The Widows of Eden (13 page)

Every girl in the room stopped gabbing at once and turned an ear in our direction, just like in that old E. F. Hutton ad. “Not a bit,” I replied. “You're all welcome in my house.”

“Thank you for being so kind. Allow me to introduce my very best friends and traveling companions, Eloise Richardson and Bertha Fabian.”

Eloise was the youngest and tallest of the three widows. She wore a plain tan dress with brass buttons down the bodice and a wide, black patent belt at the waist. “We've looked forward to meeting you for such a long time.”

I jerked my arm away from Dottie so I could take her hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you,” I answered.

The third widow was short and portly with white hair. She wore coarse wool slacks and a white, long-sleeved blouse that didn't fit quite right, like it was a hand-me-down. “And call me Birdie,” she said. “What happened to the big tree out front? Did it catch on fire?”

“Two years ago, the poor thing. It was a town landmark. I can hardly remember a sadder day.”

“My, my. What an awful shame.”

Ever the sheriff, Dottie testified, “It wasn't a shame; it was arson. Thanks to Vernon, we brought the miscreants to justice.”

Marion smiled. “Isn't that just like him? I've never met a man who could get so involved in so many people's affairs so quickly. Have you?”

I shook my head. As far as I knew, Mr. Moore was the champ. He beat everybody I've ever met, and I have the acquaintance of some world-class busybodies. I know what you're thinking, but I don't want to hear about it. It's my job.

The Widow Marion sighed audibly and added, “Return visits can be so difficult for that poor man. He has a tendency to get in over his head. He can't cope.”

“Can't cope with what?”

She turned and waved her hand slowly around the room in a semicircle, directing our attention to the throng in my parlor and dining room. “With all of this, Sheriff. That's why he calls us.”

“He calls you?” Loretta asked.

“Not always, but yes. That reminds me: Vernon phoned to say that you and Wilma were preparing a list. By chance, is it finished?”

“What list?” Dottie demanded.

Lo said, “Vern asked Wilma and me to make a list of all the people who want to see him.” She turned to Marion and continued, “It'll be finished this afternoon.”

“Would you be kind enough to give it to Vernon when you're done? He can review it with us later this evening.”

“Sure,” I answered, “but do you mind if I ask what you're going to do with it?”

“Not at all, dear.”

That was another déjà vu. “Okay. What are you going to do with it?”

“As you can see, Vernon can't possibly visit everyone himself, but he doesn't want to disappoint anyone either, so the three of us are going to divide it up.”

Patsy Mancuso, who was sitting six feet away, said out loud, “Can you raise the dead, honey? Oops! Don't answer that. Just stay away from my husband. He's right where I want him.” Did I mention that she's a widow, too?

“She's right,” Loretta remarked. “The people on that list will be expecting Mr. Moore. What can you tell them?”

Patsy appeared in our little circle before any of the widows could reply, swaying slightly, like a willow in a fresh breeze. “Excuse me. Which one of you is the Chief Widow?”

“We're friends, not Indians,” Birdie answered. “There's no ‘Chief Widow.'”

“Okay, but you all know Mr. Moore, right?”

“Yes. He's our very close friend and traveling companion.”

“Terrific. What the hell is he: a man, a ghost, a guardian angel, what? Everybody in the Circle wants to know. They're just afraid to ask outright.”

The Widow Marion said, “He's a man, dear, but an exceptional one, don't you think?”

“No shit. Where's he now; out saving the world?”

“My understanding is that he's spending the afternoon with his daughter. He intends to save the world later on.”

“Well, tell him to hurry up, will ya'? We need some friggin' rain.” Patsy held up her vodka lemonade in salute and took a large swallow, then she headed toward the kitchen, stopping occasionally to steady herself on a chair or the shoulder of a fellow Circle girl.

As we watched her go, Dottie commented, “Remind me to pick up her keys.”

Loretta smiled and steered the conversation back to my
parking-lot guests. “Vern hinted that you all work together, but he wouldn't explain how. Now I get it. You're his bailers, aren't you? You bail him out of trouble.”

“Not as a matter of routine,” Marion replied. “More often than not, it's our job to get Vernon into trouble, not out of it.”

Dottie rolled her eyes at Lo and me. “I don't suppose you'd care to explain that.”

“That would be against the rules, Sheriff, particularly in a crowd with such well-trained ears. If you wish, though, I'd be happy to stop by your office tomorrow.”

“You must be a mind reader, Marion; I was thinkin' the same way. We have a meeting at the Abattoir first thing but I should be back in the office by ten. Come any time afterwards.”

“At the Abattoir? Isn't that where your Quilting Circle is located?”

Dottie frowned. “Forgive me for sayin' so, but you all seem to be real well informed.”

“Oh yes, Sheriff! Vernon is quite thorough. Will all three of you be attending tomorrow's meeting?”

“You're looking at half the board of governors. We'll all be there.”

Marion smiled and spoke to Loretta. “Might Birdie and I drop by your house tomorrow afternoon? We'd so like to meet Laverne.”

“Uh, okay. Sure. How about three o'clock?”

“Tea time? That would be marvelous.”

“Shouldn't Wilma be there, too?”

Eloise turned to me. “I was hoping that you could introduce me to your fiancé in the afternoon. Perhaps you'd like to ride down to the River House in Seagull, my motor coach. It's very comfortable.”

Loretta's eyes were the size of saucers by then and Dottie
looked like she was about to draw her pistol. “I should speak to Clem first,” I said. “He's not much for entertaining, even when he's chipper.”

“I understand, Wilma. If you're unsure, feel free to speak to Vernon, too.”

Eloise caught Marion's eye and pointed to her watch. Birdie interjected, “Please accept our apologies. We have to go, but could I ask one last question?”

“Of course,” I answered smugly, just like Mr. Moore would have.

Birdie wasn't impressed. “We just love your red parasols. They're the perfect remedy for the sun. Can we pick them up at Millet's?”

I felt like smacking myself on the side of the head, and I wasn't alone. In unison, Dottie and Loretta stammered, “Parasols?”

Chapter 14

 

T
HE
O
LD
S
WITCHEROO

I
N
ALL
HIS
YEARS
of servitude to my fiancé, Buford Pickett had never been invited to the River House. On the evening of his inaugural visit, Lily said he fretted like a fifteen-year-old boy before his first date. He was as quiet as a monk at the dinner table by habit, but he talked a streak that night, and then he changed clothes afterward. Buford likes to wear polo shirts in the summertime, but they have never been kind to his physique. In yellow, which was the color he chose for the occasion, he looked like a giant-sized lemon on two cracker barrels.

Marie answered the door at the River House and escorted him to the master suite, where Clement was watching CNN while he finished a bowl of homemade chicken noodle soup with garlic butter croutons. In case you're wondering, that was no mistake. Marie makes her chicken soup from scratch, including the noodles, which she hand rolls. I kid you not.

Clem clicked off the TV. “Hello, Buford. Have you two met before? Marie here is the best chef in the state, period.”

Marie blushed. Buford answered, “We've seen each other around town.”

“I thought you might. It's not like we live in New York, is it? Have you had dinner yet?”

“Yessir, Mr. Tucker. I'm afraid I have.”

“Would you like some of Marie's chicken soup anyway? It'll be worth the discomfort.”

“No, sir, but thanks for the offer.”

“You heard the man, Marie. I'd appreciate it if you could take this away.”

“Would you like anything else, Mr. Tucker?”

“Maybe I would. I don't suppose you've got any tapioca pudding in the fridge?”

“I don't, but I'd be happy to make you some. Are you sure you can hold it down?”

“The way I feel right now I could hold down a pound of nachos with your homemade salsa. I'll settle for the tapioca, though. Vanilla, if you don't mind.”

“I'll bring you a bowl as soon as it's ready,” Marie said, then she took Clem's dishes and went off in search of Pearline, who had to eavesdrop while Marie was making the tapioca. When Pearline arrived on station, Clem was saying, “Did you take my advice and put together a lay-off plan for the bank?”

“Yessir. Would you like to see it?”

“Nope. Just send it up the line. Do it tomorrow; don't wait for Omaha to call.”

“I appreciate the tip, sir.”

“You're welcome, but that's not why I invited you over tonight. I want you to terminate your investigation into Vernon Moore's background.”

“You what?”

“You're an important man in this town, Buford. You shouldn't be spinning your wheels on a fool's errand like that.”

“I, … I agree, sir. Thank you.”

“Have you heard about the three widows who are staying at the Come Again?”

“Everybody has. You should see their motor homes. They're huge.”

“I'm seeing one tomorrow, as a matter of fact. One of the widows is paying me a visit. The rumor mill says they're close to Vernon Moore. Is that what you hear?”

“Yes, sir. Everybody says so.”

“That's what I thought. I want you to switch your investigation — to them.”

The room went quiet, then Buford said, “You want me to investigate the widows?”

“Hell, yes. If we can't find anything on Vernon, let's triple our chances.”

“But …”

“For just one minute, Buford, I want you to close your mouth and open the mind your parents blessed you with. I'm giving you a chance to prove your theory. For all we know, those women served in Cleopatra's court, or maybe they fought with Joan of Arc. If they did, then your
Lady Be Good
theory would look pretty damned smart, wouldn't it?”

“I guess so, sir.”

Clem looked down his nose and said, “Uh uh, Buford. No, you don't. You may not guess anymore. That part has to stop, right here and right now. Get on top of those widows, and get me some hard, verifiable data by tomorrow night. Can you do that?”

“Yessir.”

L
IKE
MOST
FOLKS
, I prefer being with family and friends to being with myself. It's healthier from a mental point of view.
There are exceptions, though, and one of them is the evening after I've had an impromptu reception for three incredibly strange guests and a houseful of curious, over-served Circle girls. Once the dishes were done and the widows had spirited Mr. Moore off to dinner, all I wanted was to fix myself a bowl of popcorn and collapse in front of the TV.

As a cook who takes pride in her skills, I am against microwaved popcorn on principal. You might as well nuke a steak or a duck. Prepared properly, popcorn is a delicacy. I buy a premium brand and heat it on the range in a special-made aluminum pan with a crank in the handle that I can turn to keep the kernels from burning, and then I add just the right amount of melted butter and salt. They may not be the healthiest condiments, but I doubt that popcorn would taste half as good if it was sprinkled with hummus or bean sprouts.

I had just curled up in front of the TV with a fresh bowl of steaming hot Orville Redenbacher's and an icy cold bottle of root beer when my very own sheriff-supplied cell phone rang. Since it was a gift, I felt obligated to answer it.

“Hello,” I said.

“Wilma, this is Hail Mary. I just got off the phone with Dottie. She says you had quite a party this afternoon.”

“I did. You should have been here, if not to meet the widows then to sample Virgie's lemonade punch. I got asked for the recipe twice.”

“I'm sorry I couldn't make it, but we public servants are required to serve the public every once in a while. Otherwise, they vote. Dottie says that the three widows work with Vernon in some capacity. Is that true?”

“That appears to be the case.”

“I also hear that they're well informed. Did you have a chance to ask them about Vernon's nefarious ‘Clem-or-rain' deal?”

“In the middle of a crowd of Circle girls? I don't think so. Why? Do you plan on asking them yourself?”

“I might. The umbrellas were good for morale, but they're a pitiful gesture against a seventy-five-million-dollar bribe. We need a plan.”

“What kind of plan?”

“If I knew, we wouldn't need a plan; we'd already have one. Since you're Clem's fiancée, I need to remind you before tomorrow's meeting that the Circle's goal remains the same: we want Vernon to ask for Clem's life and rain; not one or the other. Do you understand?”

“No, Mary. For a fact, I don't. I've never been so confused in my life.”

“Join the club. You all have a nice evening.”

My popcorn was lukewarm by the time she hung up, but it's not like I could violate my principles and nuke it. I popped a handful in my mouth and checked the TV schedule to see if any old-fashioned movies were playing. The first one I found was
The Grapes of Wrath,
starring Henry Fonda! Did the station manager think we needed a history lesson?