Southern Fried (9 page)

downright heavenly. Not that I felt like sharing that tidbit of

information at that very moment; just thought you’d like to know.

Anyway, like I mentioned, down hill we were about to go.

Pearl sat across from me and served us both two heaping

spoonfuls apiece. She waited just long enough for me to enjoy it,

then informed, “Lawyer’s gonna be here in an hour, sugar. I done

already spread the word. Staff ’ll be around shortly.”

I dropped the spoon in my bowl. “And Beau Pellingham?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know, Trip. He ain’t staff. So that’s his

problem, not mine.”

Only, it wasn’t as easy as all that. The problem would remain

there, whether he showed up or not. I mean, I still didn’t even

know what was coming to me even. Or any of them, for that

matter. I gazed outside the kitchen window, spotting a possum

as it ran behind a tree. I grinned and stared up at the ceiling.
You

wouldn’t have, would you?

Full as a tick on a cow’s ass, as Granny would say, I excused

50 Rob Rosen

myself and went upstairs to get dressed and to try and collect

myself. In less than an hour, my life, I was certain, would change

drastically. For all I knew, it would never be the same again. For

any of us. And, yes, I was scared. But, truth be told, also excited.

If it was time for my life to get all shook up, it might as well be a

ten on the Richter Scale.

And so, as planned, we all found ourselves in the library. Me,

Pearl, Jeeves, Betty, Zeb, Jake, Roy, and Stella. I still had yet to

meet the last three, and so I quickly did just that. Jake, as it turned

out, was dreamier in person than from a second story window.

Picture Charlton Heston, not so much Moses, but more like when

he was leather-clad in
Planet of the Apes
, and you wouldn’t be far

off the mark. And damn if Roy didn’t come in a close second. A

lithe little stunner he was. Guess being a gardener on an estate the

size of Cleveland kept him fit and trim. And tan. Did I mention

stunning? It bears repeating. Still, with Zeb so close by, I kept it

professional, only drooling ever so slightly before quickly wiping

it away. Last but not least was Stella, whose grip nearly crushed

my hand. I winced, but managed to stay upright.

When the introductions were finished, I looked around

expectantly. The stranger from the funeral, who I still assumed

was Beau Pellingham, was nowhere in sight. I breathed a sigh of

relief, however misguided. After all, I’d had enough of his scenes

to last me for quite some time; I couldn’t imagine what or who

he would’ve jumped on next if the will wasn’t to his liking. Then

again, it might’ve been sort of hot to see him wrestling around

the floor with Jake. Or Roy. Or both. But that’s neither here nor

there. Mostly here, I know. As in the here and now, which we

were in, us and the lawyer, who had just made an entrance. Which

is exactly the time my heart started beating out a mad samba.

I know, I’m rambling, but, come on, give me a break; this was

some heavy shit. Nine futures were on the line, including the

missing Beau’s.

Granny’s attorney introduced himself. Claude Newman:

distinguished, old, all business. He sat at the desk and removed

the will from his briefcase. The group of us gathered around, on

southeRn FRied
51

chairs and couches, some of us standing, but all of us as close as

possible, nervous looking, silent. Suddenly, I understood what it

meant to be on pins and needles. And it hurt like a motherfucker,

let me tell you.

Claude slipped his bifocals on, cleared his throat, and began,

all of us leaning in just a couple of inches closer, Pearl’s hand in

mine, squeezed tightly.

“My condolences to you all,” he began. “Miss Jackson was a,

uh, was a, uh…”

Pearl interrupted. “Yeah, we know what she was; just get on

with it, please.”

He coughed and stared down at the paper. “Right. Let’s see

here then.” He cleared his throat again and began. My heart did

a skip and a jump, then a double axel. “I, Mary Jackson, being of

sound mind and body, do hereby leave the following upon my

demise. To Roy Presley, for taking care of my gardens, my prized

roses, my manicured lawns and the trees that have been on this

estate for generations, I leave ten acres of my land, those to the

far west, to do with as he pleases.” Roy squealed and then bit

down on his lip in order to contain himself. Though the squeal, of

course, was telltale; Zeb might not have had a shot with Jake, but

Roy was fair game. Fair being the optimal word. Again, stunning.

Simply stunning. Anyway, Claude wasn’t finished with Roy just

yet. “Provided,” he continued, the big old
but
acoming, barreling

down like a runaway freight train. “Provided he continues to

maintain the estate’s premises for as long as he lives on those ten

acres, his salary to be paid while he remains with the estate. If he

leaves said property, he relinquishes his claim to it and his role as

gardener. The land shall never be for sale and will return to the

estate upon Roy’s demise or his termination of residence.” Roy’s

squeal promptly turned to a groan. Even in death she had him. I

held back a snort, as did Pearl. Still, ten acres plus a salary for life

was nothing to sneeze at. Even with all that dastardly pine pollen

forever swirling about.

Claude moved on. “To Betty Dutmire, for keeping my china

gleaming, my silver polished, and my heirlooms unchipped,

52 Rob Rosen

uncracked, and unbroken, I leave all the china, all the silver, and

all the heirlooms.” And now it was Betty’s turn to squeal, her

smile going from fifty-watt to a blinding two-hundred, the cash

register in her head
ch-chinging
. But, of course, neither Claude

nor Granny was quite finished with Betty just yet. Here came

that other dropping shoe.
Kerplunk
. “All the china, all the silver,

and all the heirlooms that are less than fifty years old. Anything

older will remain in the family, one piece of it, however, going

to Betty with each year she stays on at the mansion, the piece

to be determined by the estate.” Meaning, anything that Granny

had bought in her lifetime was for Betty to keep. Meaning,

nothing antique. Meaning, the drawers in that cash register had

been emptied out before they even got filled. And Betty’s smile

dimmed considerably. Still, as with Roy, Granny’s silver and

china and heirlooms were also nothing to sneeze at. After all,

Granny sure as hell didn’t shop at K-Mart for those things. Plus,

each year Betty stayed on, her personal fortune would increase

considerably.

Next was Stella, who, up until then, had remained stone-

cold silent. Though I doubt she was much of squealer to

begin with. Besides, what, after all, could Granny leave to a

handyman woman? Not like Granny had a diamond-studded

tool belt hanging around. “To Stella Murphy,” Claude began. “A

construction business will be set up in her name, with enough

money to get it off the ground and keep it running for up to five

years.” Well now, wouldn’t you know it, Stella really was squeal-

able. Only, it sounded more like a high-pitched grunt, really.

Sort of jarring, if you ask me. Still, Granny made her happy. To

a point. “Provided,” Claude threw in, as I was sure he would.

“Provided that her primary client shall be the Jackson estate

for a period of up to ten years, its upkeep and maintenance her

responsibility during that time.” Upon that, the squeal-like grunt

was pretty much just grunt. Stella’s construction business came

at a hefty price, it seemed. I stared at the ceiling.
Well, at least no

possums so far, Granny. Bravo.

“To Jake Thompson,” Claude continued. “I leave three

thousand dollars.”

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53

Jake jumped up. “What?” he shouted. “Are you kidding me?

That impossible old woman had me work on her pool five days a

week, keeping the leaves out, keeping it sparkling for her, and not

once did she use it. Not even a piggy toe dipped in.”

Claude cleared his throat. “Three thousand dollars unless he

settles down and finds a wife.” Claude smiled almost imperceptibly

as he glanced at Jake above his reading glasses. “If he does so

within one year’s time, that amount will increase to one hundred

thousand. Enough to start a family with.” For Jake, the previous

squeals were no match for his squeak. It sounded like he stopped

breathing after that, until Jeeves patted him on the back. “He

will also be paid an additional ten thousand dollars a year above

his usual salary for every year he remains with the estate. Ten

thousand more for every child his future wife gives birth to.”

Jake coughed. “Impossible old woman,” he reiterated.

“Quite,” Claude agreed.

“Any prospects?” I couldn’t help but ask.

Jake grimaced. “Plenty,” he replied. “Unfortunately.”

And just wait until those prospects heard about all that money.

They’d be knocking down poor, rich Jake’s door. Maybe Stella

would have a new client in Jake then, fixing busted doors. That is,

when she wasn’t working on the estate. Along with everyone else.

In perpetual servitude. Granny must’ve had a field day writing up

that will of hers. In other words, I gulped at what was still yet to

come.

Zeb was next. “To Zebulon Jones,” started Claude, “I leave

any three horses of his choosing.”

Zeb laughed and clapped his hands, but was smart enough to

add, “Provided?”

Claude nodded and found his place. “Provided that he keeps

them in the estate’s stables, free of charge, food included, and

that he also maintains the horses that remain in the possession

of the estate, at his current salary with a ten percent raise in pay.”

Zeb’s smile remained. “And, since I can’t afford to stable

54 Rob Rosen

them elsewhere anyway…”

Claude interrupted. “Yes, I believe you see Miss Jackson’s

intentions.”

“Twenty-twenty,” said Zeb. “And I have no problem with

those intentions. The three horses I have in mind are the best in

the county. The stud fees alone will keep me rolling in it.”

Claude shook his head and chuckled, his index finger held up

high. “Um, except for this.” He again found his place in the will

and continued. “Any stud fees, sale of said three horses, or sales

of future progeny of said three horses will be split fifty-fifty with

the estate. Failure to do so will result in the return of said three

horses to the estate.”

Zeb couldn’t help but laugh. “She always did think of

everything.”

“Apparently,” agreed Claude.

“No problem,” Zeb said, with a shrug. “That’s still three more

horses than I had when I woke up this morning. Plus a raise.” He,

too, stared up at the ceiling. “Thank you kindly, Miss Jackson.”

Jake, Stella, Betty, and Roy also looked up at the ceiling and, in

unison, said the same. “Thank you kindly, Miss Jackson.” Though,

in truth, it was said like a child being admonished by a parent. I

mean, Lord have mercy, those gifts were full of strings. Strings

that tied and bound them all to the mansion, like a spider’s web

made of steel cables.

Pearl and Jeeves and I just looked at each other. We knew the

meat of the estate was still left. That was just the potatoes thus

far. What, I dare imagined, did Granny have up her laced sleeve

for us?

Jeeves had little time to wait to find out; he was up next. “To

Walter Smithy, faithful butler, chauffeur, confidant, and friend, lo

these many years, I leave all six of my automobiles for him to do

with as he pleases.”

“But?” intoned Jeeves, expectantly.

Claude shook his graying mass of hair from side to side. “But

southeRn FRied
55

nothing. That’s it.”

“I don’t understand,” Jeeves said, a look of confusion

spreading across his dour face.

“Don’t you?” asked Pearl. “Them there cars were all bought

by Miss Jackson. They had no ties to the mansion. She ain’t giving

you anything of the family’s. You’ll be rich, but not at the expense

of her kinfolk.” She paused, forcing a smile on her face. “Plus,

she’s freeing you from this place. Your time is served, Jeeves. Free

as a bird to just flit away if you like.”

He stood there, stunned, like a prisoner with a life sentence

suddenly released from his cell. I suspected he didn’t know what

to make of it. I also realized something neither he nor Pearl

probably did: Granny knew I didn’t like Jeeves, never had. This

way, she was making sure I didn’t have to fire him; he could

leave if he pleased. And with the money he was sure to get from

the cars, I was sure he pleased. To leave, that is. Amen. Good

riddance. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.
Thank you,

Granny.

“I see,” he said, somehow dejected looking. For a moment, I