf ears. Her scribble was a gossipy testament:
Hale asks L.R. to consider portraying The Star at the various churches instead of on C-house roof . . . L.R. cops usual histrionic attitude . . . says out of question . . . no dramatic effect in that, no spotlight in that . . . Hale smiles that smile when he’s had enough of something or somebody, only they don’t know what it means like I do . . . trouble ahead . . . Hale tells L.R. not safe up there on widow’s walk . . . must err on side of caution . . . why doesn’t somebody just tell L.R. the truth once in a while . . . she’s a royal (term used loosely here) pain . . . this could go on all morning . . . oh, my God, this reads like a teenager’s diary . . . poor Hale! . . . L.R. won’t let this go . . . uh, oh, something’s up . . . I’ve seen that look on Hale’s face before . . . when he chewed out workman who pasted drawing room wallpaper on crooked in our new house . . . must stop now . . . this could get good . . .

Mr. Choppy drew himself up and began speaking the way Powell Hampton had taught him for all his election campaign speeches. Every syllable was evenly paced and projected with great force. “Lady Roth, I am making an executive decision here. This is the way it is going to be. You will not be allowed to portray the Star of Bethlehem atop the courthouse on Christmas Eve. Period.”

Gaylie Girl watched with bated breath during the awkward silence that ensued. She could not move a muscle, even to lift her pen to record her ongoing reactions as she’d been doing all morning for her amusement.

Finally, Lady Roth leaned forward in her chair and intently caught Mr. Choppy’s gaze. Amazingly, it was with a smile. “I knew my vote was not wasted on you, Mr. Choppy. I knew you had the best interests of Second Creek at heart, or I would not have agreed to portray Susan B. Anthony on your behalf during the campaign. And I want you to know that you are the first person since my parents arranged my marriage to Heath Vanderlith Roth who has taken a firm stand with me. I say it’s about time. It’s amused me no end to watch people kowtow to me all these years.”

Mr. Choppy and Gaylie Girl exchanged flabbergasted glances, and then he allowed a genuine smile to light up his face. “Well, Lady Roth, this is a true revelation, I must say. Almost as revealin’ as the time you first told me about your actress ambitions.”

Lady Roth was laughing now. Not anything forced, not even anything ladylike. It was a hearty laugh that sounded like it might be decades in coming. “Isn’t it, though? The truth is, I started making all these demands of mine just to see what would happen. And when people started giving me exactly what I wanted all the time, I saw no reason to stop. The entire town of Second Creek has been enabling me all these years. How refreshing to actually have someone stand up to me!”

“Then you agree that your standin’ up there in the widow’s walk with nothin’ else goin’ on down below is an idea whose time has not come, right?”

“Oh, heavens, yes! I wasn’t even looking forward to it when Caroling in The Square was on. I just like to see how far I can take things. It’s the ultimate revenge against my parents for planning my life the way they did.”

Gaylie Girl was finally able to move her pen again and wrote:
Unbelievable stuff . . . like a scene from a Georges Feydeau farce . . . wonder if Hale knows what that is . . . bet L.R. does . . . bet she would have given her eyeteeth to star in Hotel Paradiso under that hokey stage name of hers . . . Vocifera P. Forest, if I recall correctly . . .

Lady Roth then rose from her chair and winked at both Mr. Choppy and Gaylie Girl. “This will just be our little secret, Mayor and Mrs. Dunbar. I think I’d enjoy continuing to play my greatest role to the hilt until I croak.”

“Of course,” Mr. Choppy said, reaching across to shake her hand. “You’ve taken me into your confidence before, and I’ve respected that.”

Gaylie Girl stood up and offered her hand, too. “The same goes for me. And my offer still stands for you coming into town so the two of us can go out to lunch from time to time at the Tea Room or someplace else.”

“I shall definitely take you up on that. And now, I must bid you adieu. I have a thousand errands to run around town, including many an unwary salesman to terrify.”

Gaylie Girl showed Lady Roth to the outer office, tacked on another good-bye, and returned quickly. “Well, that made my day. It was almost spooky, though. There I was busily taking stream-of-consciousness notes all morning and wishing you would just shut down all her foolishness, and that’s exactly what you did. I’m very proud of you, Hale. You took a big risk because we both know she could have made lots and lots of trouble for you.”

“I think I’m still very much in the cream-of-courage mode from last night,” he explained, shrugging his shoulders. “I wouldn’t exactly call what just happened a miracle, but it’s a good starting point considerin’ what’s ahead of us.”

Two hours later Mr. Choppy had just finished reading the fire investigation report that Garvin Braswell had laid on his desk a few minutes earlier. He looked up from the document and called Gaylie Girl into his office. Then he handed it over to her.

“Read it first. Then you can tell me what you think we ought to say to Petey and Meta.”

Gaylie Girl began scanning quickly, focusing in on the gist. . . .
And it appears that the fire probably started in the center of the block known as Courthouse Street North . . . remains of space heater found in burned-out building . . . tax records show building as 18 Courthouse Square North . . . winter and space heaters go together to make fires . . . not conclusive, but possible heat source . . . no evidence of arson found, however . . . could have been combustible material near space heater left running as the culprit . . .

Gaylie Girl came up for air and said what they were both thinking. “Petey says they were still working on the wiring up until the day of the fire. I remember that Renza and I looked through the window once and saw that same space heater the workmen were gathered around. Who could blame them? It’s been such a frigid December. Petey’s hinted to me in a couple of conversations that he’s been suspicious all along the fire could have started in their building. And Petey said poor Meta started blaming herself as soon as he called her up and told her about it. You see how easily this sort of thing can get out of hand.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t tell them about the report. No one’s been cited as bein’ at fault here.”

Gaylie Girl reflected a moment and said: “I don’t know. Petey’s a big boy. It might be better to pin this down definitely for him rather than have him wondering forever. As for Meta, he’ll just have to remind her that the building was insured, and they still have plenty of options.”

“I can understand why she’d be upset, though,” Mr. Choppy added. “Some of the other building owners may not have so many options. The future of The Square is on the line here.”

Petey came down from his suite to join Myrtis and Euterpe for dinner around eight o’clock that evening at Evening Shadows. The house was festively decorated from bar to banister, and there were scores of scented candles tucked away in every nook and cranny. Here, the aroma of apples and cinnamon prevailed. There, a hint of vanilla tantalized. Even the Waterford crystal chandelier above the dining-room table was part of the show, sporting several sprigs of mistletoe and holly for that extra holiday touch.

Petey’s mood, however, was solemn and withdrawn, as it had been generally since he had received news of the loss of his building. But this time there was something even more drastic reflected in his expression, and Myrtis in particular picked up on it.

“Now that has to be the saddest face I’ve seen in a long time. What do you think of it, Euterpe? Is it one for the ages? Quick. Haul out the charcoals and let’s have a sketch of it for posterity.”

“In musical terms, I’d have to call it a funeral dirge face.”

Both women laughed gently, and Petey himself cracked a smile. “Am I that transparent tonight?”

“I’m afraid so, dear boy. You haven’t rented my Mimosa Suite all this time and not given me an advanced course on your body language. But it’s nothing that can’t be remedied with some of my gourmet food and sparkling conversation,” Myrtis explained. “Sarah’s outdone herself again tonight. She’s serving a corn bread-stuffed chicken breast with a hot cranberry-and-pear compote. But until that arrives, wouldn’t you care to lighten your load? As you surely know by now, Euterpe and I are marvelous listeners, aren’t we, dear?”

Euterpe offered up one of her silvery chuckles. “I’m never tone-deaf when it comes to empathy.”

Petey picked up his glass of Delta Lady sweet muscadine wine and took a sip, finally managing a shrug. “It’s the same old song. Just a new verse. Mother just phoned about an hour ago and said the fire investigation report showed that it could have started in Meta’s art gallery. Or at least what was supposed to be her art gallery. It makes me feel responsible for what happened, even though there was no definite conclusion. But the workmen were rewiring the building, after all.”

Myrtis’s vigilant ear had picked up on the out for him, however. “If I heard you correctly, the report said that it
could
have started in the gallery and there was no definite conclusion. Is that not right?”

“Yes. Of course, I didn’t actually see the report myself. I’m only going by what Mom said.”

Myrtis continued to put the best face on the situation, something her trained hostess instincts handled with customary aplomb. “Then my advice is to let it go. And don’t tell Meta about it either. You’ve got her flying into Memphis tomorrow, and I’m sure she feels bad enough about everything as it is. You need to make every effort to have the merriest Christmas you can in spite of what’s happened. You go up there and meet her plane with a new plan in mind. You find the spark you need to bravely forge ahead. Really, we all need to do that, considering what’s happened to our beloved Square.”

Petey toyed with his marinated hearts of palm salad for a few moments, and suddenly his demeanor seemed to do a one-eighty. He speared a bite and popped it into his mouth, chewing with an energy that had been patently absent heretofore. “You’re absolutely right!” he proclaimed after another sip of wine. “We can’t let this defeat us. Mom and Hale and just about everyone else have all been down in the dumps about this, but we don’t have to be. Not if we look at this long-range, we don’t.”

Sarah appeared with a silver tray of entrées and served them up promptly, temporarily interrupting Petey’s train of thought. But after a forkful of the chicken breast he was simply unable to resist, he picked up where he had left off. “I’ve already made quite an investment in Second Creek as the owner of Pond-Raised Catfish. Meta and I have got to get on with our dreams.”

Myrtis responded to the excitement in his voice with some in her own. “Oh, I love dreamers. My Raymond was one, you know. I’ve never told anyone this part before, but the real reason he bought the record shop was because he actually fancied himself a rock-and-roll singer himself at one point.” She was giggling now, thoroughly enjoying herself.

“Imagine. My dignified Raymond, the upstanding, well-established attorney, having that kind of a dream. Unfortunately, it was not to be. He may have wanted to take a stab at sounding like his favorite, Frankie Valli, and he could even do a few bars in falsetto by hook or crook. But his normal singing voice was like a chain-smoker gargling with gravel. And I didn’t make that up about him either—those were his exact words. If he couldn’t be the next Elvis or Pat Boone or whoever, though, he told me he’d settle for the next best thing. And that was selling records to the up-and-coming generation. ‘It’ll help keep me young!’ he would say to me. And, you know, I truly believe it did. I think it added another ten or twelve years to his life.”