Gayle Trent (7 page)

“Among other things,” she muttered.

The next house was Jim’s. He answered the door wearing a yellow polo shirt and khaki slacks. Very dapper. I was glad because—killer, or not—I’d gone out with him and I didn’t want Sunny to think I’d date a slob.

“Hello, Myrtle! This must be Sunny.” He extended his hand, and Sunny shook hands with him very politely. Then Jim bent down to pet Matlock. “Aren’t you a handsome fella? Oh, Myrtle, I’m so glad you saved him.” His voice had changed to a falsetto coo.

“I am, too,” I said. “It’s been wonderful having him around.”

Jim straightened. “Won’t you come in?”

“We have a lot of ground to cover yet, but I suppose we could come in for a second.”

Jim held the door, and I motioned Sunny in ahead of me. When I got in, I looked around the immaculate living room. A taupe couch sat beneath a beautiful watercolor of a lake in summertime. A glass-topped coffee table was in front of the couch, and there wasn’t a thing on it—not a thing! It almost made me embarrassed to think of my own cluttered coffee table. Light blue wing-backed chairs with a taupe stripe running through them completed the airy arrangement.

“You have a beautiful home, Jim,” I said.

“Thank you. Now, young lady,” he said to Sunny, “tell me about this charity you’re doing all this work for.”

“Actually,” Sunny said, “it’s not really a charity. It’s the shelter where Mimi got Matlock.” She shrugged. “Maybe if we give them some money, they can afford to keep the animals a little longer.”

He smiled. “A noble cause indeed. Let me see what you have here.” He chose five candy bars and gave Sunny a five-dollar-bill. “I have something for you, too,” he said to Matlock.

He went into the kitchen and got the dog a piece of ham. Matlock inhaled it. I don’t think he chewed a single time. Then he wagged his tail and stared up at Jim in hopes of another treat.

“We really need to finish up in the neighborhood so I can get Sunny home.” I smiled at Jim. “I hope you enjoy your candy.”

He patted his flat stomach. “I’m sure I will. I’ll call you tomorrow, if that’s all right.”

“That’ll be fine.”

Sunny and I walked up the street toward the next house. “Did we overcharge him?” she asked under her breath.

“Who knows? It’s not like this thing is structured in any way, shape, form or fashion. Besides, it’s for ‘a noble cause indeed,’ you know.”

“I guess. By the way, did you notice there wasn’t a single photograph in sight?”

“Mmm-hmm. The living room was beautifully decorated. Maybe he and Flora kept their photographs and other personal mementos in another room . . . maybe in the den or bedroom . . . you know, so the living room would remain more formal for receiving guests.”

“Maybe,” she said, “but I still think it’s kinda weird.”

We hurriedly visited the rest of the houses and wound up selling eight more candy bars. We got home about thirty minutes after Faye got home from work. I walked Sunny to the door and stuck my head in to say “hello” to Faye.

“Hi,” I called. “Whatever you’re having for dinner sure does smell good.”

Faye stepped out of the kitchen into the hallway. “Hey, Mother. We’re having lasagna.” She saw that Matlock was with me and gave us both a disgusted frown. “I’d invite you to stay, but—” She let the rest of it hang there in the air between us.

“Mooooom,” Sunny wailed, “come off it. Matlock won’t hurt anything.”

Faye ignored her protest. “Go get washed up please.”

“Yeah, honey,” I said. “You go on ahead. Matlock and I have plans anyway.”

“You sure, Mimi?” Sunny asked. “Really?”

“Positive. Good-night, sweetie.” I nodded. “Faye.”

I took Matlock through the drive-through at a local burger place and got us both burgers and fries. I added chicken strips to Matlock’s order. I hoped the extra food would buy me enough time to enjoy my burger.

On the drive home, I calculated that over the course of a lifetime, I’d made dinner two thousand three hundred ninety two times for Faye when I hadn’t felt like it, not to mention the times I’d made her dinner when I had felt like it. Would it have killed her to give me and my dog a lousy plate of lasagna?

* * *

The next morning while me and Matlock were laying on the couch watching “The Golden Girls,” the phone rang. I almost didn’t answer it because it was the episode where Rose was dating a midget, and it’s a real hoot. On the other hand, I thought it might be Faye callin’ to apologize for how she treated me last night; and I certainly deserved an apology, so I answered the phone. Glad I didn’t hold my breath in hopes it was Faye because obviously she hadn’t grown a conscience overnight where her mother is concerned. Instead, it was Jim.

“Good morning, Myrtle,” he said. “Did you and that darling granddaughter of yours have a successful evening selling candy bars?”

“I think we did fair,” I said. “Thank you for your support. Did you enjoy any of your candy bars last night?”

“Unfortunately, no. About an hour or so after you left, I was on my way downstairs with a load of laundry when I took a tumble and broke my ankle.”

“You, what? You broke an ankle? Oh, my goodness, and you there by yourself!”

“It was okay. I have a phone down there, so I just crawled toit and called 9-1-1. A friend was kind enough to pick me up at the emergency room after the bone was set and everything.”

“I wish you’d have called me. I’d have been glad to help out.”

“I know that, dear, but it was so far out of your way. I didn’t want to be any trouble.”

“Are you in much pain?”

“It’s not bad,” Jim said. “Of course, I can say that because I’m on pain killers.” He chuckled.

“Bless your heart. I’ll go get ready right now, and I’ll be over there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail

to fix you some lunch.”

“You’re terribly kind, but I can manage.”

“I won’t hear of it. See you soon.” With that, I hung up.

“Come on, Matlock. You and I have to go tend to the sick . . .and snoop around in his house.” I was still bent on finding a picture of Flora.

Just as I was getting ready to go out the door, Bettie called. I quickly explained the situation and told her I had to go. I noticed Tansie’s living room curtains swishing when I went outside. I’d about bet you a dollar that Bettie had called her before I’d even got backed out of the driveway. Sure enough, when I got to Jim’s house, I saw straight away that another woman had beat me to the punch. But it wasn’t Tansie by a long shot.

CHAPTER SIX

I opened the door to get out of the car, and Matlock bounded out over top of me. He didn’t even stop to do his business before loping over to look up in adoration at the lovely blonde princess standing on Jim’s porch.

“Dang fickle males,” I muttered, as I got out of the car and slammed the door shut. I straightened my back and lifted my chin. The closer I got to the porch, the younger and prettier Blondie got.

She looked up and smiled as I got to the porch steps. “Hi! You must be Myrtle. Papaw Jim said you were coming!”

“Papaw?”

She laughed. “Oh, he’s not really. It’s just that he and my daughter have adopted each other, and now our whole family calls him Papaw Jim . . . even my husband.” She laughed again, and I realized what a sweet little laugh she had . . . sort of like tinkling bells or something . . . . Really. “I’m Cynthia Courte,” she said. “C.C. for short.”

“Well, you guessed right. I’m Myrtle. It’s nice to meet you.”

She patted Matlock’s head. “I’ve heard all about this guy, too. Papaw Jim’s a big-time animal lover.”

“Do you live nearby?” I asked.

“Just a couple miles away. We met Papaw Jim when he volunteered at Mary’s pre-school. Mary fell in love with him; and when we learned he was a widower, we began inviting him to dinner a couple times a week.”

“How very thoughtful of you.”

C.C. shrugged. “It just tears my heart out, you know? The poor guy all alone. I don’t know what he’d have done last night without Lawrence—that’s my husband—to drive him home from the ER.”

I nodded. “I’m glad he has such good friends. How long have you known him?”

“About a year, I guess. Like I said, it’s a shame such a sweetheart as Papaw Jim is alone . . . no wife, no kids.” She smiled coyly. “But, who knows? Maybe he won’t be alone for long.”

I smiled back at her but changed the subject. “How’s he feeling?”

“By now, he’s probably a nervous wreck and in great pain.” She giggled. “I’d better get Mary out of there before she kills him!” She stuck her head in the door. “Mary, darling, come on! We have to get home!”

A miniature version of C.C.—except this one had a halo of flyaway curls—hopped onto the porch. The blue eyes got as big as saucers when she saw Matlock.

“Poppy!” she squealed. “Poppy!” She held out a hand and Matlock licked it. She wrinkled her nose and chortled gleefully.

C.C. picked the child up. “Can you say ‘hello’ to Myrtle? She’s Papaw Jim’s friend.”

Mary looked at me and then pointed to Matlock. “Poppy!”

“You like the puppy?” I smiled and ruffled those silky blonde curls. “She’s precious,” I said to C.C. “No wonder Jim adopted her for his granddaughter.”

“Thank you,” C.C. said. “We’ve adopted him, too.” She shook her head. “It’s so sad. He told us once that he and Flora had always wanted children, but they couldn’t have any.”

“Hmmm. Wonder why they never adopted?”

She shook her head. “Dunno. But, I’d better get home and get supper started.”

“It really was nice meeting you,” I said.

“Nice meeting you, too, Myrtle. I hope we see more of each other.”

She certainly hadn’t hidden the fact that she hoped Jim and I would get married and live happily ever after. As I walked into Jim’s house, I couldn’t help but wonder about all the inconsistencies about Flora. He’d been going to Smiddy’s for over two years meeting different women for dinner; C.C. had known him for a year and thought he was a widower the entire time; and the neighbor had never seen the couple together. Weird.

I stood on the porch and waved at C.C. and little Mary as they drove away, and then I went inside.

“Jim,” I called. “It’s me, Myrtle.”

“Come on in,” he hollered. “I’m in the den . . . down the hall to your right.”

Matlock loped ahead of me, following the sound of Jim’s voice.

“Hey, big fella,” Jim cooed to Matlock in that effeminate dog-talking voice that was really starting to get on my nerves. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

I walked into the den. It had a manlier décor than the living room, and it seemed much cozier; but I still didn’t spot any family photos. Jim half-sat half-lay on a brown leather sofa with a cream colored blanket over his legs.

“How’re you feeling?” I asked.

He lifted one shoulder. “I’m okay. Really. You didn’t have to come all this way and play nursemaid.” His eyes twinkled as he spoke, giving me the feeling he did want me here despite his protests.

“I didn’t come to play nursemaid,” I said. “I came to play cook. Anything you need before I get started?”

Jim grinned. “My crutches and the television remote, please. Mary knocked the crutches over, and I don’t know what she did with the remote.”

I sat the crutches back up against the couch, and I found the remote on a nearby bookshelf. “That Mary is a doll. C.C. seems pleasant, too.”

“Ah, the Courtes are wonderful people . . . especially Mary. She’s meant a great deal to me.”

“I can see why. If she lived near me, I’d have her spoiled rotten . . . not that you don’t!” I handed him the remote. “There. You and Matlock find something decent to watch while I get some cooking done.”

I left “the boys” watching a game show, and I went into Jim’s kitchen to see what I had to work with. I’d stopped by the grocery store and bought the makings for both a tuna casserole and a spaghetti casserole, and I hoped Jim would have the pans I’d need. Thankfully, he did, and I flew in to making my casseroles.

The kitchen was spotless, which surprised me since Jim was living here alone. Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised me since the rest of the house was so clean, but it did. If something had happened to me and Crandall had lived in our house by himself for any more than two days, the whole house would have been a disaster area—the kitchen especially so. I could imagine coffee cups and cereal bowls stacked from sink to ceiling while TV dinner cartons overflowed from the trash can. But Jim’s kitchen was all oak cabinets and white tile, and there wasn’t a speck of dirt anywhere.

As I was rolling me a crust to put on the top of my tuna casserole, the oven light went off, lettin’ me know it was hot enough to bake the tuna pie. I put the crust on and crimped the edges with more care that I usually take. Didn’t want Jim to think I was a sloppy cook, you know. I put the casserole in the oven, checked the clock, and then blew into the spaghetti pot to keep it from boiling over.

Well, low and behold, the doorbell rang. You ain’t gonna believe who it was. Okay, you probably will believe it—it was Tansie. I went to the door, and there stood the big ol’ blousy thing wearing so much makeup that Jezebel herself wouldn’t have been caught dead in the woods lookin’ like that. That Tammy Faye might’ve, though. Remember her? She’s the one that used to say the Lord loved her and wanted her to be pretty . . . or something like that. Well, God love her, she must’ve thought the Lord wanted her to be a clown; and Tansie was lookin’ a might “Clarabelle” herself today.