Mama Pursues Murderous Shadows Read online

  “Last night she called and asked me to meet her here today,” Mama said. “I thought she might have called you and told you she’d be coming.”

  “No,” Portia said, shaking her head.

  “When was the last time she visited her boys?”

  “The day before yesterday. Herman brought her here and then drove off. An hour later he picked her up again. Lord knows how I’m going to tell those boys that she won’t be coming to see them again, especially since she told them that she was going to bring them their big old tomcat from her place,” Portia said sadly.

  Mama leaned over and patted her hand. “I’ll arrange for a psychologist to talk with them,” she said.

  Portia nodded, grateful. “Mack is eight and little Curtis is only six. It was hard enough for me to help them understand why they couldn’t live with their own mama. Now to explain to them that one day she was alive and happy and the next day she’s dead … Candi, I don’t know how those two sweet boys are going to take it!”

  “We’ll help them understand,” Mama promised. “We’ll do whatever it takes to help them through this. Let me ask you something, Portia. Did you have a chance to talk to Betty Jo when she visited two days ago?”

  Portia nodded. “Like I told you, Betty Jo was happy, grinning from ear to ear. She liked living with Herman. She boasted that she wore Ruby’s clothes, strutted her rings and watches. Betty Jo couldn’t talk enough about the good time she was having.”

  Mama sat up straight.

  “Betty Jo even gave each of her boys a twenty-dollar bill—those bills looked like they’d just come off the printing press,” Portia continued. “Fact is, I almost had a stroke when Betty Jo opened up her pocketbook and pulled that brand new money out. Look like the Treasury had just printed it. As soon as she left, I had to take Curtis and Mack to the new Wesmart to buy a toy. That money nearly burned a hole in their pockets.” She smiled. “I couldn’t bear to spend such clean, pretty money, so I gave them two old twenties that I had been saving for a living room set. I put their new bills up for safekeeping. In six months, when I’ve saved enough money for a set, I’ll have to use it. Right now, though, having new money will bring good fortune to my house.”

  “It’s a tragedy that Betty Jo died so young,” Mama commented. “She couldn’t be more than twenty-five.”

  “Fact is,” Portia said, “I don’t remember hearing that she had a condition that might have caused her sudden death. But then, death can come sudden to most anybody, can’t it?”

  Mama murmured her agreement.

  “I wonder …” Portia said, her face clouding.

  “What?” Mama asked.

  “Betty Jo promised the boys that she’d bring their cat, Sparkle, here for them to take care of. It seems that now that she was living with Herman she wasn’t able to go back to her own house every day to feed the cat.”

  “There’s no reason that those boys can’t have their cat,” Mama agreed.

  “I’ll go pick it up first thing in the morning,” Portia said, smiling. “It’ll be a comfort to Mack and Curtis.”

  We rose to leave the house. Outside, two handsome little boys were playing with toy trucks under a tree in the yard. Mama called to them. Curtis and Mack looked up, giggled, and waved, grinning from ear to ear.

  “I’ll set up an appointment with the county’s psychologist,” Mama reminded Portia, whose eyes had filled with tears at the sight of the two happy, noisy boys. “Don’t you worry about them.”

  “Candi,” Portia said, “does this mean that I’ll be able to keep the boys now?” She sounded anxious.

  Mama smiled at her. “It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  “They’re good boys, lots of company for me. I love them as if they were my own, and you know I’d do anything for them.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Mama promised just before we got into the car and pulled away.

  Our next stop: Cousin Agatha’s house. Daddy’s first cousin is a tall, lanky woman with the business mind of the family. The Covington family owns a lot of property; Agatha had it put in a land corporation. She administers the corporation business, sees that all the taxes are paid, and when possible, she gets the timber cut and has the funds distributed throughout the family.

  Agatha never married, and as far as I know, never wanted to. She took care of her father, Chester Covington, until his death last year. Now she spends her free time working with the senior citizens at the Community Center.

  “It seems like Agatha likes taking care of old people,” I said to Mama as we drove to Cypress Creek, where Agatha lived.

  “She works with the senior citizens as fervently as she took care of Uncle Chester,” Mama answered. “I guess taking care of the elderly is Agatha’s calling.”

  Things had changed quite a bit on the Covington homestead since my great-uncle Chester died last year. Agatha had had a lot of work done on the house. White aluminum siding decked its outside; there was a new tiled roof. Agatha had also had the house insulated, and the walls of each room had new, striking wallpaper. Central air-conditioning, something Uncle Chester wouldn’t even consider, now cooled the rooms.

  There was new furniture, too. New curtains and new carpet as well. Agatha had used her share of the money she had gotten from the cut timber wisely, as everybody in Otis knew she would.

  “What have you got on the stove?” Mama asked Agatha the moment we stepped inside.

  “Nothing half as good as what’s cooking on your stove, Candi,” Agatha replied right away.

  “Agatha, you’re every bit as good a cook as I am,” Mama told her, laughing, “and you know it.”

  Agatha, who tends to be shy, grinned. “What’s your mama up to now, Simone?” she asked me.

  I smiled back. “She wants a favor,” I answered.

  Agatha nodded. “I suspected the like.”

  Mama took a chair and said, “Agatha, I’ve got something to tell you. Simone, Will, and Rodney want to have a party for me and James.”

  “Good,” Agatha said. “I like parties.”

  “We don’t want Mama to cook,” I said.

  Agatha’s eyes grew wide. “For heaven sakes, why?”

  “ ’Cause it’s their wedding anniversary. Mama shouldn’t be cooking. She should be celebrating,” I told her.

  “You want me to cook?” Agatha asked.

  “You and Gertrude,” Mama answered.

  “My cousin ain’t a bad cook,” Agatha said about Gertrude, “but she can’t hold a candle to me.”

  We all laughed.

  “Of course I’ll cook for your party, Candi,” Agatha agreed, smiling. “Tell me what you want and—”

  “Mama has a menu,” I told her.

  “Good. When is this shindig?”

  “It’s Saturday, September fifteenth.”

  Agatha straightened up. “That’s four weeks away.”

  “Is there a conflict?” I asked.

  Agatha shook her head. “Ain’t no such thing as a conflict when it comes to cooking for James and Candi’s anniversary party.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Mama said, pleased. “Now I want to change the subject.”

  Agatha leaned forward, as if she could tell from Mama’s tone that they were about to discuss something of extreme importance.

  “Agatha, you’ve been around Otis all of your life,” Mama said. “You know just about every family in Otis and its surrounding counties. Do you know a man named Charles Parker?”

  Cousin Agatha thought. Then she shook her head. “No, Candi, I don’t recollect a single soul from these parts named Charles Parker.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  “Let’s go to Betty Jo’s place before we go back to the house,” Mama said to me. “I was thinking that the boys’ cat, Sparkle, probably hasn’t been fed in days.”

  Mama told me that Betty Jo lived on the road between Avondale and Otis, which meant that I had to go back through Otis to get to Betty Jo’s house.
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br />   The sky was calm and clear. I pulled into the Texaco station on the corner of Oak and First to pump some gas. Mama got out of the car and started toward the station’s convenience store at the same time as Inez Moore walked out of it.

  “Well, Miss Snoopy Snoop, are you still asking questions about Ruby Spikes?”

  “How are you doing?” Mama asked Inez, ignoring her unfriendly greeting.

  Inez eyed Mama suspiciously. “You don’t care how I’m doing. It’s what I’m doing that you’re so worried about.”

  “I’ve heard of the trouble Ruby caused you at the plant, the reason you got fired.”

  “Ruby Spikes was a meddling, sickly sweet, nasty-nice woman that made me sick. She did a lot of people a favor by shooting herself!”

  “I can understand why you’d feel that way,” Mama said to her, again not responding to her hostility.

  Inez folded her arms across her chest and leaned toward Mama, her eyes blazing with rage, but Mama didn’t back away. “Listen, lady, I ain’t the only person who Ruby did a favor by leaving this world. Sure, she stopped my little game at the plant, but that boyfriend of hers used her up, getting money from her to pay off his gambling debts. He told me himself that he was tired of her. And her husband, I reckon he’s glad that people ain’t laughing at him anymore. The whole town called Herman Spikes stupid. He pretended that he didn’t care about his wife giving her money and her body to a womanizing gambler like Leman Moody, but everybody knew it cut him to his heart!”

  “Herman had his own woman,” Mama told her. “He evidently didn’t care that Ruby had a thing with Leman.”

  “Little you know,” Inez shot back. “Men can screw around like dogs but they ain’t for their wives doing the same thing. Ruby is dead, and that’s the end of it. Whatever trouble she caused me, I’ll take care of it. I’ve got a chance to bounce back. Ruby’s chances ended the night she killed herself,” she said. Then she turned and got into the car that was parked directly in front of my rental car, and sped off.

  I paid for the gas, Mama bought us each a bottle of iced tea, and then we got back into the car and headed toward Betty Jo Mets’s house.

  It turned out that the house was just off the highway on a narrow dirt road, not a hundred yards from the ditch my car had skidded into last week. Surely, I thought as I pulled into the muddy driveway, Betty Jo would have heard the commotion of the accident if she had been at home that night. But she’d been living it up at Ruby’s house.

  The little place was dilapidated: badly in need of paint, with rows of missing shingles and a definite sag to the roof. All was quiet.

  Mama knocked at the front door, although she said she didn’t expect an answer. A movement off to the right caught my eye. A large blond and brown cat scurried across the side of the house, then stopped, eyeing us warily. “Mrowr!” he cried, looking ready to jump if we tried to grab him.

  “There you are,” Mama said softly. “We’ve come to take you to Curtis and Mack.”

  The cat sniffed the air.

  “Is there something to eat in the car?” Mama asked.

  “No,” I answered.

  “Come on now, Sparkle,” Mama again urged. “I want to take you to a nice warm place to sleep, where two little boys will give you more love than you can handle.”

  “Mrowr!”

  “What now?” I asked.

  “Go inside. See if you can find something for us to give it to eat.”

  I peered through the front window, then pushed on the front door. It swung open. I eased inside. The place stank of old garbage and couldn’t have consisted of more than four rooms. The one I stood in had two chairs, both dirty and worn. I spotted an empty plate on the floor in the corner of the room.

  I hope it’s the cat dish, I thought as I picked it up and slipped into the next room to search for something to put in it. I was right in deciding that it was the kitchen. I spotted an unopened can of cat food among the litter of cans and dirty dishes.

  I moved fast to open the can, dish up the food, and take it back outside. The cat approached me cautiously. I started to grab him but Mama stopped me. “Give him space, let him eat,” she urged.

  The cat polished off the food, then sat licking his chops. When Mama reached for him, the cat purred, his body relaxed.

  “Get me something to wrap him in,” Mama told me, looking at the cat with tenderness.

  Once more I went inside the house. I found what looked like a rag and took it out to my mother. She wrapped Sparkle up and handed him to me.

  “Put him in the backseat of the car,” she told me. “I want to take a look around the place. I won’t be long.”

  The cat looked up at me and purred, his eyes squeezed to mere slits. I felt he was telling me, “Take me, I’m yours.”

  No sooner had I put him down on the backseat and closed the car door than I heard the first shot. I stood up and looked around, unsure of the direction it had come from. Then I heard the second shot, along with what sounded like a window shattering in the back of the house. “Mama,” I screamed, instinctively falling to the ground. I took a deep breath and crawled toward the small house. When I got to the front door, I called to Mama again.

  “Simone,” her voice came back. “I’m okay.”

  There was another shot.

  I shouted, “I’m coming inside!”

  “No,” Mama urged. “There’s no use in both of us getting killed!”

  Mama’s words sent an adrenaline rush through my body that felt like a spring flood. I let out a breath and, on my hands and knees, pushed through the front door. There was no way I was going to sit quietly and let my mother be killed.

  Mama was in a corner, crouched behind an old chair. My stomach felt like it had been scooped out with a dull plastic spoon on seeing how vulnerable she looked.

  “Come over here!” she ordered, no doubt feeling as protective of me as I was of her.

  I hesitated. Another shot pushed me toward my mother.

  Then all was quiet.

  For what seemed like hours, we sat huddled together, our only line of defense an old chair. It was like a great calm after a hurricane.

  “What do we do now?” I finally asked Mama.

  Before she had a chance to answer, we heard a car door slam. A few minutes later we heard, somewhere in the far distance, the sound of a car engine.

  “He’s gone,” I said, assuming that the shooter was a man and thanking the Lord that he’d decided not to kill us.

  “Sounds like it,” Mama said, standing and stretching.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I urged, reaching for her hand.

  Mama nodded and followed me to the front door. Outside, we looked around. Nothing seemed changed.

  We headed for the car and I eased into the driver’s seat.

  “Simone,” Mama said, “Sparkle is gone!”

  I turned to examine the backseat, where I’d placed the furry animal. He was definitely gone. The only thing remaining were long blond and brown hairs that confirmed I had put him down on that spot.

  “You mean somebody tried to kill us for that cat?” I asked.

  Mama shrugged, then fell into a reflective silence as I tried to understand why somebody would try to kill us for a cat that had been neglected until we came to rescue it.

  When we pulled off the dirt road and onto the paved highway, we spotted a car parked a few feet away. Mama touched my arm.

  Leman Moody sat in his white Volvo. Although I couldn’t see his eyes through the tinted window, I was sure he was staring at us, watching and waiting.

  “He’s the one who tried to kill us,” I whispered. The words were barely out of my mouth when Leman started his engine and drove off toward the town of Avondale.

  When we hit Otis’s town limits, Mama made me promise not to tell my father about the shooting or the missing cat.

  “I believe that Leman Moody tried to kill us twice,” I said. “Aren’t you afraid?”

  “Simone, I may be afr
aid of taking a particular step, but I’m not afraid of walking.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “An incident may be frightening but it doesn’t mean that I’ll stop seeking the truth.”

  “I’ll bet you anything Leman Moody was the person who pushed us off the road last week—and he tried to finish the job today. Doesn’t that scare you?”

  “I don’t like being shot at or forced into a ditch,” Mama told me. “But the fact is, we weren’t killed. I’m beginning to think somebody’s trying to persuade me to stop asking questions about Ruby’s death, but that’s the path I’m going to continue to walk. Now, Simone, your father is already suspicious about our car accident; he keeps asking me questions. If he finds out what just happened at Betty Jo’s place, hell insist that we stop looking into Ruby’s death.”

  “Daddy might have the right idea,” I retorted.

  “Simone!” Mama said, her tone saying she wasn’t about to argue with me about her decision. “I’m going to find out what happened to Ruby in that motel room!”

  “Okay, I promise not to mention it to Daddy. In return for my silence, though, we’ll have to stop by Otis Community Center. I want to take a look at the place, get some idea of whether it would accommodate the best anniversary party in the town’s history. That’s my first priority, not Ruby Spikes’s death or Sarah Jenkins’s tax money.”

  Mama’s shoulders relaxed. “Fine with me,” she said, sounding preoccupied.

  The Community Center building, one of the largest ones in Otis, is made of precut logs. The hall itself is big enough to hold three hundred people comfortably, and it’s a pleasant place, bright and airy. While the Community Center is available for functions like my parents’ anniversary party, one of its main uses is for senior citizens’ activities. On Saturdays these stately folks get together for a potluck lunch, quilting, knitting, and lots of good gossip. As we arrived, the ladies who made up this week’s cleanup crew were putting the last few pots and pans back in the kitchen cupboards. Mama and I greeted them, then I went on into the hall and left Mama behind to chat with her contemporaries.