Saving CeeCee Honeycutt (16 page)

The house was sleeping and fi lled with the thin light of dawn. I moved past the living room and the fragrance from a vase of lilies hovered in the air. Quietly I padded down the hall and into the kitchen. Careful not to let the screen door slap closed behind me, I stepped onto the back porch and headed for the opening in the hedge. Across Miz Goodpepper’s yard I ran, kicking up a cool mist of dew that dampened my legs. When I reached the spot where we’d been the night before, I had to remind myself to breathe, and when I did, the scent of secrets and bruised rose petals fi lled my nostrils.

I got down on my hands and knees and peeked through the hedge. On the fourth step of Miz Hobbs’s porch was a reddish-brown bloodstain the size of a serving platter. I sat back on my haunches and gasped. I figured that much blood surely meant that Miz Hobbs was dead.

The sound of air brakes hissed through the morning air. I jumped to my feet and peered over the top of the hedge just in time to see Oletta step off the bus.

Knowing I had to beat Oletta home, I ducked down low and hauled my butt across Miz Goodpepper’s yard as fast as my legs could go. I didn’t slow down until I reached my bedroom, feeling so hot and winded that my chest heaved.

I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to cool down, the whole time thinking about Miz Hobbs’s death and the part I had played in it. Never had I been more scared. My stomach was bound in knots when I took a shower, and I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking as I zipped up my shorts and tied the laces of my shoes. While making my way down the stairs, I heard the soft mutterings of Oletta and Aunt Tootie.

As I entered the kitchen, the phone rang and Aunt Tootie picked it up. Oletta was busy stirring something in a bowl and didn’t notice when Aunt Tootie’s face drained of color. But when Aunt Tootie clutched the collar of her robe and let out a gasp, Oletta stopped what she was doing and listened.

“Oh, no. This is just awful. When did this happen?” Aunt Tootie said, lowering herself into a chair. “Last night? But she lives alone, who found her?”

This was it. I was in big trouble. Miz Hobbs was dead, and I was partly to blame. I imagined a swarm of police cars pulling up in front of the house. I’d be slapped in handcuffs and hauled away while Aunt Tootie and Oletta cried out their protests. After taking my photograph and fingerprints, the police would shove me into a dimly lit cell where Miz Goodpepper would already be waiting. I could picture her sitting on a narrow cot, her mysterious eyes void of all emotion.

I wandered down the hall, unlocked the front door, and went outside. Feeling lower than low, I plunked down on the steps and hugged my knees.

While envisioning the soon-to-be-revealed miseries of my ill-fated life, I heard the door open. Oletta’s shadow loomed over me. “What are you doin’ out here lookin’ all hangdog?”

I glanced up at her. “Waiting.”

She scowled. “Waitin’ for what?”

“When Aunt Tootie gets off the phone I’ll tell you about it.”

“Well, she’s off the phone now. So c’mon inside.”

I followed Oletta into the house, wondering how I’d tell her and Aunt Tootie what had happened last night.

Just when we entered the kitchen, the phone rang again and Aunt Tootie picked it up. “Hello. Oh, good morning, Thelma. Yes . . .”

I couldn’t bear to see the look of shock that would soon overshadow my aunt’s face, so I turned and walked into the breakfast room. How long I stared out the window, I don’t know, but I was startled when Aunt Tootie spoke from the doorway.

“Cecelia Rose, something awful has happened.” She looked frail and tired as she moved across the room and eased herself down at the table. “I’m so upset,” she said, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

I pulled out the chair across from her and slowly sat down, waiting to hear the words that would forever ruin my life. I was so nervous I couldn’t stop my right foot from tapping against the rung of the chair.

“I just hate leaving you, but I have to go away in a few days. I don’t know for sure, but I suspect I’ll be gone for the better part of a week. When you were outside, I asked Oletta if she’d stay here at the house with you, and bless her heart, she said she would.”

The door swung open, and Oletta walked in carrying a tray. She served us waffles and juice, and while she was pouring coffee into my aunt’s cup, Aunt Tootie reached out and touched her arm. “Oletta, this is a sad, sad day.”

Oletta nodded and patted my aunt’s hand.

“Frankie Mae was the first friend I had in college. She was such a sweet-tempered girl, and oh, was she smart. I remember the time when we . . .”

When Aunt Tootie finished telling her story, Oletta took the tray and left the room. I watched Aunt Tootie shake out her napkin, drape it across her lap, and pour syrup on her waffles.

“Aunt Tootie, I’m confused. Who called this morning?”

“The first call was from my friend Estelle Trent. She was letting me know that poor Frankie Mae suffered a stroke last evening. She’s in the hospital up in Raleigh. Estelle and I are driving there to see her.”

“But … but then Miz Goodpepper called.”

“Oh, yes. Thelma called to ask where I’d bought the silver polish I’d been raving about.”

Deciding it was best to not to say another word, I began eating my waffles.

Oletta walked in with the morning newspaper and placed it on the table. As she turned to leave, Aunt Tootie opened the paper and gasped. “Good heavens. Oletta, did you see the front page?”

“No, I didn’t. What’s it say?”

“Well, wait till you hear this.” Aunt Tootie angled the paper into the morning light and read, “‘Local widow suffers severe head injury caused by garden slug . . .’”

I nearly choked on my waffle.

Aunt Tootie read the article aloud. Miz Hobbs was in the hospital with a concussion, and it sounded like she’d needed a ton of stitches in her head. She was reported to be in serious but stable condition.

“Isn’t that the strangest thing?” Aunt Tootie looked at Oletta over the top of her glasses and shook her head. “In all my days I’ve never heard of anyone slipping on a slug. I wonder if they had to shave off Violene’s hair to stitch up her head,” she said with a tiny smirk. “She’d just hate that.”

Oletta showed no emotion except for the way the skin around her eyes crinkled into little pleats. I knew she was trying not to laugh.

Aunt Tootie put down the paper and took a sip of coffee. “Well, Violene surely isn’t one of my favorite people in this town, and Lord knows I don’t have one thing pink to say about her. But, no matter what, she
is
a neighbor. I suppose I’d better call the florist and have some flowers sent over to the hospital. Sounds like she’ll be there for a while.”

Oletta rolled her eyes. “That’d be a waste of money if you ask me. But if you feel you’ve got to send her something—then send her a nice big bouquet of belladonna and sign my name to the card.”

Aunt Tootie chuckled and shooed Oletta away with a wave of her napkin. I heard Oletta laugh as the door swung closed behind her.

“What’s belladonna?” I asked.

My aunt’s lips edged toward a smile when she said, “Poison.”

That afternoon Aunt Tootie, Oletta, and I climbed into the car and drove through the shady streets of Savannah. We wound our way along narrow streets lined with itty-bitty houses, and then Aunt Tootie pulled to a stop in front of a yellow house trimmed in violet. Clay pots fi lled with flowers lined the edge of the front steps, and on the porch sat a wooden rocking chair.

“Oletta, you go on in and take your time packing. I’m heading over to Mr. Hammond’s vegetable stand to see what he has. I’ll be back to get you in about a half hour or so.”

“Can I go with you, Oletta?” I asked.

She hoisted herself out of the car. “If it’s all right with Miz Tootie.”

My aunt nodded, and I scrambled from the backseat and waved good-bye as she pulled away.

Oletta opened a wooden gate and we walked to her front porch. While she hunted for keys in her handbag, I looked around. Dangling from a hook in the porch ceiling were wind chimes made of old silver spoons. I flicked my finger and sent them into a happy, out-of-tune melody. A narrow gravel driveway ran along the side of the house and led to a small garage.

“Do you have a car, Oletta?”

“Not anymore. Cars and I never got along too good. I like takin’ the bus—it suits me just fine. If I can’t get somewhere on the bus, then I figure I don’t need to go. C’mon in,” she said, unlocking the front door.

I followed her into a living room that had a lime green area rug and a brightly patterned floral-print sofa. A brown leather recliner chair sat off to the side—its seat cushion bore the soft, round imprint of Oletta’s behind. Directly across from the chair was a TV, and on the front windowsill was a statue of Jesus.

She led me past a tiny kitchen with a red linoleum floor that gleamed like a polished mirror. I followed Oletta down a narrow hallway, past a sewing room, and into a bedroom that was so clean it was like breathing in a basketful of fresh laundry. Above a chest of drawers there hung a photograph of a black man with dark, intense eyes. A thin silver chain was draped over one corner of the frame, and from a loop on its end dangled a wooden cross.

“Who’s that?” I asked, stepping closer to the picture.

Oletta’s eyebrows shot up. “As smart as you are, you don’t know who that is?”

I shook my head.

Her eyes warmed with reverence as she eased herself down on the bed and gazed at the picture. “That’s Martin Luther King. He’s a great, great man. I got the chance to hear him speak when I was visiting my sister, Geneva, in Birmingham. It was something I’ll never forget. The minute I heard him speak, I knew he was sent here by the Good Lord himself.”

I figured the man must be important to have a cross hanging over his picture. “Is he something like a saint for colored people?”

She let out a little laugh. “Child, I get a kick out of how your mind works. But in a way, you’re right. Martin Luther King is a saint to me, and to lots of other folks too. Mark my words, that man is gonna change this world. Next time he’s on the radio, I’ll let you know so you can hear him speak.”

“Okay.”

On a table next to the bed was a photograph of a young girl with wide, inquisitive eyes and the whitest teeth I’d ever seen. “She’s really cute,” I said, picking up the picture. “Who is she?”

“My sweet daughter, Jewel. She was about your age when that picture was taken. You remind me of Jewel in a lot of ways. She was real smart and curious about things, just like you. That child asked questions from morning till night.”

I smiled at Oletta. “I didn’t know you had a daughter. Will I get to meet her?”

She glanced down at her hands and shook her head. “Jewel is with the Lord now. She passed away when she was only thirteen years old.”

I reached out and touched her shoulder. “Oh, Oletta, that’s so sad. What happened?”

“Jewel got spinal meningitis. The doctors tried everything, but they couldn’t save her. I was right there with her when she closed her eyes and went home. She went real peaceful.”

Though I wondered what spinal meningitis was, I knew this wasn’t the time to ask. Gently I replaced the picture on the table. “I’m sorry, Oletta.”

She let out a barely audible moan. “Me too.” And with those two simple words the depth of Oletta’s grief revealed itself to me. As if to beat away the painful memory, she slapped her thighs and said, “Anyway, we better hurry up. Miz Tootie’ll be back soon. There’s a suitcase under the bed. Pull it out for me, will you?”

When she’d finished packing, Oletta pulled something from the closet that looked like a metal broom handle with a beat-up silver platter attached to one end.

It looked so weird, I laughed out loud. “What is that thing?”

“This here is my fortune finder,” she said with a chuckle. “Works pretty good too. Last year I found some old Spanish coins and a solid gold watch. Made me some nice money off them things.”

I’d never heard of a fortune finder. “How does it work?” I asked, smoothing my fingers along its handle.

“Well, I turn it on and then I walk real slow along the beach. If I hear a crackling noise, I know I’m real close to something that might be worth some money. Maybe while Miz Tootie’s gone we’ll go over to Tybee Island and do us some treasure huntin’.”

Just then a familiar
beep-beep
sounded.

“Miz Tootie’s back,” she said, pulling the suitcase off the bed and heading for the door.

I followed, carrying her fortune finder.

When we arrived home, Miz Goodpepper was weaving her way through Aunt Tootie’s garden. She was wearing an immaculate white suit and a wide-brimmed black hat that dipped low over her left eye.

“The mailman delivered this to me by mistake,” she said, waving an envelope in the air.

“Thank you, Thelma. You look lovely. Where are you off to all dressed up?”

“I’m driving up to Charleston to attend an art show, then I’ll have dinner with some friends.”

Miz Goodpepper’s gaze drifted toward me. Her ruby lips formed a strange, conspiratorial half smile, and her long silver earrings glittered like the tails of twin comets when she stepped forward and said, “Cecelia is so sweet. Did she mention that she stopped over to see me last night?”

“She did?” Aunt Tootie said, turning to look at me.