The Immaculate Deception (16 page)

“
Fine.”

“
Fine what?”

“
Fine. You can have Dad’s old gold Chrysler. I don’t use it anyhow. I seized it so he wouldn’t go out driving and killing anyone.” Perry dug a key ring out of his pocket and peeled off the ignition and trunk keys. He gave them to me.

I tucked my blouse in and buttoned the skirt. I plodded into the living room and slipped on my shoes and suit jacket. I shoved the pantyhose in my big blue purse, careful not to let the bulging bundle of uncut hundred-dollar bills show. I picked Daddy’s will up from the coffee table.

My brother stomped past me. “See ya round.”

“
Wait up,” I said.

“
I’ve got a thing to get to.”

“
But aren’t you going to drive me over to your house to pick up the car?”

“
Look, I gave you the keys.” He slammed the door in my face.

Fair enough. I’d make my own way over to get the hoop-dee car. I shuffled back into the kitchen and picked up the business cards the two real estate shysters left. Vivian Whong and Marv Goldenmyear. Actually, we needed
Lucky the Leprechaun
to sell this place. I really should clean it. I shoved the skillet into the sink. I couldn’t believe that Perry actually ate the old potatoes that had been sitting on the stove since the day Daddy died. Yes, I could. That boy had eaten like a goat ever since I could remember. Kind of like when women ate when they were unhappy. Poor guy. An orphan and all now.

Hmm…so what was he doing with all that improper green dough behind his couch? I got a flash of that chartreuse turkey with the mayonnaise and eww…quite sure, I didn’t need to eat anything this evening. My clothes seemed to be fitting much better. I might be able to get into a size ten soon.

I heard a truck outside. Not out of the ordinary. Someone must be getting some furniture delivered. Man, I’d love some new furniture. British Colonial. Dark woods, palm and monkey motif, from the turn of the last century when the British Empire still conquered and ruled little tropical islands. Well, maybe it was the twentieth century, or the century before that but the decorating style was so wonderful. I’d like a big wicker fan and palm tree pictures. Perhaps even an elephant-foot umbrella stand. And a wooden freestanding coat rack with some parrots or monkeys carved into it.

If only money grew on…grew on palm trees? Oh I wish I could have a palm tree in my front yard. But they wouldn’t survive the single-digit winters and all the heavy snow here. Not to mention our famous Washington ice storms.

I thought about the Bradford pear outside my house and the lightning strike. Doom-doom music played in my head. Somebody had cut the rest of the tree way down and hauled it away. The community association probably. I’d know for sure when I received the bill in the mail. And there would be one, naturally.

I needed to get to Reston and rent a PO box so I could forward Momma and Daddy’s bills. I really didn’t want them going to my home address. Wish I hadn’t done that. Maybe I could catch it in time. I couldn’t wait to be done with it all. Then I could get on with my life. My life. I wouldn’t have to dread the telephone ringing anymore. And once I got the estate through probate, I would be through with the siblings. Whoo hoo.

I sulked. Then what would I have? A nice townhouse in an affluent Washington suburb. Great school district. Number one in the nation, sometimes. Fairfax County. I sighed. Not that I’d be having any offspring to educate. Not unless I settled for the likes of that aging cop with the woolly back and the pink and purple polka-dotted
Harrys
. Eww. I would rather die a lonely old maid. Maybe I would hit it off with Ashley, my absentee roommate, and she wouldn’t ever move. She would eventually get too old to drive a bus. We could live in my house, her in the basement, me upstairs. And we could email each other about our swollen ankles and personal dryness.

My life sucked. But that was my own doing. How come I had been working for nineteen years at a peon job? The money. Yeah, it was good. Better than some people made with college degrees. And the company did have a tuition assistance program. I could have had a degree by now, attending classes on nights and weekends, if I’d really wanted that. Blah blah blah. I bored myself.

I heard the front door open and slam against the wall. The clock on the stove indicated it was 6:25 p.m. I heard Tammy’s voice. “Just come right up here, boys.”

Intending to surprise her, I crept into the living room, still holding the skillet.

She stumbled on the top step and said, “Oh shit. Oh-Donna, why are you always lurking here? Don’t you have a life?”

“
Whatcha doin’, Tammy?” I asked.

“
I’m doing your job, thank you very much. These boys from the gym are good enough to come by and clean out the house.”

“
Do your boys have names?”

“
Move outa the way so they can get the dollies up.”

I transferred the skillet to my left hand, dangling it casually over my shoulder. I shoved past my sister and stuck my hand out to the first young muscleman. “Hi, I’m Tammy’s
younger sister,
Donna.”

He shook and said, “I’m Arnold.”

“
Glad to meet you, Arnold. My, what black eyes you have. You are tall, dark…and smoldering.”

He grinned. His top front teeth were gold. I wondered if they were cosmetic caps or if he’d lost them.

I turned toward the other guy and shook his hand. He said, “I’m Ziad. The beauty runs in the family.”

“
Thank you, Ziad. My, don’t you have bulging biceps. Well, it’s so special that you boys would come all the way over here to help out a friend in her darkest hour. Poor Tammy is just crushed over the loss of our poppa.”

“
Oh anything for Miss Tammy,” Ziad said.

Arnold was still grinning. I shoved Tammy up into the living room, out of the way. Looking into her eyes, I pierced them with an evil hex. Or I wished I did. I placed my right hand on the skillet and swung, hitting the gold drapes.

Tammy screamed.

“
It’s okay, Tammy, it was just a little Japanese beetle bug. I hate those things, they gobble up Momma’s roses and blueberries.”

She glared at me.

“
Come on in the kitchen, Tammy-sweetie-pie.”

She huffed and followed me. I turned the spigot on and squirted some detergent onto the burnt-on grease. As I washed the skillet, I said, “I don’t care what you do with all the contents. Sell it, bury the crap at sea, cremate it at Acme. Just leave me ten things, okay?”

“
Fine. But I’m getting the china, the dining room furniture, the leather—”

I interrupted her, “Fine. But I want ten things. Here, I’ll make a list.” I shoved the wet soapy skillet into her hands. “You scrub.”

She wrinkled her pert little nose and grabbed the scouring pad.

Trying to speak in a low calm tone, I confronted her. “Why did you have Daddy cremated?”

“
It was cheaper.”

I opened my mouth but there was no point in furthering this discussion with little Miss Greedy. I didn’t want to make myself sick again thinking about it. We couldn’t have Daddy’s ashes put back together again. Better focus on saving some things from Tammy’s paws. I removed the magnetic grocery tablet from the fridge and sat at the kitchen table, in Daddy’s chair. I had to straighten the blue towel on it first. Swiping some buttery crumbs aside, I plucked a ballpoint pen from the banana basket and started writing.

1. Daddy’s favorite leather tub chair

2. Momma’s bed, including frame, box springs and mattress

3. Daddy’s white chest of drawers

4. Momma’s lingerie chest (that I gave her for Christmas)

5. Living room curio cabinet and all trinkets inside

6. Contents of basement walk-in closet

7. Daddy’s deep freezer and all contents

8. The aluminum and copper cake cover

9. The big Thanksgiving turkey platter

10. All of Daddy and Momma’s papers, memorabilia and photos

I ripped the page from the pad, extracted a clean yellow dishtowel from the drawer and handed the towel to Tammy. “Dry your hands. Here’s my list. Take it or leave it.” I snatched the skillet from her.

She dried her hands and took the list from my hand. I grabbed the towel back and dried the skillet. Remarkably, she had it looking nearly new.

“
I want the tub chair, it matches the set,” said sister dearest.

“
I’m holding a skillet and I know how to use it.”

“
Oh fine,” she whined, “you have it.”

“
I shall. Now one last little tiny thing.”

“
What is it, Oh-Donna?” she snapped.

“
Give me a ride over to Perry’s house.”

“
What for?”

“’
Cause I miss him. We both lost part of ourselves when Daddy died. You don’t feel the same connection and sense of loss that we do.”

“
Save it. Blubber later. Come on.” She turned and headed to the living room.

I followed, smiling in my victory. If only she knew how victorious I was. The insurance policy was supposedly in Daddy’s dresser. And Momma was such a pack rat, who knew what treasures I might discover under her mattress or inside her lingerie chest?

She handed the list to Ziad. “Pack everything that doesn’t crawl into the truck, except these things—”

I interjected, “Come on and follow me, boys. I’ll point out the items that stay.”

“
Yes, Miss Donna,” Arnold said. They attentively followed me around the house.

When we’d finished, I grabbed my purse and the orange hospital bag from behind the railing and said, “Lock up before you leave.”

They stood at the door and waved goodbye. Such nice friends Tammy had.

The ride across town in Tammy’s pink Mazda Miata convertible was very pleasant. Because there was no conversation. She slowed to a rolling stop in front of Perry’s house. I unbuckled and leaped out, with my purse, orange bag and the will. She screeched off into the sunset. Daddy’s old gold 1967 Chrysler was parked on the street. I was impressed that it was remarkably clean, outside and in. I unlocked the door with the key my brother had given me. I slipped in and rolled the driver’s window down with the crank handle. I stretched across the front seat and rolled the passenger’s window down, just an inch. I would be driving through DC, murder capital of the country—in odd years.

Chapter Seven

S
hoot. I needed to pull the seat forward. I shoved my hand underneath it. The lever wouldn’t budge. This was going to be a miserable drive. I perched on the edge of the seat, bolt upright, wiggled the key into the ignition and cranked it. Nothing happened. I tried again. Oh right. Carburetor. No fuel injection. I pumped the gas pedal three times with my foot. She turned right over on the very next try. I listened to the engine scream and kicked it down. Oh she purred now. I shifted into drive. Wait a minute. I shifted back into park and fished around in the seat crevice until I retrieved the twisted lap belt. I twirled, adjusted and fastened it. Then carefully pulled it tight.

Signaling left, I shifted back into drive and pulled into the street. I glanced down at the gas gauge. A quarter tank. So as soon as I crossed into Virginia, I chose the first exit off Route Sixty-Six. I got out money from the ATM machine and filled up at a gas station. I drove through the fast food restaurant sharing the parking lot. Two roast beef sandwiches and a diet soda.

Gobbling at red lights, I took the long way home. My tongue was adept at emptying the contents between the buns, without getting any of the bread. I wadded the sesame-seeded carbohydrates up and tossed them back in the paper sack. I drained the drink before Vienna.

Finally reaching my Reston home, I shuddered. A keen feeling something was very, very wrong. There was a roadblock at the beginning of Spyglass Street. I waited for my turn. As I drove up to the police officer, my breathing quickened.

“
What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“
Do you live here, ma’am?” the young female officer asked.

“
Yes, I live at number one–three–one–two–seven. The end unit.” I pointed up ahead, in the darkness.

“
May I see your driver’s license and registration please?”

I fumbled inside my purse and removed my license from my wallet. I handed it to her. She examined it with her flashlight.

“
This is my daddy’s car. He passed away last week.”

“
Oh I’m very sorry to hear that, Ms. Payne.”

I fumbled around in the ashtray and then the glove compartment, looking for the registration card.

“
How old was he?”

“
Ninety-two.”

She handed me my license back. “I’m really sorry.”

“
Honestly, I’m not sure if he even kept the registration in the car. Might be in his wallet for all I know.”

“
Not a problem. You can go on through.”

That was a relief. With my luck, the registration expired ten years ago and Perry never renewed it. Or worse yet, he’d reported it stolen. That’d be about like him.