Countdown (3 page)

But tonight was a special occasion. Tonight she wanted to please the guest of honor, Holly Humphries, soon to be Holly Pettigrew – if she made up her mind to take Dalton’s name when they got married in two weeks. As far as Jean knew, that decision hadn’t been made yet. But because this party was for Holly, Jean had decided to get a little reckless with her wardrobe. She’d actually gone to Tulsa two weeks prior and invested in tonight’s garments.

Holly was an adventurous sort – although she’d stopped cold turkey wearing the Goth-white makeup and had let two of the five holes in her ears heal-up, she still preferred fishnets, tutus and Grateful Dead T-shirts, and dyed her hair many varied colors. For that reason, Jean had decided to branch out – in honor of Holly. She’d bought a multicolored peasant skirt and a hot-pink lacy peasant blouse. She could do nothing about her footwear – stuck as she was with the orthopedic shoes that could strip even Marilyn Monroe of her sex appeal. But she was ready to strut her stuff tonight – and she might even get a little bit high. She could always sleep in the hotel room if she wasn’t able to drive home.

She put on more make-up than she generally wore, added earrings and bracelets, and headed into the foyer as Paula was just coming down the stairs – in the same baggy cargo shorts, Birkenstocks and camp shirt she’d worn on the plane. Jean decided to ignore it. Why get things started up again? She wanted to get to know her old friend again, not just trade snipes with her. But, she thought, Paula was going to have to stop with the Oklahoma bashing for that to happen.

Holly Humphries was from Oklahoma City and had been raised in various foster homes. She had no relatives and most of her former friends were still on the streets of that city. So the bachelorette party invitees were almost exclusively from the sheriff’s department – Jean, wife of the sheriff, Jasmine, the sheriff’s deputy, Nita Skitteridge, also a deputy, and Maryanne Dobbins, wife of a deputy. Paula Carmichael, Jean’s friend, Loretta Hawkins, waitress at the Longbranch Inn, and June Pettigrew, Dalton’s cousin and the only one in Dalton’s extended family that Jean and Jasmine felt was young enough to enjoy such an event, were the only real civilians. With Holly, that totaled eight females and what turned out to be a great deal of booze that Jasmine had procured from the liquor store on the highway to Tulsa: four bottles of wine – two white, two red – a case of Bud Lite, a quart of vodka, a fifth of tequila and an assortment of mixers and fruit. Loretta had arranged for appetizers to be delivered from downstairs every hour on the hour, and Jean had brought bowls to fill with nuts and chocolate to put around the room. It was going to be a grand affair.

Dalton’s cousin, June, was escorting Holly to the event, telling her they had to go by the Longbranch Inn to check on her mama, who had just had surgery and was staying there to recuperate. June watched a lot of
Law & Order
reruns and had seen an episode where a rich lady had stayed in a fancy hotel after having a facelift. June thought that was very high class, even if the lady did end up dead. June and Holly were supposed to be on their way to the movies, which translated to Holly as ‘dress so you can be seen in the dark.’ Her hair had a new bright yellow rinse, and she wore a tie-dye T-shirt of yellow, pink and green that fell almost to her knees, and hot pink leggings, both of which stopped at her red high-top sneakers. It took June, in her sensible stretch pants and polyester top, more than a minute to talk Holly into going upstairs with her, as Holly felt it would be best for her to wait in the car. She wasn’t all that crazy about June’s mother, who’d been Dalton’s daddy’s baby sister and had treated Dalton’s mother poorly. But with a sigh, the good-natured Holly left the car and took the elevator up to the rooms of the Longbranch Inn.

Having been signaled by June, the rest of the women were hiding behind furniture when the door opened and Holly and June walked in. All jumped up and yelled ‘Surprise!’ at the top of their lungs. Holly burst into tears.

We were having a quiet afternoon, finally. The drunk teenager, Larry, had gone and was all but forgotten, and Darrell Blanton was being uncharacteristically quiet. I was thinking of heading home in a while to bask in the quiet of my empty house, leaving Anthony Dobbins, the first African-American deputy in the history of the Prophesy County sheriff’s department, in charge of the prisoner. I’d watch a Cowboys game I had on tape and drink a few beers. My idea of fun.

I’m not sure what time it was when Anthony came into my office and said, ‘Sheriff, we got a problem.’

‘What’s that?’ I asked him.

‘Looks like Darrell Blanton is dead,’ he said.

It took a while to calm Holly down. She kept saying, ‘I’ve never, ever had a party before! I can’t believe …’ sob, sob, ‘y’all did this for me!’

Jean sat beside her on the sofa in the living room of the suite and patted her on the shoulder. She knew Holly’s history, the fact that she’d been raised in foster homes since the age of three, had run away from the last one when she was sixteen and lived on the street for two years. But she’d pulled herself up, gotten her GED, taken some courses at a local community college and learned how to do make-up for films, which is what led to her meeting Dalton in the first place. But that was an entirely different story.

As far as Jean was concerned, Holly was one of the most well-adjusted women she’d ever met, not just one of the most well-adjusted former foster kids. She appeared to know who she was and what she wanted, while at the same time possessing a great big heart that tended to accommodate most people who crossed her path. Add all that to the fact that she was as smart as a whip and you had a great foil for Dalton Pettigrew – a big puppy dog of a guy with lots of love but not a lot of smarts. While not one to bet on other people’s happiness, in Jean’s professional opinion theirs would be a good marriage.

‘What’s with the waterworks?’ Paula demanded. ‘This is a goddamn party, right?’

Jean said, ‘Paula …’

‘Holly, you need a drink!’ Jasmine said. ‘What’ll it be? Beer, wine or a mixed drink? Loretta used to be the bartender at the Longbranch Inn before the county went dry – she can fix most anything, right, Loretta?’

‘You bet,’ Loretta said. ‘What’s your poison, Holly?’

Holly gulped in some air, wiped her eyes with a tissue and said, ‘Can I have a tequila sunrise, please?’

Loretta grinned. ‘One tequila sunrise coming right up!’ and headed to the wet bar where everything had been set up. ‘You want some of these stuffed mushrooms to go with it, or how about a jalapeño popper? That should go well with tequila!’

Holly nodded. ‘Yes, please. One of the poppers. Hey, everybody,’ she said to the other women there, ‘y’all get started on the booze and the food! I don’t want to be the only one here drunk and fat!’

‘You don’t have to tell me twice,’ Paula mumbled and was the first in line at the drink station.

The other women laughed, got up from their seats and headed to the wet bar. Loretta brought Holly her drink, two poppers and a mushroom. ‘Thank you,’ Holly said, and took a big sip. She sighed. ‘OK, I’m feeling better.’

Jean laughed and hugged her. ‘And this is just the beginning.’

As Paula came back with a bottle of red wine and a glass, Holly asked her, ‘So how long have you and Jean known each other?’

‘Ha!’ Paula said, sitting down on the other side of Jean. ‘I’m not about to give out how many years; suffice it to say, we met on our first day in college. We were assigned the same room.’

‘Yes,’ Jean said, a smile on her face. ‘You should have seen me. Too tall and too awkward, embarrassed about my braces and crutches, trying to slink into the room without anybody actually seeing me. And then there
she
is—’ Jean said, pointing at Paula. ‘This beautiful blonde girl with big boobs wearing the shortest skirt I’d ever seen, and legs that went on forever—’

‘Stop!’ Paula said, taking a deep drink of the wine. ‘Now they’re just going to compare that description to the husk they see before them!’

‘What husk?’ Holly said. ‘You look wonderful.’

Paula snorted. ‘I’ve heard about southern hospitality, but this is ridiculous!’

Jean patted Paula’s hand. ‘You look fine,’ she said, noticing that the bottle of wine Paula had brought back from the wet bar only a short while ago was already half gone.

Jean couldn’t help remembering how Paula liked to drink in their undergraduate days. She would stay out all night with one boy or another, then go to class still drunk but managed to make an ‘A’ anyway. In medical school, though, things had gotten a little tougher for her. There was that time at the end of their first year when Paula had got drunk and totally missed the final testing. She’d lost her first year and had to start over again. Jean couldn’t help but wonder if her drinking was still a problem.

‘What do you mean, dead?’ I demanded of Anthony.

‘Well, what we normally mean when we say dead, Sheriff. As in not breathing, bit the big one, kicked the bucket, gone to the big double-wide in the sky—’

‘Stop!’ I said, and got up and followed him back to the cells.

And there he was – Darrell Blanton – lying on the cot we called a bed, looking like a little boy asleep. Except he wasn’t. There’s a stillness in death that doesn’t mimic sleep. Even in sleep there is animation – not so in death. In death, there’s only the shell left – everything else, even with a Blanton, is long gone.

‘Jesus H. Christ!’ I muttered under my breath. ‘What happened?’

Anthony shook his head. ‘No idea. Can’t find a mark on him.’

‘Call the ME,’ I said as I walked into the cell to check out the body.

Chandra Blanton put her hands under her swelling belly and lifted the baby to get a little relief for her bladder. She could barely count the number of times she’d been to the bathroom that day for nothing more than a false alarm. And Chandra, unlike many Blantons, could actually count. She wasn’t sure if it had been a good idea to tell her mee-maw about the sheriff’s wife’s party going on upstairs at the Longbranch Inn, but somehow it had seemed to please Mee-maw, and anything that pleased Mee-maw was a relief to Chandra and her mama. A happy Mee-maw was a calm Mee-maw, and everybody wanted a calm Mee-maw.

Chandra had gotten the job at the Longbranch Inn right after she found out she was pregnant. She hadn’t told her soon-to-be employers about the pregnancy, though, because she’d been pretty sure she wouldn’t have gotten the job. Once on the job, however, she knew they couldn’t fire her because of her pregnancy. When the time came, she planned on saying the baby was a preemie, no matter how big he was. And yes, wonder of wonders, she was having a boy. The last ten pregnancies in Blantonville had produced girls, which didn’t bode well for weddings in fifteen or sixteen years. But her son would have his pick of anybody he wanted to marry. And because his own daddy wasn’t a Blanton, Chandra was pretty sure he’d be one up on most of his cousins.

Chandra’s job at the Longbranch Inn was to answer the phone, file paperwork and jot down money in and out in a ledger that went to the accountant every two weeks. She was good at her job and the powers that be were happy with her work. So it was with some misgivings that she looked up and saw her mee-maw, Eunice Blanton, her mama, Marge Blanton, and her uncle, Earl Blanton, all coming in the front door of the Longbranch Inn. Uncle Earl was walking like he had a corn cob up his butt, Chandra thought. She came around the desk and tried to stop them before they got far enough into the inn to be seen by her boss.

‘What’re y’all doing?’ Chandra asked, with just a touch of panic in her voice.

‘Where’s that sheriff’s wife having her party?’ Eunice demanded.

‘Ah, Mee-maw, I can’t give out that information! It’s against the rules!’ Chandra tried, knowing it was to no avail.

‘Piss on your sorry rules! I’m gonna teach that sheriff a lesson, jailing my boy! I mean, he didn’t mean Joynell no harm! That was an accident, clear as day!’

‘What happened?’ Chandra asked.

‘Nothing!’ Eunice said. ‘Darrell was cleaning his gun and it musta accidentally gone off and killed Joynell. And now that damn sheriff’s locked up my boy! I ain’t having it! So tell me where that party thing is happening!’

‘Mee-maw, I can’t!’ Chandra wailed.

‘You want that baby born out in the streets, girl? Or you wanna come home to your mama and me and have that baby in a bed?’ Mee-maw demanded.

Chandra had no alternative. She knew her mee-maw wasn’t kidding around. She’d throw her out on the street in a New York minute. Chandra sighed. ‘Suite 214, second floor.’ Mee-maw grabbed Chandra’s arm. ‘Lead the way, girl!’

‘Gonna have to take the body back to the morgue and do an autopsy. First blush, can’t see a thing wrong with the boy,’ the county coroner said.

‘Could it be a heart attack?’ I asked him.

‘Could be,’ he said. ‘Or just about anything. Except a gunshot or stabbing. Oh, or strangulation. Or suffocation—’

‘Got it,’ I said, and walked out of the cell.

The coroner’s staff bundled up Darrell, put him on a stretcher and carted him off. It was the second time that day we’d had an ambulance at the front door.

I wandered into the bullpen and saw Anthony shutting down. We closed the office at around six on a Saturday, with an on-call person answering phone calls or emergencies – except when we had guests. Anthony had been on babysitting duty tonight, with Dalton on-call, as both their women were busy elsewhere. It was after seven in the evening now, and with our two guests gone Anthony was no longer on babysitting duty. I walked up to him and asked, ‘Hey, since our wives are both at that shindig at the Longbranch Inn, you wanna go grab a bite to eat?’

‘Ah, wow, Sheriff, yeah that would be great, but I just called Nita’s husband and made some plans. There’s a
Doctor Who
festival on TV tonight and we’re gonna barbeque. You wanna join us?’ Anthony asked as an afterthought, I’m sure. Nita Skitteridge, another deputy, was Anthony’s cousin and the first African-American woman deputy in the history of Prophesy County, Oklahoma. I’d hired ’em both, me being the forward thinker that I am.