forget Mama,” said Mule. “Lock, stock, barrel, and Mama.”
Lew ignored this reference to his mother-in-law, who was moving from Tennessee with his once-secret wife. “How’s your new church comin’ along, Father?”
“We had our first service yesterday, I’m happy to say.”
“Great!” said Mule. “How many?”
“Including yours truly? Eight.”
Mule removed a see-through plastic container from the bag. “Mighty low numbers.”
“Numbers aren’t everything,” said the vicar.
“Who give you that haircut?” asked Mule. “Pretty sporty lookin’.”
“A woman who lives above the clouds across a creek without a bridge.”
Percy stared at him blankly. “No wonder it gets s’ long between cuttin’s,” he said.
“So, J.C., any more news of Edith Mallory?”
“I hear she said God again and was tryin’ to add another word.”
“How’d you hear that?” asked Percy.
“Ed Coffey.”
Mule looked offended. “Why were you talkin’ to that low-life bum? You just talked to ’im th’ other day.”
“None of your business.”
“Thank you very much.” Mule snapped off the lid. “Oh, law!”
Percy looked the other way. “Don’t tell us what it is, we don’t care what it is.”
“What is it?” asked Father Tim.
“I’ll be darned if I know. Lookit.” Mule displayed the item for all to inspect.
“That makes yogurt look like pheasant under glass,” said J.C.
“It’s brown,” said Percy. “Or is it dark green? My glasses ain’t doin’ too good.”
Father Tim peered closely. “Dark green.”
“Call ’er up and ask what it is,” said Percy. “I’d give a half-dollar to have it identified.”
Father Tim searched his pants pocket for a couple of quarters. “I’ll give the other half.”
“I usually don’t call Fancy at th’ shop, but for a dollar...”
J.C. pointed to the wall. “There’s th’ phone.”
“Yeah, but if I use th’ phone, which costs a quarter, I don’t get but seventy-five cents out of th’ deal.”
“It’s seventy-five cents you didn’t have,” counseled Father Tim.
“Right. OK.”
Mule dialed.
“Fancy, baby? Got a minute? What’s this you packed for my lunch?”
Long silence.
“You don’t mean it. I declare, that’s th’ way it goes, all right.”
More silence. The members of the Turkey Club sat forward on their chairs.
“What color was it before?”
Further silence.
“It’s not th’ first time somebody threatened to sue you over a hair deal. It ain’t goin’ to happen, so don’t worry about it. Right. Right. I love you, too.”
“You call your wife baby?” J.C. appeared mildly stricken by this revelation. “You tell ’er you love ’er in front of God and everybody?”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” said Percy. “We’re gettin’ off track here. What is that mess she packed you for lunch?”
“Dadgum,” said Mule. “She forgot to say, an’ I ain’t spendin’ another quarter.”
“You’re losing all around on this deal,” said Father Tim. “Canceled out your dollar, and invested a quarter of your own money.”
“Shoot,” said Mule. “I quit. I guess I ought t’ just eat th’ thing an’ get it over with, I’m half starved.”
“Who’s suing Fancy this time?” asked J.C.
“What do you mean, this time? There’s only been one other time,” said Mule, offended.
“So that was that time, and this is this time.”
“You said it like somebody’s suin’ ’er all th’ time.”
“Lord help us,” said Percy. “Your blood sugar’s shot, you need nourishment. Get you a pack of Nabs out of th’ machine, and hush up, for Pete’s sake.” If Velma Mosely was here, she’d knock Mule Skinner in the head once and for all. How they’d dealt with ornery, hard-to-please Grill customers for more than forty years was way, way more than he’d ever understand.
“Smell it,” said Mule, trying to hand off the plastic container to Father Tim.
“No, thanks.”
Mule gazed into the
Lew ignored this reference to his mother-in-law, who was moving from Tennessee with his once-secret wife. “How’s your new church comin’ along, Father?”
“We had our first service yesterday, I’m happy to say.”
“Great!” said Mule. “How many?”
“Including yours truly? Eight.”
Mule removed a see-through plastic container from the bag. “Mighty low numbers.”
“Numbers aren’t everything,” said the vicar.
“Who give you that haircut?” asked Mule. “Pretty sporty lookin’.”
“A woman who lives above the clouds across a creek without a bridge.”
Percy stared at him blankly. “No wonder it gets s’ long between cuttin’s,” he said.
“So, J.C., any more news of Edith Mallory?”
“I hear she said God again and was tryin’ to add another word.”
“How’d you hear that?” asked Percy.
“Ed Coffey.”
Mule looked offended. “Why were you talkin’ to that low-life bum? You just talked to ’im th’ other day.”
“None of your business.”
“Thank you very much.” Mule snapped off the lid. “Oh, law!”
Percy looked the other way. “Don’t tell us what it is, we don’t care what it is.”
“What is it?” asked Father Tim.
“I’ll be darned if I know. Lookit.” Mule displayed the item for all to inspect.
“That makes yogurt look like pheasant under glass,” said J.C.
“It’s brown,” said Percy. “Or is it dark green? My glasses ain’t doin’ too good.”
Father Tim peered closely. “Dark green.”
“Call ’er up and ask what it is,” said Percy. “I’d give a half-dollar to have it identified.”
Father Tim searched his pants pocket for a couple of quarters. “I’ll give the other half.”
“I usually don’t call Fancy at th’ shop, but for a dollar...”
J.C. pointed to the wall. “There’s th’ phone.”
“Yeah, but if I use th’ phone, which costs a quarter, I don’t get but seventy-five cents out of th’ deal.”
“It’s seventy-five cents you didn’t have,” counseled Father Tim.
“Right. OK.”
Mule dialed.
“Fancy, baby? Got a minute? What’s this you packed for my lunch?”
Long silence.
“You don’t mean it. I declare, that’s th’ way it goes, all right.”
More silence. The members of the Turkey Club sat forward on their chairs.
“What color was it before?”
Further silence.
“It’s not th’ first time somebody threatened to sue you over a hair deal. It ain’t goin’ to happen, so don’t worry about it. Right. Right. I love you, too.”
“You call your wife baby?” J.C. appeared mildly stricken by this revelation. “You tell ’er you love ’er in front of God and everybody?”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” said Percy. “We’re gettin’ off track here. What is that mess she packed you for lunch?”
“Dadgum,” said Mule. “She forgot to say, an’ I ain’t spendin’ another quarter.”
“You’re losing all around on this deal,” said Father Tim. “Canceled out your dollar, and invested a quarter of your own money.”
“Shoot,” said Mule. “I quit. I guess I ought t’ just eat th’ thing an’ get it over with, I’m half starved.”
“Who’s suing Fancy this time?” asked J.C.
“What do you mean, this time? There’s only been one other time,” said Mule, offended.
“So that was that time, and this is this time.”
“You said it like somebody’s suin’ ’er all th’ time.”
“Lord help us,” said Percy. “Your blood sugar’s shot, you need nourishment. Get you a pack of Nabs out of th’ machine, and hush up, for Pete’s sake.” If Velma Mosely was here, she’d knock Mule Skinner in the head once and for all. How they’d dealt with ornery, hard-to-please Grill customers for more than forty years was way, way more than he’d ever understand.
“Smell it,” said Mule, trying to hand off the plastic container to Father Tim.
“No, thanks.”
Mule gazed into the
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