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  “Interesting,” says Detective Metz. “Others investigating the case are looking into the journal. Personally, I think it’s a waste of time.”

  “But I’m asking if you think it’s possible that he ingested something or more of something than usual, while sleepwalking. It’s just that I thought you should know that sleepwalking could have figured in.”

  “I’ll make a note of it, Ms. Green. Anything else?”

  “That was the main thing I wanted to tell you,” I say. “I was also wondering if there was any spinach in his freezer. Did you happen to notice what was in his freezer?”

  The detective stands, and I stand with him. “What does spinach have to do with anything?” he asks.

  I don’t want to get into cryptic spinach meanings. Then I’d have to tell all about Doyle, and it would sound dumb. So I say, “Ned was big into thinking if he didn’t eat spinach he would die. That’s all.”

  “Strange,” says the detective.

  “I know. Anyway, I don’t want to tie you up any more.” I pick up my pocketbook.

  “Ms. Green, you can tie me up any time.” His smile unsettles me, and he extends his hand.

  I don’t want to touch it. So I nod and say, “Thanks,” pretending he didn’t just say that.

  Detective Metz asks, “Are you going out with anyone?”

  I look at him like he just spoke Elven. I wish Detective Metz would act like most policemen, with that comforting, practiced, robotic air. I want him to be by the book instead of Call me Clark. It’s disappointing to see his professional veneer crumbling before my eyes. I hate that I know he reads Redbook on his lunch break. However, I’m pretty happy to have the information on Ned. Maybe next time I see the detective, I should borrow something from Marcelle’s closet. Lord knows how much info I could squeeze from him then.

  It’s Wednesday night again. Share Group is over and people are trickling out. Mavis, Eleanor and I push the furniture back in place, click off lamps, and gather coffee cups. Terry is hanging around to help. I know his ex-wife Jeanine has already moved in, even though no one mentioned it.

  I drove by his house the other morning and saw a bunch of signs stapled on trees that read, Have You Seen Me? My name is Champagne. I’m a white poodle, 12’ tall. Then there’s this picture of Floyd from when he was still white. I doubt Jeanine realizes she described Champagne as a twelve-foot poodle. I was tempted to knock on Terry’s door and tell her but didn’t want to look into her eyes, in case she’s like Doyle and can read people by their hairdos or something. I imagine it would go: Longer than shoulder-length on a person over thirty-five is a sign the person wearing the hairdo is trying to act younger than they truly are—deceptive. Blonde means you probably bleach your hair, which is also misleading. I drove on.

  I ask Terry how things are going with his ex-wife and all. He tells me about her putting up signs and how weird it is to have her living with him again.

  “It’s strange,” says Terry, “to come home from work and find Jeanine cooking dinner.”

  “For both of ya’ll?”

  He nods and says, “She’s a great cook.”

  “How great?”

  “So great that I feel guilty. She goes to so much trouble. Cooking has always been one of her favorite pastimes.”

  Always been one of her favorite pastimes. It’s sinking in that Terry shares a past with Jeanine. They know one another in ways no one else could. Terry knows her fears and what she cannot abide. He knows her weaknesses and things that will set her off. There are passages in their lives that no one knows are there but them; they are locked doors to everyone else. To me. I shake myself out of this depressing revelation and say, “Oh really? Jeanine is that good of a cook? I’m impressed.” More intimidated than impressed. I can’t remember anyone ever saying much about my cooking. “What did she make?” I ask.

  “This incredible lasagna.”

  Lasagna. Big deal. We eat that on Italian night at the Rapturous Rest every week.

  He says, “Homemade pasta, layered with scallops, wild mushrooms and champagne sauce.”

  “Oh.”

  Terry smiles at the ceiling, like he’s remembering every bite then turns a serious gaze on me. “You need to come over and eat with us sometime.”

  “Thanks. Tell her to make it for three next time.”

  “And the wine was out of this world. It was dry yet fruity, light yet loamy…perfect with the scallops and pasta.”

  He’s talking with an expression on his face like he had the gastronomical experience of his lifetime and that he might just let himself die now. I do not know what to say. He’s talking about his ex-wife’s cooking, for Pete’s sake.

  “Wine, huh,” I say. I rarely drink. Still, I’m jealous because it sounds like Terry and Jeanine are having a regular old home week, eating the meals and drinking the wine that doctors and their wives normally enjoy. Living the life they thought they’d live when they were first married. Next week they might host a fabulous gala.

  I smile and nod. I love gourmet cuisine like the rest of them, but it’s more sensible, budget-wise, to plan meals economically when cooking for a big crowd. I think of the only things Terry has ever eaten at my house: chicken tetrazzini, broccoli casseroles, spaghetti, Hungry Jacks, sweet tea. Beef Stroganoff. Nothing exotic. No wine. Terry must think I’m a regular Country Comes To Town.

  “Glad things are going okay,” I say.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  25

  The Hush-Hush All Weekend Thang

  “Where are you headin off to?” asks Mavis.

  I’ve got my pocketbook and my keys in hand, and I’m almost out the door. “Toddlers, bank, Walgreens, library.”

  “You gonna check you out a book?”

  “Maybe.”

  I plan to do a little research on the library computers, pull some books, and find some information on sleepwalking and this yohimbe stuff. I might as well look up information on video games while I’m at it. But I don’t want to tell Mavis any of that. I’m pretty surprised to learn Ned might have been experimenting with drugs most people have never heard of. Then again, I didn’t know him that well. For all I know, Winslow could be a Moroccan Shriner and wears one of those grand pooh-bah hats with the tassel on the weekends, and that would be none of my business. I’ve found over the years that people will not always tell you everything about themselves. I tend to tell it all, so it used to surprise me when I learned new things about people I knew fairly well. One used to be a Navy Seal, another previously married to a person other than the person to whom he is now married, and one looked and acted poverty-stricken but had millions. After a while, I figured that people like to keep to themselves, and it’s none of my business. Kind of like Terry Dorrie and whatever he didn’t want Doyle telling.

  After spending about four hours at the library, including a couple of hours surfing websites, I’ve got about enough information on herbs that I could graduate from being a boarding house operator to a witch doctor. I probably know as much as Jimmy now. Not that I’ll retain much of it. It was interesting to learn about all those helpful plants growing right in our own woods and even my own backyard that could remedy a headache, remove warts, and cure the common cold—free for the taking. I considered discussing yohimbe with Jimmy, but seeing as I was dealing with classified information, I decided to keep it on the down low.

  I’ve got to say that the information I turned up leaves me shocked, and I’m worn out. But it’s the kind of tired that comes from being really productive: squeezed of energy but happy. I’m starving and hope Mavis saved me something. Leftover chicken and dumplings would hit the spot. It’s around 7 p.m. when I drive up behind the house, park, and walk through the back door. The house is quiet and dark except for the light over the kitchen sink and a blue TV glow emanating through the crack under the kitchen door. There’s a bowl on the counter cov
ered with foil. A note from Mavis says she’s out for the night and for me to eat up. Thank you, Mavis. I pull back the foil, and steam rises from a homemade potpie. I hear Floyd whimpering and push open the kitchen door. I expect to see him standing by the front door, ready for his evening walk. Instead, Floyd is standing on his hind legs, paws on the windowsill, his nose pressed against the glass.

  “What is it boy?” I walk over and peek out the window. I’m startled to see Mavis and Terry getting into Terry’s car. Terry backs out of the driveway.

  “Where in the world are they going dressed like that?” I ask Floyd.

  Mavis

  “Good Lord.” I’m looking out the window and there’s Dr. D coming up the walk wearin nothin but a long tan raincoat and some blue pantyhose. It ain’t Doc’s regular style. He done tried honkin for me, but when I didn’t budge he came up to the door proper-like.

  My mama had some child-rearin misconceptions, but she did teach me two important thangs: 1) Say thank you. 2) Do not walk outside if a man honks fer ya. Cleavon was the honkin type. My mama used to say, We ain’t runnin no curbside, drive-through service here. Let ‘im bring his lazy ass on up to the stoop and knock fer ya.

  So here comes Dr. D, bless his heart. I run outside before he gets to the porch and yell, “Get your bu-utt back to the car before them neighbors sees you!”

  I run out and hop in the car. Here I am, ridin in the front seat of Dr. D’s Lexus, wearin my favorite bikini-bod t-shirt, blowin cigarette smoke out my nose, ready for some action and mystery. (It was hard, but I finally convinced my body to take up smokin again.) It’ll take us about forty-five minutes to get to wherever. The whole way, me and Dr. D shoot the shit like always. Finally, I ask him where in the world we’re goin. But Doc just laughs and tells me I’ll see. So I says to him, “Well, I sure hope you won’t be the only one there wearin them.”

  He says, “Not everyone will be wearing exactly the same get-up, but I promise you’ll get an eyeful.”

  “Dr. D? Can I ask you a personal question?”

  “Depends.”

  “Do you like ladies or men?”

  “What?”

  I take me a long drag on my cigarette, push the window button down, and blow the smoke out to the highway, and says, “I hate to tell you this, Dr. D, but them fairy pants you got on ain’t attractive to most ladies. I maybe got me some men friends I could innerduce you to who would love ‘em. And there might be a woman someplace, like France, who fancies her man in shiny tights, but not where I’m from.”

  Dr. D looks over at me like he’s worried. But finally, we get to the secret place.

  “We’re late,” says Dr. D. “I guess it’ll be okay because this particular function will be going on all weekend.”

  “Sounds like my kinda party!” And I mean it. We jump outta the car and start high-tailin it over to the motel, the place where the hush-hush all weekend thang is at. Then…outta nowhere, I swear if I don’t see somebody I ain’t supposed to be seein.

  “Dr. D, we’re busted.”

  Mary Beth

  Mavis and Terry are just getting out of Terry’s car, and if I’m quick I can find a parking space and catch up to them. Mavis is wearing that god-awful t-shirt and Terry looks like a flasher. My heart sinks as early suspicions of his character come back to haunt me. This must be what Doyle saw in the groceries. I’m gonna throw-up. First Terry’s ex-wife moves in with him, now he and Mavis apparently share some kind of sick bond. Or maybe they’re on a date! I think of Mavis’s note: out for the night. I must keep a professional air, as founder of Share Group and proprietor of the boarding house. But I must not appear to be holier than thou. I’m getting close now. Mavis spots me, and she jumps like a bee stung her. Terry has the same reaction.

  “Mary Beth!” They both shout at the same time.

  “Hey, ya’ll,” I say. “I couldn’t help but follow you here. Ya’ll looked like you were headed for a pretty interesting time and I didn’t want to be left out. Where’s Jeanine?”

  Terry shakes his head. “Jeanine? Why would I bring her here?”

  “Why, indeed?” My attitude quickly changes from smiling to interrogation. I feel like Doyle. Doyle would definitely say, indeed. So like Doyle I’m suddenly picking up on unspoken things. Things in the air. This tights and trench coat style is probably the whole reason Jeanine left Terry in the first place. Mavis says, “Mary Beth, you sneaky thang. You’re supposed to be at the library! You know we’d have invited you if we wanted you comin, right Doc?”

  “I can’t sleep at the library. I had to come home sometime. And just in time to see you two driving off in those get-ups. Floyd alerted me. Even the dog knew something was up.”

  Terry says, “Oh he did, did he? Mary Beth, it’s not that I didn’t want you coming. It’s that I didn’t know if you’d appreciate this kind of thing as much as Mavis.”

  I say, “I’ll have you know, you’d be surprised at the types of things I find entertaining.”

  “Is that right?” says Mavis. “And what type of thing do you think this is?”

  “Honestly, I’m not exactly sure, but I can adapt. So why don’t we all go into the hotel together?”

  “Are you sure, Mary Beth?” says Terry. He almost looks like he could cry, the corners of his mouth bending down. Good.

  I say, “Of course I’m sure. It’ll be an adventure.” But I feel a migraine coming on. The marquee in front of the hotel proudly exclaims, WELCOME VOYEURS! I keep walking. The sign doesn’t bother Mavis at all; it gets her more excited.

  Terry looks at me as if to say, So does the sign give you a clue? I pretend not to see the sign.

  As we approach the hotel, I notice a couple ahead of us wearing similar gear as Terry: trench coats with tights underneath. I tell myself that I must be brave. I think I can be very brave until I realize the couple is Deacon Coons and Belinda from church rushing through the revolving doors. I stop dead in my tracks. These are the very last people I expected to see at such a vulgar affair. Looking back I try to remember times when the deacon and his wife may have caused me to wonder. Come to think of it, there was the time when Belinda was reading the scripture for the day, and the Bible slipped off the lectern. When she bent forward to pick it up she showed the whole church down the front of her blouse. The congregation thought it was an embarrassing accident, especially since she didn’t notice. But now I wonder if she did it on purpose. And the deacon, he always seemed a little too friendly, didn’t he? A little too huggy. And how about when Terry kissed Belinda on the cheek? At the time it seemed harmless… This is too much. My mind is exhausted from all these revelations. I don’t I have the stomach for this any longer. I need to grab Mavis and go home, especially in case anyone sees me with this bunch and thinks I’m one of them. But Mavis is already inside.

  The lobby has black marble floors and a high, mirrored ceiling, hanging with huge sparkling chandeliers. Mavis says, “I like this fancy motel.”

  Terry says, “Be right back. I’m going to check my coat.”

  Check his coat? Meaning, remove his coat from his body? I’m not sure if I should try to stop him or flee. We’re so late everyone, including Deacon Coons and Belinda, is already inside the ballroom.

  “Mavis,” I say. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Mavis puts a hand on my shoulder. She looks into my face and says real softly, “Now Mary Beth, this might be too much for you, baby, but I aim to see. I want to look and see what’s happenin under that raincoat.”

  “But why?”

  Mavis laughs.

  I swear everyone is a pervert.

  We follow Terry to the coat check, and as he unbuttons, I close my eyes and turn away. But Mavis, the voyeur that she is, is standing there with eyes glued to the raincoat.

  Then there’s the voice of a child saying, “Wow, are you Q?”

  Q? What does that
mean, Q?

  “Nope, not Q,” says Terry in a friendly way. “I’m Commander Dorrie of the U.S.S. Federation Starship Wanderer.”

  I open my eyes. There is Terry Dorrie, the man I’ve been reluctantly taking a shine to, standing there in a royal blue Star Trek body suit. Mavis is jumping up and down clapping her hands.

  The boy says, “Cool. A real Federation Commander! Will you sign my shirt?”

  “Sure, I’d love to sign it, but I’m a nobody, really. You should save room on your shirt for some of those celebrities in the ballroom. Some of those guys you’ll recognize from the movies and TV shows.”

  The boy and his parents thank Terry.

  Terry looks at me for the first time since removing his coat. He looks embarrassed like maybe he should head for the door. He actually does turn around like he’s going back for his coat but stops.

  “Well, this is me,” he says. “Part of me, at least. I’m a Trekkie.”

  It takes a few seconds for me to digest this. Terry stands before me in a royal blue stretchy suit with a Star Trek insignia on his chest.

  “Why the big secret?”

  “I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want you to think I was a weirdo.”

  “I wouldn’t think that. There are far worse things you could be doing.”

  “Honestly, I didn’t want you to see me as some kind of character, like those other guys in your group.”

  “Some kind of character? They are just people.”

  “Ya’ll work it out, but I’m gonna check thangs out in that ballroom,” Mavis says. She adjusts her pocketbook, smoothes her hair, pulls up the waistband of her pantyhose and sashays off.

  Terry gives Mavis a nod but picks up where he left off. “Just regular guys? Well, would you go out with any of them?” he asks.