Stiffs and Swine (22 page)

Bennett, who had just popped a piece of chewing gum in his mouth, was extremely ticklish anywhere on his feet. When Lindy brushed the skin on the top of his foot, he jumped backward and inhaled the piece of gum. Coughing and spluttering, he wheezed and gasped for air until James became genuinely alarmed.

“Should we pull over?” James inquired worriedly as he pounded on his friend’s back.

Bennett shook his head and finally coughed the piece of gum into his hand. “With my skin tone … ,” he panted, “could be mighty tough to tell if I was turnin’ blue, huh?” He balled the piece of spent gum into its empty wrapper. “Lindy, I oughta stick this in your hair instead of putting it in the garbage.”

“Sorry.” Lindy slunk down in her seat.

“You guys are gettin’ punchy,” Lucy said, smiling. “I’d better get you all tucked into bed.”

“Amen to that, sister!” Bennett croaked. “It’ll just be me and my sweet dreams of Sheriff Jade Jones. She winked at me. Yessir, I think she feels it, too. There’s somethin’ magnetic brewin’ between the two of us.” He turned to James. “And you’ll be dreamin’ of Murphy, unless you’re stayin’ with her tonight.”

“Fox Hall was booked, remember, and I have no idea where she’s staying,” James mumbled. “And I’m too damned tired to dream. I’m going to fall asleep the second I close my eyes.”

“Are you still tossin’ and turnin’ over there?” Bennett asked in the middle of the night. “You’re like a damned kayak goin’ through a passel of rapids!”

James pushed his glasses onto his nose and eyed the clock. “Three thirty,” he groaned. “Why can’t I sleep?”

“Might be that love note you got from Murphy,” Bennett suggested grumpily. “Got you all riled up.”

James eyed the crumpled missive lying on his own nightstand. “It wasn’t exactly a love note. All Murphy wrote was that she had to drive back to Quincy’s Gap to make sure that the next edition of the
Star
went out on time and to call if I had any updates on Jimmy’s case.”

Bennett was silent for a moment. “You’re right, that ain’t no love letter.”

“You might be on target about the riled-up part though, because every time I close my eyes, I start thinking about what Murphy started to admit to me earlier today.”

“What’s that?” Bennett sat up in bed.

James hesitated. “Uh, she said she wrote a book about us.”

“You and me?” Bennett sounded surprised.

“No. All of us. The Flab Five.” James squeezed his eyes shut. “And she’s already got a publishing deal.”

Again, there was silence and then Bennett switched on the lamp. “Say that again.” His dark eyes flashed angrily.

“The book’s about the supper club members. Something about how we’ve helped solve murders,” James declared hastily. “She said it’s not about our dieting or anything.”

Bennett rose stiffly from the bed and walked slowly over to the TV cabinet. He opened the small fridge hidden behind one of the lower doors, pulled two bottles from the honor bar, and went into the bathroom. When he returned, he handed James a tumbler filled with an inch of light amber liquid.

Tossing down his drink, Bennett sank down onto his bed. “Go on, man, or you’ll never get to sleep.”

“What is it? Whiskey?” James sniffed the contents.

“Yessir. Jim Beam.” He swung his legs onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Neither man spoke for several minutes. Finally, Bennett said, “That’s some bomb to drop on a guy in the middle of the night. So Murphy’s writing a tell-all book. Man oh man. There’s no way I’m gonna get any sleep without a little medicinal aid. You won’t either, my friend, trust me.”

“It’s not a tell-all,” James protested weakly, gripping the tumbler loosely. “It’s fiction.”

“Right.” Bennett snorted as he shook his head in disgust. “And no one in Quincy’s Gap is gonna know who the black crime-solvin’ mailman in Murphy’s work of
fiction
is or who the crime-solvin’ librarian livin’ at home with his hermit daddy is. I can just hear the talk down at Dolly’s Diner.” He put his arms behind his head and rearranged his pillow, punching it violently into place. “We’re not gonna be able to show our faces in town without folks mentionin’ your
girlfriend’s
book. Whether we like it or not, that book is gonna change our lives.”

The sound of the cool air rushing through the vents in the floor followed Bennett’s statement, but James didn’t know whether he felt more chilled by his friend’s words or by the man-made breeze breathing across his body.

“Oh, God.” James moaned and then swallowed his drink in three gulps. The whiskey burned on the way down his throat, and a slow and subtle warmth spread through his belly. He felt his clenched hands relax and some of the tension ebb from his knotted shoulders and neck. Scrunching his toes in the thick rug next to his bed, James gazed at his empty tumbler with mournful eyes.

Collecting Bennett’s glass, James gestured at the cabinet. “There had better be more where these came from.”

When James opened
one eye, allowing the other to stay mercifully closed against the bright light infiltrating the room, he sensed that he had slept later than he should. No snores emanated from Bennett’s bed, nor was the morning stillness broken by the rush of water through the bathroom pipes. An unnatural quiet permeated the room.

As James put his hand out for his glasses, a sharp pain snapped awake inside his skull and he froze mid-reach. Resting his heavy head back on the pillow, he took stock of his physical state. His head hurt, his limbs felt like lead, his mouth was so dry that he couldn’t have spoken a word, and his tongue felt three sizes too large. He desperately wanted water, but sensed that the movement required to walk into the bathroom, turn on the tap, and tilt his mouth under the stream in order to wash away the sour taste and the putrid film coating his teeth was more than his body could handle at the moment.

Easing his glasses carefully onto his face, so as not to provoke the hangover dragon curled over his scalp, clenching like a vise, and waiting to stick needle-sharp claws into his brain, James took note of the litter of small bottles on his nightstand.

“One, two, three, four, five … ,” he counted. “No wonder I feel like a zombie.” He also noticed a yellow Post-it note stuck to the surface of the digital clock. He peeled it off the clock’s window, noting that the time was seven after nine.

Sunshine:

When you finally get up, come downstairs for breakfast. I already picked up Gillian and we are all meeting on the back porch. There’s coffee and the best bowl of cheese grits you’ve ever wrapped your tongue around. I expect your head might hurt a bit right about now, but there’s nothing for it but to eat a big pile of eggs followed by an even bigger pile of grits.

-Bennett

“I don’t know about food,” James addressed the note and then stumbled into the bathroom. He swallowed three Advil and then took a luxuriously long shower. Slowly, doused in a fog of warm water and silence, he felt his headache begin to subside. The thought that Gillian was back at the inn, seated at a table with her friends surrounding her, lightened James’s heart tremendously.

“Maybe they’ll be so glad to have her back that they won’t get too upset about Murphy’s book,” James said to his reflection as he toweled off the misted mirror. He shaved quickly, wanting to escape from the image he saw in the glass. Unlike the small mirror in his bathroom at home, which focused mainly on the head and shoulder region, this one was large enough to capture the entire upper half of James’s body. And before him stood the results of a summer of relaxed attention to good diet and routine exercise.

“You’ve returned, I see,” James stated morosely as he slapped the loose flesh of his round belly. He pivoted sideways, blowing out his stomach so that it became even larger than before. He then sucked in his breath, causing the flesh to tighten and the fat to appear to have miraculously evaporated. Finally exhaling, James rubbed the swell of his paunch one more time and then pulled a polo shirt over his head, relieved to be able to partially disguise the evidence of his weight gain beneath the loose shirt.

By the time he arrived on the back porch, several charming sights assaulted his eyes at once. Directly to his left was the food: fluffy scrambled eggs nestled in a warming tray; crisp, dark brown bacon stacked into neat rows in the neighboring tray; and adjacent to the bacon, a ceramic baking dish containing golden-tinged grits. Next in line was a bowl of plump, cardinal-red strawberries and a platter bearing the remains of what looked like an apricot and cream cheese coffee cake.

James glanced to his right. Francesca was cleaning leaves from the pool in a loose dress with a pattern of large, cheerful sunflowers. The early sunlight created a halo around her flowing hair and her skin seemed effused with an ethereal glow. After every third or fourth scoop of her net, she’d dip one of her bare feet into the pool and wiggle her toes in pleasure.

But James paid little attention to Francesca’s beauty, for straight ahead of him, seated between Lindy and Bennett, was the most wonderful vision of all. It was Gillian, dressed in one of her wild, rainbow-striped T-shirts, an armload of tinkling bangles, and a necklace of plastic purple beads. Her hair was its customary bird’s nest of orange curls and she had reddened her fair cheeks with rogue and applied smudges of lavender shadow to her eyelids. When she looked at James, she smiled with the inner warmth he had grown accustomed to, but had missed seeing over the past few days. With that smile, James knew that Gillian was her old self again. There was no doubt that she had been wounded by painful memories—that coming face-to-face with the man who had ruined her chance at happiness with her young husband had caused her fresh grief, but James was grateful that the events of the past few days had not altered her permanently. She was Gillian. Spunky, spacey, and spiritual, and she was loved deeply by those gathered around her.

“I heard that you might be feeling a bit
off-center
today,” Gillian said after James had hugged and kissed her hello. “Ginger tea is simply
magical
at restoring your body’s balance after that corporeal vessel’s been
flooded
with alcohol.” She puffed up a cloud of orange hair. “By Buddha’s beautiful belly,
I
could have used some of that restorative brew after drinking Felicity’s wine the other night!”

“Have the tea if you want, James, but you have
got
to try some of these grits first.” Lucy pointed at the small mound on her plate. “Even if you’re not a grits guy, these will warm your body from the inside out.”

“I’ve got enough blubber around my waist to keep me warm,” James answered wryly, “but I could use a bit of breakfast if we’re going to make it through another day of Hog Fest. I don’t think I’d make a very good full-time food judge, Lucy. I’m getting a bit burned out on all this gluttony.”

“Too true! I feel like all the pores on my face are clogged by fry oil!” Lindy moaned. “Oh, and don’t worry about the pie-eating contest, Gillian.” She gave their friend a tender look. “I think you’ve been through enough this weekend without having to watch grown men wreaking havoc on perfectly good blueberry pies.”

“Hey, it won’t be all guys divin’ into those pies. Don’t you go assuming that eatin’ competitions are just for men.” Bennett waggled his finger at Lindy. “You’re forgettin’ about Virginia’s own champion eater, The Black Widow. Why, on July fourth, 2005, she ate thirty-seven hot dogs in twelve minutes. And she’s a tiny little thing.” He held out his arms in a small circle and then pointed at Francesca. “Makes our beauty queen out there cleanin’ the pool look like a Sumo wrestler.”

“Can you imagine being a buffet-type restaurant owner in The Black Widow’s hometown?” James quipped. “Every time she came to visit your establishment you’d know you were losing money! If she can eat thirty-seven hot dogs, imagine what she could do to a breakfast buffet!”

Gillian giggled. “I’m
not
skipping out on the judging. I’ve missed
so
much time with you already and I’m
fully
prepared to witness a
spectacularly
revolting display of binge-like behavior. In fact, it might do me some good.” She gestured at the greedy heap of bacon on James’s plate. “I think my time of solitude and
reflection
has prepared me to be more open regarding the food tastes and preferences of my fellow human beings.”

“So no more speeches on animal treatment?” Bennett acted stunned. “What on earth would you talk about instead?”

“Of course I’m going to continue to be an advocate for all animals!” Gillian glanced at Bennett with a flash of anger in her eyes and then realized he had been deliberately trying to provoke her. She smiled. “I’m
so
relieved that you are all embracing me with such lack of judgment. After all, I’ve kept a secret from you, my closest companions, for a long time. I apologize from the very
core
of my being. I just wanted to leave the past in the past, but what
foolishness
to think that I could bury such
intense
memories.”

“It was your secret to keep,” Lucy said softly. “So there’s nothing to forgive.”

“But besides me, has anyone else at this table been married?” James asked to lighten the mood.

“No ex-wives in my closet.” Bennett refilled his empty coffee cup. “I see
you’re
feelin’ better.” He pointed at the grits on James’s plate. “Now scoop some of them down your throat, and you’ll be good as gold.”

James loaded his heavy spoon with a mouthful of grits and lifted it to his nose, wondering how a gelatinous glob of grains could transform his outlook about spending another day at Hog Fest and put an end to the remnants of his hangover. He inhaled the pleasant scent of baked cheese and then felt the familiar and comforting creaminess of the starch as his lips closed around the spoon.

“They’re so light,” he breathed in awe and relished the fluffy grits. Lucy was right, they were tinged with warmth and the cozy feeling they created had nothing to do with temperature. In addition to the salty flavors of sharp cheddar and butter, there were hints of Worcestershire and hot sauce. It was just what James needed to perk up his numb mouth.

“Delicious!” he proclaimed to Eleanor as she examined the leavings of the buffet. “You are an excellent cook, Mrs. Fiennes. I’d say that I’m going to waste away when I go back home to Quincy’s Gap, but my father’s girlfriend is an accomplished food guru such as yourself, so there’s no chance of that.”

Eleanor looked at James with interest. “A girlfriend? Do you think your father will get remarried?”

“Yes, and I’d be happy for him if he did,” James answered. “Milla’s a wonderful woman, and I’d love for her to join our family.”

Gazing at Francesca, Eleanor gave a satisfied nod. “Francesca idolized her father, but he’s been gone for more than ten years now. I’d like to move on, but I worry about how she’ll take it. But if I wait too long, I’m afraid that the man I love will give up on me.”

“If you’re talkin’ about your feelings for R. C. Richter, your daughter already knows,” Lucy stated matter-of-factly. “And I don’t think she minds one bit.”

“Really?” Eleanor flushed and clasped her thin hands over her small chest. “Oh,
that’
s such a nice thing to hear! He’s asked me to be his wife many times, but I keep putting him off.”

Gillian rose to refill her tea cup with more hot water and a fresh bag of Mandarin orange tea. “It would seem that you and Francesca are
both
ready for a new phase of life to begin.” Gillian lowered her voice. “Lindy tells me that your daughter’s greatest hope is to become a teacher. What a
noble
and
significant
profession. Think of how many lives she can touch, of how many young girls she can positively influence! You must be
very
proud?” Gillian emphasized her last point by turning it into a question.

Flummoxed, Eleanor darted glances between Gillian and her daughter. Finally, her eyes lingered on Francesca’s beautiful face. “I should be proud, shouldn’t I? Her becoming Miss Virginia was always my dream. But that’s the thing. It was
my
dream, not hers. When I was younger, my family didn’t have enough extra money for me to compete, but I wanted that crown so badly I used to cry about it at night.” Her voice filled with longing. “All this time, I’ve been pushing and pushing Francesca toward that pageant. She’s always done everything I’ve asked her to until this summer. All along, she’s been a good girl—a good person—and I didn’t realize how lucky I was to be her friend until I acted so
unlike
a friend.”