She chewed methodically on the end of her hair. I couldn’t tell if she was pondering what I said, or just passing the minutes until closing time. I glanced at the big clock on the wall. Ten minutes to midnight. I was beat. It’d been a long day.
“I guess that’ll do it,” I said.
“So, you’re done thinking? Should I just ring up the beer?”
I was just about to tell her yes when I remembered the display of beef jerky that used to sit right on the counter at driver eye level. The spicy maple flavor was addictive.
“What happened to that jerky y’all used to sell?”
Her hair-chewing speed increased. “I moved them to the back. Trevor says eating animal products is like eating our own brothers and sisters. I promised him I’d only sell them if somebody really, really, really wanted them.”
I thought about it for a moment. Between Maddie, Teensy, and Carlos, I barely got any pizza earlier. My stomach growled. I pictured the sorry state of my fridge at home: A jar of salsa which I was certain had grown mold; an apple so old its skin was wrinkled; and a stale chocolate bunny leftover from Easter with both ears eaten off.
A horn honked behind me. I looked in the rearview, saw a blowsy woman with big hair impatiently waving me on.
“Ohmigod, that’s Dab Holt!” Linda-Ann rolled her eyes. “Must be out of booze for those parties she throws down at the lake. I’m not going to look, but tell me: Does she have one of those young guys she’s always running around with?”
I peeked in the mirror again; gave the woman a friendly wave. “Nope she’s alone.”
“Not for long, I guarantee you.”
My stomach grumbled. “Why don’t you run and grab me a handful of that jerky? I’ll take three of the spicy sweet ones, two with cracked pepper; and one with garlic.”
“Do you really, really …”
“Yes,” I interrupted. “I really, really, REALLY want them.”
The aroma of biscuits and sausage gravy enveloped me like a high-calorie blanket as I opened the door at Gladys’ Diner. I spotted Mama at our favorite breakfast table, the one next to the calendar from Gotcha Bait & Tackle. C’ndee was at the table, too, sitting in Mama’s usual seat. I would have liked to have seen the tug-of-war for that spot, from which Mama could normally see—and be seen by—everyone in the diner.
“Yoo-hoo, Mace! Over here, honey!”
I gave her a wave, mainly to stop her from flapping her arms and shouting loud enough to raise the dead in the cemetery next to the Baptist church off State Road 70.
Mama’s dreaded wedding book lay open between C’ndee and her on the table. The huge tome contained everything from the seating chart for the VFW reception, to the ice-cream colored fabric swatches for our bridesmaid gowns. If we were going to discuss the ruffles yet again on those Gone with the Wind parasols, I knew I’d better get some coffee. Taking a seat, I signaled to Charlene, the waitress, to pour me a cup.
Coffee pot in hand, she leaned over The Book and stared at a picture Mama had clipped from a magazine of a dashing young man modeling Sal’s white wedding suit. “Isn’t it exciting, Mace?” Charlene’s eyes shone. “Not many gals get to be the bridesmaids at their own mama’s marriage.”
With good reason, I thought.
“Mace isn’t like most gals, Charlene. She doesn’t like weddings,” Mama explained. “I guess they remind her of the fact that she’s thirty-two and not even close to getting hitched. She has a boyfriend, in a fashion. But you know what I always say: No man’s gonna buy the cow when he can get the milk for free.”
My cousin Henry picked just that moment to join us. “Mooooove over, would you, Mace? I’d like to sit down. And would you pass that creamer over this way? The one with the free milk?”
“Very funny, Henry.” I punched him in the arm. “You’re a laugh riot, as usual.”
He didn’t hit back because his attention was now riveted on C’ndee. She was bursting from the V-neck of her tight, off-the-shoulder, red paisley top. Matching hair combs, glittering with rhinestones, swept her mass of black curls off her face into waves that cascaded onto her bare shoulders.
“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure,” Henry said, fairly licking his chops.
“How’s your wife, Audra, Henry? And those fine young children?” I smiled sweetly.
C’ndee extended a hand across the table as my cousin took a chair. Her scarlet nails gleamed under the wagon-wheel lamp that hung from the ceiling.
After introductions were made and everyone got straight how everybody else was related, Charlene returned to the table. She dropped off a plate of hot biscuits beside Mama, and took our orders. Then Mama and C’ndee got down to business.
“I don’t know, C’ndee. I still think we should just go in there with scissors and trim this last row of ruffles off. See how that would accentuate the graceful curve of the parasol?”
She turned The Book so C’ndee could see the parasol, held by a smiling Southern belle in crinolines. Dress and umbrella matched, a sickening shade of lime-sherbet green. God help me, that one was my costume.
“So, Henry,” I stole a biscuit off the plate Mama hadn’t offered to share, “what do you hear about Ronnie Hodges?”
My cousin’s the best-known attorney in Himmarshee. This isn’t saying much, since we can count the number of attorneys in town on one hand. But he does have a pretty good pipeline to the police department and courthouse. If there had been any kind of development in the investigation into Ronnie’s death, Henry would know. His face turned grave.
“It’s a mystery to me how someone could do that. That was one awful murder,” he said. “Poor Ronnie.”
The scene from the VFW kitchen flickered into my mind. Putting the biscuit down, I glanced at C’ndee and Mama. They’d gotten quiet, too.
C’ndee rose and pushed back her chair. I noticed her hand shaking as she reached for a gigantic silver purse on the chair next to her. “I’m going to visit the little girl’s room.”
Mama and I traded a look as she walked away. Henry was concentrating on the view of her behind in tight white slacks, like two baby possums tussling in a pillowcase.
“Even if you weren’t married, cousin, that’s too much woman for you,” I said.
“A man can dream, can’t he?” He turned to Mama. “Aunt Rosalee, I thought you told me you couldn’t stand That Woman. How come she’s helping you with the wedding?”
Mama sighed. “I really didn’t have much choice, Henry. First off, she’s kin to Sal through his late wife. That’s a family tie I have to honor. Plus, no matter how I feel about her, Sal is fond of C’ndee.”
“What man wouldn’t be?” Henry said.
“Careful, cousin. You’re drooling on the biscuits.”
“And second,” Mama raised two fingers, “Ronnie’s murder left me in a bad spot.”
“Not as bad as the spot it left Ronnie in,” I said.
“Hush, Mace! I know how that sounds to say it. But it’s the truth. I have a hundred and fifty hungry guests coming to the VFW on Saturday, and no one to feed them. C’ndee’s helping me get all that organized, pulling together the food suppliers and serving people Ronnie used for catering. She seems to know all about this kind of thing. She says her family was in the restaurant business back in New Jersey.”
Mama clamped her lips shut. C’ndee was returning. I noticed a customer at another table was getting up to leave just as she approached. She blew by the woman, nearly knocking her down, instead of stepping aside to let her into the narrow aisle. Mama winced at C’ndee’s civility breach.