| |
Earl (Earl & Wilma) Friday, 1:00 p.m.
The subject of Hank Edmonds’ confession weighed on my mind. The guys had agreed to keep it from the girls, but Wilma had been honest about Del’s rotten behavior. She’d said it wasn’t right for husbands and wives to keep secrets, which meant I had to be honest. Though I felt bad going against what us guys had agreed on, I told her the whole thing.
“What are you going to say to Julie?” she asked.
“The other guys don’t want to tell the women anything.”
Wilma frowned. “They said we’d help the police find a killer. Now that we know what happened, why keep it a secret?”
“They want to figure out a way to handle things so it isn’t too hard on Hank.”
“But how can they justify that if Hank’s really Greg Miles?”
I was torn between loyalty to the guys and Wilma’s doubt. “It’s like when you girls did that song for the Christmas Follies. You didn’t lie to us about what you were doing, but you didn’t tell us everything.”
She gave me a look. “This is more serious than a silly song, Earl.”
She had me there.
Whenever I have a question to wrestle with, I take a walk. Shrinks have all kinds of analysis on why walking helps with thinking. I don’t know about that. I only know it does. You look up at the sky or out at the land or even down at your feet, going in and out, and somehow things fall into place. The importance of some things settles in. The unimportant things fade. The question of which is which gets clearer. And if you’re lucky, the answer becomes obvious.
I walked the road that edges the park, Main Street, which is divided into directions: Main East, then South, then West, and then North. That took me to the park entrance. If I’d taken Main East again, I’d have returned home, but since I needed more thinking time, I turned left and took the street that leads out to the highway. B-Bird Avenue is a half mile of skinny road with not much along its edges, since it runs through an area that’s pretty swampy. That might sound bad, but it’s why B-Bird isn’t shoulder to shoulder with a Walmart or a strip of hair salons and tattoo parlors. At its other end, Ambler Road is six lanes of almost constant traffic.
As I neared the highway, I saw that a snazzy little vintage Corvette had turned onto B-Bird Avenue and parked half-on and half-off the road. Alongside it was the driver, an attractive female wearing those pants that look like tights and a long, flowy shirt over top. Long, blond hair hid her face as she stood with her fists on her hips, looking into the machinery under the car’s raised hood with a puzzled expression.
“Having car trouble?”
My question brought a jump and a gasp. As she turned toward me, I saw drawn-on eyebrows and bright, red lips that formed a circle of surprise. “Sorry.” I stopped and raised my hands, palms out. “I’m out walking, and I saw you looking...well, confused.”
Whatever apprehension my arrival had caused seemed to evaporate. “I was coming down Ambler and the engine suddenly cut out. I had just enough momentum to turn in here and get out of the traffic.” A head shake emphasized the next words. “No idea what’s wrong. I’m an idiot when it comes to cars.”
“I’m no mechanic, but I can take a look if you like.”
“Please.”
Working on a farm, you get to know a little about engines, not modern ones so much, but this one was from the days when I studied Chilton’s Motor Manual like it was a textbook. Peering under the hood, I noticed wet spots. “Did you wash this thing recently?”
“I did.”
“Under the hood too?”
“Yes. Someone told me it’s good to do that once in a while.”
“True. But if the distributor cap gets water in it, a car can stall out.”
“Oh.”
I unhooked the connections and took a look. “Yep. There’s your problem, I bet.” Using my handkerchief, I dried the cap off. “Let’s give it a minute to dry, and then we’ll try it.”
“Thanks, um...”
“Name’s Earl.”
“Thank you, Earl. I’m Kim.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“I’m lucky you came along.” Kim took out a phone and glanced at the screen. “I have exactly fourteen minutes to get to the club where I’m performing or I’ll be in trouble...again.” A smile and a little shrug said that wasn’t a big worry.
“You’re a singer?”
“Yeah, sort of. I do impersonations of famous singers.”
“Oh.”
Pride overtook modestly and Kim said, “I’m best known for my Katy Perry, but I also do Taylor Swift, Cher, Adele, Ariana Grande, and Streisand.” She leaned toward me. “Everyone does Streisand.”
“Wow. That’s a lot.”
A nod accepted that as praise, though to be honest I had no idea who most of those women were. I know Cher and Barbra, of course. The rest were only names I’ve heard on TV.
“I should give you a ticket, so you can come to the show.”
“You don’t need to—”
“It’s not a big deal.” Kim paused. “Are you married, Earl?”
“Yeah. Wilma’s my wife.”
“Great. We’ll make it two.” Taking a little pink notebook with a matching pen from the glovebox, Kim spoke the words aloud. “Allow two people into any show at no cost. It’s the Silver Bullet on 54. I’ll be there until the middle of February. I’ll put my phone number on here too, in case there’s a problem with the bouncer. He can be grumpy sometimes, so give me a call if he won’t honor this.” Holding out the paper until I took it, Kim said, “Really, you should come.”
“Thanks, but we don’t even know if I fixed your car yet.”
“I appreciate the effort, either way.” The under-the-eyelashes look that came my way made me kind of nervous, so I stuck the paper in my pocket and said, “Let’s try it.”
The car started right up, and Kim clapped enthusiastically. “Thanks again, Earl.” Checking the rear view mirror and waiting for a car to pass, Kim did a U-ey and drove off, tooting the horn as a final goodbye.
When I got to the park entrance, the car that had passed was parked at the office. Del Hanna had climbed out, and he flagged me down. “Who was the good-looking woman you were talking to, Earl?”
For a second I bit my tongue, unable to believe he had the nerve to speak to me after putting his slimy moves on my wife. After a few seconds I made a conscious effort to relax my shoulders. I’d promised Wilma I wouldn’t make trouble, and, judging by his open gaze, Del thought Wilma hadn’t told me what he’d done.
“Um, that was Kim. I was able to help with some car trouble.”
He ignored my cold tone. “A knight in shining armor, eh?”
I shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“And what did you get out of it? I saw her give you something.”
“Kim’s got a night club act, I guess. Wilma and me are invited to go there some night and see the show.”
He was definitely interested. “Really. Are you going to go?”
“Probably not. We don’t go out much at night.”
Del’s manner turned even oilier. “I’d like to see the show. If you’re not going to use that pass, I’ll take it.”
The guy’s nerve was unbelievable, but it didn’t matter to me one way or the other. I took out the paper and handed it over.
His smile got even bigger. “She included her phone number. Do you think if I called her, she’d have a drink with me after the show?”
“Um—”
He interrupted what I might have said with another oily grin. “It can’t hurt to ask, right?”
I thought about it for a second. Kim had seemed to me someone who could handle a guy like Del, no problem. “You’re both adults,” I told him. “What you do is up to you.”
Later that day, Ron stopped by to borrow my band saw. While we were in the shed, he told me Del was spreading the word that he’d talked me into giving him access to a really hot nightclub singer. “I suppose you weren’t interested in going to the show,” Ron said, “but why would you give any woman’s number to Del Hanna?”
“Kim isn’t a woman.”
Ron’s chin backed right into his neck. “Are you saying she’s a he?”
“I never understood why a bull wants to dress up like a heifer,” I told him, “but I sure as heck can tell the difference between the two.”
