Secrets, New Leads and Old Murders
Lovie and I end up back at my house, sprawled on the bed with the diary and a bowl of popcorn between us.
“Did you get a good gander at page two?” Lovie’s got a handful of popcorn in her mouth, and if I weren’t such a good listener, I’d have a hard time knowing what she’s saying.
“It would explain the tap shoes but why in the world is she coming to baby boot camp? She’s not even married.”
Sally makes that very clear on page two. My husband left me, the snake. If I were a violent woman, I’d kick him to Alaska and back. But you know me, dear diary. I’m a sophisticated woman of the world, in spite of my Mooreville education. All I want is to dance my way to fame.
I wipe butter off my fingers with the embroidered tea towel I brought to the bedroom for just that purpose. Of course, Lovie is grandly ignoring it. She prefers to lick the butter off her fingers. Like a cat. And I mean that in the best of ways. I adore cats.
I grab the diary and scan through Sally’s endless griping about men and marriage and religion and politics. She hates everything, including Harley Boo’s mother.
“Listen to this, Lovie. If I ever get my hands on that stupid Laura Lane Gillentine, I’m going to make her sorry for all the names she used to call me. That sounds like motive to me.”
“It sounds like she has more in mind for Laura than stealing a pacifier. And what about that baby blanket? You said it didn’t belong to Harley Boo.”
“It’s little Stevie York’s.”
“Wait a minute, did you say York?” I nod and Lovie stuffs her mouth full of popcorn so she can think. This is what she always tells me, but I have yet to draw a connection between excess amounts of food and brain power. “Dianne York?”
“Let me check.” I race downstairs to retrieve the list of names from baby boot camp. Sure enough, Dianne York of Highland Circle in Tupelo is on the list. I hurry back upstairs to show Lovie, and I’m happy to say that I’m not even winded. If you want to start on the glory road to pregnancy, the best way is to stay physically fit. Even on my worst days I never slack on exercise.
“I remember her,” Lovie says. “And you do, too.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. Dianne York is last year’s winner of Tupelo’s ‘Dance like the Stars’.”
“Holy cow! Of course! She was in advanced pregnancy at the time and hardly even showing.”
“Even better, she was always the star of the show in school pageants. Remember that year she was the dancing tomato while you and I got assigned to the cabbage patch?”
Lovie’s memory always impresses me. She remembers names like nobody’s business, and if I want to dig up some arcane incident from the past, she can quote it, chapter and verse.
“I remember now. She was Dianne West then. What was Sally?”
“She had this weird mother who thought dancing was the devil’s doing. She never did let Sally participate in a single pageant.”
“So, you think Sally’s at baby boot camp to…what? Get even with Laura for being a bully and Dianne for being a tomato?”
“Stranger things have happened, Cal.”
“I don’t have this gut feeling.”
“You just haven’t eaten enough popcorn.”
I grab a handful and munch away while I think about the thefts. “Lovie, did it occur to you that we could be making a mountain out of a molehill?”
“All the time. That’s my specialty.”
I swat her with the diary. “Get serious. I mean, who on earth would want to steal this stuff when they could go to Walmart and get the same thing for less than five dollars?”
“You’re thinking what I’m thinking. If I wanted revenge, I’d do much worse than steal a bunch of baby stuff covered in baby snot. And no telling what all else.”
“Lovie, if you’re trying to dissuade me from having a baby, I can tell you right now it’s not going to work.”
“Think about, Cal. You and Jack have just patched things up. Don’t you think you might wait a while longer before you bring a short, bald, needy person with bad manners into the mix?’
“You’ve just described half the men in Tupelo. Which is why you ought to be sweeter to Rocky.”
“Not Rocky again!” Lovie goes into a faux faint and pulls the covers over her head.
I’m gearing up for another lecture on the virtues of Rocky Malone when she’s saved by my cell phone. It’s my husband calling.
“Is everything all right, Jack?”
“I was getting ready to ask you the same thing. What’re you doing, Cal?”
“Eating popcorn with Lovie. We’re having a spend-the-night party. Just a couple of girls having fun.” Ordinarily, he’d be suspicious as all get-out, but tonight I get nothing from him except a distracted sound that could be anything from disbelief to indigestion.
“How’s the baby, Jack?”
“The baby?”
“Holy cow. Have you forgotten that you’re supposed to be taking care of our baby?”
“Not for a second.”
“Then how is she?”
“Missing you. And so do I.”
“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“About, tomorrow, Cal. I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it.”
“You’re not coming home till Monday?”
“Maybe not even then. Sorry.”
“Oh, shoot, Jack. How am I going to explain my missing baby at baby boot camp?”
“Just tell everybody your fabulous husband is taking care of him…”
“Her…”
“…and they’ll all get to see him when we get back.”
“From where? Still in Hamilton?”
“No, we’re heading to Huntsville tomorrow. I’ve got some business to take care of. It could take a few days.”
I know better than to ask about Company business. And Jack wouldn’t tell me if I did.
“Have fun,” I tell him.
“You, too.”
The covers rise up, and Lovie emerges, grinning.
“He told you to have fun, didn’t he?”
“Yes. And get that look out of your eyes. Whatever you’re thinking, I’m not going to do it, Lovie.”
But, of course, I do. And that’s why we end up in my truck breaking all speed laws so we can get to the mall before it closes.
*
If I didn’t know Lovie’s baby bump is fake, I’d be jealous. She looks gorgeous posing pregnant, even if she is disguised behind a platinum blond wig and enough makeup to make her the envy of every showgirl in Las Vegas!
We arrive at baby boot camp and bail out of my Dodge Ram just in time to see Fayrene’s hearse pulling into the parking lot. She’s in Christmas tree green and Mama’s got on this wild animal print caftan that makes her look like an escapee from the zoo.
Their jaws drop when they see Lovie.
“Is that for real, Lovie?” Fayrene asks, and Mama says, “Flitter, Fayrene. You just saw her Saturday. How can she be that pregnant in two days?”
“Aha!” Fayrene says, as if she gets the whole picture just by looking, but Mama wants to know the entire story, blow by blow.
“And Carolina Valentine Jones, don’t you leave out a thing,”
Mama only calls me by my full name when she’s miffed about something, and I can tell you exactly what that is. In the first place, Lovie and I didn’t call her immediately after we broke enough laws to put us in jail for the foreseeable future, and in the second place, we didn’t come to Sunday dinner at her house on the farm. Partially because we had sneaked back to Magnolia Manor with the stolen diary, and I sat out there in my truck in the sweltering heat with the motor running in case Lovie had to make a quick get away from the unpredictable Eric Miller. But mostly because we were coming up with a plan to catch a thief.
I fill her and Fayrene in on the contents of the stolen diary, and then I set about explaining the plan.
“Lovie is posing as my college friend, Dimples, who is visiting for the rest of the summer, and couldn’t pass up this opportunity to attend baby boot camp. Take a bow, Dimples.”
Lovie curtsies, holding out her peasant skirt which is wide enough to hide that huge fake baby bump and who knows what else. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got a kitchen knife up those skirts, though I told her we’re not in the midst of a violent crime wave. Just a mildly aggravating one.
“What are you going to do, Lovie?” Mama wants to know. “Smother the thief to death in that skirt?”
“No, Aunt Ruby Nell. I’ll show you.” She trots to the truck and grabs two baskets that are filled with every fancy baby toy you can imagine. Lovie looks like a walking Toys R Us store. Furthermore, she looks like a target our baby thief will find irresistible. “If the snatcher comes within a city block of me, I’ll know it.”
“How?” Fayrene says. “Nobody saw him snatch the pacifier and the blanket?”
“That’s because they were all too busy following instructions from the leader,” I explain. “Have you ever seen Lovie follow instructions from anybody?”
“Lord help us, no,” Fayrene says. “I don’t think it’s in her NBA.”
We all move toward the shady spot where our leader, Betty Sue, is already spreading the exercise mats. I glance around the assembly of mothers and want-to-be moms to see if I can spot our suspect.
“Where’s Sally?” I ask.
“She probably sailed off on the Good Ship Lollipop,” Lovie says, and we get a case of the silly giggles.
Mama sniffs and prances on ahead. She hates being out-of-the-know more than any woman I ever saw.
The minute we set foot in the circle of mothers, Betty Sue starts us off with deep breathing exercises.
“Perfect for when you go into labor,” she says.
Lovie’s making no attempt to deep breathe. She’s over by the ice cream kiosk spreading all her enticing toys on a huge quilt. The next thing I know the ice cream lady, Amanda Green, is right in the thick of it, offering Lovie an ice cream cone and helping her spread out the toys. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but they’re chatting like old friends. People swarm to Lovie like bees to honey. It’s a gift she has.
Little kids start circling around her, too, attracted by the toys, no doubt. And the clown has moved to the center of it all. He’s tying balloon animals to beat the band, and here I am, now doing squats and trying not to drive myself crazy worrying about Mama and Fayrene.
They’ve created such a commotion, dipping and groaning and popping old bones, they might never be able to get up again.
“Mama, you don’t have to do this.”
“Flitter. If I’m going be taking care of my grandbaby, I’d darned well better be getting into shape.”
“You’ll have her, of course, but only on occasion.”
“Carolina Jones, are you saying you’re going to keep my very own grandchild from me? Just because I happen to have a little gambling problem?”
Heads swivel our way. Now, in addition to thinking Mama’s crazy for getting out into the heat when she doesn’t have to, they think she ought to be in rehab. The next thing you know, she and Fayrene will be passing out Prohibition Punch.
“She’s just kidding,” I say, and there are a few nervous twitters followed by a gosh-awful screech.
Mama and Fayrene fall to the ground like they’ve been torpedoed, and the screech comes again.
“What is it?” Betty Sue hurries over to help me get Mama and Fayrene off the ground. “Did somebody have a heart attack?”
“No. It’s me! ” A pregnant blond with every bit of her hysteria showing is pointing at the ground where her baby is sleeping right through the commotion. “Somebody stole Bitsy’s elephant.”
Fayrene rises from the ground like she’s been levitated. “I didn’t see any elephant around here, and I have a pornographic memory.”
“Good lord,” the overly-dramatic mother says. “It was a toy! Bitsy’s favorite.”
“What color was it?” Lovie has arrived, holding out stuffed elephants in every color of the rainbow. “I’ll give her one of mine.”
“It has to be that elephant! What kind of mother are you, anyway?”
“The kind that would like to tear your bad bleach job out by the roots,” Lovie says, then sashays off.
Bad Bleach Job turns red all over and just stands there screaming.
“That woman’s going into wisteria. She needs to be on meditation,” Fayrene mutters, and Mama says, “Amen.”
Betty Sue looks like she’s trying to hold back laughter as she hurries to calm the one-woman sideshow. I know I’d act with more decorum than that if my baby lost a stuffed toy. But then, not every woman was born to be a lady.
Meanwhile, the rest of the women all go hard of hearing at the same time. They drop to all fours and start searching for the elephant.
Suddenly, one of the twins appears, dripping ice dripping down his arms, and his face puckered up like he’s going to cry.
“Mommy?”
“Not now, Timmy. I’m looking for an elephant.”
“But I have to tell you something.”
“Can it wait? I’m really busy right now, honey.”
“Yeah, but, Mommy, somebody stole my baseball glove…”
“Did you ask the other children?”
“…and they tried to take Tommy!” Timmy loses his last bit of brave, and tears stream down his face and drip into his ice cream.
Betty Sue races off screaming Tommy’s name. Nearly everybody in baby boot camp moves in that direction, while a few pack up their rubber babies, declaring they are done with this business.
I start toward the lake, but when I see little Tommy emerging from a copse of trees beside the water, I head over to check on Mama and Fayrene. Both of them are sweat-drenched and near hysteria.
“Bobby said we were all in danger from a dark eyed stranger,” Fayrene declares.
“Bobby always says that,” I remind her, but I’m careful to keep the excitement out of my voice. My gut tells me something big is going on here, and it’s not a stolen elephant.
“At least there haven’t been any futilities yet,” Fayrene says, and I have to agree.
“Still, I’d feel better if the two of you just stick to consulting the dead.”
“My ESPN tells me Callie’s right, Ruby Nell.”
Near the lake, Betty Sue is still clinging to the son she almost lost, and Lovie is in the thick of it. I’m confident my cousin won’t miss a thing.
Finally Betty Sue starts moving in this direction. As soon as she gains the mats, she claps her hands for attention.
“Everybody, listen up. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I cannot conduct a proper baby boot camp if somebody insists on pulling pranks.”
“Pranks!” This from Harley Boo’s mother, Laura. “I don’t see anything prankish about stealing and nearly losing your son!”
“All that screaming scared Tommy and he ran. That’s all.” Betty Sue seems more certain of this than I am. I glance at Lovie, but it’s hard to tell what she’s thinking under her Dimples disguise. “As I was saying, if you’re trying to get our attention, you have. And if you have the missing items, just fess up and no harm done.”
Everybody glances nervously at each other, the way people will do in a crowded glass elevator, trying to be discreet but not quite succeeding.
“All right then.” Betty Sue runs her hands through her hair. “I’m going to dismiss for the day, but I swear if things keep going missing around here, I’m going to suspend baby boot camp!”
“This calls for some Prohibition Punch,” Mama tells me, and I halfway expect her to pull a bottle and paper cups out from under her caftan and start dispensing liquor.
“Great idea, Ruby Nell.” Fayrene links arms with Mama. “The séance room?”
“Perfect. Cal, you and…Dimples, follow us.”
I am happy to leave the scene of the crime. The only good thing I can say about the day so far is that it has been so chaotic, I’ve had no time to worry about Jack and little Jackie Nell.
*
By the time Lovie and I load up all the baby toys and head toward Mooreville, Mama and Fayrene have already left for Gas, Grits and Guts.
“Did you learn anything today, Lovie?”
“Plenty, but I’m not telling it till we get to Mooreville. No use repeating myself.”
She’s right. Mama and Fayrene will want to know, too. Besides, I need a respite from crime. My stomach’s tied in knots, and I don’t know who to worry about first, Mama or Jack and Elvis and my latex baby.
Lovie peels off her baby bump and her wig then whips her sweaty hair into a pony tail and wipes off most of her makeup. When we pull into Fayrene and Jarvetis’ convenience store, she looks like her old self.
Jarvetis is behind the cash register. The minute he see us, he waves and points toward the back room. There are some days when I appreciate a man of few words, and today is one of those. Lovie and I trot past the toilet paper and the ice cream cooler, and then push open the door to the back. I’m not the least bit surprised to see Mama and Fayrene already half-way through a Mason jar of Prohibition Punch.
Lovie immediately fills her Mason jar to the brim but I opt for a cup of orange juice. There’s a small chance that I’m pregnant and don’t yet know it, and I’m not about to jeopardize the health of my unborn child.
Mama eyes the juice, but I send her a look that says, don’t say a thing. Thank goodness, she doesn’t.
“Lovie found out some things today,” I announce and Mama leans forward like she’s hard of hearing and her life hangs on every word. Still, to give her credit, she was scared about that black Cadillac, whether or not its driver tried to kill her.
“I had a nice long chat with the ice cream lady,” she says.
“Her name is Amanda Green,” I add.
“I don’t know why, but that name’s familiar to me,” Fayrene says, and Mama tells her, “Don’t think too hard, Fayrene. It’ll come to you eventually.”
“Anyhow, Amanda told me there’s something sneaky about that clown.”
“Who is he?” I ask.
“He claims his name is Carl Branson, but the ice cream lady thinks it’s an alias.”
“Wait minute! Didn’t Carl Branson murder that movie star and all those people out in California?” Fayrene says. “I read that he’s out on patrol.”
“That was Charles Manson, Fayrene,” Mama says. “He’s not on parole and not likely to be. And even if he was, he’d be an old man. That clown can’t be more than thirty-five.”
“Forty, according to the ice cream lady.” Lovie takes a long sip of her punch. “And he appears to have plenty of enemies, including the hot dog lady.”
“How does Amanda know?” I’d pit my observation skills against anybody except Jack. “I don’t see how an old lady who sells ice cream can tell all that by looking.”
“I asked her the same thing,” Lovie says. “She said he’s been her neighbor on Church Street for six months, and she’s never seen a single person come to visit.”
“What’s she doing?” Fayrene asks. “Spying on him through her stethoscope?”
“I hope not,” Lovie says, and I kick her under the table.
“Somebody the ice cream lady didn’t see could have visited him in middle of night,” Mama says, “but at least we know where he lives. This means somebody has got to pay him a visit and snoop through his stuff.”
“That somebody is not going to be you, Mama.”
“Ha!” she says, and I don’t even want to know what she means.
“If you’ll care to remember, Mama, you’re already a target,” I remind her. “Do you want to walk straight in on a killer and let him finish you off?” Underhanded, I know. But you have to be quick on your feet to get around Mama.
“Callie’s right, Ruby Nell.” Fayrene tops off both their Mason jars with Prohibition Punch, then winks at her. “Are you coming down with magnesia?”
“Oh…oh.” Mama reaches over to pat my hand. “You and Lovie go right ahead. Fayrene and I will be right here. Knitting.”
“Knitting? Are you kidding me, Mama?”
“Crocheting,” Fayrene corrects Mama, then turns to me. “I’m going to teach her how to crochet an African.”
“Besides,” Mama says. “You and Lovie are young. If you get into trouble you can run fast.”
It wasn’t until hours later that Mama’s words turned out to be prophecy.