The Mezzo Wore Mink (21 page)

“
We’ve talked to her.”

“
Then you know about her OCD?”

“
Yes.”

“
Anything else?”

“
No. Thanks, Doctor.”

•••

“
Okay, I talked to Davis Boothe’s doctor,” said Nancy when she finally found me. I was in Sterling Park having an afternoon cup of coffee. “Well, actually his clinic. He didn’t actually have one doctor. He was going to a walk-in clinic in Banner Elk. There were several doctors who saw him.”

“
A walk-in clinic?” I said, tipping my hat and motioning to the spot beside me on the bench. “Have a seat. It’s a lovely day.”

Nancy was a female cop that every egg who thought he was tough had on his Ten Most Wanted list until he was left hammered and spent like a punch-drunk boxer on the ring ropes of love.

“
Yep. He didn’t have any health insurance.”

“
Huh?” I said.

“
Health insurance. He didn’t have any health insurance.”

“
Oh. Sorry. I was thinking of something else.” I took off the hat, smoothed my hair with my free hand, then replaced it at what I hoped was a rakish angle. “So what did the clinic say?”

“
I talked to the nurse. She said that Davis knew about the embolism, but was waiting to see if it went away with the medication he was on. Blood thinners.”

“
Wasn’t that dangerous?”

“
Very. But he didn’t have the money for the operation.”

“
Still, hardly a reason to commit suicide. Especially since he was on the blood thinners. He hadn’t given up on the treatment.”

“
That’s what I think,” said Nancy, getting back to her feet. “I guess I’ll head back to the station.”

“
Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?” I suggested magnanimously.

“
It’s already 4:30,” she said. “I was off half an hour ago.”

•••

Billy and Elaine Hixon were coming out of St. Barnabas when they spotted me and walked over. Billy was the senior warden, but more important to most of the members, had a lawn service that was responsible for the upkeep of the grounds.

“
Hayden,” called Billy. “How you doin’?”

“
Pretty well. What are you two up to?”

“
I had a meeting with the new priest,” Billy said, making a face. “What a….”

“
Billy,” interrupted Elaine. “You’re the senior warden.” She waggled a finger at him. “Be nice.”

“
It’s okay,” I said. “I’ve met him. I know what you mean. Did he tell you about
The Living Gobbler
?”

“
I should have known that was
your
idea,” said Elaine.

I shrugged modestly.

“
I’ll bet you haven’t heard
this
,” said Elaine with a smirk.

“
I don’t know,” I said. “I hear a lot of stuff.”

“
Really? Did you know that the Christian nudists have a contract to buy the old summer camp in Grinder’s Mill?”

“
Camp Possumtickle? I thought the camp was still open. Who told you?”

“
Well, Noylene spilled the beans, but she didn’t have any particulars.Anyway, Camp Possumtickle closed up in June. The nudists have a retreat scheduled for the fourth week of November. Thanksgiving weekend.”

Camp Possumtickle had been struggling financially for several years. It had started out in the 1950s as a summer camp for privileged city kids, but, as fancier camps had sprung up in the mountains of North Carolina—camps with indoor plumbing—Camp Possumtickle had failed to keep up. I remembered a run-down lodge, about ten individual cabins, a bath-house and a small dining room. The camp was located on Possumtickle Lake, about three miles from town.

“
Could be cold out there,” said Billy. “I mean, if you’re nekkid.”

“
They’ll be here for a week in November,” said Elaine, “but after the first of the year, it’ll be a full-time Christian nudist retreat. They’re planning improvements.”

“
How do you find out this stuff?”

“
Well, after Noylene filled me in on what she knew, which wasn’t much, I went over to the Upper Womb and asked Chad Parker. He told me that the Daystar Naturists for God and Love are purchasing the property. They’ll be having Bible studies, bonfires, singing, playing games, hiking, and there will be revival services at night in the lodge. The public is invited to the services.”

“
Will the services be clothing optional?” I asked.

Elaine smiled and said in her sweetest voice, “What do you think?”

Chapter 14

The Slab Café on an autumn Saturday morning was generally packed to the rafters and this morning was no exception. Pete had saved a table so Meg and I didn’t have the half hour wait that most of the patrons endured. The smell of coffee hung in the air mixed with various other wafting scents that I had no trouble identifying: country ham, cheese grits, bacon, waffles, pancakes and scrambled eggs. Noylene, Collette and Pauli Girl McCollough were working the floor and had everything under control. The six booths were full, as were all the tables and the four red-vinyl upholstered stools at the counter. We walked across the big black and white tiles, greeting folks we knew, nodding cordially to those we didn’t, and made our way to Pete’s table. I gave him the bad news.

“
The Daystar Naturists for God and Love?” Pete was despondent. “They bought the camp? Maybe they’ll change their minds. Maybe we’ll have a monsoon or an earthquake or something.”

“
Maybe,” said Meg, looking toward the door as the cowbell jangled against the glass. “Do you mind if Mother joins us? I texted her that we would save her a seat.”

“
Fine with me,” said Pete.

“
You
texted
her?” I added. “Is that even a
word?”

“
I texted her on your BlackBerry. She texted me back that she had news.”

“
She texted you
back?
”

“
Sure.” Meg gave me a demure smile. “After all, this is the 21st century.”

“
Well, I hope it’s good news,” I said. “We could use some good news.”

“
Ask her yourself.”

I looked up and saw Ruby approaching. Then I stood and pulled out a chair, still practicing to be the good son-in-law.

“
Thank you, Hayden,” said Ruby with a delightful smile. Ruby was an older version of Meg. Her hair was still black, although now, as she neared seventy, it was streaked with silver. She was a striking woman, slightly taller than Meg, statuesque and elegant. “I have news.”

“
We heard,” I said. “Do tell.”

“
Well,” started Ruby, “you know that Thelma Wingler died on Wednesday.”

“
Tuesday, actually,” I said. “But we found her on Wednesday.”

“
Of course, you’re right,” said Ruby. “Now don’t interrupt, dear.”

“
Sorry,” I said.

“
Well, apparently Thelma had no family.”

Meg, Pete and I nodded.

“
Also, I suppose she had no friends.”

We nodded.

“
I used to have lunch with her once a week. I didn’t much care for her, but I thought it was my Christian responsibility.”

We nodded again.

“
Anyway, it seems that when she made out her last will, she left everything to me. She didn’t have any family. Did I mention that?”

Ruby looked at us. We nodded.

“
Oh, for heaven’s sake, say something.”

“
That’s great!” said Meg. “The house? Everything?”

“
No. Not the house. She left the house to the church.”

“
All her money?” said Pete. “She was loaded! Man, what a windfall!”

“
No, not the money,” said Ruby, scrunching up her nose in that wonderful way that reminded me of Meg. “The money goes to the Humane Society. Well, most of it anyway. Five thousand dollars goes to Upper Womb Ministries.”

“
Really? The Upper Womb?” said Pete. “Now there’s a surprise.”

“
Definitely worth looking into,” I said. “Let’s see then. Not the house. Not the money. That leaves…”

“
The crematorium,” said Ruby. “She left me the crematorium.”

“
What?”
said Meg. “The crematorium?”

“
I understand it does quite a bit of business,” said Ruby, “and that if I don’t want to keep it, I could certainly sell it.”

“
Not to mention the advantages if one of us dies unexpectedly,” said Pete. “I would hope I’d get a special deal. After all, I did save you a place at my table.”

“
You may all have special deals,” said Ruby. “I always like to remember the little people.”

•••

The McColloughs lived up in the hills in a mobile home that hadn’t been mobile in thirty years. Ardine had been married to a nasty piece of work named PeeDee McCollough, an abusive man who managed a moonshine still and a couple of welfare scams to make ends meet. The ends didn’t meet often and when they did, PeeDee soon drank up the excess. He had dropped off the face of the earth seven or eight years ago and although Ardine had never been officially questioned about his disappearance, it was the general consensus that PeeDee probably got what was coming to him and wouldn’t be missed. His family certainly didn’t miss him. Ardine worked part time at a Christmas tree farm and made quilts that she sold in gift shops. She made ends meet quite well and, although they didn’t have a lot, her children were growing up healthy and happy.

The McColloughs had three children. The only contribution that PeeDee made to his children’s lives was to name them and this he did with great deliberation; this deliberation consisting of walking over to the refrigerator. Hence, his children were all named after beers. Ardine had been too tired to argue.

Bud was the eldest. He had a unique talent that made him, even at the tender age of sixteen, well respected and in high demand in St. Germaine. He was a genuine wine connoisseur. Well, not a connoisseur in the strict sense—he didn’t actually drink the wine—but did, however, have the knowledge and the wine-speak to compete with any sommelier on the East coast, and that included Boston and New York. If asked about a certain Sauvignon Blanc on sale at the Ginger Cat, he might tell you that it was “ripe and well-balanced with fresh citrus and passion fruit characteristics. A good value at eleven dollars a bottle.” If your interest went a bit further, he’d tell you that this particular Sauvignon Blanc was from the Marlborough region of New Zealand and that the Kiwi winemakers consider it essential that, in addition to the fruitiness, their wines have the “true Marlborough” hints of armpit and cat pee. “Cat pee?” you’d ask incredulously. “A slightly musky, pungently perfumed mix of herbs, asparagus, green bean and bell pepper,” he’d answer. And he’d be right.