Biggie and the Devil Diet (5 page)

"Albert wasn't a very forceful person, if you know what I mean. And he had always liked me a lot. I felt trapped, so I just gave in. I was just a kid, and I didn't see how I had any choice. But I promised myself then and there that nobody would ever force me to do anything against my will again— and they never have. We had a big church wedding and seven months later your daddy was born."

"Biggie! You mean…"

"That's right, honey. Your daddy was the child of the man I loved, the veteran, not Albert. Albert knew, of course, but he never threw it up to me. He was a quiet man, a good provider. He never interfered with anything I wanted to do— and he raised your daddy like his own. In the end I came to love him, but in a different way, if you know what I mean."

"When did Albert die?"

She looked at me. "Die? Albert didn't die as far as I know. One day, after your daddy grew up, he just got into his car and drove out of town. He left a piece of paper giving everything he owned to me— except one thousand dollars and the car he drove off in." She smiled. "I never even missed him. Isn't that funny? He used to send me postcards from places like Omaha and Boston, and he'd send money when he could. But after a time, the cards and letters stopped, and I never heard from him again."

I shook my head. "I always thought my granddaddy died. Whatever happened to the first guy?"

"Oh, I never saw him either, and finally the hurt healed. Once in a while, word would trickle back to town about something he had done. You see he became quite famous. He turned his love of cars into a career, first as a race car driver then later as a designer of new car prototypes."

I sat for a long time thinking about what Biggie had told me. "Wait a minute, Biggie. That guy, the man at the fat farm, they said he was a driver. Was he the veteran?"

"Yes, honey, Rex Barnwell is the veteran. That's why I had to tell you this story. Others know, and before long somebody would have told you. I wanted it to come from me."

"Biggie! That means Rex Barnwell is my granddaddy. Right?"

"Right. But he doesn't know it. Now may be the time for him to find out." She leaned over and gave me a hug. "Okay?"

I didn't answer.

"Okay?"

"I guess. What difference does it make anyway? He doesn't know me, and I don't know him. But, Biggie, why are you so set on me going out there if he doesn't even know you had his baby?"

"I'm not sure myself," she said. "Something just tells me you two need to meet. Oops, there goes the doorbell. That must be Monica."

I slid off the bed and headed for the door. I had my hand on the doorknob when Biggie called my name.

"Yes'm?"

"We don't have to ever talk about this again if you don't want to."

I nodded. That was fine with me. I'd never wanted to talk about it in the first place.

5

W
hat's wrong with you? You look like you just swallowed a frog." Monica was dressed in camouflage pants and a tee shirt. She had her baseball capon backward.

"Worse than that," I said, "but I can't tell you. It's a Family Secret."

"Suit yourself," she said, heading for the kitchen. "What's Willie Mae making? It smells good!"

I followed her out to the kitchen where we found Willie Mae dropping spoonfuls of oatmeal cookie dough packed with raisins and pecans on a cookie sheet. Our noses told us a batch was already baking in the oven.

"Ooo-wee, Willie Mae, you're the best cook in the whole wide world," Monica said, sidling up to Willie Mae. "Can I have some raw dough?"

"It'll give you worms," Willie Mae said, hiding a smile. She likes Monica. "Set yourselves down at the table and hold your horses. I'll have you some ready directly."

We were just getting ready to plow into hot cookies and cold sweet milk when Biggie came down the backstairs. She was dressed in her new black pantsuit with a yellow, black, and white scarf. She even had on a pair of black, open-toed shoes.

"Hey, Miss Biggie, you look good enough to eat," Monica said around a mouthful of cookie.

"We're all invited to tea out at the Barnwell ranch," Biggie said. "Willie Mae, do you know where Rosebud went?"

"Last time I looked, he was washing the car." Willie Mae slid another pan of cookies into the oven. "What you want with him?"

"I want him to drive," she said. "We're taking Julia and Ruby along with us."

"Biggie," I said, "Prissy is lost."

"Lost? How?" Biggie bit into a chewy cookie.

"She's just disappeared. I've looked all over for her. Mrs. Moody's gonna kill me."

"She sure is." Monica drained her milk glass. "I've seen how she takes on over that dumb dog."

"You're pretty goofy over your dog," I said.

"Buster? Well, sure. He's an outstanding dog. Remember when he rescued us from the bottomless pit on Frontier Day that time? If it wasn't for Buster barking so much, we'd still be down there."

"I guess," I said. The way I remembered it, Buster had been the cause of our falling into the pit in the first place. But it's no good arguing with Monica.

"Never mind that now," Biggie said. "Go outside and tell Rosebud I'm ready to go."

"Where ya'll going, Miss Biggie?" Monica took another cookie off the plate.

"We're all going out to a ranch in the country," Biggie said. "We've been invited to tea."

Clouds were building up in the west when I went out to tell Rosebud. "It's gonna rain," I said.

"'Course it is. I'm washing the car, ain't I?"

"Biggie's ready to go. Have you seen Prissy?"

"Ain't seen her. I reckon she'll show herself once it commences to rain. Tell Miss Biggie I'll be ready in fifteen minutes." He grabbed a towel and started wiping down Biggie's big black funeral limousine that she bought cheap off the undertaker over in Center Point after he bought a brand-new white one. Biggie bought it because she said now we could carry our fishing poles inside and not have to ride around with those poles sticking out the window and have everybody and his dog know where we were going.

* * *

After we picked up Mrs. Muckleroy and Miss Julia, Rosebud drove the car to the bypass then turned east onto Center Point Road. The ranch is located halfway between Job's Crossing and Center Point down a two-lane county road.

"This is where the property begins," Biggie said, pointing to a fence with steel posts.

"That's a mighty fine fence," Monica said. She was sitting on the jump seat between the front and back seats. "Lotsa money in that fence."

"New money," Mrs. Muckleroy said. "I remember when Old Man Barnwell didn't have a pot to, er…"

"… Cook his peas in." Miss Julia Lockhart said with a grin.

"How come it's so high?" I asked. "The fence, I mean."

"Oh, I expect they keep exotic animals in there." Monica craned her neck to see over the fence. "I saw a place over near Corsicana where they had a bunch of zebras and llamas and giraffes and stuff. See, you have to have a high fence so they can't jump out."

"You just know everything, don't you?" Sometimes Monica feels a need to show off.

"It's a deer fence," Rosebud said.

"You mean they keep deer? How come?" I asked.

"They don't keep them, J.R.," Biggie said. "They're trying to keep them out."

Miss Julia nodded her head. "That's right. The deer population has mushroomed out here in the last twenty years. Used to be, folks had to go 'way off to hunt. Now they say they practically come up in the yard and eat your shrubs."

"Turn here, Rosebud." Biggie pointed to a high gate with a sign over the top that said,
BAR-LB RANCH
.

The road wound for a quarter of a mile through green pastures surrounded by the same fence that bordered the road. Fat, Black Angus cattle grazed alongside sleek, brown horses. In a field by themselves, a small herd of Mexican goats grazed and twitched their short little tails. Occasionally, two kids would butt heads or playfully jump straight up into the air. We drove past two barns and a long bunkhouse before we pulled up in front of the main house.

"Lord, look at that place!" Mrs. Muckleroy put her hand over her mouth.

It was a long, low, Spanish-style ranch house made of stucco with a red tile roof. A deep veranda, supported by dark, rustic columns, ran all the way across the front of the building. Red, purple, and yellow flowers in hanging baskets and fat Mexican pots were everywhere.

"How in the world do they get that bougainvillea to grow this far north?" wondered Miss Julia.

Just then, the heavy oak doors were slung open, and one of the girls we had seen at the tearoom came out to greet us. I frowned as I remembered her being the one that had stuck her tongue out at me. She was dressed in the same blue shorts and white blouse she had worn before. She watched us without smiling as we piled out of the car and walked up the gravel path to the house.

"I'm Stacie," she said, beckoning with one pudgy hand, "Stacie Foxworth. I'm supposed to invite y'all in." She turned back toward the open front door talking over her shoulder. "I'm supposed to entertain you until the others get here, so y'all can just sit down anywhere you want to then I'll start the entertainment."

The living room was long and narrow with a huge, gray, stone fireplace against the back wall. Flanking the fireplace on either side were French doors through which we could see a fountain in the middle of an enclosed patio. Three saddle-colored leather sofas with Indian blankets slung over the backs were set at an angle in front of the hearth. A giant buffalo head looked down at us from above the mantle. He had a surprised expression on his face like he couldn't believe he had ended up like this. The Mexican tile floor in front of the sofas was covered with a Navajo rug.

"Way cool," Monica breathed. "When I get a house, it's gonna be just like this."

Everybody took seats on the sofas. Biggie perched on the edge on account of her little legs are so short. "Well, Stacie," she said, "you must enjoy getting to spend the summer in a lovely place like this."

Stacie stood in front of the fireplace with her arms folded in front of her. "Huh? This place is a prison." She glared at Biggie.

"Oh, my." Miss Julia took a little notebook out of her purse and opened her fountain pen. "Tell us all about it, honey."

"Julia, put that up," Mrs. Muckleroy said. "We're guests here."

Miss Julia didn't put her notebook away, just kept looking at Stacie.

"How come you got that?" Stacie looked suspicious.

"She's a reporter for the paper," Monica said. "You better watch out what you say."

Biggie gave Monica a look. "Don't be sassy, young lady. And, Julia, Ruby's right. Put that thing away. Now, honey, what's on your mind?"

The girl, Stacie, looked at Miss Julia. "You're a real reporter? Are you going to print this?"

"Could be," Miss Julia said. Mrs. Muckleroy frowned.

The girl continued. "Well, for starters, we don't live in this big fine house. No way. We have to live in the bunkhouse, four to a room. And they make us make our own beds and wash our clothes— and on top of that they don't hardly give us anything at all to eat."

"That doesn't sound too bad," Mrs. Muckleroy said. "After all, it's like a camp, isn't it? Why, I remember when Meredith Michelle went to scout camp, they had to sleep outside in a tent and actually cook their own food!" She took a handkerchief out of her purse and dabbed her forehead. "The poor child came home with her clothes all grass stained and muddy and her hair— well, I don't even want to think about it. I remember she literally
destroyed
a cute little tennis dress I bought from Neiman's. Well, you can imagine, I paid a pretty penny for that! Bless her heart, the whole experience just traumatized her. Now that's what I call roughing it."

"Ruby, you don't know anything." Miss Julia was miffed. "Why would you send clothes like that to a Girl Scout camp?"

"Oh, it's a whole lot worse here." Stacie wasn't going to let Mrs. Muckleroy steal her thunder. "They make us hike five miles every single day, rain or shine. And we have to get up at six o'clock every single day— even Sunday. I hate it, and as soon as I get out of here, I'm turning them in to the juvenile authorities. Child abuse is what I call it. I'm calling Mike Wallace, too."

"Stacie!"

We all looked around to see who had spoken. My mouth fell open. It was a girl standing in the doorway. She was dressed in the same blue-and-white uniform Stacie wore. But she wasn't carrying one single extra pound on her perfect little body. She had long hair, light brown, and it fell in tight ringlets all around her face, which was tanned a golden brown. Her eyes were big and bright blue green, the color of turquoise. She had long legs and a waist I could reach around with only my hands. My whole body turned to jelly, and I couldn't take my eyes off of her.

"What?" Stacie looked defiantly at the girl. "What am I doing? I was told to entertain the company so that's what I'm doing."

"No, you weren't," said the girl. "And Miss Higgins wants you back at the bunkhouse right now. You didn't finish mucking out the stalls this morning."

"See." Stacie looked at Mrs. Muckleroy. "We have to clean
stalls.
I'll bet your precious daughter didn't have to do that at camp!"

"Stacie, Laura's going to be disappointed in you."

Stacie stamped her foot. "I don't care what she thinks. I hate her!"

"Stacie, it's going to storm. Dad says we have to get the horses in the barn quick."

That seemed to do the trick. Stacie followed her out the door without another word.

I watched them leave, thinking how her voice sounded like music. Rosebud poked me with his elbow. "Shut your mouth before a fly gets in." He grinned at me.