Murder Shoots the Bull (6 page)

“We do eat some strange stuff,” Lisa said.

“Like what?”

“Boiled peanuts.”

“Boiled peanuts aren’t strange.”

I was fixing the sandwiches and half listening to their conversation. Next door, Mitzi’s car pulled into the driveway.

“Mitzi’s home,” I said. “I’m going to run the casserole over to her.”

“Arthur’s first wife died,” Sister explained to Lisa.

“Mr. Phizer was married before?” Lisa was as startled as we had been.

“And the first wife was murdered. Poisoned yesterday at the Hunan Hut. We saw it all.” To emphasize what we had witnessed, Sister lolled her head to one side and shook a little.

“Good Lord!” Lisa’s eyes widened. “What happened?”

I thought Mary Alice’s dramatics had made that clear enough.

“The police think somebody killed her, apparently.” I handed each of them a sandwich. “It’s real sad. She was at the Hunan Hut having lunch with Arthur.”

Sister nodded. “A pretty woman. Couldn’t walk very well what with the poison and circulatory problems.” She took a bite of her sandwich.

“The first wife?” Lisa looked from one of us to the other. “Mrs. Phizer’s okay, isn’t she?”

“Mitzi’s okay.” I stuck the souffle back in the microwave. “Just upset.”

“Who did it?” Lisa still hadn’t picked up her sandwich.

“Maybe nobody, I still think it might have been the peanuts. That’s what it looked like, a bad allergic reaction.” I set the timer.

“Let’s don’t talk about this while we’re eating. Mama always said not to talk about religion, politics, or murder while you’re eating.” Sister took another bite of her sandwich.

“Mama never said a word about murder.” The microwave dinged and I took the casserole out.

Mary Alice nodded that yes, she had.

But Lisa ignored her. “Well, poison’s a pretty effective way. Probably better than a gun. You remember when President Reagan was shot? The bullet bounced off a rib. That was what saved him.”

Mary Alice put her sandwich down. “Coralee Gibbons, you say? That’s an old-fashioned name.”

It worked. Lisa changed subjects in a flash.

“I know. It sounds like someone’s grandmother. She may be for all I know. God knows she’s old enough.”

I picked up the casserole, told them I would be back in a few minutes, and walked across the yard.

“How’re you doing?” I asked when Mitzi answered the back door.

“Okay, I guess.”

She didn’t look okay. She looked exhausted. I held out the casserole.

“Thanks, Patricia Anne. I haven’t even thought about food. Come on in.”

“I can’t. Mary Alice and Lisa are here.”

“Alan’s Lisa?”

“There may be a little trouble in paradise.”

“Oh, Patricia Anne, I’m sorry.”

“They’ll work it out.”

“Sure they will.”

“Is Arthur okay?”

“I think so. He found out that Sophie wanted to be cremated. She wants her ashes sprinkled from the observation tower at Vulcan.”

“From Vulcan? Is that legal?”

“I don’t know. He’s trying to find out.”

“Well, let me know if there’s anything we can do to help.”

“I will.”

I walked back to my own kitchen. When I came in the door, Mary Alice was telling Lisa about Cedric, the Englishman.

“Pencil-thin mustache, pencil-thin fingers. And you know what that means.”

Lisa was actually laughing. “Aunt Sister. You didn’t!”

“Of course not. He even had little bitty ears.” She paused. “But he was real nice. Talked a lot about Dunkirk.”

“What’s Dunkirk?” Lisa wanted to know.

I
f Fred had thought he was coming home for a quiet evening of supper and watching the Braves, he quickly found out he was wrong.

“I’m taking Woofer for his walk,” I told Lisa.

“Okay.” She looked up from the sofa where she was reading the new
Vanity Fair
. Muffin was stretched out beside her. “If the phone rings, I’m going to let the machine answer. It might be Alan.”

And she ought to talk to him, I thought. But I didn’t say anything. I put Woofer’s leash on him and we walked to the corner to wait for Fred. When I saw the car, I waved him down.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, as I opened the back door, shoved Woofer in, and then got in the front seat.

“Lisa’s at our house, and I need to talk to you.”

“What’s Lisa doing here?”

“Drive and I’ll tell you.”

He drove. Woofer leaned his head over the seat and slobbered happily. I reached in my pocket for a Kleenex.

“We’d better go to the park,” Fred said. “What’s going on?”

“She and Alan are having trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Woman trouble.”

“Alan?” Fred looked at me in disbelief.

“That’s what she says. Some woman in Alan’s office named Coralee Gibbons. In her forties with grown children.”

We had stopped at a four-way stop. Fred waved the man on our left to go ahead. “You were here first, buddy.” Then to me, “Have you talked to Alan?”

“No. Debbie tried to call him. Lisa went to Debbie’s first. But she couldn’t get him and then she had to go to court so she left word for him to call us, that Lisa was at our house.”

“And he hasn’t called.”

“Nope. And I tried to call the boys after I knew they’d be home from school and nobody answered.”

Fred pulled into the five-car parking lot adjacent to the two tennis courts. This is a small neighborhood park designed mostly for senior citizens who play chess and checkers in a large gazebo fancifully called the Sunday Bandstand. The swings and slides are toddler size, guaranteeing that the seniors won’t be bothered by rambunctious older children. The tennis courts and a basketball court, demanded by the tax-paying parents of former toddlers, are over on the side behind a chain link fence.

Surprisingly, for such lovely weather, the park was deserted except for two old gentlemen who sat on a bench, each smoking a pipe. I was suddenly reminded of a poem, “Old Friends.” I tried to remember who wrote it and the exact words, but they escaped me. Something about sitting on a bench like bookends. The poem was sad; I remembered
that. The friends were waiting. Waiting while the shadows lengthened. I shivered. I had just remembered the other news I had for Fred.

Woofer wasn’t allowed in the park, so we sat on a bench beside the basketball court. The concrete was still warm, and he stretched out at our feet with a dog-sigh of contentment.

“What kind of shape is Lisa in?” Fred asked.

“Not too good.”

“Doesn’t sound like Alan, does it? I thought they were getting along just fine.”

I agreed. I didn’t mention Sister’s theory of bimbo territory and the fact that Alan was smack in the middle of it.

Fred reached down to rub the gray hair between Woofer’s ears. “They’re not getting a divorce are they?”

“Oh, Lord, I hope not. I don’t know how far it’s gone. Lisa said he wouldn’t go for counseling.”

“Well, damn.”

The two old men got up and strolled out of the park, closing the gate behind them.

“That’s not all.”

Fred looked up in alarm. “The boys?”

“No. This isn’t about Alan and Lisa. You know that lady that died yesterday at the Hunan Hut? I told you how Arthur was stroking her hand?”

He nodded.

“The police say she was poisoned.”

“Poisoned!” Fred spoke so loudly, the two men turned to see if everything was all right, decided it was, and continued walking. “What on God’s earth?”

“Mitzi came over this morning, saying the woman was Arthur’s first wife and that somebody had murdered her.”

“Arthur had a first wife? Our Arthur Phizer?”

“Well, it was a teenage thing and their folks had it annulled, so I’m not sure it counts.”

Fred didn’t say anything so I continued. “Her name was
Sophie Sawyer and she was back here from Chicago because she was in bad health.”

Fred still didn’t say anything.

“Diabetes and circulatory problems,” I added. “And her daughter lives here.”

“Who did it?”

“They don’t know.”

The two of us sat like bookends while the shadows lengthened. From the nearby fire station we could hear a radio or TV turned to the early evening news.

“You got any more news for me?”

The tone of the question flew all over me. Hell, I was only the messenger. A messenger who had had a godawful day.

I jumped up so quickly that Woofer looked up in surprise.

“As a matter of fact, I do. If you want any damned supper, you’re going to have to go to Morrison’s.”

“Well, hell. What’s the matter with you, Patricia Anne?”

He said it to my back. I was stomping toward the car.

Just before we got home, I broke the silence. “Don’t say anything about Lisa’s hair.”

“What’s wrong with her hair?”

“It’s white and sticks straight up in little bunches.”

“What?”

“God’s truth.”

We looked at each other. At first it was a tentative smile for each of us, and then it was laughter, the oh, hell, everything’s so bad it’s funny laughter. The kind of laughter that keeps people married for forty years.

We pulled into our driveway and parked behind Lisa’s car. Fred reached over and took my hand. “Tell you what. Let’s go see if Lisa wants to go to Morrison’s. If she doesn’t, we can bring her something.”

But Lisa wasn’t there. A note, propped on the kitchen table, said, Gone to dinner with Aunt Sister. Love, Lisa.

I picked up the phone to see if there were any messages. There weren’t.

“Try Alan’s house again,” Fred said.

I dialed and, surprisingly, Alan answered.

“Son?” I said. It came out as a question.

“Hey, Mama.”

“Your papa wants to talk to you.” I handed a startled Fred the phone and walked into the den.

“What’s going on, Son?” I heard him ask.

I turned on the TV. The local news was on. A picture of a much younger Sophie Sawyer filled the screen. Murdered. Prominent family. I reached over and snapped it off.

In the kitchen “Un huh” seemed to be all that Fred was saying.

I went down the hall pulling off my clothes. I turned on the shower as hot as I could stand it and stepped in, letting the water pound against me.

In a few minutes, Fred joined me.

“What did he say?” I asked, moving over to make room.

“Damn, this water’s hot.” Fred moved to the corner of the shower stall. “He says it’s his fault. He says he’s been involved with this other woman.”

“Damn,” I said. “Damn.”

“You got that right.”

“Turn around.” I soaped a washrag and washed his back, kissing various and sundry spots. Then he scrubbed my back, also doing some kissing. But that was as far as it went. By the time
Wheel of Fortune
came on, we were in front of the TV in our robes eating the tuna fish salad I had made for lunch. Better than Morrison’s.

Fred was asleep in his chair when Mary Alice and Lisa came rushing in.

“There are two police cars over at the Phizers’,” Sister exclaimed.

“Two,” Lisa repeated.

“Reckon what they’re doing?” Sister disappeared into the dining room with Lisa trailing right behind.

“What’s going on?” Fred came awake.

“Don’t know. They say there are two police cars over at the Phizers’.” I got up and followed them.

“Don’t turn on the lights,” Sister cautioned. She and Lisa had each claimed a side of the draperies for peeking. “Look there, Lisa. Another car.”

“Three of them?” I peeked through the middle of the draperies. Sure enough, two cars were parked on the street. The one Sister was talking about pulled into the driveway.

Sister sneezed. “Damn, Mouse. These draperies are full of dust. When did you have them cleaned last?”

“Not long ago.” Actually I couldn’t remember it had been so long.

“They’re getting out of the car,” Lisa said.

We watched two policemen walk up to the Phizers’ door and go in.

“Damn, something’s really going on.” Sister sneezed again. “They don’t send three patrol cars out for nothing.”

“Maybe they’re fixing to arrest Mr. Phizer for murdering his first wife.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Lisa.” It popped out sharper than I meant it to.

But Lisa was too caught up in her imagination to take offense. “Or maybe it’s Mrs. Phizer they’re arresting.”

“What’s happening?” Fred was standing in the doorway.

“There are three police cars at the Phizers’,” Sister said. “Come look. But don’t get too close to the drapes. They’re loaded with dust mites.”

He came and peered over my head.

“The third one just came up,” Lisa announced happily.
“I think they’re going to arrest one of the Phizers for poisoning that lady.”

“Hmm.” Fred took the scene in, nodded, and then said what every married man would say, given these circumstances. “Patricia Anne, why don’t you go call Mitzi and find out what’s going on?”

“Right now while the police are there?”

“Something could be wrong with one of them. They might need some help.”

I felt guilty that I hadn’t thought of that.

Lisa clutched the drapery. “Maybe Mrs. Phizer killed Mr. Phizer. Or vice versa.”

“The rescue squad’s not there. If one of them had had an accident or a heart attack or killed each other the rescue squad would be there.” Mary Alice sneezed again. “Damn.”

“I’ll go call,” I said. I went into the kitchen and dialed Mitzi’s number. The line was busy. I waited a couple of minutes and tried again. No luck.

“It’s busy,” I told the three in the dining room.

“The last group’s leaving,” Fred announced. “They sure didn’t stay long.” The two women, I noticed, had pulled dining room chairs over and settled down for some serious snooping. Fred, while not going quite that far, had his eye glued to the opening in the drapery.

“I’m going to go over and see what’s wrong,” I said. “Mitzi won’t think I’m butting in.”

Might as well have been talking to the wall for all the attention I got.

“There comes the second group leaving, too,” Sister said. “What do you think the tall one has in his hand, Fred? A gun?”

“It’s a cell phone.”

Un huh. And this was the man I’ve heard make snide remarks about the telescope in Sister’s sunroom. The sun
room that just happens to overlook all of Birmingham. As does Sister.

I let myself out of the kitchen door. Woofer, asleep in his igloo, didn’t know anything was going on, bless his heart. The other dogs in the neighborhood knew, though. As did the other neighbors. Several front porch lights were on, and the Tripps, across the street, were standing on their steps, probably wondering whether or not they should be doing something to help.

I was caught in the headlights of the patrol car as the policemen pulled into the driveway to turn around. Okay. So all the neighbors now knew I had an old pink seersucker robe that had been washed to the point of transparency. Behind me, someone (I suspected it was Sister, though it may have been Fred) rapped on the dining room window. Spotlighted, I resisted the urge to lift my middle finger in a salute. Instead, I clutched the robe around me and ran up Mitzi’s steps, wishing I’d taken the time to throw on some jeans and a shirt.

The door was opened by a nice-looking young policeman who said, “Hi, come on in.” Beyond him, I could see Mitzi, Arthur, and another uniformed man sitting on the sofa. By the looks of the cups and plates on the coffee table, they were having a party.

“I just want to see Mrs. Phizer a minute,” I said. No way I was going to join a party in this bathrobe. Not even an unusual party such as this one.

Mitzi heard me. “Come in, Patricia Anne,” she called.

“You come out here.” I stepped away from the lighted door.

“What’s going on?” she asked, joining me on the porch.

“What do you mean what’s going on? There were three police cars here. We didn’t know what had happened. I tried to call you, but your line was busy.”

“I think one of the policemen was making a phone call.”
She pointed toward her porch swing. “You want to sit down a minute?”

“I want to know why three police cars were here.” We sat down and the swing creaked. “I was scared something had happened.” I pointed vaguely down the block, toward the Tripps on their steps, toward the lights, toward my dining room window. “We all were.”