After another long, hot shower I returned to the family room. Charli leaped up and quickly switched off the television.
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
“Mom and Dad went on some mission that Dicey dreamed up for them. Dicey went to her office. She’s supposed to be back here about nine. Tim is outside, talking to the crime scene team.”
I peeked out and saw them taking pictures, making measurements, and searching around. I dropped the corner of the blind and plopped down on Charli’s over-stuffed sofa. It was fast becoming my sanctuary.
“So,” I said, waving toward the television, “is it totally awful?”
Charli was perched in her oak rocking chair munching on a biscuit. “Well, it’s not as bad as it could be,” she said. “Channel 42 is playing it to the hilt, of course, but the rest of them have barely mentioned it.”
I hugged a rose chenille throw pillow to my chest. “They will. Before this is over it’s going to be splashed all over the papers and the TV. I’ll be known as ‘Marty Sheffield, the Mulch Murderer’, for the rest of my life. We’ll probably have to all move to Pittsburgh or Cleveland or somewhere.”
Charli moved out of the chair and over next to me, then hugged me. “Come on now, honey, you know that’s not true. Eventually people will forget all about it.”
“Charli, this is Glenvar we’re talking about. People here are still talking about Ricky Ray dumping me at the altar as if it happened yesterday. And as far as gossip-worthy scandals go, I think Frank’s murder qualifies as way bigger than that one.” I finally lost control and began to blubber. Not just for myself, either.
Much as I disliked Frank Billingham, he didn’t deserve to die. He was ornery, but not a horrible person. Even though I hadn’t liked him, I felt embarrassed over the way I’d treated him. And I couldn’t help but wonder if, somehow, Charli’s operation ONAG wasn’t at least partially to blame. After all, Frank had been pulling up the stupid pink flamingos we’d planted when he was shot.
Charli handed me a box of tissues and after several minutes of hugging and back patting, went off to take a shower of her own.
The rest of the morning whizzed by in a blur. I spent quite a bit of time discussing things with Dicey. About eleven, she left with promises to call me as soon as she had firmed up the appointment with the police. I sat around Charli’s, flipping through magazines and books, bored out of my mind, for another hour. Finally, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had to get out of there, go back to my own place, my own things. See Delbert.
I poked my head out the front door to see if Tim was still around. He was draped over the porch swing, pretending to read the Sunday edition of the Roanoke Times, but really arm-chairing all of the police work that was going on. It surprised me to realize that it was only Sunday. It felt like days since my ill-fated date with Kyle. A month since we’d laughingly gone door-to-door around Charli’s neighborhood, planting those flamingos. A lifetime since the mulch fight with Frank.
I settled onto the swing next to Tim and gazed out across to the mountains. It was another one of those sweet summer days that bring to mind lazing around at the lake. The green of the mountains made the sky a deep turquoise. I wanted to drink it all in, pretend like I was a pig-tailed little girl without a care in the world other than what type of rope to use for our tree house entrance.
Tim folded the paper, tossed in on the porch, and slung his arm across my shoulder. I buried my face in his soft cotton GHS shirt. It smelled like soap and fresh air, like comfort and safety. At times like that, I think I might just marry Tim so I can feel that way all the time. Usually it only takes about two more minutes of being around him before I regain my sanity.
“You okay?” he asked. His voice was gruff and tender at the same time.
I reluctantly sat up and shrugged. “Guess so, considering.”
He patted my back and gave me a big squeeze. “Dicey’s good. You’ll be fine.”
“I know.”
“I just want you to know that, no matter what, I’m here for you.” He patted and hugged some more.
This wasn’t like Tim at all. I wasn’t used to this syrupy, nicey-nice treatment from him. Usually he blasted me with both barrels if he thought I was screwing up. And since that was pretty much all the time, our relationship generally had three fazes: starting a fight, fighting, or getting over a fight.
Don’t get me wrong, Tim and I are best friends. Always have been, always will be. It’s just that for a while now we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye on things. I used to be able to talk to him about anything. After Ricky Ray proposed and the wedding planning began, Tim and I became stuck in this continuous fighting mode. And even though Ricky Ray dumped me, we haven’t managed to break the habit.
When we were kids Tim, Ricky Ray, and I were practically joined at the hip. We met on the first day of kindergarten and were practically inseparable for years. We were partners in crime, the three Musketeers, the Dream Team, playing together every minute of free time. I naively thought it would be like that always. In my kid mind the three of us, looking remarkably like our ten year old selves, had a house with a big swimming pool in the back and lived together, each with our own kid-paradise room, in complete joy and harmony. That, of course, was before I knew anything about sex.
You know that advice about never messing around with your friends? How if you do you’ll ruin the friendship? Well, that’s what happened to us. Only the friendship that got broken was the one between Ricky Ray and Tim. When we were in eighth grade Ricky Ray and I were playing out in the tree fort. I think Tim had strept throat or something. Anyway, to make a long story short, Ricky Ray and I got into a tussle over something or another and the next thing you know, we were kissing to beat the band. From then on he was my boyfriend.
Tim instantly and passionately decided that he hated Ricky Ray. To say the least, our friendship took a backseat to my budding romance. But Tim was still there for me. Even though it broke up the Three Musketeers, and he and Ricky Ray could barely be in the same room together, Tim never once let me down. He was my rock. Mr. Tell It Like It Is.
I smacked him on the arm. “Stop that. Stop tip-toeing around me like I’m someone you don’t know.”
He looked taken aback. “What do you mean? I’m just trying to be supportive. Geez, Louise, Marty. You are the most exasperating person I’ve ever met! First you act like a dad gummed fool, running around dumping manure on an old man. As if that’s not enough, you get yourself right in the middle of yet another murder. What ever possessed you to pick up that gun? This time you have really screwed up, Marty. I don’t know what I’m going to do with… What the heck are you laughing at?”
I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged them to me. “That’s better. That’s the Tim I know and love. Good to have you back, buddy. For a minute there I thought someone had given you a lobotomy or something.”
He pouted. “What do you mean by that? Are you making fun of me? Because if you are…”
I cut him off again. “Of course I’m not making fun of you. I was just, oh, never mind. It’s not important. Let’s just drop it, okay?”
He pouted for a couple more minutes, but the best thing about Tim is that he heals quickly. “All right,” he said. “Consider it dropped.”
We swung to and fro, not talking, just enjoying the beautiful June day. Well, at least Tim seemed to be enjoying it. I couldn’t stop my eyes from straying over to the place where Frank’s body had been. It gave me the shivers.
“Tim, I have got to go home. I’m going stark raving mad here. Besides, Delbert has probably destroyed the apartment. He hates being left all alone for so long. You wanna grab a six-pack and come over?”
He poked me in the arm. “I gotta work tonight so no beer. I’ll come over and watch you drink a couple, though. Somebody’s gotta keep you out of trouble. And don’t think I haven’t heard about your little swimming episode. You really outdid yourself yesterday, didn’t you?”
I got up off the porch swing, ignoring him.
“Hey!” he said. “I’m talking to you. Did you hear me?”
I did, but was not in the mood to discuss it. “I heard. I’m just ignoring you.”
I opened the front door and hollered in at Charli. “Hey, sis. I’m going on home now. I’ll call you later.”
Her voice rumbled back from the depths of her house. “Okay. See you later. Be careful. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” I turned back to Tim. “Do you mind springing for the beer? I’m fresh out of money. I’ll pay you back. I promise.”
Tim chuckled. “Sure you will, Marty. You already owe me twenty-three dollars. Heck, if I added it up, you’d probably owe me a couple of million dollars. You’ve owed me since we were nine and you talked me into fronting you five bucks for that fancy squirt gun. Which, by the way, caused me to get grounded for three days. Remember? You accidentally squirted Mrs. Nowling’s clean laundry with that concoction you mixed up, dishwashing detergent and cherry Kool-Aid, wasn’t it? Then when she came out to investigate you dropped the gun and ran off. You just left me there, standing next to that stupid gun. I can’t believe I forgave you for that. I must have been nuts. Still must be. I wonder why on earth I keep hanging around with you?”
I pulled his green Glenvar PD hat down over his eyes. “Because you crave the excitement, that’s why. And that wasn’t my fault with Mrs. Dowling’s laundry. The sight was off on that squirt gun. Which, by the way belonged to you, not me. I swear, Tim, your memory stinks. You wouldn’t loan me the money, but said you’d buy the gun and let me play with it. Anyway, you should have taken it back to the store. It was a dud if I ever saw one. I wasn’t trying to get you in trouble, either. I figured you had enough sense to run instead of just standing there like a bonehead, waiting to get caught.”
Tim flipped the brim of the hat up and gave me his cutest smile. “God, Marty, you’re such a…”
“…Wonderful, compassionate, beautiful person.” I stuck out my tongue at him and darted off the porch. “Meet you at home.”
I hopped into the Mustang and fired up the engine so I didn’t hear his reply. It didn’t matter, I’d heard it all before. It was our usual pattern. Tim was still yapping to himself as he unlocked the door of his big black truck.
I popped off the emergency brake and shifted into reverse. Tim rapped on my passenger side window.
What now, more childhood disaster stories? I leaned across and cranked down the window an inch. “What?”
“Did you know that your tires on this side are flat? Looks like somebody slashed them.”
I climbed out and looked. Tim was right. Both of the tires bore deep cuts. I went back in the house and told Charli about the tires and that I was going to have to leave the Mustang in her driveway. Then I scrambled into Tim’s monster truck, switched the radio station to WROV, and buckled the seat belt. I slumped down in the seat and stared out the window, feeling extremely sorry for myself.
“Holy crap, Marty,” Tim said, “what’s next, hordes of locusts and massive floods?”
“Shut up or you’ll jinx me,” I said.
Too late, of course.