Murder and Mayhem (18 page)

“What happened? Did she leave?”

He shook his head sadly.

“She died.”

SEVENTEEN

When we entered the room, we noticed a couple of women
we’d met when Rosie was being fitted for the mold that protected healthy tissue
from radiation damage, sitting close to the doorway.

Big boned is probably how Chartreuse and Louanna would
describe themselves, but broad of beam and wide of girth comes more readily to
mind. Back home, in Australia, we’d say two axe handles wide, but in their case
four axe handles would probably be closer to the mark.

The women were twins and did everything
together–including marrying twin brothers–and were the proudest parents you
would ever meet.

I smiled. “Hi girls, it’s good to see you both again.”

“Well, how you girls doin’?” Louanna asked.

“We’re doing pretty good, Louanna. How about you?”
Rosie asked.

“We’s been doin’ real good, Hon.”

Rosie smiled at Chartreuse. “Are you starting your
treatment today?”

Chartreuse nodded. “We’s bin coming for a while now,
Hon, but we was on ‘nother time. But the hospital rang last night and said we
was to come at this time, today.”

I gave Chartreuse a friendly pat on the knee, and
said, “Well, I hope they keep you on this time schedule. We’ve missed you both,
haven’t we, Hon?”

“We sure have. How are those boys of yours doing,
Louanna?” Rosie asked. Between them the sisters have seven boys and six girls,
of similar ages–but no twins, which is unusual because twins usually run in
families.

“I don’t have to tell you, Hon, you know what boys is
like. They’s out there wreaking havoc ‘n’ destruction on the rest of us,”
Louanna said, grinning.

“No, you certainly do not.  Boys sure are a handful,”
Rosie agreed.

“Ain’t dat du truf.”

“And the girls?” I asked.

“Girls, is even worse,” Chartreuse said, shaking her
head.

“Yeah, girls is worse,” Louanna agreed.

“Girls are worse than a mess o’ snakes in a pit full
of crocodiles,” I said knowingly.

Louanna bobbed her head up and down. “You sho got dat
right, Bee,” she said.

I noticed Louanna had a new ‘do.
It was cut in a strange way with a part down the side. One half stuck out
sideways, as stiff as a board, across the top of her head while the other was
crimped and plastered to the other side of her head with what looked like floor
varnish.

“You’ve had your hair done, Louanna. It sure looks
good,” I said.

Louanna stood up and twirled around. “You like it?”

“I sure do. I’ve never seen anyone with a ‘do quite
like that before,” Rosie said.

“Chartreuse done it for me.”

“Well, she did a good job.”

“Shame you white girls got such terrible hair,
oth’wise I could do a special ‘do for you. But your hair hain’t no good for
this here fancy stuff,” Chartreuse said, not unkindly.

I smiled. “Yes, it is a shame. But I do appreciate the
gesture thank you, Chartreuse.”

Suddenly both women waved their
hands in the air in an effort to draw our attention.

“Whachoo think of our nails?”
Chartreuse asked.

The inch long acrylics were
covered in such bright iridescent colors they made my teeth hurt. The sensation
reminded me of fingernails scratching across a blackboard.

“Gotta get me some of those,” I
said enthusiastically. “What do you think, Hon?”

“Oh, definitely!”

“Lil Chinese girl done a special deal fo’ us,” Louanna
said proudly. I could see why. The colors were so dense and bright it looked
like she’d used automobile duco. 

“She haint Chinese,” Chartreuse corrected her sister.
“She Japanese.”

Louanna put her hands on her
hips, jiggled her body, and said, “What’s wrong witchoo, woman. That little
bitty wisp of a girl is Chinese!”

“I swear you gotta git yourself some of them there eye
glasses, Louanna, honey, ‘cause you is goin’ blind, girl.”

I decided to wade in and wreak some havoc of my own.
“Maybe she’s Korean,” I suggested.

Both women looked at me. “Huh!” they said in unison.

“I said, maybe she’s Korean.”

“Ko-re-han?”

“You think?” Chartreuse said as she considered the
possibility.

“Very possibly,” I said – but hey what would I know.

Louanna jumped to her feet, her more than ample bosom
inches from my less than adequate ones, shuffled her body in some form of
dance, and said, “What’s wrong witchoo, girl? You think we don’t knows the
difference ‘tween our Asian sisters? Cause that girl Chinese haint she,
Treuse?”

Chartreuse stood up, thrust her equally ample chest
forward, and said, “No sir, she haint no Ko-re-han. We knows that for a fact.”
Then she put her hands on her hips and stood with legs akimbo to emphasis the
point, and said, “She Japanese.”

Louanna held up her hand in one of those
talk to
the hand
gestures you see on Jerry Springer, and shuffled from side to
side. The floorboards groaned and protested. I decided this might be a good
time to make our exit.

“We’ll see you girls later.”

I grabbed hold of Rosie’s arm and hurried down the
room to where I could see Linda waiting.

*****

Light rain misted the countryside leaving the sky devoid
of color as the black ribbon road rolled away beneath their tires and
disappeared on the gloomy horizon. The muddy river snaked across a landscape
where corn grew in tall rows, their silken tops glistening with silver droplets
of rain. Large yellow sunflowers that bowed down under the weight of ripe seeds
and heavy rain stretched as far as the eye could see. At Martins Creek grain
silos stood by the side of the road like giant space rockets – ready to launch.

The wipers swished back and forth as Danny peered
through the windshield. “They look like wheat silos,” he said.

“Corn most probably,” Nicola said her face rippled
with the shadow of rain running down the window. “Although they could be
storing any kind of grain. Pennsylvania is known as the breadbasket of the
nation.”

They passed an old wooden shed by the side of the road
where a rusted tin sign, riddled with holes, like someone had used it for
target practice, advertised a long forgotten brand of coffee.

The rain eased and as the sun burst through a break in
the clouds, verandas and rooftops of farm houses glistened, and rain clung to
blades of grass and dripped from trees like tiny jewels. In a distant field a
bank of Combine-harvesters were slowly eating their way across the landscape
the detritus of the harvest swirled around them and dust devils danced across
the newly stripped landscape.

Muddy water in drainage ditches by the side of the
road swirled with streaks of gasoline; and the purple/green gossamer wings of
dragonflies shimmered above bright yellow buttercups. A warm breeze wafted in
through open windows as the SUV drove through pastoral lands and small ranches
where white clapboard houses, red barns and post and rail fences dotted the
landscape as they traveled along narrow country roads through sleepy towns and
villages with quaint sounding names, like Apple Blossom, Stone Church,
Shoemaker and Bushkill. Across the Delaware River the majestic Kittatinny
Mountain Range was shrouded in mist where the sky was a pearly shade of gray.

When they arrived at the town of Port Jervis they
stopped for lunch and then crossed the Delaware River into the state of New
York.

As they passed through a town where election signs
littered the roadside and posters tacked to buildings and taped to shop fronts
encouraged residents to vote for a local politician...

*****

I stopped reading and looked up. Rosie was sitting
with her back against a pillow drinking Milo from a tall glass blissfully
ignorant of the chocolate moustache above her top lip. I removed my glasses,
rubbed my eyes, and put them on the table beside my empty glass.

“D
id I ever tell
you about the time Ross and I could have registered to vote?”

“What! Here you mean–in the U.S?” Rosie’s pink tongue
circled her lips. When she found the chocolate treat she closed her eyes–and
licked.

“Yep, right here in the good ole
U.S. of A.”

 Rosie stopped licking, and laughed. “How could you?
You’re not American citizens. You’re not even residents–although you probably
should be made honorary citizens considering the amount of time you two spend
in the country.”

“Think of the time we’d save going through customs at
the airport. Mind you, I did try to get a green card once so I could open a
charge account at Macy’s, but that’s a whole other story for another day.”

Rosie laughed. “So tell me, what happened?”

“What… the green card story?”

“No… The voting story. We’ll keep the green card for some
other rainy day.”

“I leaned forward and peered out the window. “Is it
raining?”

“I don’t think so…nah… just your imagination.”

I shrugged and wriggled my backside around to get
comfortable, then started my tale...

“A couple of years ago we were in the Midwest and I
needed to pick up a couple of things from the supermarket, so Ross pulled into
a parking lot and we headed for Safeway. 

“Not far from the entrance, a table was set up with
political posters and pamphlets manned by a couple of matronly looking women
with large buttons on their jackets displaying the smiling face of some
politician. One of the women was tall and well-dressed with her hair pulled
back in a chignon at the base of her neck. The other woman was short and frumpy
and even though she looked to be around mid-forties she was dressed in clothes
that looked like they’d belonged to her grandmother.

“As we walked past the table, the tall women called
out, “Are you folks registered to vote?” I wasn’t sure who she was talking to
but didn’t think it was us, so we just kept on walking.
Then I heard a loud voice call out, “Pardon me sir, ma’am, are you
registered to vote?” When I looked around, I realized the woman was talking to
us.

“No, sorry. We’re Australians,”
I said, and kept going.

“Everyone’s entitled to exercise
their democratic prerogative to vote for the politician of their choice. If you
haven’t registered already you can do it here today,” the short, frumpy woman
called after us. Ross just gave them a backward wave as we went into Safeway,
and we thought no more about it.

“When we came out we noticed the women were trying to
coerce hapless shoppers into registering to vote, but most of them rushed past
pretending not to notice while others were backing away apologizing profusely,
offering all manner of excuses. 
I don’t
think they were having much success because when they saw us the smaller of the
two women flapped her hands in the air to attract our attention and called out,
“You folks need to register to vote in the upcoming elections.”

Well, we just smiled and kept
walking, but as we drove past on our way to the exit the well-dressed woman
glared at Ross and mouthed words that would make the most hardened criminal
blush.”

When Ross wandered into the room
drying his hand on a tea towel and said, “If looks could kill I’d be napping
with the worms,” we all burst out laughing.

“You know, I’ve often wondered what would have
happened if we had taken them at their word and registered–just for the hell of
it,” I said, wiping my eyes.

“Maybe by some quirk of fate you could have ended up
on the register. But I would hope it would have been picked up before that happened.
At least I would hope so. But then, it all depends on who you’d voted for.
There’s probably a few politicians out there who’d be happy to grab every vote
regardless of whether you’re eligible or to vote or not,” Rosie said.

“Yeah, we’ve got a few back home who dig up the dead
and allow them to vote every time an election comes round,” Ross said.

The sound of our laughter danced about the room,
spilled into the hallway and filled the house with a joyful sound I hadn’t
heard in a long time.

*****

First settled in 1651, the historic town of Kingston
emerged from the shadow of the Catskill Mountains, where the waters of the
Rondout Creek and Hudson River meet.

As Danny navigated his way through peak hour traffic,
he told Nicola about an old friend he’d arranged to meet later that night.
Someone who used to be a good friend−a man he hadn’t seen in a long time.