Mama Stalks the Past (10 page)

I called Mama at the welfare office and told her that I’d overheard the women’s conversation.

“Simone,” Mama said, annoyed more than surprised, “do you know what those women will do to my reputation if they ever find out Hannah put me in her will?”

“Mama, in a few weeks
everybody
in Otis will know about that will. It will be public knowledge, recorded in the Probate just like all other wills.”

For a second, Mama didn’t say anything. “We’ve got to find Hannah’s killer before that happens,” she finally said. “Before those women make it impossible for me to hold up my head in this town!”

On Saturday morning, Daddy and a few of his buddies left town for a hunting trip to North Carolina. I knew that would mean that Mama would be free to sleuth uninterruptedly for a few days, something I suspected she dearly wanted to do. She told me she had decided that the first thing she would do was to ask around about the unknown woman who had come with Nat the morning he’d come to our house accusing Mama of stealing his land.

I didn’t talk to Cliff again until late Saturday afternoon. He had finally gotten the Affair Zwig
settled. I was elated. He was flying into Hartsfield in Atlanta on Sunday; he expected to arrive there around noon.

I glanced at my watch, eased my foot on the gas and drove away from my parents’ home. It was early Sunday morning, just before seven. There was no rain, but a few snow flurries did fall as I drove through the Savannah River Plant into Augusta. My heart pounded and my flesh tingled. I was going to have a few hours with Cliff, a few precious hours. Nothing was going to take that away from us, I thought. Little did I know that I’d be driving back to Otis at two-forty that
same
afternoon—that’s exactly what Cliff and I had to do.

This is what went down. Around eleven-thirty, I pulled into my parking space in the apartment complex where I lived on South Hairston Parkway. Atlanta was damp, the clouds gray and very low. My apartment was dark and unwelcoming, just like the weather. I turned on lights, hoping to create the illusion that things were warm and bright. I set up a pot of fresh coffee and flipped the switch, and soon the aroma of hazelnut filled the small apartment. I sank into a chair. Thinking of what Cliff and I would do once his plane landed and he could get to my apartment, I
sipped my coffee. Then I noticed the blinking answering machine. My heart sank. If those Zwigs had started again …

I pressed the button for messages and was greeted with my mother’s anxious voice. “
Simone!… Mama! I don’t know if you’ve gotten home yet. No sooner than you had driven away, I got a call from Abe. Nat has been poisoned!”

I slumped down in the chair and dialed Mama’s number. “What happened?”

“Somebody poisoned the boy at the Melody Bar. That’s where the ambulance picked him up.”

“Where?” I repeated.

“The Melody Bar, near Monica!” Mama said.

I felt like a child who was being forced into something that didn’t feel good. “Are you sure? Maybe he’s not really—”

“Simone!” she snapped, in the special tone she uses when she knows I need to be pushed forward.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “When did it happen?”

Mama’s voice calmed slightly. “Last night,” she answered, “or early this morning. I’m not sure!”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked, and cringed inwardly.

As I expected, Mama didn’t hesitate. She loved investigating murders, and now she almost
had another one to poke around into. “I need you to come home right away,” she told me. “Today.”

“Now? I just got home!”

“I want to go to that Melody Bar and talk to some of the people who were there; I can’t go into a bar alone!”

Disbelief swept through me. “No,” I said stubbornly. “I can’t come today. You’ll have to get Daddy to go with you. I can’t come. No!”

“James has gone hunting, you know that.”

I shook my head. “Then go by yourself,” I said stubbornly.

“Simone, I don’t feel comfortable going in there atone. It’s not a nice place.”

“Ask somebody else!”

“There is nobody else!”

“Then you’ll just have to wait until next weekend, Mama!”

“Ask Cliff to drive you.”

“Mama!” I yelled. “Cliff and I haven’t seen each other in
weeks
. We need these few hours!”

“Simone, Hannah is dead, Nat may be dying, and—”

“Okay,” I agreed, because experience had taught me this was an argument I couldn’t win. “I’ll talk to Cliff and call you back!” So much for a few precious hours with Cliff. I slammed the receiver down so hard I dropped the phone. Af
ter I’d rescued it, I sat on the couch, thumping a pillow with my fist. It’s one of the ways I maturely deal with the unfairness of life.

Two hours and forty minutes later, I was looking back toward Atlanta as Cliff pulled my car onto the tree-lined I-20 and I headed east once more. He was in the driver’s seat, wearing a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and a pair of brown suede Reebok walking shoes. When he glanced over at me and smiled, I knew why my heart ached to be alone with him.

“Tell me again,” he asked, “why does Miss Candi insist that you come back to Otis today?”

“Remember I told you that Miss Hannah Mixon, our next-door neighbor’s mother, died two weeks ago? Well, she was poisoned. Now her son Nat has been poisoned, too. Mama wants to go to the Melody Bar to talk to some of the people who were there when it happened.”

Cliff adjusted the rearview mirror, then pulled smoothly into the inside lane. His speed picked up as we swiftly passed several cars on the right.

“The Melody Bar is a juke joint where Nat and his buddies hang out,” I explained.

A car cut sharply in front of us. Cliff braked and swore under his breath. After the traffic had
eased a little, he asked, “Why does your mother want to go to the bar today?”

“She thinks she might learn something.”

“I know Miss Candi likes solving murders, but …” He shook his head.

“It’s more to it than her solving the murders,” I said.

Cliff’s eyebrow rose.

“Miss Hannah willed land to Mama. And Mama thinks the land has something to do with the whole mess.”

Mama was in the foyer waiting for us. “I hated to call you back,” she said, after hugging me and greeting Cliff warmly.

“Forget it,” I said. After all, if finding out what might have happened to Nat was important to Mama, I guess it was important to me, too. “Did you find out anything more?”

“There’s a lot of conflicting stories. But what I gathered so far is that the bar was very crowded last night and Nat was doing his usual drinking. Abe told me that the report is that Nat suddenly grabbed his throat, then fell to the floor. They got him to the hospital but he’s hanging on by a thread!”

“What kind of poison was it?” I asked.

“The doctor isn’t sure yet,” Mama replied.

“Do you think the poisoner was somebody at the bar? One of Nat’s friends?” I asked.

“Abe got a list of everybody who was there, and he’s going to question each and every one.” She reached for her jacket. “Right now, I want to go to the Melody Bar.”

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Cliff said cheerfully. He grinned at me.

“Yeah,” Mama said. “The sooner we get this over, the quicker you two can get back to Atlanta!”

The Melody Bar is open seven nights a week. It’s just as busy on Sunday night as any one of the others. The one big room was very dark, the smell of cigarette smoke mingled pungently with beer and Johnnie Red. Bursts of laughter punctuated the loud chatter; the jukebox pounded one continuous rap beat.

Cliff and I followed Mama through the smoky darkness toward a middle-aged man whose potbellied stomach hung over his old jeans. He wore a T-shirt that had once been white, and a pair of dirty running shoes. He was slouching in his chair, an empty beer glass and a full beer pitcher on the table. When he saw Mama, he bolted upright.
“Miss Candi!” he exclaimed. “What you doing here?”

Mama motioned to him. “Relax, Buford,” she said.

The man Mama had called Buford slouched down in his chair again. “I’m just having a little drink,” he muttered as he poured beer from the pitcher.

Mama shook her head sadly as Cliff pulled a chair out for her. Buford tipped his glass and let the beer slide down his throat before speaking again. “This ain’t no place for you, Miss Candi,” he said.

“I agree that this isn’t my usual hangout,” Mama said pleasantly, “but I’m here trying to find out what happened to Nat Mixon.”

Buford took a gulp of beer. “Nat got real sick last night. They took him to the hospital.”

“Nat’s maybe dying,” I said.

Buford put his glass on the table. He squinted at me. “Something he ate?”

“The doctor says it’s something he
drank
,” Mama said.

Buford’s eyes refused to meet Mama’s. “We’ve all got to go sometime,” he said.

“Somebody put something in Nat’s drink last night,” Mama told him.

“I don’t know nothing about that. The place was full, just like now,” Buford said.

Mama nodded. Somewhere behind us, a woman shrieked with laughter. “Was there anybody particular around Nat?” Mama asked Buford.