The Turkey Wore Satin (4 page)

“
It was addressed to you,”
Georgette went on. “Sent here care of Grandmama. I asked what was
in it, but you didn’t answer. You just picked it up and took it
away…”

“
I saw that box too,” Beth
said, quietly, like she was in a trance. “It had one of those ‘live
animal’ stickers on it. I was about to ask what it was when
Grandmother yanked me into the front room and called for
tea.”

“
The spider!” Tyrone
gasped, covering his pink lips with bright purple
fingernails.

“
Where?” Jack squealed,
jumping onto the nearest chair.

Tyrone tsked. “Not in here. In the box! The
live animal box. Honey, keep up. We ain’t slowin’ down for
y’all.”

“
Mother!” Beth
cried.

But Tyrone obviously craved his moment in
the sun, because he stood and pointed an accusing finger at
Cynthia, and said, “Honey, you killed your husband.”

Cynthia’s eyes filled with tears, but she
blinked them away. “Well, that’s the silliest thing I’ve ever
heard! Me, kill my husband? Why-ever would I do such a thing?”

“
Money?” Tyrone asked.
“Rich man like that’d probably leave his wife a tidy
sum.”

“
Maybe he was cheating on
you,” Marty proposed.

“
Or because he looks
better in a dress than you!” Jonnie said.

“
Don’t be vile,” Cynthia
replied. “George always looked atrocious in women’s wear. How he
managed to win the drag competition year after year, I’ll never…”
Her lip began to quiver as she said, “…I’ll never know.”

Georgette stroked her mother’s back. “Daddy
was funny on stage. That’s why everybody voted for him. He made us
all laugh.”

“
That’s right,” Kristin
and her mother both said.

Jack relented. “We’ll all miss the guy’s
drag performance. I can’t deny that.”

Cynthia’s stiff upper lip broke and she
wailed as she said, “It wasn’t my idea!”

“
What wasn’t your idea?”
Marty asked into the microphone.

“
It was Mother! Mother
insisted! She said I had to carry on the Mayfair family
tradition!”

“
Hush, Cynthia,” Grandma
Iris chastised.

“
What Mayfair family
tradition?” Marty asked. “You mean the drag show?”

“
No,” Cynthia sobbed.
“There’s another one, an older one… one you men don’t find out
about… until it’s too late!”

Chapter Six

“
We will have no more of
this nonsense,” Iris growled.

“
It’s true!” Cynthia
sobbed into her hanky. “Mother said it’s what all Mayfair women
did, husband after husband. She did it, her mother did it, just
like her mother before her. They all murdered their
men.”

“
What
?” Jack and
Tyrone shrieked.

Grandma Iris covered her face with one hand.
“Oh, Cynthia, you silly, stupid girl

“
This is too… weird,”
Georgette said.

“
Mom, you didn’t really?”
Beth whispered. “You didn’t do it.”

“
I did!” Cynthia wept.
“Your grandmother bought a special kind of spider from the man at
the university—a black widow bred to be vicious and very, very
poisonous. She told me all I had to do was get Brykia out of the
kitchen long enough to put it in George’s grapes, and it would be
easy enough to explain away.”

Everyone turned to Brykia, who seemed
confounded for a moment, and then said, “That’s right! Madame
Cynthia asked me to find her a jar of beets from the cellar. I left
her alone in the kitchen.”

“
And that’s whose heels I
heard clacking!” Marty said.

“
Yes, it’s true,” Cynthia
admitted. “Cart me off to prison. I deserve to be thrown in a
dungeon for the rest of my day, nothing but bread and water to
sustain me!”

“
Certainly not,” Grandma
Iris growled. “I should say, not until after we’ve all enjoyed
Brykia’s wonderful turkey. And we won’t be starting dinner until
after the Amazing Annual Mayfair Family Drag Show!”

Everybody groaned, and the grieving
daughters tried their best to explain why, this year, the Mayfairs
should give the drag show a miss.

Meanwhile, Brykia fled to the kitchen to
tend to the bird and probably start searching for a job in a house
without a longstanding tradition of murder.

Kristin joined Marty on stage, beaming
proudly as she approached him. Removing the microphone from his
hand, she switched it off and replaced it on the stand. Then she
kissed him on the cheek and said, “I’m very proud of you.”

“
Proud enough to swear you
won’t murder me?”

“
Cross my
heart.”

“
Even if your mom says you
have to?”

“
Since when do I listen to
my mother?” Kristin asked. “She told me not to marry you, and I
married you anyway.”

Marty sagged. “Angela said that? I thought
she liked me, at least a little bit.”

Taking his hand, Kristin said, “Maybe that’s
why she didn’t want me marrying you—because one day I’d have to
kill you.”

“
Do you think your mom
knew about this Mayfair Family Tradition?”

Kristin shivered. “I hope not. I sure
didn’t.”

She helped him cross the stage in heels, and
then held his hand tight as they stepped down the three stairs to
the floor.

“
You can take off those
heels now,” Kristin said. “I really don’t think the show’s going to
happen.”

Marty shrugged. “It’s okay. I need the
practice for next year. With Uncle George gone, it’s anyone’s
game.”

Kristin, rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Come
on. Let’s tell those paramedics what happened. Maybe they know when
the police will get here.”

But when they stepped into the huge marble
foyer, the paramedics were nowhere to be seen.

“
Maybe they went out to
the ambulance,” Kristin said.

Just then, they heard a distinctly
suspicious giggle from the closet.

Marty marched over to it, which was no easy
feat in his high-heeled shoes, and yanked the door open.

Inside, Male Whoopie’s fingers were bunched
up in his partner’s ponytail. She was tugging on his dreads while
they smooched like they’d both spent the last decade on a desert
island.

Marty cleared his throat, and they both
jumped. Looking guilty and shocked, they stammered, “Oh, we were
just… clues, looking for… clues…”

“
In each other’s pants?”
Kristin asked.

The paramedics blushed and apologized, but
Marty actually thought it was pretty cute.

“
We just wanted to tell
you we know who killed George,” Marty said. “His wife is the
culprit. It’s a long story.”

“
Well, she can tell it to
the cops,” Male Whoopi replied. “Sorry, that sounded meaner than I
meant it. The police are on their way, is what I should have said,
so she can give them her full confession when they
arrive.”

They stood awkwardly inside the closet,
until, finally, Kristin wished them a happy Thanksgiving and shut
the door so they could get back to… looking for clues…

“
Well, this has sure been
an eventful Thanksgiving,” Marty said.

“
And we haven’t even eaten
yet.”

As his new wife squeezed his hand lovingly,
Marty listened to the Mayfair family sobbing, screaming and arguing
in the next room. Through it all, he’d nearly forgotten he was
wearing his Madonna outfit. The bodysuit and stocking had become a
second skin while they were busy solving George’s murder. Even the
heavy blonde wig wasn’t feeling too cumbersome. The heels would
still take a bit of practice, though.

“
We’ve got leftovers in
the fridge at home,” Kristin said. “Are you married to the idea of
a big family dinner with the Mayfairs?”

“
I’m only married to one
Mayfair,” Marty teased. “And if she’s ready to go, so am I. Let me
just change out of this Madonna get-up.”

As he kicked off his shoes, Kristin asked,
“Which one of you killed the spider?”

Marty froze at the bottom of the stairs.

“
The black widow,” Kristin
continued. “It bit Uncle George. Did he kill it?”

Marty started to tremble. “No, I don’t think
so. I saw him brush his arm against his skirt, but… Holy Moly, the
spider must still be up there!”

As Marty raced out the front door, Kristin
followed behind. “You’re just going to leave your clothes
here?”

“
Burn them!” he
said.

“
We’re going to drive all
the way home with you dressed like Madonna?”

“
Beats getting bit by a
black widow,” Marty squealed. “Anyway, men dressing like women is
your family’s proudest tradition!”

Getting her keys out of her purse, Kristin
said, “So is murder, apparently.”

Hopefully this Thanksgiving spelled an end
to
that
Mayfair family tradition. But as Marty took off his
wig and tucked into the car, he felt kind of disappointed that he
did all that rehearsing for the drag competition and now he’d never
get to show off his moves. Maybe when they got home, he’d put on a
private showing for Kristin. She’d like that.

Murder, he could do without. But the other
Mayfair family tradition, the one that involved a lip-synch
competition, back-breaking choreography, and larger-than-life glam?
Well, he hoped the Mayfair men would hold on to that.

The End

Thanks for reading
The Turkey Wore Satin
! If
you enjoyed this humorous Thanksgiving mystery, why not leave a
quick review? Reviews help other readers find the stories they’re
looking for while avoiding books that may not suit their
tastes.

Happy reading and have a great day!

~J.J. Brass