A Hard Bargain (11 page)
“You spend all this time at Warwick’s?”
“No, I had a few errands. I ran into Bill.”
“That must have been a treat.”
I trailed a french fry through a pool of ketchup. “It doesn’t really bother me to see him. I feel sorry for his wife, though, the baby machine. He’s up to three now. Babies, I mean.”
I know Jerry doesn’t understand my reluctance to have children, but he never questions me about it. Oddly enough, today, for the first time, I wondered what our children would be like—assuming we ever got out of the friendship stage and into baby making. Would our children be tall and dark, like me, or fair, like Jerry, with his wonderful gray eyes? Would our little girl want to be in beauty pageants? Would our little boy want to talk to the dead? Knowing how fate likes to joke around, the boy would probably be the pageant winner and the girl a TV psychic selling the future for three ninety-nine a minute.
As I chuckled over this vision, Jerry asked, “What’s so funny?”
“Just thinking about all those babies.”
“You like Austin and Denisha.”
“Because I’m not responsible for them. They go home.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about having kids,” he said. “I guess with the right person, it’s different.”
I’m the right person, I wanted to say. Me. We’re sitting in Baxter’s Barbecue, our favorite place, talking about kids and family and the future. What could be more perfect?
To my surprise, Jerry got that serious look again and reached across the table for my hand. “Mac,” he started to say, when a very unwelcome voice said, “Madeline! Well, well. What’s new?”
Jerry and I sat back as Reid Kent strode across the restaurant, pulled up a chair from a nearby table, and sat down with us as if we were thrilled to have him interrupt our lunch. My former boss had the same self-satisfied smile, the same mocking tone.
“Business must be good in Celosia if you can afford to eat in such splendid surroundings.”
“It was splendid till you showed up,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
He gave me a wink. “Keeping an eye on you. My spies tell me when you’re in town. Thought I’d just see if you’d reconsidered my offer.”
“I’m doing just fine without you, Reid, as hard as that may be for you to believe.”
“Oh, I’m sure you are,” he said, his tone implying the opposite. “But I’ve got a big case coming up. I could use your help.”
What sort of game was he playing now? When I worked for Reid Kent, he considered me just decoration. When I moved out and set up my own office next door, he was constantly harassing me. I gave Jerry an incredulous look. He shrugged. Times like this, I wish Jerry really were psychic. Maybe he’d be able to figure out what characters like Reid Kent want.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m busy.”
“Don’t you want to know what the case is?”
“If it’ll get rid of you, yes. Tell me.”
“Got a pageant suing a big computer corporation. Seems the corporation entered a CGI as one of the contestants, and she won the crown. Nobody could tell the difference!” He roared with laughter.
“That’s real funny. Thanks for stopping by.”
“So you don’t want the case?”
“Go away.”
He put both hands flat on the table and pushed himself up. “Okay. Your loss.”
Jerry got up, too. “Let me see you out,” he said.
Kent sneered. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Guys,” I said. “This isn’t necessary. Kent, would you just leave?”
I’m not sure what would’ve happened if the waitress hadn’t arrived with our strawberry shortcakes. There was a brief moment of confusion and bumping into each other as she maneuvered around the extra chair. Jerry sat down. Reid Kent made another snide remark and left.
“Did he want to order?” the waitress asked.
“No,” I said. When she left, I asked Jerry, “What was that macho moment all about? I appreciate the heroics, but Kent could’ve mangled you.”
He was grinning. “Oh, I just wanted to try something.”
“Getting a black eye?”
He held up Kent’s wallet. “Picking a pocket.”
I couldn’t help myself. I burst into laughter. “Jerry!”
“I’m a little out of practice.”
“Damn it, put that away! He’ll be livid.”
“So what? He oughta pay for his crude remarks. In fact, he oughta pay for lunch.” He started looking through Kent’s cash.
“No,” I said. “We’ll leave the wallet at the register.”
Jerry was disappointed. “Not even a fat tip?”
“No. But thank you.”
“Next time I’ll get his watch, too.” He checked his own watch. “We’d better get going. The film crew’s coming pretty soon.”
Whatever Jerry had planned to say was gone. Still another reason to hate Reid Kent.
“We’ve got a couple more stops to make first,” I said.
“More snacks?”
“Art supplies, remember? I’m keeping my end of the bargain.”
“Uh-oh,” he said. “She’s serious.”
We stopped at a craft shop, and I bought paints, brushes, and cleaning solutions. Jerry pointed to a display of easels.
“You’ll need one of these.”
“I know where I can find a cheaper one,” I said.
When we returned to the Eberlin house, the film crew had arrived and was unpacking the vans. Austin and Denisha met us as we got out of my car.
“Isn’t this cool?” Austin said. “We’ve been waiting for almost an hour for them to show up.”
“Just don’t get in their way,” I said. The crew had unpacked miles of cable and some expensive looking equipment. I didn’t see Lance Henderson, but Flynn Davis was getting his makeup retouched by an assistant. He smiled and waved. Josh Gaskins saw Jerry and came over with Stephanie in tow.
“We’ll get some exterior and establishing shots today, Jerry. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.”
Filming exterior shots took three hours, and by then the kids were completely disillusioned. They had stationed themselves under one of the big oak trees in the front yard and watched the crew’s every move, but soon they were sitting in the grass tossing rocks at each other.
“This is so boring,” Denisha said. “They took about a million pictures of the house, and then they filmed people walking up to the door and running around the side. There wasn’t any Mantis Man or anything.”
“Denisha, I told you,” Austin said. “It’s called ‘exteriors.’ That means the outside. That’s all they want the house for.”
“Well, they could’ve had him jump out or something.”
“They’ll do that somewhere else, and then they’ll put it all together so it looks like it was here.”
Josh Gaskins and Jerry strolled up in time to hear this. “You got it, buddy,” Gaskins said to Austin. “You’ve got the makings of a director.”
Denisha nodded. “He sure likes to boss people around.”
“Got some great shots,” Gaskins said. “We’re just about finished here. We’ll do the interiors at Voltage.”
Austin gave Denisha a look that said, “See?” The two of them didn’t have time to start another quarrel. Twenty drove up, screeched to a stop, and charged out of her car, every orange curl quivering.
“Josh Gaskins, I want a word with you.”
He did a double take, the usual reaction to Twenty in one of her original outfits. In her a red leather miniskirt, frilly yellow blouse, and odd-looking white boots she reminded me of a hot dog, ketchup and mustard included.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
“I should say you do! We went to Celosia High together.”
He looked again. “Delores?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“I didn’t recognize you.”
She stabbed a finger at his chest. “You can dress yourself up like Steven Spielberg, but you’re still Josh Gaskins, skinny little Josh Gaskins who never could pass algebra, and I can’t believe you’d do this to Celosia.”
Gaskins started to say, “This will be a good thing,” but Twenty rolled on.
“Do you want Celosia to become a circus? You know how crazy people can get.”
“I don’t know why you’re so riled up,” he said. “This movie could be a real boost to Celosia’s economy.”
“Mantis Man tee shirts and key rings? It’s trash! Cheap junk!”
“Do tourists care?”
She spread her arms wide, bracelets sliding and clacking together. “I care! And I’m not the only one. We’ll find some way to stop you, Josh Gaskins.”
I didn’t like the way this sounded. “Twenty, you really need to calm down.”
“But I’ve seen what can happen! Take Dixley, for instance. A perfectly lovely little town, and now they have the Annual Squash and Radish Festival, and people dressed like giant vegetables overrun the place!”
“I’d like to see that,” Jerry said sotto voce.
I elbowed him in the ribs. “You’re not helping.”
“Look, Delores,” Gaskins said. “At the risk of sounding cliché, this is only a movie. I don’t think it’s going to turn Celosia into a hotbed of mantis activity. With any luck, the film will make a little money.”
She folded her arms over the yellow frills of her blouse. “I still resent you coming back to do something like this.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.”
Twenty gave him another glare and stalked back to her car. She stood there, still quivering with indignation.
Gaskins seemed unconcerned. Stephanie handed him his cup, and he took another slurp of soda.
“Think she’ll raise a real stink?” Stephanie asked.
He smirked. “I hope she does. You can’t buy publicity like that. If she says this film’s gonna ruin Celosia, everybody’ll have to come see how.” He handed the cup back to Stephanie. “Jerry, thanks for everything. We’ll be back tomorrow night when the moon is full, take a few more shots, and we’ll be done.” He gave me a nod, and he and Stephanie went to his car.
As soon as he was gone, Twenty charged over.
“Jerry, I cannot believe you had any dealings with that man.”
“I’m sorry if you’re upset,” he said.
Twenty let her breath out in an exasperated sigh that made the yellow frills bob. “It’s just so frustrating getting people to take this seriously.”
“I really think the whole thing will blow over very soon,” I said.
“I’ve been talking with Lance Henderson, and he thinks it’s a crime the way everyone’s been treated. He’s behind me and my committee one hundred percent.”
“What committee’s that?”
“S.T.O.M.P. Stop The Opening of the Mantis Picture. I organized it yesterday. Do you want to join?”
“I’m going to stay out of this,” I said.
“Fine. I didn’t expect you to understand, anyway.”
She gave another huff of breath and left. Denisha and Austin, who had been listening, didn’t seem too concerned that their town was split over the mantis issue.
Austin voiced an opinion. “I think a Mantis Man tee shirt would be cool.”
“Me, too,” Jerry said.
I had a question for Denisha. “Denisha, have you ever heard of a man named Kirby Willet?”
“Yeah, I know him,” she said.
“You do not,” Austin said.
“I do, too. He’s that nutty inventor.”
Austin always had to be specific. “But you don’t
know
him.”
“I know
of
him, okay? He’s like that scientist in the movie about the stuff that bounces and makes car fly. One time, he made this invention that was supposed to pick up cans in the road, only it was too strong, and it pulled everybody’s mailbox out of the ground. My aunt was mad about that.”
“Any idea where he might be?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I haven’t seen him in a long time.”
“Where did you last see him?”
“He was working at the Super Food, washing vegetables with a big sprayer.”
“Oh, yeah,” Austin said. “He fixed it so the sprayer was like this jet powered water gun and all the vegetables got torn up.”
Denisha swung around as if she couldn’t believe he knew something she didn’t know. “You’re making that up!”
“No, I’m not. You ask my cousin. That’s how come Mister Willet got fired from the grocery store. There was tomatoes in the next county.”
***
After the kids had gone, I took my painting supplies and the Goodwill easel up to the parlor. I’m not ready for this, I thought. I’ll just put everything down and walk away.
No, I told myself. You made a deal. If Jerry sees you’re serious about painting, maybe he’ll honor his part of the bargain and try to find a job.
As I unfolded the easel and tacked on a piece of white paper, my stomach clenched. Relax, I told it. The least you can do is try. If it doesn’t work out, you can stop.
I laid the pencils and brushes in a neat row on the low coffee table and stood back. All right. Everything’s ready. Go get some photographs and just do it.
I heard a metallic tapping sound and found Nell opening a paint can in the bedroom next door.
“They told me to go ahead,” she said. “Wouldn’t bother the filming.” She chuckled. “Tickled me to see Josh Gaskins strutting around like a big shot. He was kinda puny last time I saw him.”
“What can you tell me about him?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Not much to tell. He wasn’t from around here. Came to the high school his junior year. Didn’t make much of an impact. Guess he’s found his calling.”
“Twenty wasn’t happy with him.”
“Yeah, I could hear her fussing all the way up here. She needs to calm down.”
I thought the soft green shade she was painting looked great and told her so. “What color is this?”
Nell looked at the paint can. “Seafoam. I’d call it light green, myself.”
“Nell, can you tell me anything about Kirby Willet?”
“Wrong Way Willet. Never did get the hang of anything.”
“So he’d be the type of person to leave a lot of personal items and never come back for them?”
She dipped her roller in the paint tray. “I wouldn’t exactly say he’s absent-minded. Probably holed up somewhere working on another invention.”
“Anywhere around here?”
More light green paint covered the gray walls. “We’d know it. There’d be broken water pipes and downed power lines.”
“Did he have any enemies?”
“Nah. People used to get annoyed with his gadgets, but everybody knew he was harmless.”
“Was he likely to have earned a lot of money?”
Her little eyes crinkled as she grinned. “Like, say, ten thousand dollars?”
When was I going to learn it was impossible to keep anything a secret in this town?
“Where did you hear that?”
She stopped painting and turned to me. “Don’t get your tail in a crack. I ain’t spreading it around. Frannie’s been babbling about it. We’re all a bit puzzled about where Willet got that much money. Guess he’s been saving up all his life. You can do that if you just eat peanuts.”
“Yeah, I’m puzzled, too.”
“I wouldn’t worry. It’s not like he killed somebody.”
“I’m afraid somebody’s killed him.”
She gave me a look I couldn’t quite interpret. “Nice of you to be concerned. I wouldn’t say Willet had many friends in town.”
“What about Bernice Coleman?”
Nell made a face. “Old sourpuss.”
“Why would she suggest Frannie’s house as a storage place?”
“Maybe Willet was going to invent a personality for her.” She continued rolling paint on the wall. “He was in the library a lot, looking up how to make things, that’s all I can figure.”
I thanked Nell for the information and was about to leave when she said, “What about the parlor? You gonna paint it yourself, or you want me to slap a coat of green in there, too?”
I paused in the doorway. “It can stay like it is for now.”
“You still thinking of using it for your pictures?”
“Still thinking about it.”
“Still thinking about telling junior how you feel?”
I gave Nell my darkest look, but her attention was on her painting. Even though her back was to me, I knew she was grinning.
When I came back downstairs, Jerry was in the séance parlor slash music room hunting through the bookshelf. Most of his uncle’s books are leather-bound copies of the classics, but we’d found some odd titles, as well.
“Mac, have you seen that old
Farmer’s
Almanac
?”
“I thought it was with the dictionary.”
“I wonder what I did with it.”
“Do you need to check the phases of the moon or something?”
He put the dictionary on the floor and stacked other books on top. “Gwen Macmillan asked me to conjure up some prize-winning tomatoes, remember? Wouldn’t hurt to see when the best growing time is.”
“That almanac’s outdated, isn’t it?”
He thought this over. “You’re right. It would be better to get a new one. I’ll check at Georgia’s the next time we’re in there.”
“You want any supper? I’m still full of barbecue.”
“I think I’ll wait and make a sandwich later.” He handed me a large brown book. “This is a good one.
Winged
Insectivores
of
the
Mid
-
Atlantic
States
.”
Val Eberlin had studied bats. I thumbed through
Winged
Insectivores
, grimacing at the sepia photos of gargoyle-like bat faces. “Guess you have to know your insectivores.”
“Just a little light reading. Oh, how about this?
Bats
and
Their
Relation
to
History
;
A
Theoretical
Musing
. A theoretical musing, you understand, not a real musing.” He pulled more books off the shelf. “
The
Myth
and
Legend
of
the
Bat
.
Common
Bats
of
the
Carolinas
. If I’m going to live here, I need a bat tie.”
“I’m shocked you don’t already have one.” I returned the book to the stack. “Do you have a rehearsal tonight?”
“Kenna’s re-working some dances. She usually uses a CD for that.”
“I want to stop by the theater. I need pictures of some kids for the portrait.”
He paused, another book in hand. “So you’re really going to do it?”
“I’m going to give it a try.”
“Uh-oh,” he said. “This means I’d better update my resume.”
“Have you made any progress in your job search?”
“I’ve ruled out welder and air traffic controller.”
“Are you going to leave all these books on the floor?”
He looked at the untidy stack. “I think all the bat books can go out—unless you want them.”
“No, thanks.”
“Can we swing by Georgia’s?”
“Sure.”
***
Georgia was glad to find an almanac for Jerry. We were at the counter paying Hayden for the book when Gregory Prill swept in. “Swept” is the accurate word. Prill’s a large, overly dramatic man who wears a gray cape with his suit and enjoys making an entrance. His springy hair bobbed, and he bulged out his eyes as he made his announcement.
“Congratulate me! My poem, ‘Dust of Latter Years,’ has been accepted for the December issue of
Soul’s Crossing
! My career is coming to fruition! My future is assured!”
We applauded and made all the right noises.
“Clear out the front window now, Hayden. I want ‘Dust’ displayed with all proper elegance.”
“I think we can wait until December,” Hayden said.
“Philistine.” He turned to me. “Madeline, what on earth is all this about you finding thousands of dollars in a box? Why haven’t you contacted me? Don’t you know a starving poet who could use a loan?”
