Small Town Trouble (3 page)

“I’m kinda surprised to see you ladies here.”

“Actually,” I lied, “we were just turning around in the lot.”

I was as eager to hit the high road as Evelyn, but I simply had to ask.

“Say, Rick Rod, how
is
Amy?”

Rick Rod grinned. “Real fine.”

But I already knew that. I wanted more, but I was hoping I wouldn’t have to hear about the dentist again. No such luck.

“She married a dentist. Ask me, the guy’s a jerk. But hey, he makes the big bucks.”

“Well,” I said, rolling up my window, “tell Amy hello for me, will you?”

“Sure thing.”

Like he’d remember.

“Wait a minute,” he said, putting his paw on my window. “Now who are you again?”

“Martina Navratilova.”

“Can we please leave now?” Evelyn pleaded. By this time she looked a lot more pissed off than scared. She had a nasty squeeze hold on the back of my neck and it was starting to cut off circulation to my medulla oblongata.

“Take it easy, Rick Rod.”

He waved bye-bye as we left a dusty trail.

On the drive back to Tara Evelyn was uncharacteristically quiet. Actually, it was more of a sulk, but I wasn’t dumb enough to explore it. Instead, I enjoyed the peace and quiet while I frolicked in the sun kissed, breezy, daisy-studded fields of my mind with a possible present day version of Amy Delozier, a woman who probably hadn’t had a decent French kiss in twenty years. I wondered if Amy ever thought back on our happy times together in the hayloft. If she did, I’ll bet she didn’t mention it to the dentist.

Chapter 5

Settled, once again in the Ashley Wilkes bedroom, I puffed up my pillow and snapped on the radio, pulling in WFOG. Enjoyment was too strong a word, but it was nice enough listening quietly to a string of lame but heartfelt country songs. My cousin Alonzo was the DJ on duty. He was taking requests, and I stuck with him until a guy named Big O from Withamsville wanted to hear the Reverend Somebody singing
Jesus, This is Jimmy.

Feeling mildly relaxed, I closed my eyes and entertained beautiful visions of Dickhead falling from the highest peak of Mount Le Conte. I watched him flail and drop until he became only a gray speck. Then he disappeared completely somewhere over, say, Cherokee, North Carolina.

The next morning, over breakfast at Bob Evans restaurant, my mother and I had the difficult talk I’d been avoiding. Not that I was any more in the mood for it, but there comes a time when one must saddle up and ride the pony. Unfortunately, to add to my discomfort, I was feeling decidedly cranky about the fact that Nancy Merit hadn’t returned my call. What
was
she thinking? How could she so casually allow forty-eight hours to go by without so much as a hello? This breather thing was getting out of hand.

After sufficient fortification of orange juice, two cups of coffee, scrambled eggs, sausage patties, biscuits with gravy and a melon wedge, I got right down to business. I pretty much knew how it would go and that’s pretty much how it went.

Evelyn was defensive at first, insisting that things weren’t all that bad in Moneyland. But I knew differently and so did she. Finally, Evelyn broke down and cried.

“I know that A.C. and I made some unfortunate choices along the way where money’s concerned.” She blew her nose loudly.

It was excruciatingly difficult, but I refrained from pointing out that “unfortunate” was the understatement of the millennium.

Reluctantly, Evelyn agreed that things were a mess, that she was scared to death, and that a quarter million could plug up the hole and then some. With the proceeds from the WFOG sale, she could hang onto Tara and keep herself and Bunky in Kibbles for the foreseeable future.

I tried to inject a bit of levity. “You know, Mother, you’ll still have to cut back on your visits with Mickey and Minnie.”

But Evelyn wasn’t having any of it. She eyed me like a pissed-off Pekingese. It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed her resemblance to Bunky.

“Don’t be ugly,” she said.

The perky Bob Evans waitress who’d refilled our coffee cups about twenty times came by with the check and one last offer of a warm-up, which we passed on. I paid the ticket.

Back at the plantation, Evelyn went off to water her pathetic rose garden while I worked at landing an attorney through my father’s old connections. After making a few calls, I settled on Bud Upton, a guy I’d gone to high school with who’d, amazingly enough, made it through law school and passed the bar. In his day, Bud had been one hell of a quarterback. I was hoping he’d turned into one hell of an attorney.

I rang Bud Upton, and though I wasn’t totally convinced that he remembered me at all, he was pleasant enough. After hearing the lowdown, Bud agreed to act on Evelyn’s behalf.

“Whew,” Bud said, “a quarter mil for WFOG? That’s a hunk of change and then some.”

“And then some,” I said. “And Bud, you should know that my mother’s financial situation is precarious, at best. Time is of the essence here.”

“I read you loud and clear,” he said.

It was nice to know that somebody out there was paying attention.

Before we lapsed into one last round of small talk, Bud offered the name of an accountant who was ugly and carried a big stick and might be able to save Evelyn from herself once the WFOG deal was, God willing, signed and sealed.

A.C.’s boys were the men at the oars of WFOG. My cousin Abbott acted as the station manager, advertising director and sergeant-at-arms, failing miserably all around. Between him and his brothers, Alonzo and Agee, they kept the air waves humming at WFOG and a steady drain on Evelyn’s pocketbook.

It looked like Abbott may have gotten wind of the offer and had probably correctly assumed that his broadcasting career could well be headed down a rocky road. No doubt this explained the somewhat surly look on his face when he saw Evelyn and me coming through the station door.

Abbott got up from his desk where I could see he’d been reading a sleazy magazine while enjoying a breakfast burrito with a side of buffalo wings.

“Hey, Evelyn. Howdy, Cuz,” Abbott said, bear-hugging us as was the Claypoole family way. He rounded up some extra chairs and the three of us got cozy around his desk.

Alonzo gave us a wave from the sound booth. He was on the air reading the list of upcoming community events. I was sorry that I wasn’t going to be around for the Mother-Daughter Mall Walkathon for the National Rifle Association.

“Y’all want a buffalo wing?” He slid the paper tray in our direction.

“Well, I believe I will,” my mother said, plucking one from the tray. “Kimberly, aren’t you going to have one?”

“I think I’ll pass,” I slid the gooey mess back to Abbott.

We chatted a bit, Abbott commenting on how long it had been since he’d last seen me, and, oh, had we heard that Garth Brooks was coming to Cincinnati? My mother was excited by the Garth Brooks news.

“I just love Garth! He is so handsome. His wife is the luckiest woman alive. Abbott, would you pretty please ask Alonzo to play one of Garth’s songs? Doesn’t matter which one. They’re all good. Don’t you think so?”

Abbott just shrugged. “Sure,” he said. He got up, ambled over to the sound booth and stuck his head inside, passing along Evelyn’s request.

Alonzo nodded with hearty approval and gave us a thumbs-up. In short order, Garth Brooks was belting out the song about the woman who’s every lover Garth’s never had.

We made a little more small talk. Finally, Abbott couldn’t stand it any longer.

“So what’s the deal, Evelyn?” he asked, picking at what was left of the last buffalo wing.

Evelyn did a Vivien Leigh sigh and took a hanky from her purse, which I suspected was only for effect.

“Abbott,” she said, “I won’t pussyfoot around. You know as well as I do that this radio station hasn’t turned a dime in more years than I care to remember, not that I’ve minded, given my affection for you boys.” She paused long enough to poke the hanky at the corners of her eyes. “You should know that a generous offer has been made for the station, which I’ve been advised to accept.”

Abbott shot me a moderately hostile look.

Evelyn continued. “I thought it was only fair to warn you that there may be some changes around here.” My mother sniffed and blew her nose. A nice finale.

For a minute, Abbott sat there like a dazed toad. Then he said, “You think they might be needing a station manager?”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” I said.

From his glass cage, Alonzo grinned at us in an oblivious, too-many-beers-in-his-thirty-years way, and played another Garth Brooks song.

After the trip to WFOG, Evelyn was dying for a treat so we stopped off at the United Dairy Farmers. The frozen yogurt cone perked Evelyn up, and the chocolate shake hoisted my mood elevator out of the basement and left it somewhere just short of the ground floor.

Chapter 6

Safely back at Tara, Evelyn went off to take a restorative bath and rest up for her night of singles country line dancing at the VFW. Our adventurous afternoon had definitely worn her out.

I was feeling a little lackluster myself and decided on a long nap. Bunky decided to join me in the boudoir. He insisted that I lift him onto the bed and whined until I did. He made a beeline for the pillows where he proceeded to get very comfortable on both of them. I made a mental note to suggest to Evelyn that she take Bunky with her to the tub on her next trip. He smelled more than a little like a ratty sock.

 
“At least give me
one
of the pillows,” I said. Encouragingly, I nudged Bunky into a sharing frame of mind, which he was none too thrilled about. He groaned, then finally saw things my way.

I couldn’t sleep. I picked up the phone and tried Nancy again. This breather thing was really starting to get on my nerves. A quick check of the clock radio revealed that it was about Yabba Dabba Doo time. I was hoping to catch her before she went home to Dickhead.

I got patched through to Shirley, her trusty assistant.

“Hi de ho there,” Shirley said. Shirley was a little bit country, a little bit classic rock.

“Hi de ho yourself.”

“You called a second too late,” Shirley said. “She just walked out the door.”

“Rats.” A warning. Dating married megalomaniacs may cause one to use ridiculous expressions like
rats
. “Rats, rats, rats.”

“Nancy’s headed home, then out again.”

Shirley was Nancy’s big-time confidante. Shirley knew everything from ancient Nancy Merit history to every dirty detail of the here and now. This was a rather daunting notion which I tried not to dwell on. The best thing about Shirley was that she despised Dickhead only a hair less than I did.

“What comes after home?” I asked, although it was none of my business.

“You’re gonna love this,” she said sarcastically. “Nancy and Dickhead are having dinner with none other than Dan and Patsy Dandrich.”

Dan Dandrich was a big time Tennessee Republican politician. He wore a lot of L.L.Bean.

“Maybe Dandrich is gonna ask Nancy to be his running mate when his time comes.” Shirley giggled.

“Let’s pray it never does. And that’s not even funny.”

“You’re right, it ain’t.”

“Why is Nancy hanging out with these geeks?”

“You referring to Dickhead or Dandrich?”

“Well, both, now that you mention it.”

Shirley laughed like she meant it. “Guess where they’re headed for dinner?”

“Don’t even say it.”

“The ever fabulous Little Pigeon.”

Of all the places in town, why my place? “Shirley, make the world go away.”

She laughed again and I heard another line buzz. “Gotta run. You take care now.”

I thought back on the first time I met Nancy Merit. She came to the restaurant with a TV crew to do a spot on Gatlinburg’s female entrepreneurs. She wanted to do a feature on Little Pigeon, which
was
a great story.

When my Grandma Betty Claxton (also known as Gram) died, I inherited her double-wide trailer and bakery. After I got the news, my first thought was to sell everything. Surely someone in east Tennessee needed a mobile home, if not a bakery, too.

But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Gram had worked hard all of her life and she’d built a nice little business over the years. You’d have been hard pressed to find a fellow Gatlinburger who hadn’t enjoyed a slice of her caramel iced blackberry cake. Maybe it was genetics, but the notion of double-wide living had started to grow on me.

Because Gram was one the finest people on earth, her exit blew a large, sucking hole in my world and I realized it was high time to figure out what to do with the part of it that was left.

I was in Portland, Oregon, at the time, slogging through the years in corporate security for an upscale department store. I’d lost any real interest in said occupation about year one which coincided with my promotion from a plainclothes store detective to management. It was a lot more fun popping rich, neurotic housewife shoplifters than crunching budget numbers.