Authors: Maggie Toussaint
I wasn’t surprised she told her
boss what to do. Jonette had a way of twisting men around her finger without
even trying. What surprised me was the look of alarm in Dean’s eye until he
realized Jonette was sitting with me.
“What’s wrong, Clee?” Jonette
asked.
“You haven’t heard?”
Jonette’s eyes lit up. “Oh goody.
News. It’s been slow in here this morning.”
“It may be news to you, but it’s
a nightmare to me.” I leaned forward to sip my coffee. The moist steam rising
off the coffee opened my senses, the jolt from the caffeine revved up my
flagging energy. “Mama was taken in for questioning last night.”
Jonette grimaced. “Why didn’t you
call me?”
“I couldn’t.” I shook my head
sadly. “I just couldn’t talk about it.”
“Wait.” She met my level gaze. “Last night as in hot date last night?”
“Only half of a hot date. We were
dining when I got the call.”
“Frustration on top of
frustration, right?”
I rubbed my eyes. “It’s such a mess. Britt believes Mama murdered Erica.”
“Murder? I thought it was hit and
run. An accident.”
“Britt says it wasn’t an
accident. He’s convinced Mama was behind the wheel.”
“Dang.” Jonette sipped her
coffee. Around us, Lynyrd Skynyrd sang of coming home to Alabama. Conversations
at the bar counter ebbed and flowed. I caught Dean glancing at us as we put our
heads closer together.
Smart man.
He had to know Jonette and I were
scheming and anything could happen.
“Where is she? Did Detective Dumb-as-Dirt
keep her locked up overnight?”
“No. He said she wasn’t a flight
risk. She hasn’t been officially charged with murder. They’re checking her car
against the other evidence.”
“What have they got?”
“Nothing good. All the evidence
indicates Mama’s car ran over Erica. More than once. Intentional acts of
violence. Britt says it’s murder. Mama says she didn’t kill anyone. I want to
believe her.”
“You know you do. Me, too. What’s
next?”
I sighed. “That’s the trouble.
I’m exhausted, and I can’t think straight. Mama’s not talking, Rafe’s mad at me for ruining our night of wild sex, and Britt’s breathing down my neck. Top that off with a
morning with Atilla the Grinning Gorilla at the gym, and my life sucks.”
Jonette laughed. “No wonder
you’re hiding out in here.”
I bristled. “I am not hiding out.
I came here for sympathy.”
“Forget it.” Jonette waved off my
remark. “You don’t need sympathy. You need a swift kick in the pants. We’re
good at figuring out stuff, so we’ll find out what your mother is hiding. That
will take care of Britt, too. Rafe will be fine once he gets you in the sack
again. What I want to know is, who is Atilla the Grinning Gorilla? Evan the
hunky gym dog?”
I waved off Jonette’s dancing
eyebrows. “Don’t go looking at me like that. I am not interested in Evan
Hodges. He stood me up. Instead, I had a pint-sized personal trainer named Gen. She was merciless, and she grinned incessantly. I won’t be able to walk for days, and
I’m sure I’ve ruined my golf game.”
Jonette waved her hand like it
was a magic wand. “Your game wasn’t good to start with. A few lessons from a
certain golf pro will fix what ails you. See. One problem solved.”
“If only it were that easy.” But
I felt better. “How’s the election campaign coming along?”
“Been working on a slogan. What
do you think about ‘Moore for Mayor’?”
“Not bad. Not bad at all.” The
front door opened and my ex walked in and folded his wet umbrella. I did not
want to deal with him right now. “Hide.” I ducked under the table.
Jonette joined me. “Who are we hiding from?”
I peeked over the table in time to see Charlie stop at the bar and talk to Dean. He directed Charlie toward our booth in the
back corner. “Never mind. Dean ratted us out.” I sat up and slid close to the
outer edge of my bench seat so that there was no room on my side of the booth.
Undeterred, Charlie slid in next
to Jonette. “Hello, gorgeous.”
“All my customers say I’m gorgeous,” Jonette said, primping her short brown hair, turning his attention from me to her.
“You ladies are too beautiful for
words,” Charlie said with a broad smile that included both of us. His arm
reached casually along the back of the seat.
A glass shattered over at the
bar. A spine-tingling shiver shook me from head to toe. “Charlie, what brings
you here?” I asked pointedly.
“I heard about Delilah’s run-in
with the law. I’m here to offer my services. What can I do?”
If I took him up on his offer,
he’d think he was making progress toward getting me back. I needed help, but I
didn’t need it that badly. My spine stiffened. “What makes you think we’re
doing anything?”
Broken glass screeched on the
ceramic tile floor. Behind the bar, Dean muttered something unintelligible.
Poor fella. He must be having a hard time collecting the shards of glass.
“Come on,” Charlie pleaded. “I
know you better than that. You wouldn’t sit back and let your mother go to
jail.”
I anchored my hands firmly on my
coffee cup. “You don’t want to get mixed up in this, Charlie. Britt’s already
thinking I’m an accessory to murder.”
Charlie leaned forward, his arm
slipping off the bench and onto Jonette’s shoulder. “Even more reason for me to get involved. I don’t want you in Britt’s clutches. Besides, I can’t let the mother of my
children rot in jail as an accessory. What have you got?”
“We’ve got nothing.” Jonette
gazed up at Charlie with adoring eyes.
My mouth dropped open. Jonette
thought Charlie was the biggest loser on the planet. What was going on here?
“What’s the plan?” Charlie asked,
his gaze fixed on my face. Jonette might as well have been roadkill for all the
notice he took of her adulation.
“The plan is to find out who
hated Erica enough to kill her,” I said. “Once I know that, I have a chance to
clear Mama.”
“I’ll help,” he said.
“No!” Alarm flared from stem to
stern. “I mean, no thanks. I don’t want a lot of people running around asking
questions. If you want to help, keep your eyes and ears open.”
“I’d like to do more,” Charlie
said.
He looked so wistful, so earnest.
My heart softened. “How about if I bank your request? I’m sure I’ll need help
along the way.”
Pleasure flared in his blue eyes.
“Deal.”
Dean approached our booth with a
fisted hand. He opened his palm and campaign buttons rained down on the table. “Here.
Have a button.”
“Moore for Mayor,” the bold red
print proclaimed. I snatched one up and pinned it on my polo shirt. “Thanks.
I’d love to support our candidate.”
Charlie stared at the brightly
colored buttons like they were a nest of venomous snakes. “What’s this?”
Jonette picked up a button and
pinned it on Charlie’s shirt. “I’m running for mayor. You’ll wear this for me, won’t you, Chuckie?”
Charlie glanced from Jonette to me and back again. I shrugged. Who knew what the hell was going on here? I certainly didn’t. “Uh,
sure,” he said.
Dean’s hand rested heavily on my
shoulder. Tension radiated down his arm, infusing me with the sensation of a
swarm of buzzing bees. “Break’s over, Jonette,” he said.
Jonette’s lower lip rolled out. “Party
pooper.”
“I’ve got to go pick up the
girls. Lexy needs a camera for school,” Charlie said, sliding out of the booth.
“I meant what I said, Cleo. I want to help.”
“I won’t forget.” There were lots
of things I wouldn’t forget about Charlie Jones. Like the way he had played me for a fool for months. I wouldn’t forget that. Neither would Jonette. So why was she acting
so strangely around him?
I stood as well. “I owe you for a
cup of coffee,” I said to Dean. I took a few dollars out of my purse and
dropped them on the table.
“Coffee’s on the house.” He
handed me my money back. His sullen gaze riveted on Jonette and Charlie as they
walked toward the door.
Dean was ten years older than
Jonette. He had the look of an aging biker, with a stocky build, flat belly,
silvery ponytail, and arresting gray eyes. The age difference had made Jonette
cautious about getting involved with him in the first place. Now I wondered if
there was irreparable trouble in paradise.
He seemed like a nice guy and he
treated Jonette well, which was more than I could say for Jonette’s previous
lovers and husbands. A little reassurance might help Dean feel more secure in
his affection. “She’s not interested in Charlie,” I volunteered.
“You don’t understand,” Dean
said. “She’s pulling away from me. I feel her withdrawal, and I can’t do a damn
thing to stop her from leaving me. If I wasn’t so dull, she wouldn’t look at
other men.”
The stark pain in his voice ate
at me. Dean cared for Jonette. Their personal relationship wasn’t casual to
him. I’d known Jonette for a long time. She adored masculine attention, which
was why the barmaid gig suited her so well. “Jonette’s not fickle. She likes to
look, but she’s never cheated on her partner.”
Dean shook his head sadly,
reminding me of the gloomy donkey in the Winnie the Pooh movies. “I’m going to
come back from my bartender’s convention next week, and she’ll be moved out of
my place. I know it.”
“That’s not Jonette’s style,” I
said. “She doesn’t sneak around. She’s very much an in-your-face type of
person.”
The dimly lit, thinly populated
tavern suited Dean’s melancholy mood. I couldn’t guarantee him she wouldn’t
leave him. Jonette operated under her own set of rules, in her own time. If she wasn’t in love with Dean, she would move on, but not without a fiery showdown.
“She hasn’t been in my face
lately. That’s the problem. You’re her best friend. Tell me, what do I need to
do to get her back?”
Lord, how was I going to talk my
way out of this? “I want Jonette to be happy, but I don’t know what to suggest.”
Dean mopped his brow. “I’ve spent
every waking moment with her, giving her my complete attention, doing chores
for her, but it’s not enough. I’m blowing it and I wished to God I wasn’t.”
He was smothering her. A little
time apart would do them a world of good. Poor Dean. He really was gone on
Jonette. “My best advice is to be yourself.”
“Be myself?”
“Yeah. Don’t try to impress
Jonette. Relax. Enjoy your trip next week.”
He looked skeptical.
“Hey, life is short,” I said. “Don’t
worry. Be happy.”
Dean nodded. “I know that song.”
“I thought you might.” I summoned
a fleeting smile.
I walked back to city hall to
collect my car. Some of my workout stiffness had abated, but I was physically
drained. The day was half over, and I had yet to learn a single thing to keep
Mama out of jail. I’d better make progress soon, or it would be too late.
Mama was drinking coffee in the
kitchen when I walked in. I’d had enough coffee, so I poured myself a glass of
water and sat down beside her at the scarred kitchen table. As a child I’d done
my homework at this table, and now my kids did their homework here. Funny how
life circled around.
“About last night,” I began conversationally.
“I know you are holding something back. I need to know what you know so I can
help you.”
Mama stared into her coffee as if
the dark beverage contained the secrets of the universe. She hadn’t bothered to
dress this morning, and her pale neck looked naked without her usual triple
strand of pearls. Her short white hair was snarled and matted. I made a mental note to replace her faded baby-blue bathrobe with a new one at Christmas. If she wasn’t
in jail.
Would Mama tell me her secret? I’d expected her to tell me I was nuts, but her silence told me more than any protest she might have mounted. I had no choice but to keep dancing around the
topic.
“You’re not the only one that had
run-ins with Erica,” I said. “I believe she extorted money from Muriel. Erica
was three months behind in her beauty shop bill. Given those circumstances, I
assume she needed money. From there it’s no stretch to assume she was blackmailing you as well as Muriel. What did she have on you?”
Mama’s eyes flared in alarm. Her
lips tightened to a thin colorless line. Deep creases lined her washed-out face.
Bingo. I’d hit pay dirt. Erica was blackmailing her. For Mama to be wrinkling
her face like a sun-dried tomato meant she was too upset to care about her
appearance. A rare moment.
I’d gotten used to Mama running
the world whenever she took the notion. Seeing her as frail and fragile was
like splashing cold water in my face. Sobering. Shocking, even.
Another realization set in.
Though she was broken and hurting, Mama wouldn’t easily yield up her secret.
I’d have to push her, hard. Could I be that ruthless? With Mama’s heart
condition, I’d be taking a big risk. What if I caused more harm than good?
Could I live with the outcome?
Despair welled up inside of me. Her stubbornness might condemn her to a life behind bars. She needed to trust me. Frustration warred with anger, and anger won. “Dammit, Mama, what is this all about? Why did
Erica make your life hell on earth?”
A fat tear inched down her cheek.
Another tear followed. Mama closed her eyes to stem the tide. She uttered a one-syllable
word. Her voice was too soft for me to make out what she’d said.
I leaned forward, cupping my ear.
“What’s that? What did you say?”
Mama’s bleak face filled with
sorrow. The spark of life that characterized her gaze was missing. In its place
was a glazed look of sorrow. Her head bowed, and her shoulders slumped.
The bereft woman before me seemed a stranger. A stranger wearing my mother’s ratty bathrobe. When was the last time I’d looked at Mama and really seen her? I couldn’t remember.
She’d always been there for me, a pillar of feminine strength, with boundless reserves of energy. Now it seemed she’d aged twenty years in the space of ten minutes.