Temple Secrets: Southern Humorous Fiction: (New for 2015) For Lovers of Southern Authors and Southern Novels (31 page)

“I think we’d better take them all downtown,” the older officer says to his partner. The younger officer agrees.

Edward turns toward the house. “But I need to find the key,” he says.

Violet’s shoulder throbs again. The younger officer takes Edward to the squad car as Edward keeps yelling about needing to find a key. Does he mean a key to the front door? Then the older officer walks up to the porch to escort Violet and Queenie down the walk.

“Excuse me, officer,” Spud says. “Do you mind if I drive these women to the station? We could follow you.”

The officer hesitates, but then agrees.

“It’s just a formality,” Spud says to Violet and Queenie, as he opens the door of his small Toyota. Queenie eyes the back seat like she’s wondering if she can fit.

“Would it still be a formality if we weren’t a darker color than them?” Violet asks.

Spud says he doesn’t know, but he hopes that isn’t the case.

Meanwhile, Queenie falls into the back seat of the Toyota, saying: “Heaven help me, this car was made for midgets!”

Violet laughs and gets in on the passenger side.

“Why was Edward making all that noise about a key?” Spud asks.

“This is the first I’ve heard anything about a missing key,” Violet says. But her shoulder confirms that it is something important.

“Maybe he’s trying to find the key to the safe deposit box,” Queenie says from the back seat. “That means there’s probably a whole lot more in there besides the
Temple Book of Secrets
. For all we know, there may be secrets about people that don’t even have ties to Savannah. Senators. U.S. Presidents. Iris’s grandfather dealt with foreign heads of state,” she continues. “The possibilities are endless as to what the Temples—what
we—
have lorded over people.”

It is still strange for Violet to realize she is even remotely related to the Temples.

“But I thought this last year of being in the spotlight would be the end of it,” Violet says.

“We may be closer to the beginning than the end,” Queenie says.

The pain in Violet’s shoulder intensifies, confirming that whatever has Edward worked up has placed them all in grave danger.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Queenie

“Happy Anniversary, Iris.”

Queenie addresses the chandelier in the dining room which always shakes with the cold blast of Iris’s presence. She and Violet clear dinner dishes from the dining room table, which hasn’t been used since Iris’s stroke. But they wanted to have a special dinner to celebrate Rose and Max’s arrival earlier that afternoon. They had driven for three days and have already retired to a guest room upstairs to get some rest. The moving trucks are scheduled to arrive next week.

“I’d forgotten how handsome Max is, in a rugged cowboy sort of way,” Queenie says. She follows Violet into the kitchen and wonders if Denzel Washington has ever made a western.

“Max seems quiet, but nice,” Violet says. She stacks dishes next to the sink.

“He certainly loved your roast,” Queenie says, “and the apple pie.”

Violet smiles and then rubs her left shoulder. “Something isn’t right,” she says.

“It’s bothering you again?” Queenie asks.

“Maybe I’m just getting old,” Violet says.

“Nonsense. I’ve got panty hose older than you. Besides, that shoulder is better than having a crystal ball.”

Violet frowns. “The last time it did this was the night Edward showed up at the door, and we ended up at the police station,” she says.

Queenie and Violet spent nearly an hour explaining their relationship to the Temples to a police sergeant who took notes like he was writing a screenplay. Finally, Queenie thought to call Bo Rivers, who showed up in the middle of the night to clear things up. As much as she tries to resist it, there is something about him that she likes. Bo asked for a temporary restraining order against Edward, which she is certain didn’t go over very well. Edward wasn’t charged with anything, and luckily neither were they.

After that night, Queenie and Violet began an earnest search for the key to the safe deposit box that holds the
Temple Book of Secrets
, and no telling what else. So far, they’ve found nothing.

“Surely Edward won’t show up tonight,” Queenie says, addressing the concerns of Violet’s shoulder. “He doesn’t even know Rose is here. Plus, we’ve got a cowboy in the house, and I don’t think Max will let Edward get away with anything.”

Violet doesn’t look convinced. “All I know is, that as soon as Rose and Max arrived, Miss Temple’s ghost started throwing fits,” she says. “Then the others got on the bandwagon. I’ve never heard them this high-spirited.”

“Maybe it’s because of the anniversary that Mama warned us about,” Queenie says.

Anniversaries of deaths don’t usually bother her, but for some reason this one has her biting her nails. Queenie is nowhere near as sensitive as Violet, but even she can feel a tension in the air.

“I guess it could be a false alarm,” Violet says. It sounds like she’s trying to convince herself, as well as Queenie.

“
I guess
I could be a size six,” Queenie says with a laugh, thinking the last time she was a size six was probably when she was about six years old.

Violet rolls her eyes and it reminds Queenie of how Violet did this as a girl.

“Well, I’m going to leave the dishes until the morning,” Violet says. “I’ve got to get home. Jack will be wondering what happened to me. Will you be okay?” she adds.

“Don’t worry about us. I’ll keep an eye on things,” Queenie says. “And tell my son-in-law hello.”

As they hug, Queenie feels grateful again for Violet’s forgiveness. Life is much more enjoyable—not to mention simpler—without so many secrets to keep. Although she has a feeling the Temples have a few more hidden away.

After Violet leaves, the house is quiet. Almost too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes people use clichés like:
the calm before the storm
. It doesn’t help that Queenie has been reading a new murder mystery in the sun room, now dark except for a single Tiffany lamp near her chair. The room itself looks staged for a murder and it helps to remember that Rose and Max are upstairs.

The sound of rattling glassware comes from Oscar’s old office. Queenie gets up and walks toward the noise.

I’m acting like every nitwit in every horror movie I’ve ever seen,
she tells herself, but this awareness doesn’t stop her.

She opens the door to his study and turns on the light. Nothing is out of place. No shadows grace the corners. With the exception of Iris, who doesn’t seem to mind being blatant with her gusts of cold air, it’s hard to catch the Temple ghosts haunting the place. She pulls her sweater closer. Her attention is drawn toward the leather couch against one wall, the scene of more than one secret.

“Are you getting in on the excitement, too, Oscar?” Queenie asks. She looks at the large leather chair behind the desk where he often sat nursing a glass of bourbon. A photograph of Iris glares at Queenie from the desk. “You stay out of this,” she says, pointing a finger at Iris’s framed stare.

Violet is right,
Queenie thinks,
the knocks and creaks in the old house are turned up on high tonight.

Maybe, without her knowledge, a family reunion of dead Temples has been called. Queenie shivers with the thought, then returns to the sun room to get her book before going upstairs. Despite the extra noises, Queenie anticipates sleeping better tonight with Rose and Max nearby. She hasn’t liked sleeping in the house alone since Iris died. Violet didn’t want to move her family in until it was clear Edward would lose his legal challenge. She also didn’t want to disrupt Tia and Leisha’s school year, which Queenie could understand.

In bed now, Queenie finishes another chapter of her book. A murderer stalks within the pages of the novel she’s reading and she can’t help feeling that someone is stalking here, too. Certainly not Rose or Max, but it is a big house with plenty of room for murderers to hide. Not to mention most of Savannah has it in for them right now.

Queenie reaches into her nightstand to retrieve a hefty stack of letters. She hasn’t told Violet how many death threats she’s received in the last eleven months. At first they were all addressed to Iris, but since her death they aren’t addressed to anyone in particular. They arrive anonymously. No return address. The threat typed on plain white paper, as if they all watched the same television mystery. Some say they are watching and when we least expect it, they will get us. Others say to stop telling secrets or we’ll live to regret it. Threats are rarely very creative. At least the lawsuits have been dropped since Iris’s death.

Queenie takes comfort in the fact that the Temple mansion is practically a fortress with its security alarms and locked gates. She also knows that most threats are simply that—threats. It is a bold move for a bully to actually take action on what they say. She sighs, too tired to entertain her fantasies. It takes forever for her to fall asleep, yet when she does, it is deep.

The telephone rings several times before Queenie is awake enough to answer it. When she picks up the phone, she hears her mother’s voice: “Get out of the house, baby. Bad things be happening.”

Queenie, in that fuzzy place between wakefulness and dreaming, keeps wondering which world is real. She opens one eye and glances at the digital clock by the bed. It is 4:34 in the morning.

“You hear me, baby? You be in danger,” her mama says. “Get out of the house!”

Old Sally’s frantic message finally breaks through the fuzziness. Queenie sits straight up and her eyes pop open like she’s just had a double espresso. It’s not just her in danger, but Rose and Max, too.

“Mama, call the fire department!” Queenie tells her, before slamming down the phone.

A crackling comes from downstairs that sounds like bacon frying. Hundreds of strips of bacon. The whole downstairs is the pan. Queenie sniffs and smells smoke. She remembers a recurring nightmare from her childhood where the same thing happened: a frantic call from her mother, the crackling fire, the desperate need to get out of the Temple house. She has an odd feeling of going through the same motions. The dream always ended before she got out, as though the real ending is being left up to her.

Queenie stands and throws on her yellow bathrobe. She pauses long enough to wonder what she should take with her as she flees. She thinks of her dozens of journals, too heavy to carry out. Then her gaze falls on the framed photograph on her bedside table taken years before of a young Violet and Rose on the beach. Clutching it to her chest, she runs to her bedroom door. She unlatches it and then stops. Like she saw in a movie once, she touches the outside of the door to see if it’s hot. The door is cool to the touch so she opens it. Smoke wafts up the stairs. She coughs and pulls her bathrobe over her nose to keep out the smoke.

Queenie makes her way to the bedroom where Rose and Max are staying. The smoke hasn’t reached here yet. Yelling their names, she bangs on their door. Max opens the door wearing boxer shorts and his cowboy hat.

“Fire!” Queenie manages to yell, which sounds like something a prankster would yell in a crowded movie theater.

Max turns and yells to Rose to wake up. Within seconds, they have thrown on clothes and shoes, as if they’ve practiced this scenario before. Then the three of them set out for the stairs. The darkness is illuminated with a nightlight of flames. In the shadows, Queenie sees someone fleeing downstairs. Fearing Violet may have returned to the house, she calls out. But the figure is too tall to be Violet. Whoever it is runs through the dining room and into the kitchen, disappearing so quickly Queenie wonders if she imagined it.

The crackling of the fire increases as they descend the stairs. The flame’s intensity dwarfs any heat wave Savannah has ever experienced. The nightgown underneath her robe is soaked with sweat. They descend the spiral staircase and Queenie hesitates at the bottom, long enough for Max to yell out that they can’t stop.

The inferno roars and swallows his words as soon as he shouts them. Rose’s eyes are wide with terror. Max takes both of them by the arms and leads them toward the door, yelling at them to keep moving. All of a sudden, dark smoke billows out of the kitchen. The door between the kitchen and dining room is now covered in flames crawling toward the ceiling. Queenie doesn’t see how anyone could have escaped through the wall of flames.

“Shouldn’t we try to save something?” Queenie yells, but the flames swallow her words and no one hears her.

Priceless artwork and antiques fill the house, as well as Temple memorabilia dating back to the Revolutionary war. She glances at the extinguished Civil War torch in the Temple foyer and wonders if the ghost of one of those Union soldiers—or perhaps General Sherman himself—has shown up to finish the job. She hears her mama’s voice tell her to keep going, to get out of the house. It’s like a secret passageway has opened between their minds and she’s hearing her mother’s thoughts. She tells Queenie to run and then orders Edward out of the house, too. Is Edward here? Could that be who she saw in the house?

Smoke billows across the high ceilings, unwilling to waste any time. The whole back of the house is already engulfed in flames. A smoky orange glow illuminates the contents of the house.

Two thoughts occur almost simultaneously:
How has the fire spread so quickly? And why haven’t the alarms gone off?

They move now as if in slow motion. Everywhere they turn, there are more flames. The floor grows hotter under her bare feet. She wishes now she’d thought to grab a pair of shoes. Sweat drips into her eyes and stings. They pause in the foyer. The floor gets hotter, as though the cellar underneath her has turned into a furnace. Queenie sidesteps the embers that begin to pop and fly from the walls. With Max’s help they make their way to the front of the house and he flings open the heavy wooden front door. The moist air of the Georgia coastline fills her lungs as they run toward the street.

“The dogs are in the carriage house,” Max yells over the noise of the flames. He runs in that direction as Queenie and Rose wait on the sidewalk in front of the house. Queenie puts an arm around Rose who appears stunned, as anyone would. She glances down the street for the black sedan, but it isn’t there.