Fran Rizer - Callie Parrish 06 - A Corpse Under the Christmas Tree (28 page)

Card tables manned by Buster’s teenaged kids were labeled
$5
,
$1
, and
50¢
. Lined up beside those were more of his children and their friends with big washtubs of ice filled with sodas and beer.

“I don’t know if we’ll win any money here,” I said, “but Buster Gwyn’s sure to come out ahead.”

We found out how much ahead Buster would be when we discovered there was a charge to get inside the makeshift fence surrounding the track.

Someone had rigged up a sound system, and a voice reverberated telling everyone: “Place your bets at the tables, buy yourself a drink, and pay just five dollars to have a place up close to see the first ever St. Mary’s Turkey Trot.”

A man yelled, “What if I want another beer after I pay to get in?”

The amplified words broke up and crackled this time, but their meaning came across. “We’re gone stamp … hand … pay … like they do at clubs.”

Frankie bought Jane and me a beer and then steered us into the betting lines. He grumbled that he wanted to get a close look at the turkeys before placing a bet. The kid told us there were ten turkeys in the race, so we’d bet by number—anything between one and ten. Frankie put down five dollars on turkey three for every race. I put a couple of two-dollar bets on different numbers for each race. Jane decided to wait and bet later.

We paid our way into the fenced area and one of Buster’s kids stamped our hands like they do at Kenny B’s. The turkeys strutted around, gobbling loudly, in a separate pen at the beginning of the track. Just as the starting pistol fired for the first race and the gate opened in front of the turkeys, Frankie snaked us right up to the fence surrounding the track.

Across the way a pretty blond woman leaned against the fence, looking like she’d fall down without the support. Obviously totally intoxicated, she looked familiar. I recognized her just as she slumped to the ground. The drunk lady was Bill’s old friend Lucy, the one I used to call Loose Lucy, the one his wife Molly had discovered texting him on his cell phone. Lucy’s khaki cargo pants turned a darker color, and I realized she’d wet herself when she passed out. Another reason to feel sorry for her and grateful that I don’t have an alcohol problem. I considered trying to get over to her. The crowd was big and boisterous. I didn’t want to think about her getting stepped on or crushed, but there was no way to cross the track.

Just then, a man bent over her and tried to rouse her. The minute I saw him I glanced away quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed me. I didn’t think he had because when he couldn’t wake her, he stood and turned his attention back to the race, screaming, “Nine! Nine!” which must have been the turkey he’d bet on.

Sometimes I’ve wondered if I should have done what I did next. It got Buster Gwyn in a world of trouble, but I didn’t hesitate then. I called Sheriff Harmon on my cell without considering the consequences. Most of the time, I’m glad I did. That man betting on nine needed to be questioned.

“Wayne,” I screamed into my cell phone, trying to be heard over the yelling of turkey numbers all around me. “Norman Spires is here. I’m looking straight at him right now.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m out at Buster Gwyn’s farm with Jane and Frankie.”

“What’s going on?”

“Buster’s having a turkey trot.”

“Don’t you mean a turkey shoot?”

“Nobody’s shooting anything. Not a turkey nor a target.”

“Has Buster got turkeys fighting?”

“No, they aren’t fighting. They’re racing. Come Highway 17 to the Gwyn farm and then follow the turkey trot signs. I don’t know for sure how many races they’re running, but I’ll try to keep an eye on Spires until you get here.”

“Don’t dare talk to him or try to detain him if he starts to leave. Consider him armed and dangerous.”

At the end of the first race, Jane squealed with excitement when Frankie told her he’d won fifteen dollars. I didn’t win anything. Turkey number nine didn’t win or place, and I sneaked a peek at Norman Spires. Mean and ugly sums up his expression, but he was standing protectively behind Lucy, kind of blocking her from the spectators.

Turkeys aren’t the most domesticated bird. Daddy had never bothered to have any turkeys on his farm since he considered them more trouble than they were worth when he could buy a fresh one, alive or dressed out, from Buster. He didn’t keep geese either, because, according to him, geese can be mean and he wasn’t fond of the meat, preferring chicken or turkey.

I anticipated Wayne or Dean would slip up to Norman Spires and arrest him. My call to the sheriff had summoned law enforcement to Buster’s farm, but I wasn’t any more prepared than anyone else when it happened.

Sirens screamed and Jade County Sheriff’s Department cars surrounded the turkey trot area all at once. People took off running in all directions, but deputies detained them.

“What’s going on?” Jane demanded.

“This place is being raided, deputies all over,” Frankie said. “Drop your beers and, Callie, give me the tickets for your bets.” I handed him my stubs and he threw them on the ground and nudged us to step over, away from the evidence.

“I thought you said this wasn’t illegal,” I complained.

“I told you no animals would be hurt, but you need to put your big girl panties on and grow up. You know as well as I do that gambling’s against the law in Jade County.”

“Then why did you say there are deputies all over?” Jane asked.

“Because betting is against the law, and I’d bet you Buster didn’t get a license to sell alcoholic beverages out here today. Even if he did, there’s no way he’ll get by with letting his kids sell beer and take bets.”

“Will he go to jail?” Jane asked and then laughed. “If the charge is the same no matter what kind of alcohol, he should have been selling Wild Turkey shots in coffee. It’s turning colder.”

“Buster will probably get hauled into town, and anyone who’s caught with a betting stub or beer will get a ticket and have to go to court. I don’t think Wayne will try to book this many people,” Frankie assured her.

Just then I saw a big, burly deputy tackle a man who was running across the field away from the track. I recognized the officer as a former football player on St. Mary High School’s team. Another guy jumped on top of them, and it looked like a Friday night football pile up. They stood and handcuffed the man who’d been on the bottom—Norman Spires.

Other deputies climbed inside the track and chased turkeys. Now, full-grown turkeys can’t fly because of their weight, but those gobblers ran faster from the deputies than they had during the race. The sky opened up and dumped freezing-cold rain on us.

“I heard that domesticated turkeys have to be taken inside the roosting house when it rains because they’re so stupid that they’ll look up at the rain until they drown from the water rushing down their throats,” Jane said.

“Old wives’ tale,” Frankie answered. “Think about it. Their eyes are on the sides of their heads. To look at rain coming from the sky, they’d have to turn their heads sideways, not directly upward.”

“Are we going to just stand here and watch it rain ourselves?” I asked.

“I think it’s better if we don’t try to walk away. We might wind up like that guy the deputies just tackled and hauled over to the paddy wagon in handcuffs.”

Not bothering to explain that the tackled man hadn’t been arrested just for being there, I stood beside Frankie and Jane while we got drenched.

When an officer finally got around to us, Frankie talked to him. He didn’t actually lie, but we all emptied out our pockets, showing we had no betting stubs, and the deputy told us to get out of there. We were walking back to the Mustang when I saw EMTs carrying a stretcher toward an ambulance. I never liked Loose Lucy, but I was glad she was getting medical attention. What if she wasn’t just passed out?

• • •

The ride back to town was quiet. Jane and Frankie both seemed to be in pouty moods while I was just glad I hadn’t been arrested.

“Where are you going now?” Jane asked when we pulled into Middleton’s parking lot and Frankie parked my car beside his van.

“I thought we’d go back to your place,” Frankie answered.

“Not talking to you,” Jane said with sadness in her voice. “I’m asking Callie.”

“I’m going to stop by the grocery store and then head on home.” All that excitement had worn me out.

“I need some things from the grocery, too.” Jane.

“I’ll take you by the store,” Frankie offered.

“No, you go on home. I’ll ride with Callie. Call me in the morning.” Jane again.

Frankie got his,
Oh, no, what have I done now?
hurt expression, but he didn’t try to talk her into changing her mind. He got out of the car and into the van. He drove off without even waving.

Jane said nothing on the way to the store. Once we were in the grocery produce department, she asked, “Are you buying a lot of stuff?”

“No, just the basics. MoonPies and Diet Coke, plus I need dog food.”

Jane suggested, “You help me round up the ingredients, and I’ll cook dinner for us. What would you like?”

Now, that’s a great suggestion because Jane’s a good cook, but she hadn’t been cooking much for me since she started dating Frankie. I thought of all the wonderful dishes I hadn’t had lately, but the one that sounded so good in my mind that I could almost smell it there in the grocery store was lasagna.

“What I want may take too long.” I hesitated. “Is it too late to start lasagna?”

“Do you have a hot date for tonight?” Jane grinned.

“No.”

“Well, I don’t either, so lasagna will be fine. There are some things I want to discuss with you, and we can talk while I cook. Go get me some hot Italian sausage. I’ve got noodles, sauce, and some parmesan cheese, but we’ll need ricotta cheese and a loaf of French bread. I want some fresh mushrooms as well, but I’ll get those. I think I have everything else.”

“Be right back,” I said.

“And buy Big Boy some dog bones or that fake bacon for dogs they advertise on television,” Jane called after me. I left her standing by the cart, feeling tomatoes and other salad ingredients, which I knew from the past that she didn’t trust me to choose.

I returned to Jane with arms full of sausage, cheese, MoonPies, and doggy treats. Just as I placed the items in the cart basket, I heard someone calling, “Callie, Callie.” I looked up and saw Miss Ellen and Miss Lettie hurrying toward us.

“I
told
Lettie it was you,” Miss Ellen gushed.

“I didn’t know you were talking about her. I thought you meant the red-haired one.” Miss Lettie poked her hand out at Jane, and I said, “Jane, she wants to shake with you.”

Jane laughed and wiggled her hips suggestively.

“What’s she doing?” Miss Lettie asked.

“She’s shaking with you, but she can’t see that you’re not shaking.” Miss Ellen giggled and began gyrating her own derriere. Miss Lettie laughed and started doing the twist. Jane must have guessed what was going on because she guffawed.

“I’m Jane Baker, Callie’s friend,” Jane said and extended her right hand when she stopped jiggling her behind.

“Miss Lettie Morgan and her friend Miss Ellen,” I introduced them and they shook hands.

“We came out to pick up some canned pineapple and a banana to make my cousin Gloria’s version of banana nut bread for tonight,” Ellen said while Miss Lettie tittered like a teenaged girl. “Mr. Parrish has fed us so many wonderful dishes that we decided to cook something to have with coffee tonight. Gloria adapted the recipe and gave it to me right before she passed away last year.”

 
Before I could comment, Jane asked, “Mr. Parrish? Which one?”

 
“What do you mean which one?” Miss Lettie looked puzzled.

 
“Callie’s daddy or one of his brothers?” Jane clarified.

“Oh, her father,” Miss Ellen answered. “Lettie and I are going to make two of them—one for us to eat tonight when Mr. Parrish comes over and one to send home with him to his sons.”

“Would you two like to come by and have coffee and banana nut bread with us this evening?” Miss Lettie invited.

“No, thank you,” Jane responded quickly, “maybe another time.”

Jane didn’t say anything else until we’d checked out and were on the drive home. “I want to tell you that I’ve decided Frankie and I should split for good. I know this is difficult because he’s your brother. You love him, and I don’t want to offend you by hurting him.” She paused. “Actually, I love him, too, and I don’t want to hurt him either, but I can’t deal with the tension. He talks about taking care of me and then takes us somewhere we could get arrested, and he’s so bossy that it scares me to think he might turn into a control freak. Lately, when I’m with him, I spend the whole time worrying about what he’s going to say or do to make
me
do what he says.”

My mind shot back to Safe Sisters. “Are you telling me he’s abusive?” I asked. “What do you mean? Has Frankie ever hit you or shoved you?”

“Oh, no. Never, but sometimes I wonder if I could accidentally make him mad enough to do something to me.”

“You know I’d never want you to stay with Frankie because of me,” I said. “Actually, there have been times I was jealous of all the time you spent with him.”