Tell-All, Show Down and Beauty Miracles
I’m both surprised and not when I wake up and find Jack’s not in bed. His voice drifts up the stairs, and it doesn’t take this Company Man’s wife long to realize he’s on the phone with Unce Charlie, discussing business.
I stretch and yawn and am about to head for a good hot bubble bath when my cell phone rings. It’s Lovie.
“Callie, I just remembered what I was trying to think of last night.”
Considering all that happened here last night, I can’t get too excited about Lovie’s recovery of an illusive memory. Still, I pride myself being an example of good manners as well as beauty.
“What did you recall?”
“You remember when we broke into Sally’s apartment?”
“How could I ever forget?”
“Well, that stuffed bear scared me so bad I forgot what I saw in her bedroom…” Sometimes I want to shake Lovie for her dramatic pauses. “She had a baby bed in there, Callie. She’s never had children and she’s not even married!”
I sit straight up. “This means she’s probably connected to the kidnapping gang. I’ll tell Jack.”
“You’re going to tell him we were breaking and entering?”
“Oh, shoot. I’ll think of something.” I proceed to tell Lovie all about Sally’s late-night foray into my back yard with intent to kill.
“That heifer! It’s a good thing she didn’t show up here. I’d have diced her and put her in my funeral casserole.”
“I never would have expected her to be involved in something as horrible as taking little children.”
“That just goes to that it’s hard to really know people.”
“That’s exactly right, Lovie. So, how was your night?”
“Good.”
“What are you not telling me?” My cousin treats me to this big silence. “Lovie, you didn’t let Britt near your National Treasure, did you?’
“I’m not a bus stop that men can just get on and off as they please.”
“I know. But you didn’t say no, Lovie.”
“I didn’t say yes, either. When are you and Daddy going to remember that I have a brain?”
“I’m sorry, Lovie. Of course, you have a brain. It’s a brilliant one. And I ought to be ashamed. I just worry about you. That’s all.”
“Forget it. I’m headed to the funeral home to finish cooking the death feast.”
“Good grief, Lovie. Could you be any more morbid?”
“Come to the kitchen and I’ll feed you a big breakfast before you have to patch up the flying clown.”
“Holy cow!”
She just giggles and hangs up, and I get out of bed to face a day that begins with death. I just hope it doesn’t end that way.
After my bath, I head downstairs to tell Jack about the baby bed in Sally’s apartment. Considering his confession about the doll, I even ‘fess up about breaking and entering.
“What am I going to do with you, Cal?” He puts on his stern face, but it just comes off as looking fondly indulgent.
“Go to the funeral home and sit with me while I fix up Carl Branson?”
“That’s a given.”
Two hours later, both Jack and Uncle Charlie are in my basement makeup room while I use every skill in my book to repair the damage to the clown. Though neither has much to say, I find myself grateful for the technological age that allows them to conduct business with computers while they drink coffee and keep me company.
Later that evening, I’m grateful for even more, especially the feeling of contentment I have with Jack lying beside me, both of us safe and sound.
“Did Sally say anything about other members of the kidnapping gang?”
“No, Cal. But don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not. I just hope the rest of them don’t show up tonight with knives and no telling what at all.”
He gathers me close and kisses me.
“What was that for?”
“To make you forget.”
“It didn’t work, Jack. I guess you’ll have to do it again.”
He does. Thank goodness.
*
Funeral day turns out to be clear. It’s so much easier on the bereaved not to have to deal with bad weather as well as loss. Still, as we gather in Uncle Charlie’s office, I’m wondering if anybody will come to grieve the loss of the clown.
“We expect all the major players to be here,” Uncle Charlie says. He’s sitting behind his desk looking completely unruffled. He’s not fooling any of us with his poker face. It hides a deep love and concern for his family.
All of us are here, and all of us are wearing black except Fayrene. Her pants suit is a deep forest green that just misses being black. The coat is way too big, which immediately arouses my suspicions. What’s she hiding under that coat? For that matter, Mama has ditched her usual caftan for a dress with a voluminous skirt. She could carry a whole artillery under there. And probably is.
“Since Elvis distinguished himself so brilliantly catching Sally Cunningham, I’m stationing him at the organ with Ruby Nell.” My dog preens and even gives this goofy canine grin. I wouldn’t put it past him to be planning which song to howl during the services. “Of course, the chapel will be covered with plainclothesmen, and both Jack and I will be there. He’ll be at the front and I’ll be at the back close to the organ.”
What he means is close to Mama. He turns toward me as if he’s read my mind.
“Callie, I want you and Fayrene to stay in the kitchen and help Lovie. Britt will be your bodyguard.”
Lovie’s grin looks suspicious to me, like she’s happy about more than being safe. As soon as all this is over, I’m having a serious talk with her. For one thing, I want to know when she’s seeing Rocky Malone again. I know he’s on an archeological dig in Arizona, and furthermore, I know he’s been asking her to come out there. A little vacation would do her good.
“Does anybody have any questions?” Uncle Charlie looks around the room, but nobody says a thing. That’s respect for you. Everybody here loves Uncle Charlie, including Jack, who is clearly the most dangerous and capable person in this room. Still, I’m proud that he defers to my uncle. “That’s it, then. Stay safe, dear hearts.”
“Uncle Charlie’s going to be right there watching after you, Mama.” I give her a big hug.
“Flitter, Callie. I can take of myself.” Still, she pats my face. “What I want you to do is concentrate on getting pregnant so I can have a grandbaby.”
“Holy cow, Mama. That will have to wait.”
Jack winks at her. “But not too long, Ruby Nell.”
She sashays off like she’s won the lottery. He winks at me too, and then heads off after her.
Lovie links arms and drags me off to the kitchen. “Come on. I’ve got chickens to hack.”
Fayrene trots along behind us, calling, “I hope you’ve got an electric girdle.”
“Don’t worry, Fayrene. I do.”
I poke Lovie in the ribs and she pokes me back. That’s how we get through every bad thing, and I don’t why I suddenly feel like crying. Besides, I’m starving.
Britt is already in the kitchen, both hands full of Lovie’s cheese straws. He smiles when he sees us, but mostly, I notice, he’s smiling at Lovie. I can see how they’d be attracted to each other. Both are bold and colorful and larger than life.
“You just sit over there by the cheese straws, Britt.” Lovie wraps her ample charms in an apron then tosses a couple to Fayrene and me. “The dead chickens await. Start hacking, ladies.”
Sounds filter from the viewing room. It sounds like a large crowd is gathering. By the time Lovie pours oil into several large cast iron skillets, Mama is already in the chapel playing the old favorite, In the Garden. It’s a sweet song so at odds with the way the clown died that I wonder if anybody notices. Particularly whoever killed him.
By the time the oil gets hot and the fried chicken starts filling the platter, the crowd has moved to the chapel. The clock on the wall shows it’s time for the funeral to begin. That’s why I’m totally shocked when Betty Sue Simmons shows up in the kitchen. She’s done something different with her hair, but I can’t say it’s much of an improvement.
She points to her throat then says in this whispery voice. “Laryngitis.”
“You can cure that by gagging with salt water,” Fayrene tells her.
“Thank you,” she whispers. Much to Betty Sue’s credit, she doesn’t even crack a smile. “I just wanted to stop by and say how much I appreciate the fine job the Valentines are doing with poor Carl’s funeral.”
Britt turns to stare at her, and something about his face sets off my internal alarm.
“My, don’t those cheese straws look delicious.” Betty Sue is moving toward the table.
“Help yourself,” Lovie tells her.
Suddenly Britt reaches for his holster, but Betty Sue sidesteps and jabs something into his neck. The next thing I know, he’s slumping over the table and she has leaped on me. Before I can react, she gets me in a choke hold and pokes a gun into my back.
“Don’t anybody move or I’ll kill her.” Betty Sue is no longer whispering. And she’s not even female. This is the voice of a man. And a killer, at that.
“Not if I can shoot you first.”
Holy cow! It’s Mertis, standing in the kitchen doorway with a gun pointed straight toward me.
“Have you lost your mind?” The former Betty Sue keeps his voice to an evil growl.
Lovie’s hand is inching toward a skillet, but I shake my head at her. Good grief! That’s all I need: Lovie throwing hot grease and Mertis’s gun going off and shooting me in the head. Even Uncle Charlie couldn’t repair the damage.
“Didn’t you think I’d find out what you did, Daddy?” Mertis shouts.
Daddy? Who is this behind the Betty Sue mask?
“Carl screwed up one too many times,” my captor says. “He was a liability.”
“He was my husband. And now he’s gone.”
Mertis raises the gun and there’s this awful explosion as the bullet heads my way. Everything seems to go into slow motion. Fayrene is screaming and Lovie’s got a good grip on a skillet full of hot grease and any minute I’m going to be dead.
It comes as a great surprise to me when the bullet whizzes past my head and the killer loosens his grip and slides to the floor behind me. Then all bedlam breaks loose. Lovie’s skillet hits the bull’s eye, and Mertis goes down in a river of hot grease and outrage. Fayrene is on her in an instant, holding a two-pronged fork at her throat and daring her to move. But Mertis is putting up a fight.
“Grab her gun, Lovie,” I yell, and my cousin hits the floor, slides in the grease, grabs the gun and keeps on going. She hits the wall and the gun discharges.
“Duck,” she yells, and I don’t have to be told twice. The bullet pings against a copper pot, then ricochets and explodes into the platter of fried chicken. Thighs and legs fly every which way.
Suddenly Uncle Charlie and Jack are there followed by a whole swarm of undercover cops. Mama is right behind them, carrying a Baptist hymnal like it’s a lethal weapon.
Mertis is carried off in cuffs; Betty Sue, who turns out to be the duck man wearing one of those realistic masks, is carried off wrapped in a sheet, and Britt is carried off on a gurney. He’s already coming around and protesting that he doesn’t need medical attention.
Jack helps me off the floor and smothers me in a hug. “Are you okay?”
“Not a scratch.”
“Good. Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice, Jack.”
After the shooting and shouting are over and there’s nobody in the kitchen except Mama and Fayrene and Lovie and me, I grin at my cousin, who is still sitting against the wall in a puddle of grease.
“I could have told you that chicken was already dead, Lovie,” I tell her, deadpan.
“I could have told you I changed my mind about fried chicken, Cal,” she says, equally deadpan. “But I wanted to surprise everybody with chicken fricassee.”
“You did.” I offer my hand and haul her out of the grease. “Let’s not have any more surprises today.”
“Let’s all drink to that,” Mama says. She and Fayrene have already found the Prohibition Punch in the refrigerator and are sitting around the table with four filled glasses. “Hear. Hear.” I lift my glass. “To the four women who could have handled this whole mess by ourselves, but who are glad that if somebody had to help out it was Uncle Charlie and Jack.”
My dog sidles up to me and gives me such and aggrieved look I get tickled.
“And Elvis, of course.”