Biggie and the Devil Diet (11 page)

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S
o who do you think done it?" Willie Mae asked after we got home and were all sitting around the kitchen table eating chili and drinking cocoa.

"No idea," Biggie said. "Jeremy Polk is the logical suspect since he was with him at the time— only he was shot, too."

"Bad?" Willie Mae got up and poured more cocoa all around.

"No. The bullet just grazed his ear."

"Who all was in the living room when the lights went out?" Rosebud asked. "Seems to me none of them could of done it."

"Let me see," Biggie said. "Grace and Babe and Rob— us, of course. And Stacie had taken Laura into the study. I guess that clears all of them."

"Well, Abner and Josefina were settin' right there in the kitchen with me." Rosebud stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles. "Reckon that clears them."

"That leaves Hamp or one of the girls," I said.

"Not necessarily," Biggie said. "It wouldn't have to be someone connected with the ranch. Anyone could have crept up to the house and shot through the window. And since the breaker box was on the outside, they could have shut the power down, too."

"Biggie," I said, "the driveway's long. If anybody drove a car up it at night, somebody would have seen the lights."

"What about the gun?" Willie Mae wanted to know.

"Don't know yet." Biggie stood up. "Red will be coming by in the morning to take a statement from Rosebud. I'm sure he'll fill us in on that. I'm going to bed. It's been a long day."

I was awake half the night throwing up. Biggie said it was probably the three bowls of chili I ate, but she let me sleep in the next morning just in case. When I finally came downstairs I felt fine, but it was already past eleven and too late to go to school. I went into the kitchen.

"Boy, was I sick last night," I said to Willie Mae.

"I ain't surprised," she said. "You want me to fix you some milk toast?"

"With an egg in it?"

Willie Mae nodded and put a pan on the stove to boil. "Go wash your face and comb your hair," she said, her back to me.

Willie Mae and Biggie are sticklers for neatness. When I got back from the bathroom, a bowl of steaming hot milk poured over buttered toast with an egg on top was waiting for me. I poked the egg with my fork and watched the yolk run out. Prissy crawled out from under Biggie's desk and came to sit by me. I held a piece of toast just out of her reach to tease her. Willie Mae frowned and poured some warm milk in Prissy's bowl for her. She was lapping it up when Mrs. Moody came in the screen door. Prissy liked to have busted a gut jumping all over her.

"There's my baby girl," Mrs. Moody said, picking Prissy up and hugging her. "Mama missed her little dumpling. Did my little snookie-ookims miss her mama?"

"How come you be back so soon?" Willie Mae asked, pouring Mrs. Moody a cup of coffee.

Mrs. Moody sat down at the table holding Prissy on her lap. "I had to," she said. "Those kids of Woodrow's about drove me crazy. They don't know the meaning of the word 'no.' Spoiled to death is what they are. Not that I'm the least bit surprised what with the mama they've got. And poor Woodrow, he works his fingers to the bone driving that bread route. He's just too tired to discipline them when he gets home."

"So who's taking care of them?" I asked.

"Oh they're all in school now. I found a teenager to come in after school and look after them 'til Woodrow gets home. I told Woodrow, I said, you just get that wife of yours back here. A woman's first responsibility is to her husband and children, is what I always say. Anyway, that old mama of hers is a whole lot better. If she'd had the sense of a goat, she never would have…"

I pushed my plate away. "Where's Biggie and Rosebud?"

"Rosebud's gone to the store for me, and Miss Biggie's in the living room talking to that ranger."

"I better go see," I said, and headed for the living room as fast as I could.

Ranger Upchurch was perched on Biggie's sofa having a cup of coffee and telling Biggie all he knew about my new grandfather's murder. He had a hat line crease in his red hair, which he always has when he takes off his big Stetson.

"Anyway, that's about all we know now," he said. "I'm going back out right after lunch, and I was wondering if you'd be willing to go out and ask a few questions on your own."

"Why should those people talk to me?"

The ranger laughed. "Now, Biggie, don't pretend with me. You know they'll talk to you if you want them to. You could get information out of a dead man."

"Dead men often tell more than the living," she said.

"Biggie, that doesn't make a bit of sense," I said.

"She means evidence, son." Ranger Upchurch stood up and put his hand on my shoulder. "Things you find out without having to ask questions."

"Oh. Can I go, Biggie? I might be able to help." I was thinking I might see Misty again, but I didn't let on.

Biggie felt my forehead. "You feeling okay?"

"Yes'm."

"Then I don't see any harm in it."

When we drove up to the ranch house, Butch's van with Hickley's House of Flowers painted on the side was parked out front, and he was hanging a black wreath on the front door.

"I believe this is the prettiest one I ever made," he said.

I took a close look at the wreath. "I never saw any black flowers before."

"It's my own invention," Butch said. "Isn't it just gorgeous? What I did was, last night I set a bunch of red carnations in a coffee can full of black ink. They just drunk up that ink like it was water, and by morning it had turned them all black. I may get a patent on this. It could revolutionize the funeral business."

"Butch, you're a wonder," Biggie said. "But how did you know so soon that he was dead?"

"Biggie, you know how word travels in this town. Arthel Reid, the new undertaker, called me just as soon as he got his hands on the body. We help each other like that, doncha know. Professional courtesy."

"Anybody else around?" Rosebud asked.

"Sure. They were all sitting around the dining room table when I got here. Well, ta-ta, gotta go. The Methodists are having the bishop this Sunday, and they want to load the church up with flowers." He waved two fingers at us and headed for his truck.

Rob Parish answered the door looking as dorky as ever. His hair, black and straight, hung over his forehead, and his rumpled white dress shirt had a big ink stain on the sleeve. His too-short pants rode up enough to show the white socks he wore with a pair of black Oxfords. He frowned when he saw us but motioned us to follow him into the living room. A mess of papers covered the top of the coffee table.

"Where is everybody?" Biggie asked.

"Who knows?" he said. "All over, I guess. My darling wife is still sleeping it off, and Laura took a pill and went back to bed right after lunch. What do y'all want?"

"Just a courtesy call," Biggie said, taking a seat in one of the wing chairs by the fireplace.

Rob sat on the couch in front of the coffee table. "Well, I'm working here."

"Oh, go right ahead. Don't let us disturb you." Biggie's not easily discouraged. She sat for about five seconds before she asked, "What's that you're working on?"

He pawed through the papers, not looking at Biggie. "It's a book I'm writing."

"Oh, a book! Then you're an author! How exciting. What's it about?"

"It's a novel— a serious novel."

"My gracious, aren't you smart. Do tell me about it. I'm so interested in reading."

I hid a smile. Biggie never reads anything except the newspaper. She's too busy doing other things.

"It's about good and evil, love and hate, power and corruption."

"My, oh my," Biggie said. "Tell me more."

Rob couldn't resist. The way I saw it, probably not many people asked him to talk about his work.

"Well, there's this young man, he's a kind of Christ character. Good, you know, and pure. Well, he sells his soul to the devil for gold and power."

"How original," Biggie murmured.

"Yes, I thought so. So, anyway, he meets this rich man, and the man has a daughter. She's very beautiful but evil. The boy is bewitched by her charms, and soon they are married. The rich man gives his daughter a fortune for a dowry."

"How nice," Biggie said.

Rob frowned at her. "No, you miss the point. It was not nice at all. The young groom had planned to use the money for good, but his wife has other ideas. She spends recklessly on frivolities. The young man begs her to stop, but she only spends more, so he goes to the father for help. He tries to reason with him, earnestly pleading that the money be used for humanitarian purposes. The father laughs in the young man's face, for he is Beelzebub himself, you see. In the end the girl becomes a drunken shrew. She mocks the boy and makes his life a living hell."

"And what happens to the father?" Biggie looked sharply at Rob.

"Justice prevails." Rob picked up the papers and began sorting them in neat piles. "I haven't got it all worked out yet."

"One more question, honey," Biggie said. "This is so interesting…. I was just wondering, does the old man have a wife?"

Rob's face took on a goofy look. "Yes, he does. A beautiful creature, as good as she is kind. Try as they might, the old man and his evil daughter cannot corrupt her. In the end, she and the young man—"

"Well, that sounds just wonderful." Biggie stood up and went and stood at the French door that led to the patio. "Oh, there goes Grace. Sorry to rush off, honey, but I really want to compliment her on the fine job she's doing out here with the girls."

I rolled my eyes and followed Biggie outside. "Biggie, how do you know she's doing a good job?"

"I don't, but I want to talk to her. Now, hush, here she comes."

Grace Higgins looked like a woman with a purpose when she stepped from the grass onto the brick patio. She nodded curtly when she saw Biggie heading her way, and tried to step around her, but Biggie was too quick and grabbed her in a big hug. "Honey, we just came out to offer condolences. I know you all must be so broken up about poor…"

Grace stood with her arms hanging at her side looking down at Biggie. "That's nice of you, but I have to—"

"See Laura, I'll bet," Biggie said. "She's taken a pill and gone to bed, so I'm afraid you'll have to wait. There doesn't seem to be anyone else around, so I thought you and I might have a little chat."

Grace thought a minute, then I guess good manners got the best of her. "Oh… all right. I have a minute or two."

"Good." Biggie drew two chairs up to a wrought-iron table and took a seat, leaving the other for Grace.

"Now." Biggie's tone suddenly got businesslike. "I haven't been entirely honest with you. I'm here because the ranger asked me to help him investigate poor Rex's murder. You can help a lot if you'll just answer a few questions."

Grace's mouth dropped open. "He asked
you?
"

"In the past, I've done my bit to help the authorities when murder's been done. Of course, I'm only an amateur…"

"Well, I don't know what I can tell you." Grace folded her hands in front of her. "You were there when the ranger questioned me last night."

"Yes, but I have a feeling that you're a bright woman and a good judge of character. Am I right?"

"I try." Grace relaxed in her chair. "Okay, ask away."

"Let's start with Rex," Biggie said. "How long have he and Laura been married?"

"Umm…" Grace wrinkled her brow. "About eleven years, to the best of my memory. Soon after I returned from the Peace Corps, I ran into Laura in Lansing, Michigan. Soon after, we became roommates. We both had jobs but just barely scraped by. Rex had quit racing by then and was designing futuristic prototypes for new cars. He and Laura met at a car wash, if you can believe that. Romantic, huh? But he apparently was swept off his feet by her, as who wouldn't be. And Laura? Well, what girl could help but… I mean he rushed her something awful. She was impressed with all that money and power." Grace gripped her hands together until her knuckles turned white. "I really, I don't think she ever really loved him, but she was dazzled. He was handsome then and drove a hot little sports car…." Her voice faded and she stared at the pasture beyond the house.

"So how did you all come together here?" Biggie asked.

Grace kind of jumped like Biggie's voice had startled her. "It was about two years ago. By then I had gone back to school to become a dietitian, and Laura knew it. We'd kept in touch, you see. So when she called me all excited about this project for the girls, I'll admit, it gripped my imagination, too. So, as they say, the rest is…"

"… history, I know," Biggie said. "So what are your thoughts on Babe and Rob?"

"Leeches, the two of them. Babe has been bad news all her life as far as I can tell. Her mother divorced Rex when Babe was very young, and the kid never had much to do with her daddy until she heard he'd married Laura. Then out of the blue she showed up, all lovey-dovey and wanting to be part of his life. Rex, of course, was flattered and welcomed her with open arms. As for Rob— well, you've met him. Enough said?"