7
V
ivi was already at Mother’s when
I pulled into the driveway. Out of years of habit, I rolled directly under the
old tattered basketball net, now just hanging by a thread. The redbrick back
steps invited me in and the screen door creaked and slammed behind me. My heels
clicked on the red-painted concrete floor of the cluttered back porch. Stacks of
old newspapers and magazines were everywhere. An antique 1940s refrigerator
stood in the corner. It was always filled with plenty of Coca-Cola. The minute
anyone arrived, the first thing Meridee did was offer you a Coke.
The smell of coffee drifted through the kitchen, which had
butter-colored walls and a yellow-and-green vinyl floor. The 1950s yellow
laminate table was already full of people, just the way Meridee liked it. This
place relaxed me like an instant sedative.
Vivi was sitting comfortably with both of her hands wrapped
securely around her cup to warm them. Meridee was in her chair at the spot near
the stove, holding her lipstick-stained cup with one hand while dipping a
doughnut into the coffee with the other.
Next to her was what we liked to call the “snack corner.” The
snack corner was a treasure trove of deliciousness, brimming with scrumptious
concoctions, mostly from the Keebler Elves and Krispy Kreme. It was my absolute
most favorite place as a child and, let’s be honest, as an adult, too. But today
my favorite spot was already occupied.
“Hey, Blake, sweetie. Come give your mama a hug.”
Yes, that was my mother, Katherine Meredith Fletcher O’Hara
Sandoval Sugarman—or Kitty, as she was known to all…and, believe me, she was
known to all. She could never make up her mind which man she loved, so, in true
Kitty fashion she eventually married them all. Kitty was by far the loudest,
bluntest and rowdiest of all the clan. Hell, she was the loudest person I knew,
period. And
that
is saying something since Vivi and
Lewis are in the group!
Kitty looked up from her ice-cold glass of Dr Pepper and her
chocolate grahams when I walked in.
“How you doin’, baby?”
I walked over and hugged her. Truthfully, Kitty and I are
nothing alike. I keep most of my nasty thoughts to myself. Kitty must get them
out in the open for all to hear the very minute she feels them. “It clears the
air and lets people know the truth,” she says. “And nothing’s better than the
truth.”
“Unless it hurts people’s feelings,” I would counter, but to
deaf ears.
Kitty was an original, a one of a kind, and most who knew her
would say, thank heavens. I remember when I was a teenager, Meridee would get me
aside and say, “Blake, your mother is crazy. Always remember that. Whatever she
says, never forget that.” And I didn’t. And Meridee was right.
“Hey, Mama,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I just thought I’d stop by to check in on Mother and
looky who I found here…Vivi Ann McFadden. Can you believe it?”
I gave Vivi a questioning look. I didn’t want to start
spreading the news about Lewis without her approval, so I wasn’t sure what to
say to Kitty. All Vivi offered was a dirty look framed by dark circles and her
halo of red wiry hair.
Without stopping for an answer, Kitty continued, “So, sugar,
tell me what y’all are doing here.”
Vivi and I spoke at once, nervously overlapping our
explanations.
“Well, Mama, Vivi and I just thought we needed to catch up,” I
said and Vivi continued.
“So, we thought we would meet here for coffee.”
And just as Vivi said that, Harry walked in fast and
furious.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, brushing the water from the arms of
his suit coat. “It’s raining like—” He stopped midsentence as his gaze caught
Kitty in the corner. “Hey, Kitty,” he said with a confused look on his face.
“Well, hey there, Harry, darlin’,” she said with sugar dripping
from each syllable. She stepped from the corner and gave Harry a hug.
“Oh, honey, look, now I’m all wet, too.” That woman just could
not help herself. She flirted with every male who crossed her path, and she
always had a double entendre going.
Kitty loved men. And men loved her back. She was, in her time,
a leggy, busty debutante. All I inherited from Kitty was her boobs, not her
legs. I’m only five-three, while Kitty is a lucky five foot seven. I definitely
look more like Meridee—a former beauty queen herself, but only five-one, she was
a tiny blue-eyed, brunette spitfire. I have Meridee’s dark hair and blue-green
eyes, deep dimples like my dad and a sassy attitude just like my Meridee. I was
proud of that…that I was like her. Plus, she is awfully cute. I figure if I can
look that sweet and sassy in my old age, that’s something to be pretty thankful
for.
Harry came around to me and gave me a hug and whispered in my
ear, “What’s she doing here?”
I raised my eyebrows, responding with an “I have no idea”
look.
“Well, isn’t this quite the morning get-together?” Kitty
announced. “Let’s all go get Egg McMuffins!”
Meridee jumped up.
“No, no, no,” she said. “Y’all sit right back down! I never get
to cook for anybody. I’ll have eggs and sausage and grits and biscuits up here
in a jiffy.” Meridee had such a look of joy on her face as she smiled, pushing
Kitty out of the corner and humming “Rock of Ages” as she gathered her
ingredients.
As we all sat around the yellow table where I had spent hours
and hours of my childhood, the pressure started to build. Harry, Vivi and I knew
we needed to get to work on the facts. I ran things over in my mind. Best-case
scenario, Lewis was only missing, and at worst dead, but none of us wanted to
say anything with Kitty there.
Clothes had washed up early this morning at the Cypress Inn and
all hell was about to break loose at this press conference, which was now only
three hours away. Meeting at Mother’s now seemed like the worst plan we could
have made—there was no way we’d be able to discuss Lewis and the case with
loudmouth Kitty ready to hear all the juicy details. The whole state would know
about Lewis’s disappearance by lunchtime.
We were awkwardly quiet, Kitty sitting at the head of the table
where my grandfather used to sit, staring at all three of us with a “cat that
ate the canary” grin.
“Okay, what’er y’all up to?” she said, finally breaking the
silence. “Oh, my God! Are y’all planning my birthday? Lord! Y’all are so good!
It’s still over a month away. No wonder y’all are so uptight. How in the world
can y’all do any plannin’ with me sittin’ here?” With that, she stood from the
table. “Mother, none for me. I’ll be off now, my sugars, and y’all can keep up
your whispering and your hush-hush…and I’ll just pretend I heard nothing.” She
finished in a whisper as if she were keeping the secret. She kissed Meridee’s
cheek and grabbed her polka-dot Kate Spade bag.
“I guess I’ll get my Egg McMuffin, after all!” The back door
slammed and she was gone. We all let out a sigh of relief, but this meeting
wasn’t fixin’ to get any easier since Harry and I were mustering up the courage
to tell Vivi about those clothes soaked in river water.
I dropped my head to the table like a schoolgirl in trouble.
“Sorry, y’all, I had no idea she would be here.” Meridee kept singing and
cooking, and for once I was so happy she couldn’t hear very well anymore.
Vivi spoke first. “Harry, what are you doing here? Blake didn’t
tell me you were coming.”
I chimed in before Harry could speak. “I talked to Harry after
you called. We have some new evidence and Harry wanted to talk to you.”
“Oh, no,” she said, the caffeine kicking in. “Not another body
part?”
“No, nothing like that,” Harry said. “But…clothes. And we don’t
even know if they’re his. That’s where we thought you could help us. Do you
remember what he was wearing when you last saw him?”
“Harry, I thought we had already had this conversation,” Vivi
said. “Lewis wasn’t wearing
anything
the last time I
saw him!”
Although none of us felt like eating, we all managed to look
interested in the mountain of food that Meridee laid before us. We couldn’t
refuse, so we set the table and picked at the breakfast. I needed to add a
little kick to my coffee, but it was too early. But hey, as my favorite
humorist, Celia Rivenbark, says, “You can’t drink all day if you don’t start in
the mornin’.” Sounded like a plan for today.
Thirty minutes later, after cleaning things up, Harry said,
“Meridee, that was delicious. Now, I hate to be a devil and eat and run, but
I’ve got to get these girls over to the office. They promised to look over my
campaign poster designs before I send them off to the printers.”
“Don’t you worry, Harry. You do whatever you need to. I want to
see you win this thing and then I want to see you on TV.”
We walked outside and, with Vivi and me in my car and Harry in
his, we all headed over to the police station.
* * *
The police station was across the street from the bank
and where one of my favorite Tuscaloosa relics stood on the corner. The old
turn-of-the-century clock was the centerpiece of downtown, black iron framed
with a round white face and black hands. It had witnessed the history of
Tuscaloosa unfold around it. From my earliest memories of three or four years
old, I remembered the old clock standing right there, watching over all of
us.
Sometimes we’d go on big outings downtown—which consisted of
two whole streets back then—to see my grandmother peddle her cosmetics at Lewis
Weasel’s department store, the most expensive shop in town. Then we’d cross the
street to Kress’s and eat lunch at their lunch counter. As I enjoyed the
delicacy of grilled cheese and fries, I would sit looking at all the busy people
rushing to somewhere important. I studied the women and their Southern way of
dressing, cotton dresses billowing behind them. I couldn’t wait to be old enough
to dress just like them. And to wear the pearls. All the women wore pearls.
After lunch, we’d head back across the street to the bank. That’s where the
clock stood, like an old sweet guard watching over the rush of cars and
people.
If only now the clock could speak. It saw everything for the
last hundred years. It always knew the truth. As I glanced over at it in the
morning sprinkling of rain, I saw the old relic as a source of comfort.
Mine and Harry’s law office was just next door to the bank, so
I dipped in to check with Wanda Jo, our secretary. Now, that woman is cranky
even on her best days, but she sure knows how to run a law office. She was a
good bit older than me and Harry and had known us both since we were children.
She was sharp and organized but spoke like a redneck sailor on shore leave.
Wanda Jo was a former majorette when she went to Alabama State, aeons ago. She
was always a little heavy and a good bit too loud, but I liked her. She tried to
mother us and we just let her.
“Hey, Wanda Jo, any messages?” I asked as Vivi and I stepped
inside. “I’m only here for a sec, meeting Harry and Sonny across the street on
some business.”
“Hell, yeah, you’ve got messages! This damn phone’s been
ringing off the hook all mornin’. I’ve just been tellin’ everybody you’d call
back this afternoon, so you better keep my word.” She laughed and took a drag of
her cigarette. “Hey there, Vivi,” she added with a wink.
“Now you know you can’t smoke in here,” I reminded her. She put
the cigarette out, opened the window behind her desk and answered the ringing
phone. “Heart and Heart Attorneys. How can we be of service?” she said into the
receiver. “Uh-huh…Uh-huh…” She was writing. “Okay. I will pass it along but
don’t hold your breath, honey. They are actually working on something important
today.” And she hung up, smiling. “I swear, some people in this town are just
pure ol’ lunatics.” She looked up at me. “Now what are you doing still standin’
there starin’ at me? You can see I’ve got things under control, so git on outta
here and go over to Sonny’s. You gotta lot of calls to return this afternoon.
Tell Mr. Heart he has his fair share, too.”
“Okay, Wanda Jo, let me know if something pressing comes in.
I’m expecting that package on the Myrna case.”
“I know it. I’ll sign for it, as usual. Now go on.”
Wanda Jo had come to work for us when we first opened. She had
been a law office manager most of her life, and at one point had worked for my
grandfather. She’d found the Lord and lost him nearly as quick: she’d become a
preacher’s wife until she decided she didn’t like the pressure of trying to be
holy for the congregation. Wanda Jo had been known to throw back a few and she
loved to dance and cuss. Reverend Mayes was always embarrassed by her behavior
and lack of culinary skills and eventually they divorced. I mean a preacher’s
wife who can’t bake a pound cake for the family of the departed was nearly
useless in the South. Wanda Jo never remarried. Kitty says she looks like she’s
been “rode hard and put up wet,” meaning she’s lived a hard (wild) life and it
showed on her face. And she does look a bit worse for the wear. Her two kids
live in Florida and work for one of the horse tracks in Tampa. She’s a good
soul. And I trust her. At the end of the day, that’s what counts.
I grabbed Vivi by the hand and gave it a squeeze. We walked out
the door and headed across the street.
“That Wanda Jo is a sight,” Vivi said as we crossed the
downtown street to the police station. “She never changes.”
Sonny was waiting outside the station. The rain had turned to a
sprinkle and he stood in the hazy mist drinking a Mountain Dew. At the sight of
him, Vivi started to shake. “Oh, Blake, he’s waitin’ for me. This is it,” Vivi
said.
“No, sweetie, he’s just gonna show you what was found, that’s
all. Now let’s go.”
“Hey,” Sonny announced in his baritone Southern drawl as we
approached the old wooden and glass door. “Y’all come on in. Mornin’, Vivi.”
Sonny extended his hand and ushered her inside. As he took her hand and then let
go, his skin brushed mine. He looked at me, right in my eyes. I smiled at him
and immediately felt my cheeks flame.