Six Feet Under Page 4

  “One suggestion,” Mama started.

  “Mama,” I warned, but it was too late.

  “You could use a little help on your menu writing skills. You are very sloppy and people can’t read that. You could also explain what you are doing. I thought you’d contaminated my eating space.”

  “Is that so?” The woman shifted her eyes from Mama to me.

  I smiled an empathetic smile.

  “Honey, you’re the one with her, not me.” The woman had a point.

  Mama’s tight plumped-up bottom lip dropped.

  “I’ll have the chicken too. It sounds good.” I said and whacked Mama under the table with my foot before Mama had any opportunity to say another word.

  “What did you do that for?” Mama yelped and reached down to rub her shin.

  “Two chicks!” the waitress called and walked back to the register.

  I looked around to see who she was calling out to, but no one seemed to be looking at her or us for that matter. The place was packed and three new people had joined us at our picnic table.

  “You eat here before?” Mama questioned the man next to her.

  “Best barbeque in the state.” The man smiled. “In fact, they are going to be featured on the Culinary Channel.”

  “Not if I have anything to do with it,” Mama grumbled under her breath and turned from the man. The man’s brows dipped and he scoffed at Mama. Again, I gave another sympathetic smile.

  Whether she knew him or not, he’d said fighting words and Mama was a grudge holder. Shocker.

  “I think that stuff,” I circled my finger around her face, “has gone into your brain and messed you up. Where are your manners?”

  Mama crossed her arms and ignored me by looking around. She couldn’t deny it was clean and really kinda cute with the whole barbeque theme that went so well with the picnic décor. My stomach did a flip-flop. If the food was as good as it smelled, Mama’s pot pie might be in trouble.

  The waitress walked over with a plastic basket filled to the brim with barbequed pulled chicken, crispy hushpuppies, crinkle fries, and creamy coleslaw. My mouth watered.

  “Plastic?” Mama was no fan of plastic. She believed in using fine china for everything. Her motto was to use it if you had it.

  “This is just one step up from paper.” Mama took her plastic fork and rolled it into the chicken. She put her nose down into it and took a big whiff. “Too much barbeque sauce.”

  There wasn’t anything good about it according to Mama. To me, it was delicious, but I didn’t dare tell her.

  “She likes it.” Poppa pointed and smiled at her. “She’s doing that bunny nose twitch thing she does when she eats one of those Cadbury Eggs. She loves those.”

  “You like it, Mama?” I asked. And I wished I hadn’t.

  “How’s it taste?” the waitress asked over my shoulder.

  “This is undercooked. Can you get me a new one?” Mama jerked her basket up in the air toward the waitress.

  “That’s impossible. This has been cooking for a day. It’s fresh.” The waitress pushed the basket back toward Mama.

  “It’s undercooked,” Mama said a little louder and moved her head left to right as if she were using a horn. “It’s slimy.”

  “It’s delicious.” I put another forkful in my mouth, trying to drown out Mama.

  “It’s slimy,” Mama said again and pushed back.

  “It is not. And you aren’t handicapped either.” The waitress had a look of disgust on her face and I stuffed mine as full as I could before the next thing happened. “Get out and don’t come back.”

  My eyes followed the length of the woman’s arm and down past her finger where she pointed straight for the door. The twirling lights of the tow truck caught my attention. A man stood next to Mama’s car.

  “What on earth?” Mama jumped up. The coke tipped over and went all over the paper tablecloth.

  A few familiar clicks came from the counter where people could mosey up to eat instead of waiting for an open seat at a picnic bench. Behind the big camera lens was a waving feather from a fedora hat. The camera came down slightly; Edna Easterly was staring right at me.

  “This ain’t good.” Poppa’s ghost disappeared.

  I jumped up after Mama and dropped a couple of twenties on the table before I headed out the door, where she was giving the man from S&S Auto Salvage a mouthful of sass.

  “Excuse me.” I inserted myself in between him and Mama. “I’m sure we have a misunderstanding here.”

  “Say, don’t I know you?” He snapped his fingers and then shook one at me. “You’re that cop that gave us all sorts of trouble.”

  “I didn’t give you trouble. You illegally towed a truck from a crime scene.” I reminded him of a murder that’d happened a few months ago. I’d had to get the truck back before they’d made it into a flat piece of steel.

  “No.” He shook his head. “You gave me trouble and now she’s giving me trouble.”

  The customers in The Little Shack were staring at us from inside, barbeque hanging out of their mouths. Edna was grinning ear to ear, snapping away.

  “Just let us go, please,” I said in a sweet voice. “We were just trying to grab a bite.”

  “You’re from Cottonwood. That sheriff.” The man shuffled to the tow truck and grabbed the heavy chains.

  “You’re who?” The waitress had stepped out of the diner and stood on the sidewalk, a lit cigarette tucked in the corner of her lip. “Did you say the sheriff?”

  “Yep.” The chains clanked quite loudly on the ground when he dropped them next to Mama’s front tire.

  Mama used her shoe to try to push the chain, but it didn’t budge.

  “Move that chain.” Mama demanded. Her key fob pointed at the car, she clicked it several times to unlock the door. “I’m getting in my car.”

  “You mean to tell me the sheriff is letting this woman use a fake handicap tag?” The cigarette bounced up and down in the woman’s mouth. “I’ll be darned. I thought I’d seen it all.”

  “I did no such thing.” I started to sweat and got a little nervous. “This is my mama and she had a minor surgery. The doctor gave her the tag.”

  “I think I read that the sheriff of Cottonwood’s mama is competing for that fancy culinary show.” The tow truck employee couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut.

  “Is that right?” the waitress asked, lowering her eyelids. “Take it away!” the woman instructed him. She tossed the lit cigarette on the ground and used the toe of her shoe to snuff it out before she turned to go back inside.

  “I bet she doesn’t wash her hands.” Mama had no business spitting out more words, but she did.

  Poppa was doubled over in laughter. It seemed as though he were thoroughly entertained by his daughter. I ignored him.

  “Mama, stay.” I put my hand out and tugged off my sweater, exposing my sheriff’s uniform. I walked up to the tow truck guy. “Listen, she’s old. Can you please just let us go?”

  “She’s parked illegally.” He pointed to the sign that had S&S’s number on it. “Violators will be towed.”

  At least he could read.

  “Yeah. But she did get the tag from the doctor.” I nodded.

  “It’s pink. There’s no such thing.” The man told me something I’d already known, but I was going to ask Dr. Shively about it when I got back to town. She wouldn’t give Mama a fake tag.

  “You and I both know that things aren’t always on the up and up over at S&S.” I bit the edge of my lip. I hated to bring politics into it, but Mama left me no choice. “There were a lot of things I forgave and overlooked during that investigation. In fact, I didn’t bring charges against you or the company for breaking the crime-scene tape and taking the truck a few months ago and,” I hesitated, nodding my head, “the statute of limitations hasn�
�t passed, so I guess I could look into it, have the company shut down until the investigation is over. But then you’d probably have to look for another job.” I shrugged.

  He gave me a long hard look. He chewed on what I’d said. I could wait him out. I’d learned to be really good at that.

  Mama honked the horn and started the car. He glanced up at her and back at me. He bent down and picked up the chains and took a step away from the car.

  “Thank you.” I curled my lips in a tight grimace and ran around the car and climbed into the passenger side.

  “You can get glad in the same britches you got mad in.” Mama’s jaw was set. “That’s all I want to hear about today. I’ve got to get home and get my ingredients ready for tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” I asked.

  “Yes, silly girl.” Mama was giddy and playful. “Frank gets in town today. We have a little get together and tomorrow is the big tasting. Tomorrow is the big day and a fresh pot pie is just what’s going to win this for me.”

  That was Mama. If she didn’t want to talk about it, there was no sense in bringing it up. She grabbed her cell phone and jabbed the numbers.

  “Hi-do. This here is Viv Lowry and I need an appointment at two please.” Mama um-hummed in the phone, agreeing with whoever she’d made an appointment with. I was hoping it was with a shrink because she’d lost her ever-loving mind.

  “What was that about?” I asked.

  “Kenni, I don’t go nosing in your business.” She threw the phone in her purse and slammed the gear shift into drive. Who was she trying to fool? Not only was she in my business, she was in everyone’s business.

  There was no denying the tension in Mama’s car on the way back to Cottonwood. I couldn’t even bring myself to talk to her for the first fifteen minutes. Not only was I still mad that she’d conned me into going to lunch there, she’d brought me clothes, complained the entire time, and I still had to pay for food I didn’t get to finish.

  “Did you see Edna Easterly was there?” I felt restless and irritable.

  “I hope she got my good side.” Mama patted her face.

  “Mama.” I scolded. “You have got something weird going on in there.” I circled her head with my finger. “I think you need to see Dr. Shively about that stuff she stuck in your face.”

  “I’m fine. I wanted to see my competition. And now I know it’s the lack thereof competition. I’m going to win, hands down.” She gave a good hard nod.

  I didn’t say anything the rest of the ride back to the department. The sooner we got back, the sooner I could distance myself from her.

  Chapter Six

  “There’s no resting now,” Betty said after I’d gotten back from my awful lunch and flung myself in my office chair. She pointed to the clock. It was only two in the afternoon, but I sure did feel like it was quittin’ time.

  For a brief moment, I laid my head on the back of my chair with my legs stretched out in front of me and my eyes closed. I was hoping to meditate the lunch away from my mind.

  “What now?” I groaned.

  “First off, Toots Buford called.” She handed me a Post-it with a message from Toots. “She said that there’s been some customers parking illegally at the Dixon’s Foodtown. Something about pink handicap stickers. She’s not the only one who’s called. Seems to be a lot of businesses reporting this.”

  “Pink?” My uh-oh meter went off. There was no way I was going to tell her about Mama’s pink one. “Let’s give that investigation to Finn.”

  “Good. Because Ben Harrison called right before you got here and said that Frank Von Lee is in town and coming by the diner in the next half hour. He’d like the sheriff’s presence.” She looked over the rim of her glasses at me.

  Half hour? I glanced up at the clock and that meant he needed me around two p.m.

  “Fine,” I said with an exhausted sigh, pushing myself up from my chair. “Let’s go, Duke.”

  Within a few seconds, Duke jumped in his usual spot on the passenger seat of my Wagoneer. I reached over and cranked down his window so he could enjoy the beautiful spring day that popped up. There was nothing like the sight of a fresh crop of the Kentucky bluegrass that blanketed Cottonwood. Today the late afternoon sun was hitting it perfectly and sending the fresh fragrance to my soul. The fresh air didn’t hurt either. It seemed to clear my head more than anything.

  I took a left out of the alley and stopped at the stoplight to take a left to head down Main Street toward Ben’s. The Cottonwood Chronicle box sat on the sidewalk on the corner. From the Jeep, I could see that Edna Easterly had made Frank Von Lee’s arrival this week’s headline. Mama would have her interview posted next week and being on the front of the Chronicle was better than butter on a biscuit for Mama.

  I waved to the people crossing the street. The warmer weather brought them out to peruse our small-town boutiques and antique shops.

  There was a big crowd gathered in front of Ben’s, no doubt due to Edna’s article, where I’m sure she spun more tales than a spinning wheel. Edna was a master at taking a couple of words and making up the biggest story you’d ever heard.

  I pulled across the street into a parking spot in front of Ruby Smith’s antique shop and parked. Surveying the situation before I got out was probably my best bet to assess how I was going to help Ben with the crowd control. The people stood in front of Ben’s and along the sidewalk down to the inn. I remembered the cord of rope I kept in the back of the Jeep, grabbed that, and headed on over. Duke was good at keeping everyone’s eyes and hands on him while I made a makeshift red-carpet walkway between the buildings with the rope strung from the trees along the sidewalk for our special guest.

  The look on Ben’s face told me he was appreciative, though I think he’d spent so much time on the diner he’d forgotten about how to treat Frank Von Lee’s arrival.

  “Here.” Ruby walked over and handed over two Oriental rug runners. “The sheriff’s department can borrow them as long as you take them to the cleaners afterward so I can resell them.”

  “Why, you do have a soft spot,” I teased her.

  Her brightly painted orange lips snarled as she handed the rugs to me. I stood there and watched her five-foot-nine lanky frame weave through the crowd. You couldn’t miss that bright red head of hers. A smile crossed my lips as I unfurled the long rugs and made the perfect runway for our guest.

  The crowd had shifted to stand behind the rope. Most of the women in Mama’s Sweet Adelines Group—Lulu McClain, Mrs. Kim, Toots Buford, Viola White, Myrna Savage, and Missy Jennings—stood closest to the door. For years they’d bragged on Mama’s cooking, but I just figured they were nice compliments with underlying meanings, like our famous saying, bless your heart. It sounded good, but when you shaved back the layers, it was a dagger in the heart and you didn’t even know it.

  As soon as the doors of The Tattered Cover Books and Inn opened, a collective gasp rose from the crowd. Then there was dead silence as though everyone was holding their breath.

  “Good morning.” Frank Von Lee took off his top hat and rolled it a few times in front of himself as he took a bow. The man was as bald as a baby’s butt, but his handlebar mustache made up for what he didn’t have on his head.

  He held the top hat against his chest with one hand and a cane in the other. He slowly walked down the runway as though he was at a television premiere and took the time to nod to the people standing behind the rope line. He even stopped for a few photos and gave a few autographs.

  He stopped at the diner door and turned around.

  “I’m looking forward to sampling the chicken pot pie.” His words were very clipped as though there was a period after each one of them.

  Ben and Mama stood at the door.

  “Goodness gracious.” Mama’s hand lifted to her chest, and she fingered her pearl necklace as she giggled. “Thank you kindly.”


  “Look at your mama.” Ruby Smith had snuck up behind me. “She’s so stinkin’ happy. I ain’t seen her that happy since the day your daddy asked her to marry him.”

  “Is that right?” I asked and tilted my head to the right to get a better view of Mama doing her southern thing. She’d curled her hand in the crook of Frank Von Lee’s elbow and escorted him right on into the diner, her lips never stopping moving once.

  Poor man, I thought. He’d know everything there was to know about Mama, me, and Cottonwood by the time he left their little meeting. He’d probably not even get a word in edgewise.

  “What’s that look for?” Ruby patted my arm. “Honey, don’t be goin’ and worryin’ about your mama. She’s in full control.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about.” I took a deep breath. The crowd around me had dispersed and Duke sat by my feet.

  What they’d come for had been seen. Frank Von Lee and his arrival was now tomorrow’s news as the entire town waited for his decision, which wouldn’t be coming for a few days. Heck, he wasn’t even going to sample Mama’s pot pie until tomorrow, and then he’d be going to Clay’s Ferry.

  The tension was not only in the air, but on Poppa’s face as he stood over Mama in the diner as she sat next to Frank Von Lee.

  As much as I tried to forget Poppa’s face, I couldn’t. Seeing him gave me fearful clarity that he was there for something that was about to happen. I just didn’t know what.

  Chapter Seven

  The appearance from Frank Von Lee was just that. He’d only spent about twenty minutes in the diner with Mama and Ben before he excused himself back to his hotel.

  After that, I’d made my afternoon rounds in the town and stopped to chat with a few neighbors who were hanging out on their porches. After all, it was getting close to the election. I had to make appearances before I headed on home to change my clothes so I wasn’t late to Mama’s cooking class at Lulu’s Boutique. Finn and I had also made plans to see each other after the class.