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Earl (Earl & Wilma) Monday, 1:30 p.m.
At one-thirty, I went inside to tell Wilma it was almost time to go to shuffleboard. She was still wearing the outfit she’d worn when visiting Janis, and she said she wanted to change into something cooler. She’d be ready in ten minutes. Now, every guy in the world knows that ten minutes to a woman is like ten minutes left in a football game. Stuff that happens in between doesn’t count toward the actual ten minutes it takes to change her shirt and shoes. I call her my little slowpoke, but it’s always worth the wait.
My Wilma is still a looker. Yeah, we’ve gotten older, but she has a beautiful complexion and great big eyes that make you want to stare into them. She gripes about age spots and gray hairs mixed in with the blond, but when I look at her, I only see the girl I fell in love with more than fifty years ago.
Lately, Wilma’s been a little irritable. She hints that I fuss too much, but I’m only trying to show how important she is to me. Some guys kind of ignore their wives after years and years, and I don’t ever want Wilma to think anything could take her place. I show interest in things she likes to do, even though it’s hard sometimes. I don’t sing, so choir is out. I tried Bible study, but I dozed off near the end, which embarrassed her. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but how many ways can you slice up something as simple as “Love thy neighbor”? They went on for two hours about who your neighbor is, when to me there’s no discussion. Jesus never said to anybody, “Go away, you’re not my neighbor,” at least not that I can find in the Bible.
Another thing that makes Wilma’s forehead pucker is me trying to keep her safe. She’s no bigger than a minute, so she’d never be able to fight off an attacker. In addition to that, she’s lived a pretty sheltered life. On the farm no one threatened her—except a rooster we had years ago, and he got to be Sunday dinner. Wilma thinks the best of everyone, which is a tribute to her Christian spirit and loving heart. Still, we all need to recognize that not everyone in the world has good intentions. The murder in the park had left me wondering when another bad person might show up at B-Bird, and I didn’t want anyone to do my beautiful girl harm.
Wilma was ready to go in only twenty minutes. As we walked to the court together, I explained the new plan Ron come by to tell me that morning. “We’re all supposed to be helping Julie make this big display that will show where everyone at B-Bird was on July 7, 1967.”
“That’s certainly easier than trying to twist a conversation around to finding it out,” she said. “It felt like I was making pretzels.”
We went on, greeting friends as we passed. When we first came to B-Bird it was odd to see no familiar faces, but now we know lots of people. Many Michiganders “fly” south to escape the snow and cold, so when we gave up the farm, we decided to try it. Our niece found us a trailer to rent for three months, and we made it a point to stop and chat here and there when we walked in the evenings. Later, people began stopping at our place too. The second year we bought a park model and stayed a month longer. I signed up for some teams, and Wilma joined the choir. Now lots of people know Earl and Wilma from Michigan.
At the shuffleboard court, I joined the men who were getting out the cues and pucks. Wilma sat down on a bench in the shade. The last player to arrive was Archie from Stork Street. His buddy Lloyd drove their golf cart. He remained seated as Arch hurried forward, muttering an apology for being late. When I saw Wilma get up and stroll over to Lloyd, I knew what she was up to. Lloyd and Archie were on my list, and she figured it was a good time to check them off. I considered bowing out of the first game to help, but there were only enough guys to fill the teams. Besides, Arch and Lloyd would be easy. Since they don’t care for girls, it isn’t likely either of them was ever a rapist. They’re at the upper end of the age limit too, being in their mid-eighties. Wilma didn’t even glance my way, so I figured she didn’t mind being on her own. It would be easy now, since all she had to do was say we were helping Julie with her map thing. That was a lot better than telling whoppers.
As we took our places at opposite ends of the court, I heard Wilma’s greeting to Lloyd. “Hasn’t the Lord sent us a beautiful day?” After that we started the game, and I couldn’t hear the conversation for the scrape of sticks and the cheers of the players. Lloyd and Wilma talked almost the whole time we played.
During the last round, Wilma gave Lloyd a pat on the arm and started back to the bench. She stopped and turned when someone called her name. Coming toward her was Del Hanna, wearing a smile I’d have to call slimy. Though Wilma smiled back, she crossed her arms, as if she was cold. As they stood there talking, I got distracted from the game. Someone had to remind me I was up, and my shot was way too hard and went off the back of the triangle, losing the game for our side. It’s a good thing our matches are only for fun. The guys gave me a little grief for sloppy play, but that was all.
I helped with the clean-up, but I kept an eye on Del and Wilma. After what seemed like a long time, she backed away from him, her arms still crossed. When she turned, Wilma saw me watching and blushed, like she’d been caught doing something bad. My blood pressure rose a little, at least that’s how it felt. A guy never knows what Del might be up to when there’s a woman involved.
Once the equipment was packed away, we said our goodbyes and started for home. “What did Del Hanna want?”
“We’re doing a duet for church,” she replied. “He suggested some extra practice.”
“A tough one, huh?”
She hesitated. “I didn’t think so, but he acts like it needs work.”
I had an inkling what old Del was thinking. “If he’s bothering you, let me know. I’ll have a word with the guy.”
“You don’t need to do that, Earl.” There was that irritation again. I’d tried to help and instead made her mad at me. “We’ll practice. We’ll sing the song. It’ll be fine.”
I gave it a minute before asking, “How’d it go with Lloyd?”
“He and Arch have been together since 1965.” Wilma’s voice was cool. “Neither of them ever did any trucking. Lloyd was a millwright and Archie worked at a hospital. They’ve never been to Nashville except to drive through it.”
I tried to do some fence-mending. “Seems like you’re a pretty slick investigator, Wilma.”
She sniffed away the compliment. “I think it’s mean, spying on our friends, but if there’s a murderer living here, I suppose it’s our duty to find him if we can.”
