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SUNDAY MASS HAD A BECALMED quality, like the low-pressure eye of a hurricane. With Celia still in the hospital, the front pew lacked its usual malevolent energy. Father Michael’s homily was even more soothing than usual, and Mary-Alice found herself nodding off a few times.
Boon St. Clair, who usually sat next to her, was a no-show. This was a little disappointing. They often had Sunday lunch together after church, and Mary-Alice was hoping to hear how Angela, her little starling, was getting along. But Boon’s absence did solve one dilemma for Mary-Alice: whether to tell Boon that Celia had accused her of kidnapping. If he already knew about it and she didn’t mention it, it would make her look like she was hiding something. But if she brought it up and he hadn’t already heard about it, it would certainly ruin lunch.
With Celia absent, the post-Mass stampede down to Francine’s Diner lacked its usual frenzy. It was almost as if Celia’s crew didn’t care whether the Baptists reached Francine’s first and got the last of the banana pudding.
Mary-Alice never participated in the Sunday banana pudding race between the Catholics and the Baptists. Because of her friendship with Gertie, Ida Belle, and Fortune, Mary-Alice might have sided with the Baptists. On the other hand, she was a lifelong Catholic, although she felt she had little in common with Celia and her acolytes. Rather than navigate these perilous cross-currents of friendship and faith, Mary-Alice felt it wisest to steer clear of Sinful’s sectarian strife. At least when it came to banana pudding.
Without either Boon St. Clair or the banana pudding race to occupy her attention, Mary-Alice found herself at loose ends. She couldn’t even stop in at Harriet’s Books, which was usually her favorite way to pass the time. Harriet’s Books was closed on Sunday, as was most of Sinful. The prospect of returning to her quiet, bird-less house did not appeal to her.
And then she had an idea.
She walked home, freshened up, and climbed into her gleaming 1999 Oldsmobile 88. She could practically hear Ida Belle’s voice as she pulled out onto the highway:
“Don’t poke the bear, Mary-Alice, you’ll only make it worse.”
“I think calling Celia a bear is unfair to bears,” Gertie might add. “Bears mostly mind their business unless you go out of your way to bother them. Celia’s more like a nasty old copperhead.”
“Or a scorpion,” Fortune might chime in. “Mary-Alice, do you know the story of the turtle and the scorpion? The scorpion asks the turtle for a ride across the river. The turtle is reluctant, but the scorpion says, 'Don’t worry, I won’t sting you. If I did, we’d both drown.’ But halfway across the scorpion stings the turtle. ‘Why did you do that?’ the turtle asks, and the scorpion just shrugs. ‘It’s my nature.’ That’s Celia for you. She’ll take you down, even if it means she goes down too. Believe me, I know.”
“Well I do appreciate your concern, but I believe I’ll try to talk to her anyway,” Mary-Alice blurted out to the empty car. “Celia’s hiding something, and I’m going to find out what it is!”
Mary-Alice pulled into the hospital parking lot and headed over to the gift shop, but it, too was closed on Sunday. She would have to face Celia empty-handed.
No one stopped Mary-Alice as she headed to Celia’s room.
She knocked softly on the door and was surprised to hear a hearty, “come in!”
Mary-Alice pushed the door open and as her eyes adjusted, she saw that Celia’s bed was occupied by a lump of blankets. A gentle buzzing from beneath the blanket and the slow beep of the heart monitor signaled that she was asleep.
But the space that had been empty yesterday now contained another bed. The bed was occupied by a ruddy blonde.
“I’m Wanda,” the blonde hailed Mary-Alice. “Wanda Wilson. I was ringing for someone to come turn on the television, but real company’s even better. Who are you, darlin?”
Mary-Alice pulled the rolling stool over and sat next to the woman.
“I’m Mary-Alice Arceneaux,” Mary-Alice extended her delicate hand, which the woman grasped heartily. Mary-Alice observed that Wanda was young, not even sixty. “Well now, this is a surprise. When I stopped by yesterday I thought Celia’d gotten herself a private room.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mary-Alice,” Wanda Wilson said. “It might as well be a private room. It’s been quiet enough. That one sleeps most of the time. I don’t mind telling you, I’m bored out of my mind here. My girlfriends are coming in later on, thank goodness. But I suppose you didn’t come to hear me go on, did you? I do have a tendency to talk, that’s what my friends tell me.”
“Why, I’ve nowhere to be,” Mary-Alice said. “I did come to see my cousin Celia, but it seems she’s getting some rest right now. I suppose that’s a good thing. She needs to heal.”
Mary-Alice smelled smoke and realized that Wanda was lighting up a cigarette.
“Are you allowed to smoke in here?” Mary-Alice asked.
“Nope.” Wanda took a long drag on the cigarette and then tapped the ashes into the kidney-shaped bowl on the side table. She blew the smoke away from Mary-Alice, a considerate gesture. “So, Celia’s her name?”
“You haven’t talked with her?” Mary-Alice was surprised. She would have expected Celia to have already introduced herself and shared her life story. Celia liked nothing better than to talk about herself. According to Celia, nobody did it better than Celia Arceneaux, and nobody had it worse than Celia Arceneaux. It was a theme Celia never tired of discussing.
“Why, no, although not for lack of trying, I can tell you that,” Wanda replied. “She’s been like that most of the day. And even when she wakes up, she won’t talk to me.”
“Celia?” Mary-Alice started at the snoring lump of blankets, incredulous.
“Well, yes. I tried to introduce myself, and she just kind of gave me the stinkeye and then went back to sleep. Not sure what I’m supposed to do with that.”
Mary-Alice had no idea who this Wanda woman was, or whether she was trustworthy. But she decided to take a chance.
“I think Celia is protecting the man who did this to her,” Mary-Alice whispered.
Wanda shook her head and took another drag of her cigarette.
“Why do we put up with it, Mary-Alice? We think it’s gonna get better, don’t we? We think they’ll change. Sure they will.” Wanda’s derisive laugh turned into a coughing fit and she stubbed out her cigarette.
Mary-Alice nodded.
“My Joe had a temper,” she said quietly.
“Had?” Wanda looked interested.
“He passed on. It’s been ten years.”
Wanda propped herself up on her elbow to face Mary-Alice.
“I was widowed just last year.” Her tone was factual, as if she was telling Mary-Alice her bank balance. “He drank a whole glass of tiki torch oil. Thought it was bourbon.”
“Oh, by goodness. What an unfortunate mistake.”
Wanda nodded. “That’s exactly what the deputy sheriff concluded.”
“My Joe fell asleep in his lawn chair,” Mary-Alice said. “A big bull gator came up out of the bayou quick as you could imagine. I saw the whole thing through the kitchen window. There wasn’t anything I could do.”
“Why, that sounds just horrible.”
“Well it was over very quickly. I don’t believe he suffered.”
Joe’s demise had not been Mary-Alice’s fault. Joe could have moved his lawn chair away from the edge of the bayou and put it wherever he wanted. He could have even gotten up off of it and looked for a job.
“That’s her!” came a rasping voice behind Mary-Alice.
Mary-Alice turned to see Celia pointing a shaking finger at her. With the overhead light on, Celia’s face looked like one big purple-and-green bruise.
Mary-Alice tried not to look startled, but Wanda shrieked.
“Celia, darlin’,” Mary-Alice cried, “it’s me, Mary-Alice!”
Mary-Alice stood and started toward her, but Celia was having none of it.
“Help! Help!” she rasped. “She’s the one who did this to me!”
Mary-Alice turned back to Wanda.
“No,” she mouthed. “I didn’t.”
“I’m ringing for the nurse,” Celia croaked. “You redheaded harlot, how dare you come back here!”
“Now Celia, don’t be silly. I’m going to come over there and sit down and I will listen to whatever you want to tell me.”
“She’s going to kill me,” Celia howled in the direction of the door. “Help me! Help me!”
Celia pressed the call button and kept her finger on it. Quickly, Mary-Alice pulled a calling card out of her purse and pressed it into Wanda’s hand. She’d proudly had the cards printed up when her renovation of the old Cooper Place was complete, never really expecting to use them. People never seemed to use calling cards any more.
“She’s my cousin,” Mary-Alice whispered urgently to Wanda as Celia shrieked for help.
“So you said,” replied Wanda, now skeptical.
“The fact is, we don’t know who did this to her,” Mary-Alice said, “but I assure you, I have never laid a hand on Celia.”
Wanda looked little Mary-Alice up and down, from the top of her bright-red hair down to her sequined tennis shoes, and nodded.
“I do believe you, Mary-Alice.”
“We’re all quite worried for her. Anything you find out, why, I’d appreciate it ever so much.”
“Well now, here I was, bored out of my gourd and hoping for a little excitement.” Wanda held the card at arm’s length and grinned. “I better be careful what I wish for. Sinful, huh? Isn’t that just perfect.”
A pair of nurses sped into the room. One tried to soothe Celia while the other approached Mary-Alice, her nostrils twitching.
“This is a nonsmoking hospital, ma’am,” the nurse admonished Mary-Alice. “You’re going to have to leave.”
The nurse took Mary-Alice’s upper arm and firmly steered her around Celia’s bed and out the door. Mary-Alice took a last look at Wanda, who gave her a thumbs-up.
“I don’t understand,” Mary-Alice pleaded. “Why is Celia doing this?”
The nurse gave Mary-Alice a stern look.
“You’ve clearly upset the patient, ma’am. I advise you to hold off on visiting for a while.”
“Thank you, I will,” Mary-Alice sighed. “I suppose this wasn’t such a good idea after all.”