| |
Saturday, April 20, 1996
She’s not a fat cat,” I said again to Glaze as I stroked Marmy’s soft ears. “She’s just comfortably padded. Anyway, I’m going to be a lot more comfortably padded than she is if we don’t get off our duffs and take a walk. I’m going to show you downtown Martinsville. Put on your walking shoes, and let’s get going.”
I took just a moment to wash up the cups and plates, and put them on the drain board. Drying dishes is the only job I know of that, if you don’t bother to do it, it does itself.
“We’ll just stroll around town a little bit. It’ll raise our spirits and get us breathing. Maybe we’ll go through the beauty shop and then walk up to the deli for some lunch.”
“Beauty shop?”
I turned to Glaze to explain. “Sharon Armitage owns the gift shop between the grocery store and the movie theater. Everybody in town calls it the beauty shop because Sharon put a beauty parlor in the side room. The gift baskets always smell a bit like hair coloring, but it’s a fun little store to visit just because Sharon is such a friendly soul. Also, you’ll get to meet every woman in town if you drop in there often enough.”
“I imagine one drop-in will be enough for me. I might want her to do a wash and blow-dry for me before the wedding, though, as long as she doesn’t turn everybody’s hair into a blue helmet.”
“Don’t worry about an old-lady hairdo. Sharon was another refugee from the cities. She worked with some of the best hairdressers in New Jersey and New York, until she and her husband Carl moved here ten years ago to get their little girl out of the suburbs. Ended up having three more kids once they got here – must be something in the air. Carl owns the gas station on the north end of town, and runs the movie theater three nights a week.” As I spoke I was filling Marmalade’s food dish.
Feeding a cat dry food is the best thing in the world from a convenience standpoint.
I like chicken better.
Cats won’t overeat unless they have a dietary imbalance of some sort – I read that in that great book by Martin Goldstein. As much as I talk about her being tubby, she’s not really. Oh, she was when she first adopted me, but now she’s sleek and slim and just right. Her thick hair is what makes her look full all the time.
Glaze and I waltzed down the front steps in high spirits a little before ten o’clock, and we turned right when we got to Second Street. We crossed Oak and Juniper, then paused at the corner entrance to the town park, admiring the daylilies by the benches and along the sidewalks. What’s with the weather this year? Daylilies never bloom this early, yet there we stood looking at bright orange blossoms and a few deep red ones. Of course, I had to tell her the whole story.
There have been daylilies in Martinsville for at least two hundred years. One of the oldest books in the library, a real treasure that turned up in response to my Petunia Brigade’s call for used books, was a set of diaries that were started in 1797 by Ida Peterson’s great-great-great-great-grandmother’s younger sister, who was born here in Martinsville in 1787, the year before Georgia became the first southern state to ratify the constitution.
According to the diary, Faith and her sister, who were twelve and fourteen years old, talked their father into ordering some daylily bulbs from Savannah. They were delivered by cart in 1799 to the general store, which was run by the girls’ father. That October the two sisters planted twenty-four daylilies here and there around town, and they bloomed the following summer, the first summer of the new century. “Every five years after that,” I told Glaze, “as long as they lived, the sisters divided the plants and replanted the flourishing roots. You’ll have to come back in the summer to see this place when all of them are blooming. It’s a riot of colors.”
Glaze and I stood looking at a lush stand of vibrant orange daylilies, wondering for a moment if any of these had roots that came from the original two dozen. “That diary must have been pretty interesting,” Glaze commented. “Were there lots of good stories?”
“Yes, quite a few. The one that touched my heart the most started on the day before the fire that burned down the church in 1814. Faith, the diary writer, wrote that her fourth baby was starting to come. She was twenty-seven years old at the time and already had three sons. The next entry, written by Chastity, the older sister, said that the church had burned down but that she and Faith had missed it because Faith had been trying to get her baby birthed for twenty-four hours. After the church was gone, she finally delivered a baby girl. The last sentence for that day read, ‘Faith held her child, kissed her forehead, named her Hope, and went home to the angels.’ They buried Faith beside the burned-out building, and then they rebuilt the church.”
“What happened to the baby?”
“Chastity raised little Hope and her three older brothers with her own four children.”
“It’s a shame the diary had to end on such a sad note.”
“It didn’t. Chastity continued to write in her sister’s diary every evening until she ran out of pages. Then she started her own diaries. We have the whole set. They cover a total of seventy-six years, until Chastity died in 1873. She was eighty-eight.”
“My sister, the historian,” Glaze said, but without the usual teasing lilt. I turned to look at her. She had bent down to brush her hand across a daylily blossom. “They’re all buried at the cemetery on Third Street,” I told her. “Maybe we’ll walk up there tomorrow so you can see the headstones.”
In a much more somber mood we passed by the library. I pointed across the street to the house where Bob’s best friend Tom lived. Just beyond that was the little clinic that we were so fortunate to have in town. When we reached Magnolia Way, I couldn’t help smiling. Despite the sad story of Faith and little Hope, I was simply enjoying being outside. We detoured across the street to Azalea House, Melissa’s bed-and-breakfast where I lived my first year in Martinsville, but there was nobody home. “We’ll stop by again some time while you’re here. I want you to meet Melissa. She’s a dear friend, almost a second sister.”
“Then, shouldn’t she be your bridesmaid, instead of me?”
“Heck, no, baby sister! You’re my first choice.” I couldn’t resist leaning sideways to give her a quick hug. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Melissa had resigned the job when she found out that Glaze was coming. Now, though, I was glad we’d made the change. I was enjoying this sister of mine.
“Tell me a happy story,” Glaze demanded as we turned and walked past the lovely old Japanese maple; so I took the time to tell her as much as I knew about Heal Thyself, the health store we were headed toward. It sat on the corner of Magnolia Way and First Street, overlooking the bend in the river.
“Annie McGill was a local girl who read about cruelty to animals in the slaughterhouses when she was in fifth grade, and decided right then that she was going to make a difference in the world. Her mother had been appalled when ten-year-old Annie declared that she was a ‘vegetable-arian.’ Nothing Mrs. McGill said could change Annie’s mind. Annie never went off the deep end with protests and all that. She just quietly started learning how to run a business – I think Margot and Hans Schuss are the ones who helped her formulate her business plan while she was working for them one year.”
“Are they the deli people?”
“Yes. When Annie was ready, she went to the First Community Bank in Garner Creek and got herself a business loan to buy the old Simpson house after Mr. Simpson died. She lives upstairs and runs the greatest little herb and vitamin store downstairs. Because she hadn’t wanted to stock fresh veggies and stuff that had a limited shelf life, she convinced Ida and Ralph Peterson, the ones who own the grocery store, to start carrying organic meats and veggies, and stuff like goat’s milk and cage-free eggs that they buy from Mrs. Pontiac, who lives just a block up from me.”
“I never knew a town this size with so many food-related places!”
“You’re right. We have a health store, a restaurant, a deli, a grocery store. Everybody in town does eat out a lot,” I admitted, remembering all the wonderful dinners Bob and I had eaten at CT’s, the restaurant up on the corner of Magnolia and Third. “The deli’s open six days a week from seven a.m. to five p.m. The restaurant’s open Tuesday through Saturday, evenings only. So, if people don’t remember to buy some take-out, they have to cook for themselves on Sundays and Mondays. I really like the way the businesses around here are supportive of each other.”
“So the grocery store doesn’t carry vitamins?”
“Nope. That’s Annie’s territory. They’re only three blocks apart, so it’s not a disaster if you have to go both places to shop.”
“Sounds rather British to me. Now all you need is a pub. I forgot to pack my vitamins, so I’ll pick some up if Annie has the kind I like.”
“Remind me to get some more licorice root tea. It’s great for cooling down hot flashes.”
“I’m having those, too. Pain in the tutu, isn’t it?”
My little sister, having hot flashes? I took a good look at her. We’d both taken after Dad’s side of the family, with bodies that were more pear shaped the older we got. But Glaze had mom’s neck, long and slender, so her weight didn’t look as obvious on her as my weight did on me.
“Did you know you have Auntie Blue’s eyes, Glaze?”
“Really? I’ve never seen her that much. They moved to Colorado when I was in seventh grade.”
“You do remember Uncle Mark, though, don’t you?” Glaze furrowed her forehead for a moment until she realized what I was talking about. Then we both burst into peals of laughter, startling the sparrows that had congregated in the leftover puddles along the roadside.
Uncle Mark was married to Auntie Blue, who was my mom’s older sister. Her name was really Beulah, but who on earth would saddle a girl with a name like that and expect it to stick? Mom couldn’t say Beulah when she was a little girl, so she called her Blue, and the name seemed to fit.
One day, while Uncle Mark and Auntie Blue were over at our house, I’d come home in a tizzy because my eighth-grade art teacher told me I didn’t have any talent. Mom said not to worry about his opinions because he still had to put his pants on one leg at a time.
Well, Uncle Mark heard that and decided he’d be the first man in history who could put his pants on BOTH legs at a time. So he took an old pair of gardening pants that were kind of baggy, and tried to jump into them, both feet at once.
Later, when we visited him in the hospital, he looked up at the traction pulley and admitted that maybe he wasn’t as flexible as he used to be. Mom told him he was just plain pig-headed. Auntie Blue said that the next time he was going to try anything that foolish, please let her know in advance, so she could warm up the camera.
~~~~~
THURSDAY, JULY 21, 1994
Garner Creek
Harlan didn’t work weekends, except an occasional Saturday till two o’clock. He walked to work, usually ate lunch at the diner down the street, saved part of his money for film, and the rest to invest in a house someday. One of the good things about his apartment over the bakery was the big interior bathroom that he had been able, with the owner’s permission, to transform into his own darkroom. He’d had to squeeze things in a bit, but had managed the trays and the special lights and the developer. It had been easy to seal the door completely to prevent incoming stray bits of light.
One Thursday, just as he was leaving for lunch, one of the salesmen from the used car section approached him. Harlan knew him by sight, as he did all the people who worked there. Sid Borden was a sallow-faced, lanky fellow, who reminded Harlan of one of the blue-tailed skinks he had photographed, only not as dignified. He usually stuck to himself, so Harlan was surprised when Sid walked up beside him and said, “I have something I’d like to ask you about. Mind if I buy you some lunch so we can talk?”
“Sure,” Harlan shrugged. They walked down two blocks to the little café on the corner and asked for coffee, black for Harlan, light and sweet for Sid. “What’s this all about?” Harlan asked after their coffee was set down and they’d ordered a club sandwich for Sid and a cheeseburger with the works for his guest.
Sid smiled as he stirred his coffee, then placed the damp spoon carefully on the little paper napkin. He pulled another napkin out of the holder by the wall and set it beside the one that now had a small coffee stain on it. “I’ve wanted to talk with you for several weeks. I hear that you’re quite the photographer.” Sid had a salesman’s voice. It was good when the customers didn’t realize they were being sold anything. Somehow his customers always believed the purchase had been their own idea.
“Yeah, I guess,” Harlan agreed.
“You have your own darkroom, right?”
“Right.”
“Would you be interested in making a little extra money and helping out the cause of justice at the same time?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not aware of this, I know,” said Sid, as he glanced around to be sure that nobody could overhear their quiet conversation. “I do some work on the side as a private eye.” He figured that Harlan might ask to see his PI license card. That place a block off Peachtree Street in Atlanta where he’d bought the card did good work, but Sid wasn’t sure it would stand up to too much scrutiny, so he flipped the card into view from his wallet and then quickly tucked it away.
“I’ve been tailing a couple of people, two separate jobs, but they both might recognize me, since I’ve been involved in several high level cases.” He might as well make this sound good while he was at it. “What I need is for you to take a few good-quality photos of these people in a couple of compromising places. You know, eating in dark restaurants, and going into motel rooms. These may be evidence in court cases, but you’ll need to be very confidential about doing this. Nobody can know where the pictures are coming from.” He wondered if he’d gone too far, since there was no overt response from his lunch partner. He bit into his club sandwich, waiting for a response. His sales training told him to present his case and shut his mouth. The first person to talk – and that first person was never Sid — would end up buying the car.
Harlan, however, was thinking of f-stops for the poor lighting in dark restaurants, responding to the challenge of the photography rather than being concerned about the details Sid had so carefully laid out. It simply didn’t occur to him to question Sid. He had glanced at the private investigator’s license, with Sid’s photo laminated on the left side. Tony had hired the guy, so it must be all right. Of course, Tony had written that awful commercial, too. Harlan did wonder for a moment if Tony even knew about Sid’s second job as a P.I.
He took a big bite of his cheeseburger, thought for a moment, swallowed, and said, “Sure. When do I start?”
“You can do the first job during your lunch breaks and maybe a little evening work,” Sid explained, giving Harlan specific places where the couple had been seen, and showing him a Polaroid of the man. He’d taken it himself at a political rally, so Harlan would be able to recognize the man. This was an up and coming politician named Hubbard Martin. A married man with some little piece of tail on the side, and Sid figured they’d return to the same restaurant, the same motel once or twice more over the next few weeks. He might as well cash in, was the way he reasoned. He handed Harlan an envelope with a small wad of bills in it “to cover any expenses” with the understanding that there would be more when the photos and negatives were turned over.
It took Harlan only two days to get three photos of the two walking into and out of the Russell Gap Hideaway, a motel tucked into the backwater streets of a little town about fifteen miles up the river from Hastings, on the other side of Garner Creek. He’d managed a good shot of the two of them with their heads together over martinis at dinner earlier that same evening. Harlan knew he’d seen the man somewhere, but it took him a few days to realize that he was a politician from Martinsville, running for County Commissioner.
The next weekend, Harlan happened to see the man in Martinsville. Hubbard passed him on the street, and looked closely at him. Harlan couldn’t tell if he recognized him, or just was wondering if he could get his vote. Harlan had actually been planning to vote for him, until he’d seen what poor taste the man had in women. ‘Come to think of it, I’m not going to vote for anybody who’s stupid enough to play around, especially this close to home with an election coming up.’
With the additional money he made, Harlan bought a loupe for his darkroom, so he could see the fine details better. He had been making do without a magnifier, even though he’d wanted one for some time. He tucked the rest of the cash away for his house fund.
~~~~~
FROM THE STATEMENT of Sidney “Sid” Borden to the Georgia Bureau of Investigation
Yeah, I knew him from work ... No, not well ... Yes, we ate lunch together sometimes down at the corner restaurant ... You know how it is, you’re headed to the same place. It’s crowded, so you sit together ... Baseball mostly, or fishing and bowling. You know, guy stuff ... The last time I saw him? It must have been Friday. He was in the parking lot when I came out ... No, I didn’t talk to him ... At home with my wife. It was our anniversary ... We had dinner out. ... We were in bed by 9:15 ... Library? No, I don’t know why he was in a library.
~~~~~
SATURDAY, APRIL 20, 1996
Martinsville
Annie had the vitamins, but Glaze and I took almost an hour just to browse through the cheery little rooms. Annie spent part of the time helping us find the brands we asked about, and the rest of the time sitting in the rocking chair she had tucked into a corner beside the big front window. We chatted with her as we wandered around the little shop.
“Did you make that lovely quilt?” Glaze asked, motioning to the checkerboard fabric that draped across the back of the rocker.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did,” Annie replied. “I’ve been interested in quilts ever since I was a little girl. When I was seven I started making one quilt square each month, so this particular quilt is eight years of work–ninety-six squares. At first I had to work at it to turn out one square in four weeks, but later it just became a habit to make a special square each month, no matter what other quilt I was working on. If you look carefully,” she said, lifting the quilt from its resting place, “you can see that all the squares are dated. They’re in chronological order.”
Annie’s braid had migrated to the front of her shoulder, and she swung it back out of her way. “My mother insisted that I date each square, and I’m so glad now that she did.” Her shy smile couldn’t disguise her pride as she pointed out the little embroidered dates. The squares in the upper left corner were obviously the work of a beginner, with simple childish stitches, and large bits of material. As we looked across the rows, rather like reading a book, we could see Annie’s sewing ability bloom. There were color phases she’d gone through. “This was the summer I was into purple,” Annie said, indicating three squares done in shades of purple and lavender. All of another row was her “green period–that was most of fourth grade.” Some of the squares were embroidered with flowers. Some had words like love and peace and friendship sewn in bold colors.
“That’s a self-portrait square I did when I was twelve,” she said, pointing to a little fabric girl in a gingham dress, with long red pigtails. Annie’s hair was still a vibrant copper, although she wore it now in a simple braid that hung down below her waist.
“Where do you do your quilting, Annie?”
“Upstairs. There’s a big room right above us that overlooks the river. I have my quilting frame set up there and a big table for cutting and piecing.” I looked up and raised my eyebrows questioningly.
“You’re right,” Annie laughed. “There’s not much room in there to move around, but it suits me just fine.”
After we paid for the vitamins and the tea bags, Annie warned us not to drink licorice root tea more than seven days in a row. When Glaze asked why not, she explained, “It can raise your blood pressure. Most people think of herbal remedies as very safe, because they’re natural, but herbals can be powerful medicine. They need to be used with care and knowledge. I think people should take responsibility for their own health, and I try to educate my customers whenever I can.”
Annie’s mouth pursed into a rueful grin. “Sorry if I sound like I’m preaching at you.”
“Hush up, Annie. I for one appreciate your expertise and I like getting those reminders.”
“Anything I need to know about my vitamins?” Glaze asked as she paused in the doorway.
“Take two each day. One before breakfast and one before bedtime. Also, drink plenty of water between meals, not because it’s good for you, but because it’s good.”
~~~~~
FROM THE STATEMENT of Annette “Annie” McGill to the Georgia Bureau of Investigation
No, sir. I hardly knew him at all. Of course, I knew he was Buddy’s friend, but they never came to my shop. ... Size nine, usually ... Home, working on a quilt. ... No, sir, I was by myself ... Library? No, I don’t know why he was in the library.
~~~~~
SATURDAY, APRIL 20, 1996
“Sounds good to me,” Glaze remarked as we started along First Street toward Sharon’s Beauty Shop. “I always drink plenty of water, although I’d rather drink plenty of milkshakes!”
“Don’t worry. We’re just a few blocks from the deli.”
Every person we passed had a familiar face, and quite a few stopped us to inquire, “Is this the Philadelphia sister we’ve heard so much about?” If Glaze didn’t know that I’d been excited about seeing her again after all those long years of separation, she had no doubt about it by the time we’d walked the three and a half blocks to the gift shop.
In between interruptions and introductions and questions about her bandaged hand, Glaze asked me if it was a unisex beauty parlor. “You know, where men and women both can get haircuts?”
“Not a chance. This is lady’s turf exclusively.”
“Then where does Bob get his trim jobs?”
“A block up on Maple Street. Larry Murphy is a retired barber who used to have a shop in Hastings, but came here when his father got sick about a dozen years ago. When the father died, Larry, as the oldest of the eight kids ...”
“Eight?”
“Yes. Larry inherited the huge old house, so he decided to stay. Retirement wasn’t all that much fun anyway, since he didn’t like to fish or read. He enclosed the side porch, and turned it into the barber shop. He even painted a red and white barber pole on the door. I’ll show it to you when we walk past there on the way home.”
“What did all the other kids think about Larry getting the house?”
“Most of them didn’t care. They’d all left town as soon as they got old enough. Barry was the second son. He owns a really scrumptious small hotel just upriver from Savannah. That’s where Bob and I are going for our honeymoon. I’ve never stayed there, but it has a great reputation for good food, lovely rooms, and beautiful gardens.”
“Big beds?” Glaze asked with a twinkle.
“Hush your mouth, little sister.” Was that a blush I felt creeping up my neck? I’m almost fifty years old. I thought blushing had gone out for me a LONG time ago. This was 1996, for heaven’s sake. Yet here I was getting all warm and fuzzy-feeling. I was looking forward to our honeymoon, though. No, we hadn’t ‘done it’ yet. Not because of any prudishness. Just a deep belief that consecration and vows add depth to...
“Biscuit? Yoo-hoo! Are you with me?”
“To get back to our discussion of the Murphy family...”
“And to let the red recede from your face,” my sister added gleefully. “I said there was a whole passel of Murphy kids. Bob’s told me about them, but I haven’t met any except Larry. Bob said they couldn’t wait to get away from town.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody ever could think of them as individuals around here. Their parents had named the boys Larry, Barry, Gary, Perry, and Harry.”
“That’s awful,” Glaze groaned. “Surely you jest.”
“Girl-scout’s honor. Wait, though. It gets worse. The girls were named ...”
“Let me guess, let me guess,” interjected Glaze, tapping my arm. “Umm, there has to be a Mary ...”
“Right.”
“And a Sherry?”
“You got it. And ...”
“That poor mother must have been pregnant her whole life.”
“That poor mother is the one who came up with all these names. She was actually proud of it, or so Bob says.”
“So who was the other girl? Nary? Blair-ie? Kwerry? Tipperary?”
“I think we need to get you out of the sun. No, the last girl was named Derry.”
“Ha! I bet she got called dairy-cow in school.”
More to change the subject than anything else, I detoured across First Street to show Glaze the Metoochie River. It’s really more a creek, especially with the drought we’d been having, but it’s been called a river for two centuries. Why change things now?
“What does the name mean?” Glaze asked.
“Beats me. I tried to look it up, but the original meaning has been lost. Some people say Metoochie is just a mispronunciation of the real name given the river by the Cherokee. About a hundred and fifty years ago ...”
“When the church burned down?”
“Yeah, about that time. Anyway the name got corrupted somehow, and everyone started calling it the Metoochie. That’s what it’s been ever since.”
“Aren’t there any old maps that show the real name?”
“Nothing that’s readable. I even checked with the state archives. This big river of ours is just a creek to most of the folks in the rest of Georgia. I just haven’t been able to find the answer, but I keep hoping.”
“Nothing in the old diary?”
“No. Both women mention gathering reeds by the river or hauling water from the river, but they never call it by any name.”
Maybe I should start being more specific in my journal that I write in each evening. I always write a gratitude list, too five things for which I’m grateful. I read once that when we focus on what’s good in our life, we’re more likely to attract more good things. If we focus on the yucky stuff, that’s what we get more of. Then, after I write the list, I jot down some musings about what’s gone on during the day. If someone reads it a hundred years from now, maybe a great-great-great-granddaughter of mine, will she be able to understand the flavor of my days?
What we focus on ... Hmmm ... Even with the rain we’d been having, the water level was still low. A five-year drought, and no end in sight. Maybe I should start carrying an umbrella everywhere.
Ever since a flood washed away five or six buildings back in 1802, there’s been nothing built on the Metoochie along here, except the town dock, which is really just a medium-sized pier that juts out into the water so the kids have something to jump from. The rest of the waterfront is like a park, with a grassy area that slopes down to the sand at the water’s edge. People fish, feed the ducks, picnic in the spring and fall, or just walk along and enjoy the sounds of the river. I pointed to the placid pool where the river runs deep, right in front of where we stood. “Bob told me he learned to skip stones right across there before he even started school.”
“Is he good at it?”
“Champion quality,” I affirmed, having counted sixteen or seventeen skips on a single throw. It’s always hard to know exactly how many there are, since the skips get smaller and so much closer together toward the end of the run. There were almost twenty; I knew that for a fact. Upriver and downstream from the pool, the creek is littered with large boulders. No rapids, nothing that dynamic, but rough water nonetheless. Here in front of us, though, some geologic shift had left a deep, broad, quiet pool where people sometimes swam in the early mornings. Of course, during the school vacations, there are always kids in the water. No lifeguards, no real rules. The bigger kids look out for the little ones, and there are always moms patrolling the edge. It works well.
~~~~~
FROM THE STATEMENT of Sharon Armitage to the Georgia Bureau of Investigation
Well, why on earth would you want to know that? ... Size nine and a half or so. I’d be six feet tall if I didn’t have so much turned under to walk on! ...Yep, I closed up my shop about five and took the girls home. If my husband Carl’s at the station, which he usually is till six-thirty, they come to the shop after school and do their homework in the back room. Some days I let them go swimming after their homework is done, but not this past Friday ... Yep, once I got home, I stayed there ... Library? No, I don’t know why he was in the library.
~~~~~
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 18, 1995
Garner Creek
Here it was Wednesday again, and the waiter knew what she always ordered. She called that good service.
Sarah looked around the busy little diner. ‘Maybe I should eat here more often,’ she thought. ‘Not just on Wednesdays.’ The first time she’d stopped in to eat here, almost two months ago, was when Ben had come in, recognized her as a bank customer, and stopped to say a friendly hello. She’d been surprised when he’d asked if he could share her table. Naturally, she’d agreed. The diner had been crowded that late November day. If there’d been an empty table, he might not have asked.
He seemed to want to talk to someone, though. He told her how busy they’d been on Monday and Tuesday. It was because of the Thanksgiving weekend rush. She understood. She’d been really busy at Mabel’s, which is why she had decided to treat herself to a relaxing lunch at the diner.
That first time he sat down, she knew he appreciated her good conversation. Not like Sid. She knew her husband didn’t like her to talk. Sid didn’t talk much himself except to complain. When he did talk he wanted her to be quiet. So, this was new. This was special. Of course, Ben usually just talked about his wife. Sarah and Ben had been having lunch together most Wednesdays, and she’d been happy to sit and listen, making a little comment now and then. His wife had moved out last August, three months before Sarah and Ben started their weekly lunches. He was still really upset about it. He wanted a family. He loved his wife and didn’t know how to get her back.
~~~~~
SATURDAY, APRIL 20, 1996
Martinsville
As we pushed open the door of the gift shop, the chimes hanging from the handle tinkled happily, and Sharon Armitage trundled out of the beauty parlor, wiping her hands on a towel. “I’m full up, Biscuit. I don’t have a bit of time until Monday at 11:30.” She extended a damp hand as she echoed the same question everyone had been asking. “Is this the wonderful sister from Philadelphia that we’ve all been wanting to meet? Well, sweetheart, whatever happened to your hand?”
“Car accident. Not my fault. I don’t know about the ‘wonderful’ part, but I’m Glaze McKee. It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Sharon. My sister tells me you’re a woman of many talents.”
“Havin’ four kids was one of my biggest talents,” Sharon giggled. “Yep, if I could do that, I figured I could do anything. The gift shop is just because I like dealing with pretty things. Of course, I was trained early on as a hairdresser – knew I wanted to do that from the time I was a little bitty tyke. Yep, I used to comb my mother’s hair every evening.” She used the back of her hand to brush a stray blond curl away from her face. “Whoops! I’ve got a perm to check on. Maggie will feed me to her chickens if I overcook her hair. You two just look around, and if you need anything, go ahead and take it and pay me next week. I don’t have time to fiddle with the register today.”
I laughed at Glaze’s startled expression. “That’s the way it is around here, Glaze. We live in a time warp, before shoplifting, before bum checks, before credit card abuse. Fun, huh?”
“Too good to be true,” she replied with something like awe in her voice.
We spent a couple of minutes wandering around the tiny store, but my tummy was beginning to rumble a bit, and I could tell Glaze wasn’t in a gift-basket mood. “Come on, let’s head on to the DeliSchuss ...”
“I still don’t believe that name.”
“... to get some of their good soup before it’s gone. Maybe the name’s corny, but the food’s always fresh and wonderful.” We walked out the tinkling door into the late morning breeze. “You’ll like the staff. Margot and Hans run it during school hours. After school and on Saturdays, the kids do the work.”
“Kids?”
“They’re always high school kids. Every time one leaves for college, the Schusses just hire a replacement from the sophomore class.”
“How can a deli support that many employees?”
“They have only two or three kids at a time, and one of them is their daughter. She’s a first-year student at the University of Georgia in Athens. I think I heard she wants to major in biology. She goes to classes during the week and then works at the deli on Saturdays. She lives with Bob’s sister in Athens and does chores to earn her room and board.”
“What kind of chores?”
“Cooking, laundry, shopping ...”
“Lucky of Bob’s sister to have a live-in maid.”
“It’s not quite like that. Miranda’s a good worker, and Ilona needs a fair amount of help. She has some medical issues.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound flippant.”
“You didn’t know. Anyway, Miranda’s a real godsend.”
“Will I get to meet her today?”
“Probably, but don’t expect a conversation. She hardly says anything – a very quiet girl.”
“Who did the Schusses hire to take her place during the week?”
“Ariel Montgomery. She’s Brighton and Ellen’s daughter, but she never works Saturdays, thank goodness.”
“Why? What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing. She just seems to attract hoards of young men. It makes the place pretty crowded during the week right after school.”
“So why do the Schusses keep her on?”
“I think they consider it their civic duty to hire local kids. A lot of the businesses around here and in Braetonburg do the same sort of thing. We don’t have a single kid in the county high school who doesn’t have an after-school job. I know you’ve heard the old saying that it takes a whole village to raise a child.”
“Yeah, but it never seems to happen that way anymore.”
“Maybe not in a lot of communities, but around here we take that seriously.”
“You mean every kid goes on to college?”
We had paused in front of the Chief Movie House. Gone with the Wind was showing. Some things just keep on keeping on. Didn’t Tara have a big porch? No, a verandah, with tall columns. I like my verandah better,” I said out loud without thinking.
“I thought we were talking about kids going to college.”
“Oh, right. Well, not every kid around here wants to go to college. It’s just that we feel they ought to have the skills to live productive lives and to enjoy the work they choose to do. The whole town – well, almost the whole town seems to have a strong commitment to teaching those skills and responsibility and work ethic to the young folks. Most high school kids help out in their family businesses, but those whose families don’t own stores or farms get after-school jobs with other families.”
“Sounds too good to be true,” she repeated.
“That doesn’t mean we don’t have some kids that push the boundaries a lot. Remember our fifteen-pound mailbox?”
“Yeah. Most towns have statues that get painted – you have a mailbox. Never mind. Let’s go eat. I could use a milkshake.”
“Do you still think a milkshake can cure anything?” I asked.
“Of course! I wasn’t the milkshake marathoner for nothing.”
From the time Glaze was about seven until she got out of high school, she drank at least two milkshakes a day. It was the only way mom could get milk into her, and mom believed all the propaganda that said milk built strong bones. She ignored the sugar content and figured the milk was value enough.
We were still chuckling when we walked into the DeliSchuss. The black-haired young woman making sandwiches behind the counter smiled as we entered. Miranda Schuss was always quiet, but she had a lovely, peaceful smile. Last year she used to come into the library a lot to work on her senior term papers. The first few weeks I was there, I’d see her three or four times a week, but then she stopped coming in. The only time I see her now is in the deli or at Ilona’s house when Bob and I visit his sister.
Miranda nodded us toward the only empty booth at the back of the deli. There were a lot of head-turnings as we wove our way through the lunchtime throng. I stopped two or three times to make a quick introduction, but we were both too hungry to dawdle for long over chitchat.
Cory Welsh came over to ask what we wanted to drink. “Hey, Ms. McKee! I bet this is your sister!” A very pleasant young man, although his taste in slacks could have used some improvement. Cory had lost his mom in a car accident when he was only six. Bob told me that Cory’s dad was almost always on the road – he sold farm equipment – so Bob’s mom (my head Petunia) had pretty much taken over Cory’s rearing Mondays through Fridays. She’d done a good job. Cory was what I would simply call a good kid, even if he did look like a cross between a golden retriever and an afghan hound, with his thick blond hair parted straight down the middle. Not by design, I thought. That was just the way it grew naturally.
As he went off to fetch a lemonade for me and a vanilla milkshake for Glaze, I turned to the menu. “Some of the open-faced sandwiches are authentically Scandinavian. Some are more German. And some seem to come right out of California. But they’re all good. The Schuss family make their own mayonnaise here. The soups are good, too.”
Cory quickly sat our drinks in front of us, tossed his head to flip an unruly strand of reddish-blond hair away from his left eye, and snapped open his order pad. Glaze chose an open faced smoked salmon sandwich with avocado, sprouts, and palm hearts. The fresh mayo for her sandwich was blended with capers. I decided on a hearty lentil soup with zucchini bread on the side. There is no such thing as too much soup on any given day. I could guzzle soup the way Glaze could guzzle milkshakes.
The deli gradually emptied until we were pretty much by ourselves. I had quietly told Glaze about Cory’s history, and I could tell she was impressed. After we’d eaten our fill, Glaze asked Cory for a doggie bag for the other half of her sandwich. When he brought it back to us, she complimented him on the delicious food and on his efficient service.
“Thanks, ma’am. The Schusses train us really well here, and this is a fun place to work. I like it a lot better than the grocery store. We get to have a lot of responsibility, too. We used to do outside deliveries, well Miranda did them, until last year, but we quit after that guy was murdered ...”
Beyond Cory’s elbow, I could see Miranda look up and frown. Cory was entirely too talkative, but he was fun to listen to. I figured he could stand up to the lecture he was bound to get from Miranda.
“... because Mrs. Schuss didn’t want anybody going out on the streets alone for awhile. Finally they figured it was safe again, but the delivering took too much time anyway, so they decided just not to do that any more.”
“You said you used to work at the grocery store?” Glaze asked, obviously intrigued by this garrulous young fellow in baggy black pants that were a contrast to his tidy white shirt. Over the pocket was the deli’s logo, a red line drawing of an open faced sandwich and a cup of coffee, with the slogan in cursive winding above it, as if it were the steam from the cup.
From where I sat, I could still see Miranda eyeing us. I couldn’t tell if she needed help, was jealous of her friend’s ability to charm the old ladies she undoubtedly thought we were, or just didn’t want his talkative nature to bother paying customers.
“My dad travels all the time, and he didn’t want me to go into his line of work, so he thought I should try a lot of different things to see what I was suited for. He wanted me to learn how to manage my own business. I like working. That is, when I’m not skateboarding. The first job I ever had was sweeping out the gift shop when I was seven years old. Then I worked in the grocery store as a stock boy. I tried to work in the frame shop for a couple of months, but I just couldn’t get the hang of those cutting machines. I think Mr. Snelling was afraid I’d chop my fingers off, so he talked me into leaving before my year was up. This job’s the best of all, even though I do have to wear this goofy shirt.”
“I admire your professionalism, and I’ll bet you’re a great skateboarder,” Glaze commented, and Cory beamed. “Do the other young people all work as hard as you do?”
“Ariel’s been here weekdays since last summer. She’s doing pretty well so far. Miranda is the one who made your sandwich.” He indicated the girl with the curly black hair who was still behind the counter, this time cleaning up. “She’s the owners’ daughter. She’s been working with her folks since she was a little kid, so she knows everything about the business. She helped train me when I started here.”
Cory leaned a little closer and lowered his voice. “Ms. McKee, do you remember the time last year when that cat of yours kept following Miranda all the way from her house to here?”
“Yes, I certainly do.” I turned toward Glaze to explain. “Marmalade wouldn’t leave Miranda alone. For a few weeks she followed her everywhere. I almost thought I was going to lose my cat.”
“Miranda was freaked out about it,” Cory said, and I could hear the concern in his voice.
“Does she still do it?” Glaze asked me.
“No,” I said. “It’s like she finally lost interest.”
“Stupid cat,” Cory blurted out. “How could anybody lose interest in Miranda?”
Hmmm. This seems to be the afternoon for blushing. Glaze was incredibly diplomatic. Quickly, to give Cory a moment to recover his composure, she said, “Miranda must be a good friend of yours.”
“Yes ma’am.” He wouldn’t quite look us in the eyes, but he was getting over the rough spot. “Miranda’s nice, but Billy Smith is my best friend. He works for Mr. Parkman over at the restaurant. We’re both seniors, and he’s great at skateboarding, almost as good as me!”
“Billy’s mom,” I explained to my sister, “is quite a famous fabric artist. She sells her quilts and stuff in galleries in New York and Chicago.”
“Not Judy Smith?” Glaze asked. “Yes. Have you heard of her?”
“I’ve seen her work,” Glaze exclaimed. “It’s fabulous! When I went to New York last year, a friend of mine showed me a gallery where Judy’s wall hangings were on display. They were phenomenal.”
Cory beamed. “My dad’s been dating her, so Billy and I think we might end up being brothers. That would be a lot of fun. I never had a brother before.”
“Aren’t you about ready to graduate?” Glaze asked him.
“One month, one week, and five days. After that I want to start my own business. Billy’s going to be a chef. He doesn’t want to leave Holly, his girlfriend, but he’s already been accepted at a great chef school in Vermont ...” Cory’s voice faded off as he realized that he might be spending too much time talking to the clientele. Miranda was still staring at him.
Glaze saw that she was about to lose her information source, so she asked him to tell her more about Holly. After all, the deli was practically empty, just two other tables and us.
Cory was easily convinced. “Holly’s dad is Reverend Pursey. He’s the town minister. Holly’s seventeen, and she’s going to Cornell next year. She’s going into veterinary medicine, and then she wants to set up a clinic here in town.”
“Are there that many cats and dogs in Martinsville?” Glaze asked, unabashedly slurping out the last of her milkshake.
“Oh, no ma’am. She wants to treat cows and horses. You know – farm animals. She’ll handle pets, too, if she has to. Maybe you could bring your cat to her, Ms. McKee.”
Maybe Holly could hire you to do her promotional work, I thought, as I munched the last crumb of my zucchini bread. Aloud I said, “Of course I will. Do you have any particular plans for this summer?”
“Yeah. Reverend Pursey and Father Ames are getting together a group of kids to go to Atlanta for a week to work as interns in an inner city garden project. The deal is that we help out there, and then when we come back, we’re supposed to do a garden project in our own area.”
“Do you have a project in mind?”
“Well, some of us thought that we might try to get some trees planted in Enders.” He looked over at Glaze. “Since you’re from Philadelphia, you wouldn’t know, but Enders is the next town five or six miles downriver.” Obviously it hadn’t occurred to him that since we were sisters, we had both grown up in this valley. I didn’t have the heart to set him straight, and apparently, neither did Glaze. Cory went on with his explanation. “You can’t get there from here because of the huge bluff just south of Martinsville. You have to drive twenty-five miles back up to Russell Gap, take County Road #4, and then swing south. Enders is in another little dead-end valley, kind of like this one, only it’s not nearly as nice. That’s why we thought they could use some help.” He paused and sent an appraising glance my way. “Say, Ms. McKee, we still need a couple of chaperones to sign up for the trip. How would you like to volunteer?” Two weeks with a bunch of high schoolers? Probably not my cup of tea. “I’d have to think about it, Cory.”
Cory turned and raised his voice. “Hey, Miranda! Good news! Ms. McKee is thinking about being a chaperone for the trip!”
“Cory, that’s not exactly what I said.”
“I know, but you’ll really enjoy it. We’ll have a great time!” He pulled out his order pad, tore off the top slip, and placed it face down on the table exactly halfway between Glaze and me. “Now I’d better go check the other tables or I’ll be in hot water. Here’s your check, and I really enjoyed talking with you.”
I think I have a problem with setting boundaries. I think I don’t know how to say no. I think I’m a sucker. I think I’ll probably enjoy Atlanta. I think I see my sister laughing at me. I must be having a hot flash.
As we stood up, Miranda moved unobtrusively over to the cash register, ready to ring up our lunches. Other than briefly asking if we’d enjoyed our lunch, she didn’t say anything, just smiled as she handed us our change.
“Hurry back,” Cory called out as we left. If I hurry back, I wonder what else I’ll get signed up for?
As we turned up Pine Street, a yellow Chevy pulled up beside us. “Let me guess,” Glaze said out of the corner of her mouth. “Who could this yellow car possibly belong to?” How can she whisper without moving her lips? “Biscuit, is this the wonderful sister from Pennsylvania we’ve been hearing so much about? Well, sweetheart, whatever happened to your hand?” Glaze rolled her eyes before she turned and smiled at Sadie Masters, who was wearing yellow-framed sunglasses.
~~~~~
FROM THE STATEMENT of Judy Smith
to the Georgia Bureau of Investigation
Oh, I knew who he was, but I don’t think I ever talked with him ... Size five or five and a half, but I’m usually barefooted like this when I’m working around here ... Only when I attend openings. They’re too hard on my ankles ... These are some new pieces I’m doing for the Chicago gallery, so I haven’t left the house except to go to dinner with Paul once last week ... Thank you, I’m glad you like my pieces. It was Thursday or Friday, I think. We ate at CT’s. You’d have to ask Paul. All the days run together when I’m preparing for a show ... Yes, Billy was here when I got home ... Library? No, I don’t know why he was in the library.
~~~~~
FRIDAY JANUARY 20, 1995 Garner Creek
Sid paced the showroom, wearing a used-car-salesman-smile on his otherwise murky face. He’d sold only half his quota for the week, and he was angry about that. It was Sarah’s fault. How could he sell cars when his wife was cheating on him. He’d called her at work two days ago and was told she was eating out like she did every Wednesday.
That night, as she was making a sandwich for her lunch the next day, he had casually asked her if she had a long enough lunch break to eat her food without having to gulp it down, or did customers interrupt her meal. “Oh,” she said, “sometimes I work through lunch, but usually I just sit in the back room and read a book.”
“Do you ever go out for a walk?”
“No, not usually. I’d rather be there in the shop in case they get busy.”
Sid decided to talk to Harlan again. This would be easy. ‘I’ll show him a picture of Sarah, and tell him where she works,’ Sid thought. ‘He’s never met her, so he doesn’t have to know she’s my wife. He’ll think it’s just another PI job.’
Just bring him proof, that’s all he wanted. Just a few pictures and the negatives. He’d take it from there. He already had a stash to choose from, but this job was more important. He was looking forward to shoving the photos in her face and asking her just what was going on ...