Contemporary Women's Fiction: Agnes Hopper Shakes Up Sweetbriar (Humorous Women's Fiction) (28 page)

I took Smiley’s arm and steered him toward the door. “Let’s go, my friend. We don’t want to miss our bus.”

About halfway down Main Street, I stood, stretched up my hand, and pulled the cord.

“You go on ahead,” I said to Smiley. “I’ll be there directly. Just pray Sheriff Cawood’s in his office and not off gallivanting somewhere.”

He stood to let me pass. “You got it, Sis.” He gave me a little bow and a sweep of his straw hat. I headed down the aisle and then down the steps in such a hurry, I didn’t realize I’d left my purse behind until the bus pulled away.

“Wait!” I hollered, jumping up and down and waving my arms. “Stop!”

The driver kept going, spewing a dark cloud, and Lollipop waved from the back window until they were out of sight.

“Smiley,” I said, “open your eyes and look around before you get off.
My notebook’s in that purse.” Surely that man would notice a big red blob near his feet. But I had no confidence he would.

Hershel Cawood’s grandson seemed surprised to see me, but he was all smiles. He shook my hand and offered me a chair, all nice and polite. The spring in his swivel chair squeaked and groaned as he made himself comfortable behind his desk. He laced his fingers over his bulging stomach. “And what can I do for you today, Miss Agnes?”

Before I could answer, he went right on talking, probably thinking I’d stopped to pay a social visit. “By the way, I asked my granddaddy about those tomatoes he used to raise. He remembered setting boxes on your back porch and you bringing him tomato juice. Said he could still taste that good juice you made. Amazing. He can remember things that happened years ago, but don’t ask him if he had sausage and eggs for breakfast, which he always does. He don’t even know me half the time.”

I wanted to tell this young man a thing or two about respecting a man who had labored for his family his whole life and was now tired, worn out, and deserving a little consideration and kindness, but I’d save that for another time. Instead, I said, “Hershel was one hardworking man, but he always took time to listen when someone had something to say.”

“Well, I didn’t really know him back then.”

“One of these days we need to have a long talk about your granddaddy. Right now I have some information you need to know. Some I can prove, some speculation. Either way, I’m asking for an investigation.”

The sheriff perked up. He rolled his chair up to the desk and leaned forward. He took off his glasses, blew on them, and placed them back on his face, but his eyes showed no spark of interest. His demeanor was as bland as vanilla pudding. Would he listen? Would he believe me?

No—and no. Fifteen minutes later, after talking to me like an old woman without an ounce of sanity left in her head, or like a ten-year-old with a vivid imagination, he escorted me to the sidewalk and asked if I would like a ride home.

I was close to tears—frustrated and angry tears—but this man was not going to know that. “Need the exercise,” I stated. “Clears out the fog. Almost as good as knitting.”

The sheriff cocked his head and squinted at me. He had pretty much let me know he thought the things I told him about Miss Johnson and how she was running Sweetbriar Manor were due to me being senile
and paranoid. Now he probably thought I was totally daffy.

“Meeting’s this afternoon at three if you change your mind. I’m not the only one who knows things are wrong. Maybe you should talk to some of the other residents, and actually
listen
to them.” I turned away with all the dignity I could muster and left him standing there scratching his head.

Smiley was waiting for me on the porch swing, my purse beside him.
Bless his heart
. He looked pure tuckered out.

“Well?” he said before I could turn around to settle myself beside him. “Was he there? What did he say?”

“He was there all right. But he might as well not have been.” I made myself comfortable and patted my purse. “Thanks for noticing.”

“You’re welcome, Sis. I hollered, but I think that bus driver is deaf in one ear and can’t hear out of the other.” He chuckled and lifted my hand from my purse and held it. “Tell me what happened.”

Before I could say more, the tears of frustration I’d been holding back stung my eyes. Smiley handed me a folded handkerchief. I didn’t know how he always seemed to produce a clean one whenever it was needed.

“You don’t have to go through it all again. I think I know how things went. That man must wear blinders. I thought he was smarter than that.” Smiley removed his straw hat and plopped it onto his lap. Then he completely surprised me. “Sis, you can’t leave this place, no matter what happens. I—we need you here.”

“But I may not have a choice. We don’t have a legal leg to stand on when our own law won’t support us or pay any attention.”

We swung in silence a few minutes, lost in our own thoughts until Sweetbriar’s Presbyterian Church bells announced the noon hour. At the same moment, the lunch buzzer blasted away. We stood to go inside.

“Whatever happens this afternoon, I need to talk with William. I hope he followed through,” I said.

“If it will help our case, I hope he did too.”

Did he say
our
case?
Yes, I believe he did
.

Smiley opened the front door and leaned toward my good ear. “I’ve got an idea, Sis. Do you know where a phone might be, besides that one in the hall?”

“In the beauty shop. And it will be empty after lunch.”

“Perfect. Used to have me one of those cell phones, but I never could keep up with it and got tired of paying for it. Let’s go eat.”

I wasn’t hungry since we’d eaten a late breakfast, but Smiley ate country fried steak, rice, and gravy like a starving migrant worker. It seemed Shirley had enjoyed herself so much on Sunday, she volunteered to cook whenever she wasn’t on duty at the Kut ‘N Loose.

I tried to get William’s attention, but he was too busy courting Lil, who was batting her eyelashes and smoothing her hair with her jeweled fingers.

Shirley served us pineapple sherbet for dessert, my favorite, but my thoughts were in such a muddled mess, I barely touched it. She stopped by our table and placed her hand on my shoulder. “Honey, we’re all gonna miss Alice around here. She was one fine lady. I know how she liked her hair fixed. Maybe I could help with that, you know … when it’s time.”

I nodded. Shirl hugged me, and she smelled of flowery perfume and warm dishwater. When she stepped back, Prissy appeared beside us. She glared at Shirley, raised her right arm, and flicked her hand toward the kitchen, obviously expecting our new cook to attend to her duties and nothing else. Shirl planted her feet firmly and folded her arms across her ample chest. Bless her. She wasn’t going anywhere.

The director’s face was flushed, and she didn’t seem well. She looked like she had a fever, and I told her so.

“Mrs. Hopper,” she spit out, as if she had a foul taste in her mouth, “I received a call from Sheriff Cawood. We’re both concerned about your mental state and your erratic behavior. I relayed those concerns to your daughter, and we’ve decided to move our meeting up to one o’clock. No need to delay the inevitable.” She looked at her watch. “That’s thirty minutes from now, in my office, just the three of us. You might spend your last half hour either saying your good-byes or packing your things. It’s up to you, I suppose. Your daughter is a real jewel, and you ought to be grateful she’s going to look after you and find you a place that will put up with your nonsense.” She turned to walk away, but stopped, turned back, and added, “Betty Jo’s naturally upset. Distraught might be a better word. You’ve certainly thrown a kink into her life.”

There was no time to waste—or to panic. Smiley and I both stood at once.

“Sis, I’ll be there. I have something to say my own self. I’ve turned a blind eye to things, and it’s time I spoke up. Past time.”

I didn’t ask him to explain, but rushed over to William as Smiley hurried out of the dining room.

Shirley whispered in my ear, “We’re not gonna let her get away with this, honey. I’ll be there too.” She turned and disappeared into the kitchen.

If Prissy stays here, Shirley’s going to get fired
, I thought, but I only worried about her for a split second. I had to get busy.

William shook his head before I could ask. “No luck, Red. What are you going to do?”

I leaned over and he turned to listen. After a bit, he slapped his knee. “Didn’t think of that. Maybe that’s just where it’s hiding. I’ll see to it right now. Evidence or not, I’ll be there.”

Well
, I thought,
our little group is growing
.

I returned to my chair and scooped my red purse off the floor. Lollipop, who was slurping on another sucker, blocked my way. That silly grin was still on his face.

“Wanna be my girlfriend?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ll be your girlfriend if you’ll talk to me for five minutes. Is that a deal?”

Lollipop puffed out his chest. “Deal, Lucille.”

By now the dining room was nearly empty, dirty dishes still on the tables. We sat down, and I asked this man who trusted everyone and saw no evil in the world, to tell me what he knew—the truth about his suckers. I had suspected Miss Johnson kept his box of suckers for a reason, and it wasn’t because of her rule of no food in the rooms.

Lollipop kept his word. He told me how he paid her five dollars every day for a handful of his own suckers. But who would take the word of a crazy man?

With twenty minutes left, I practically ran to Pearl’s room. She had disappeared earlier when my exchange with the director had gotten heated.

Pearl wasn’t there. The garden? That’s where she had to be. But she wasn’t. The front porch was the only place left. Maybe Pearl was tending to her ferns. I didn’t see her anywhere.

Ten minutes left.

“Mother!” Betty Jo yelled as she ran up the wheelchair ramp. “Everything’s going to be fine. We’re here to take you to Sunny Side over in Berea. They promised they would take you.” Henry huffed and puffed behind her, losing in his efforts to keep up.

Drat. Why in heaven’s name did they have to come early?

“Rest on the porch,” I hollered as I darted inside to search for Pearl.
I decided to check her room one more time, but made it only as far as mine. I heard voices in there, so I turned the doorknob and slipped inside. Pearl, deeply engrossed in a soap opera, didn’t look up.

I turned off the television. “Pearl, you can tell me now about those bruises on your arms. What happened and who did that to you?” I had more questions, but I had little hope she would understand even this much.

She stood and faced me. Her bracelets jingled as her hands fluttered about her face. “I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone, Pumpkin Head.”

I couldn’t believe my ears, but I had to restrain my excitement and resist shouting hallelujah. I stepped closer. “Yes, Pearl, I’m Pumpkin Head, your best forever friend in this whole wide world. We always tell each other everything. We don’t keep any secrets. You don’t have to be tied to your bed anymore, and you don’t have to pay any extra rent money. I promise. And you know I always keep my promises.”

Pearl looked at me for a long while, her eyes filled with tears. But just when I thought she was on the verge of opening up to me, Betty Jo was beside me, trying to comfort me, patting my arm as she guided me into the hallway.

“Everything’s going to be fine. You’ll see. Henry and me—we’re so happy I’ve found you a home. You’re going to love it there, out in the country, away from everything. I had no idea you were having so much trouble … you know … adjusting and all.”

As Pearl edged out of my room, I caught a glimpse of her pale, drawn face. When I heard her door shut, I knew she would not speak up today, and maybe not any other day, for that matter.

It was now entirely up to me to speak for my best friend from Southern High.