Gayle Trent (15 page)

“It probably won’t set up now.”

I got out the Dutch oven for the beef stew. “Just hush up and do it, all right?”

She peeped out into the hall. “You think he believed us?”

“I don’t know. What I do know is that the sooner we get this done and get out of here, the better off we’ll be.”

“What did you think about the nose?” she whispered.

I blew out a breath and handed her the mixing bowl and spoon. “If you’re gonna stand here and yammer, at least stir while you yammer.”

She stirred the cake batter. “Well? What did you think?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. What did you think?”

“I don’t know, either.” She moved back over to the counter to pour the cake batter into a sheet cake pan. “But if he turns out not to be a freak or a killer, though, will you back off and let me have him?”

Can you believe her? “By all means,” I told her.

* * *

I hadn’t been home for more than thirty minutes when the phone rang.

“Hello?” Nothing. “Hello?” I repeated.

I was about to hang up when a woman asked, “Is this Myrtle?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“This is Flora Adams. Can we meet somewhere?”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Flora? Flora Adams?” I know I sounded like a myna bird, but I was in shock.

“Yes,” she said. “Can we meet?”

“Uh . . . where do you want to meet?” I asked. “Smiddy’s?”

“No, Smiddy’s is too public. I want to have a private conversation with you without lots of prying ears around.”

“I see.” I said that, but I didn’t see at all. Why would this woman want to meet with me? To tell me to stay away from her husband? To kill me? To let me know that she left of her own free will and that Jim didn’t kill her? To see the non-existent nudie picture of Mr. Wipple?

“Why don’t we meet at the park near your home?” she asked. “I know there are lots of joggers around, so you won’t have to feel nervous. After all, I am a stranger to you.”

“Yes, you are.” I glanced over at Matlock, who was patiently sitting there waggin’ his tail. “Why do you want to meet with me?”

“To talk with you about Jim, of course. I’m afraid I’ve left him in an awful pickle . . . though much of it is his own fault.”

“So, you want to meet at the park, huh? I hate for you to have to come all this way. Wouldn’t it be better—”

“As a matter of fact, I’m already at the park. That’s where I’m calling from. Would you mind coming over now?”

I looked out the window. The sun was setting and it would be getting dark soon. “Yeah. I’ll come right over. But we need to make this quick. I have things to do this evening.”

“I promise this won’t take long.”

“Where in the park do you wanna meet?” I asked.

“How about the bench near the creek?”

“That’ll be fine. See you soon.”

I hung up the phone and looked at Matlock. “Well, this takes the cake,” I told him. “We’re going to the park, but you stick close to me in case this nut case tries to do me in.”

He wagged his tail. I think all he heard was “we’re going to the park.”

* * *

By the time I got to the park, it was dusk. I’d changed into a yellow jogging suit because I figured it would stand out even in the dark. An old lady beating what might appear to onlookers to be one of those smaller school buses and trying to push it in the creek would surely raise some eyebrows. Faye had bought me this ugly jogging suit. Because she’s a redhead, she looks good in yellow, so she thinks everybody else does, too. Well, I don’t. Still, I’m glad I had the thing when I needed it.

I was also carrying me a big metal flashlight. I figured it could serve two purposes—to beat her off me if the need arose or to get the heck out of the park. I started to do a “sic, her, Matlock” dry run, but I was afraid he might really attack somebody and we’d get arrested or thrown out of the park before I could find out what Flora wanted with me.

Matlock was thrilled to be at the park. He wanted to smell everything everywhere. I let him because I wasn’t all that eager to get to Flora. The dog flushed a rabbit out of a bush, and I nearly had a heart attack when the little creature ran past me. Matlock wanted to give chase, and it took every ounce of strength I had to hold him. Who does he think I am—Alice in Wonderland? I don’t have time to chase rabbits. I’m too busy with would-be killers and nut cases.

I got Matlock settled down and we continued along the jogging path to where Flora said she’d be waiting. I couldn’t fathom why she’d want to talk with me, but I didn’t feel like much good could come out of it.

My palms were sweaty by the time I got close to the black wrought iron bench near the creek. A woman was sittin’ there with her back to me. She had longish gray hair with white streaks that looked to me like she had them put in there by a professional. She had on a green cardigan, and when I stepped around the side of the bench, I saw that she had a plaid throw across her lap. She was knitting something orange. I couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a scarf, a baby blanket, or something to strangle me with. Crandall would’ve turned over in his grave at the thought of somebody strangling me with UT colors.

“Flora?” I asked.

“Hello, Myrtle, dear,” she said, not looking up from her knitting yet. “Have a seat. I won’t be but a second.”

I sat down and she finished counting out her row. I’ve heard of people getting stabbed with knitting needles. Haven’t you? Or have you? Maybe I made that up because I was nervous. Anyway, I don’t think they allow them on airplanes anymore, so there you go.

She put her yarn and knitting needles into a tote bag that sat on the ground to her left. Naturally, I was looking at her face really close to see whether or not she looked like Jim. She resembled him a little but not enough to make me believe Jim was some sort of cross-dresser.

“Jim likes you very much,” she said, turning to look at me.

“He told me he was a widower.” I bit my bottom lip. “I’d never run around with a married man.”

“Oh, I know that.”

“You do?”

“Of course. Jim thinks very highly of you. I know everything about Jim . . . and he knows most things about me.”

“Does he think you’re dead?”

She looked at the trees reflected in the creek. Then she looked up and pointed. “Ah, there’s the North Star.”

“You gonna make a wish?”

She laughed. “I would if it would help. But it wouldn’t.” She looked at Matlock. “Come here, darling.”

Naturally, he went to her like he’d known her all his life. Big help he’d be if she decided to gouge my heart out with those knitting needles.

She patted his head and then turned back to me. “I’d like to explain a few things to you. That’s why I’m here.”

“All right.”

“Jim was so young when his mother died—only five—though he was four when she became ill. It’s a terrible, terrible thing for a child to watch his mother die.”

“I can imagine.”

“No, you can’t,” she said, “unless you watched your own mother die . . . as a child, I mean. He could hardly bear the thought of living without her.” She smiled. “But, I was there, and I helped him through it.”

“But you had to have been a child yourself.”

“In some ways, yes; but in other ways, I was mature . . . nurturing. I wanted to be a mother to him. He needed one so desperately.”

“Didn’t he have anyone else?” I asked. “Any grandmothers, aunts—”

“No, just his father, and he had to work so Jim and I were there alone most of the time.”

“You must’ve come to see him every day.”

“I did.” She smiled. “Every day, every night. Whenever he needed me, I was there. I was always there.”

It was getting darker, so I leaned in closer to get a better look at her. She was beginning to give me the creeps. A breeze lifted my hair off my forehead and I shivered slightly.

“When he entered adolescence,” Flora continued, “he began to prefer other girls to me. I could understand that, and I was even willing to share him.” She stared at the trees reflected in the creek’s clear water. “I’d come to need him as much as he’d once needed me.”

She fell silent, and I didn’t say anything either. I mean, what do you say to that? After a few seconds, she went on.

“When he graduated high school, he signed right up for the armed forces. I told him that was a mistake, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He saw some terrible things in the Korean War, and when he came home, he was happy to have me near him again. For a long while—thirty-five years, to be exact—life was wonderful. Jim got a good job, and I was our homemaker . . . the way it should be. About five years ago, I took a job working a few hours a week at the library. Jim and I were truly content.” She frowned. “Oh, he’d get ornery at times and wish me gone, but I never took him seriously. Never, that is, until a couple of years ago when he started seeing Dr. Moorefield.”

“Dr. Moorefield?” I echoed.

She nodded. “Yes. He’s some sort of psychiatrist. He told Jim he had ‘internalized imaginary companion disorder’ or some such nonsense and tried to get Jim to drive me away.”

This really was Jim. I reached out and touched Flora’s face. It felt rubbery, and I drew back. “You need some help,” I whispered.

“Oh, no, dear; I’m fine. You’re the one who needs help. You see, Jim heard you talking with Tansie earlier and he knows that you think he might’ve killed me. I wanted you to know that isn’t true. He has a dear friend in you, and I don’t want you to be driven away.” She chuckled. “That’s literally what he tried to do when he abandoned my car—drive me away.” She shook her head. “I know you found the note I put in my purse—the purse I took to Marcia’s. I recognized it the minute I saw you at the dance that night.”

“You were there with Jim? At the dance?”

“Of course. I’m always with Jim . . . whether he realizes it or not.” She smiled. “I’ll never leave him. Not completely.”

She touched my hand, and I caught my breath.

“But just so you’ll know,” she said, “I put the note in that purse to be mean. I wanted to punish Jim for wanting to be rid of me. After I did it, I regretted it . . . especially after I met you. I’d hate for you to spurn our friendship—Jim’s and mine—because of some silly, misguided note.”

“I understand.” I looked at my watch. “I’d better be going now.”

“It was nice chatting with you, Myrtle, dear. We’ll see you soon.”

“Um . . . sure. Okay.”

I stood and gave Matlock’s leash a slight but insistent tug. As we started walkin’ away, I noticed a pair of crutches layin’ underneath the bench.

“Don’t stay out in this night air too long,” I told Flora/Jim. “I’d hate for you to catch a cold.”

“Thank you, dear.” Flora had gone back to her knitting and didn’t look up.

* * *

As soon as I got back home, I called Sheriff Norville. He wasn’t in, of course, so I left him a message telling him about Jim, Flora and Dr. Moorefield. Then I went and took a long hot bath. I felt drained.

When I got out of the bathtub and went into the bedroom, Matlock was already in bed waiting for me. I got under the covers and took the remote out of the nightstand. “Let’s see if we can find something funny.”

As I was clicking from one channel to the next, the phone rang. I figured it was Sheriff Norville, so I picked it up right away. It wasn’t the sheriff. It was Faye.

“Hi, honey,” I said.

“Hi, Mother. Listen, I want to apologize for what I said last night. I’ve given what you said a lot of thought, and I don’t think Barry is really right for me after all.”

“I just want you to be happy,” I told her.

“I know. Hey, Crimson and I wondered if we could come over for dinner tomorrow evening. We’ll come early and help fix the food. We’d just like to spend some time with you . . . both of us would.”

“Why don’t I come over there? I know you’re allergic to Matlock, and—”

“I’ll take an allergy pill. I’d really like to have dinner there with you.”

“Okay. What’ll we have?”

“How about spaghetti and meatballs?” she asked.

“Sounds good to me, honey. I’ll look forward to seeing you.”

“Maybe we can stay with you a little while . . . maybe watch a movie or play a game or something.”

“Great.”

I hung up the phone and felt so much better that I went right to sleep.

* * *

“I’m becomin’ plumb newfangled,” I told Matlock as I took a loaf of Italian bread out of the bread machine. “But these things are as handy as can be.”

The meatballs were still a hundred percent homemade, though, and by the time Faye and Sunny got there, the house smelled like an Italian restaurant.

Sunny ran and gave me a squeeze around the waist. “Yum, Mimi! Everything smells great!”

“Let’s hope it will be.” I let a reluctant Matlock outside while we ate and promised to save him some spaghetti and meatballs and even a slice of buttered bread.