Gayle Trent (14 page)

“No, baby,” I said, “you sure don’t.”

I’d been telling myself almost since I’d met Jim that he was too nice to be a murderer. Maybe Faye wasn’t the only one wearing blinders.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sunny had dozed off on the couch. I kissed her forehead to wake her up. As her eyes fluttered open, I asked her how she was feeling.

“Better,” she said. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. “You look hot, Meem.”

I laughed. “Thank you.” I’d changed into black slacks and a red sweater, and I’d fixed my hair and face.

“When are we going to Jim’s house?” Sunny asked.

“Tansie should be here any minute . . . but we’ll drop you off at home if you’ll be okay.”

“Sure, I’ll be fine. But don’t you want me to go with you?”

I shook my head. “I got to thinking about what you said about Jim’s cruddy behavior. I don’t think you need to be around him.”

She pursed her lips. “Then I don’t think you need to be around him either.”

“As soon as I get my questions answered,” I said with a smile, “I probably won’t be.”

“Just remember,” she said, pointing her finger at me, “don’t ever let yourself wind up alone with that man again. Got it?”

“Got it.” I laughed. “You’re a sight, young-un.”

“So are you, Mimi. So are you.”

* * *

I left Matlock home this trip. If Tansie wasn’t enough to scare Jim out of killing us both, then nothing would do the trick. Sunny played her music plumb to her house, and then I left it on to irk Tansie.

“Must we listen to that . . . noise?” Tansie asked, when she got from the back seat into the front.

“Well,” I said, quickly turning it off, “if you don’t like the music the young people are listening to today . . .” I didn’t particularly care for it either, but I had got used to it. Sunny and I listen to it every time we go somewhere. I can even join in on some of the choruses with her, although I have to admit the songs aren’t hard to learn. You don’t have to be an opera singer to scream, “Baby, baby, baby! Make me crazy! Crazy! Crazy!” at the top of your lungs, but it makes Sunny giggle when I sing with her. And I imagine you’ve already figured out, I’d do anything to make that young-un happy.

Me and Tansie didn’t have much to say to each other on the drive to Jim’s house. I suspect we were both lost in our own thoughts. I know I was anyway. Whether I found anything out or not, I was countin’ on this being my last trip to Jim’s house.

I might run in to him at another “melon” dance or something, but I wasn’t planning to date him anymore. What Sunny had said really got to me. Whether he killed Flora or not, he hadn’t treated her right for a long time, and I didn’t need to be mixed up with somebody like that. What I had to keep telling myself was that although Jim seemed like the nicest man in the world to me, that’s what he wanted me to believe. Not everybody that’s good at acting is on television.

We pulled into Jim’s driveway, and Tansie unbuckled her seat belt. I reckon she wanted to be the first one in the door, which was fine by me as long as she got her share of the meal fixings. I popped the trunk and hollered, “Tansie, don’t forget your groceries!”

“I’m not forgetting a thing. I merely want to make sure this isn’t a bad time before we unload this stuff.”

“He’s expecting us, Tansie.” I rolled my eyes and got my bag out of the trunk.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, “I’d forgotten.” She came back to get her bag, and I went on ahead of her. That’s what she gets for being so hasty.

“Hello!” I yelled, when I opened the door. It dawned on me that Jim might be sleeping and that would give us a chance to compare the noses, but too late, because I’d done hollered.

“I’m in the den!” Jim yelled back.

He sounded pretty chipper, so I guessed he was awake to begin with.

“Tansie and I are here to make you some good food,” I said, as I went into the den. “Did the casseroles I made you last a good while?”

“Yes, I ate the rest of the tuna casserole for lunch today. Both of them were delicious, and I truly appreciate you ladies taking such good care of me.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Tansie said, even though she hadn’t lifted a finger on those other two casseroles.

“Yes,” I said, “you are. It was my pleasure to prepare those two casseroles for you. I’m only sorry that Tansie came by and knocked me into the table and I spilled spaghetti sauce on your lovely tablecloth.” I gave Tansie a little grin. “I did pick it up from the cleaners, though, and they did a wonderful job. You can’t even tell it was ever stained.”

“Thank you,” Jim said. He rubbed his hands together. “What are you ladies cooking up this evening?”

I started to tell him he’d be surprised at what we’re cooking up, but I thought better of it.

Tansie jumped right in, of course. “We’re fixing you up a nice beef stew, some baked chicken, a three bean casserole, and I thought it would be good to fix you a nice cake since Myrtle neglected to make you any dessert last time she was here.”

“Chocolate?” Jim asked.

“Actually, it’s a lemon cake with white icing—my own recipe,” she said.

“Even better,” Jim said.

“Since when is lemon cake better than chocolate?” I asked. “If you’re in the mood for a chocolate cake, Jim, I’ll be glad to run down to the store and buy a chocolate cake mix.”

“Oh, no,” Jim said, “no, that’s quite all right. You ladies have done so much. I’d certainly hate to put you out further. Besides, I’m sure Tansie’s lemon cake will be delightful.”

“Don’t be too sure,” I said under my breath.

“What?” Tansie asked, putting her hands on her big ol’ hips.

I ignored her. “How are you feeling today, Jim? Have you taken any of your pain medication?”

“No, I haven’t had to use any of that today.” He made a fist and tapped himself on the head. “Knock wood.” He laughed like that saying might be something new to us. Tansie, naturally, laughed like a horse while I tried to think up a way to make Jim take his pain medication and fall asleep.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I said, “I need to get busy in the kitchen.” As I walked past Jim, I pretended to stumble and kicked his cast. He howled like a coon dog.

“Oh, goodness,” I said, “we’d better get you some of those pain pills. Where are they?”

He grunted. “No, I . . . I believe it’ll be okay. If I take that pain medicine, I’ll wind up going to sleep on you charming ladies and that would be unforgivably rude. I did you that way on Tuesday, Myrtle, and I still feel like a cad.”

“Ah, we don’t mind,” I said. “The main thing is that you get better. Now where’s the pain pills?”

“On the counter in the kitchen.”

“I’ll get them,” Tansie said, “and bring you a nice glass of water.”

She and I walked into the kitchen.

“How do you know it’s a nice glass of water?” I asked her. “It might be dirty. He don’t have one of them filters on his sink or anything.”

“It’s an expression, Myrtle. Boy, your mean streak is a mile wide today, ain’t it?”

“I’m just tryin’ to take care of what we came here to take care of,” I whispered. “We need him asleep so we can compare his and Flora’s noses.”

“I’m doin’ this just to shut you up,” Tansie said. “I don’t really think for one minute that Jim and Flora are the same person.”

“Well, I don’t think that either. But as I already told you, I’m a thorough investigator.”

She “humphed” and took Jim his medicine and his “nice” water.

I got to work flouring the chicken. Tansie came back in the kitchen and put Jim’s glass in the

sink.

“He take it?”

“Yes, Myrtle, I believe he did. I didn’t check under his tongue or anything, but I do think he took it.”

“You don’t have to get snippy.” I went back to breading my chicken and placing it in a pan.

“I’m bein’ snippy? I ain’t the one that kicked a man with a broken ankle.”

I lifted one shoulder. “It was more like a tap. Besides, if he didn’t take his medicine, how were we gonna get him to go to sleep?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “You could have a conversation with him and bore him to sleep.”

Now, don’t you know that burned me up? So I said, “Or you could sing to him—no, wait, we don’t want him to run away screaming with his ears bleeding.”

She glared at me. “I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to this.”

“Yeah, I knew it, too. You should’ve given me the pictures like I asked you to.”

“You’d a liked that, wouldn’t you? Then you coulda come back and told me that, sure enough, Jim’s and Flora’s noses were a perfect match and that I’d better stay away from him.” She shook a fat, crooked finger at me. “I know what you’re up to. You want Jim to yourself.”

“Is that what’s the matter with you?” I asked. “If that’s all it is, you can have him. I just hope he’s all better when it comes time to bury you ’cause that’s gonna be one heck of a hole.”

“Well, your—”

Just then, Jim popped around the corner. “Is there a problem, ladies? It sounded as if you were arguing.”

Tansie patted his arm. “A slight disagreement about recipes, I’m afraid.” She smiled. “Sorry we disturbed you. I’ll simply let Myrtle do this particular dish her way.”

“I thought I heard Flora’s name mentioned,” he said.

“You did,” I said. “How did Flora prepare her chicken?”

“Different ways. Does it matter?”

“I guess not,” I said, “unless you have a particular preference.”

“No,” he said. “I’m sure whatever you decide will be fine.”

“Alrighty then.” I turned him back toward the doorway. “Go on back to the den and relax. We’ll holler when it’s done.”

I realized I’d made flour hand prints on his shoulders, but I decided to keep my mouth shut and finish getting my chicken ready for the oven.

As soon as I was pretty sure Jim was out of earshot, I asked Tansie in a real low voice, “Still think he’s a lifelong bachelor?”

She shot me a hateful look and flew in to making her nasty lemon cake.

As soon as I got my chicken in the oven, I tiptoed down the hall to check on Jim. He had the television on, and Hoss Cartwright was ridin’ into town. Jim’s eyes were closed.

I hurried back to the kitchen. “He’s asleep,” I hissed at Tansie. “Get the pictures.”

“I’m right in the middle of stirring my cake.”

“Fine. I’ll get the pictures.”

“Oh, no, you won’t, Myrtle Crumb. You ain’t leavin’ me outta this.” She stopped stirring and grabbed the envelope containing the pictures. “But if my cake’s ruined, it’s your fault.”

“Huh. Don’t hang that wreath on my door.”

She took the sheet of pictures out of the envelope and started down the hall. I stayed right on her heels.

We eased up to the side of the couch and looked back and forth from Jim’s nose to Flora’s nose. It was a tough call.

“What do you think?” I whispered to Tansie.

“About what?” Jim asked.

I glanced at Tansie out of the corners of my eyes and saw that she looked like a big ol’ barn owl. I figured I did, too, but I’m a detective and I knew I had to make a speedy recovery.  “Uh . . . we’re trying to decide whether or not your nose—”

Tansie nearly knocked the wind out of me when she elbowed me in the ribs. I elbowed her back and finished. “Whether or not your nose is made like that guy’s who used to do the . . . uh . . . the toilet paper commercials.”

“You think my nose looks like the nose of a guy who used to advertise toilet tissue?” Jim asked, frowning.

“A little,” I said. “Remember? He was the one who didn’t want you to go around squeezing toilet paper, but he did it all the time. You know, you both have that little bulb thing there on the ends of your noses, and . . . and the nostrils are similar.”

“Let me see.” He reached for the photo sheet, but Tansie jerked it out of his reach.

“You can’t,” she said. “You can’t see this.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“It’d embarrass us,” I said. “He’s naked, except for one roll of toilet paper . . . strategically placed.”

“You—” Jim rubbed his eyes. “You have a nude photograph of the toilet paper man?”

I lifted my palms. “Takes all kinds; you know it?” I sniffed the air. “I’d better get back to the kitchen and check on that chicken.”

As I hurried down the hall, I said a quick prayer. You never know when your number’ll get called—especially when you’re hangin’ out with a murder suspect—and I sure didn’t want to meet Jesus with a slanderous lie about Mr. Wipple on my record.

“We’re gonna go straight to hell,” Tansie whispered as soon as she walked into the kitchen. She even looked down as if the floor just might open up and swallow us right then and there.

“You might be,” I said, “but I ain’t. I’ve done asked forgiveness.”

She sighed. “What’re we gonna do now?”

“We’re gonna finish makin’ up this food, and then we’re getting outta here.” I nodded. “Hurry up with that cake.”