put it in your pocket?”
“I don’t think so. We sort of kept our distance from each other.”
“Pawpaw?”
“He had the opportunity. But so did Eddie and Howard. They each hugged me when I went in Howard’s trailer.” Mary Alice thought for a moment. “But you know, Mouse, it could have happened any time we were crowded around listening to the sheriff. It could have been anybody there.”
I suddenly remembered the smell of grape-jelly breath, of someone’s whispering that Sunshine had crawled out from under a rock. “What time is Ray’s plane?” I asked.
“Around seven. Why?”
“Because he’s walking into a mess.” I reached into the nightstand, got a notepad and a pencil. “Okay. Let’s start with Sunshine. What do we know about her?”
“She looks like a Barbie doll.”
I wrote down Barbie . No one looks like a Barbie doll naturally. Or cheaply.
“She’s a nursing student at Jefferson State, lives with her grandmother because her mother’s a porn actress.”
“Aha!” I wrote down Frances Zata . My best friend and recently retired counselor from Robert Alexander High had just taken a part-time counseling job at Jeff State. Said she wasn’t cut out for retirement. Frances doesn’t mind sharing a little information occasionally.
“Lives in a trailer with her grandmother,” I muttered. “What about clothes?”
“What are you talking about?” Mary Alice asked.
“Where does Sunshine keep her clothes? I didn’t see much closet space in that trailer.”
“Maybe she doesn’t have many.”
“At twenty and looking like she does? Get real, Sister. Besides, I’ve got an idea that Kerrigan makes a lot of money. A whole lot.” I wrote clothes and money . Then I added car . “Her car doesn’t fit either.”
Mary Alice yawned. “The main thing is she’s missing and left a bloody nightgown by a body.”
I looked up from my notes. “The nightgown wasby the body? I don’t remember seeing a nightgown, do you?”
“No. But I wasn’t paying much attention, to tell you the truth, to anything but the Indian guy. Anyway, that’s what Eddie Turkett said, and he could have been wrong.”
Nevertheless, I wrote down nightgown .
Mary Alice yawned again. “Look, I don’t think I got a wink of sleep last night. All I want you to do is tell me if you think I ought to call the sheriff about this note.”
“I said probably.”
“Then maybe I will.”
“Okay.”
“It could be a joke.”
“Could be. Not likely.”
“I’ll see.” Mary Alice stood up. “You know what, Mouse?”
“What?”
“We know Meemaw’s name now.” She ambled out of the door. I hoped she made it home before she went to sleep.
Frances Zata is the most elegant-looking woman I have ever known. Hair a beautiful color of blonde pulled back into a chignon, face unlined, eyes round and blue, she’s a sixty-year-old paean to chemistry, cosmetics, and surgery. She’s also a dingbat at times. She’s currently madly in love with a pink Victorian house on Choctawhatchee Bay in Destin, Florida, and its owner. In that order, I suspect. He’s grieving over the death of his fiancee and Frances is keeping close tabs on which step he’s on in his grief. I’m predicting a spring wedding as he seems to be bearing up verywell. In the meantime, Frances has taken the job at Jeff State. I picked up the phone and called her.
“Hey, Patricia Anne,” she said. “Good thing you called today. I’m off Fridays and Mondays so I can go to the coast.”
“How’s Jason?”
“He’s way past denial and anger. Getting into acceptance.”
“That’s good.”
“Coming right along. What’s up with you?”
“You got an hour or so?”
“I think I’m the only one on the whole campus today. Tell me.”
So I told her about Haley and Philip. Frances commiserated with me; her only son lives in London. Then I got into the Ray-Sunshine story, described the dinner party, the snooping trip Mary Alice and I took, and
“I don’t think so. We sort of kept our distance from each other.”
“Pawpaw?”
“He had the opportunity. But so did Eddie and Howard. They each hugged me when I went in Howard’s trailer.” Mary Alice thought for a moment. “But you know, Mouse, it could have happened any time we were crowded around listening to the sheriff. It could have been anybody there.”
I suddenly remembered the smell of grape-jelly breath, of someone’s whispering that Sunshine had crawled out from under a rock. “What time is Ray’s plane?” I asked.
“Around seven. Why?”
“Because he’s walking into a mess.” I reached into the nightstand, got a notepad and a pencil. “Okay. Let’s start with Sunshine. What do we know about her?”
“She looks like a Barbie doll.”
I wrote down Barbie . No one looks like a Barbie doll naturally. Or cheaply.
“She’s a nursing student at Jefferson State, lives with her grandmother because her mother’s a porn actress.”
“Aha!” I wrote down Frances Zata . My best friend and recently retired counselor from Robert Alexander High had just taken a part-time counseling job at Jeff State. Said she wasn’t cut out for retirement. Frances doesn’t mind sharing a little information occasionally.
“Lives in a trailer with her grandmother,” I muttered. “What about clothes?”
“What are you talking about?” Mary Alice asked.
“Where does Sunshine keep her clothes? I didn’t see much closet space in that trailer.”
“Maybe she doesn’t have many.”
“At twenty and looking like she does? Get real, Sister. Besides, I’ve got an idea that Kerrigan makes a lot of money. A whole lot.” I wrote clothes and money . Then I added car . “Her car doesn’t fit either.”
Mary Alice yawned. “The main thing is she’s missing and left a bloody nightgown by a body.”
I looked up from my notes. “The nightgown wasby the body? I don’t remember seeing a nightgown, do you?”
“No. But I wasn’t paying much attention, to tell you the truth, to anything but the Indian guy. Anyway, that’s what Eddie Turkett said, and he could have been wrong.”
Nevertheless, I wrote down nightgown .
Mary Alice yawned again. “Look, I don’t think I got a wink of sleep last night. All I want you to do is tell me if you think I ought to call the sheriff about this note.”
“I said probably.”
“Then maybe I will.”
“Okay.”
“It could be a joke.”
“Could be. Not likely.”
“I’ll see.” Mary Alice stood up. “You know what, Mouse?”
“What?”
“We know Meemaw’s name now.” She ambled out of the door. I hoped she made it home before she went to sleep.
Frances Zata is the most elegant-looking woman I have ever known. Hair a beautiful color of blonde pulled back into a chignon, face unlined, eyes round and blue, she’s a sixty-year-old paean to chemistry, cosmetics, and surgery. She’s also a dingbat at times. She’s currently madly in love with a pink Victorian house on Choctawhatchee Bay in Destin, Florida, and its owner. In that order, I suspect. He’s grieving over the death of his fiancee and Frances is keeping close tabs on which step he’s on in his grief. I’m predicting a spring wedding as he seems to be bearing up verywell. In the meantime, Frances has taken the job at Jeff State. I picked up the phone and called her.
“Hey, Patricia Anne,” she said. “Good thing you called today. I’m off Fridays and Mondays so I can go to the coast.”
“How’s Jason?”
“He’s way past denial and anger. Getting into acceptance.”
“That’s good.”
“Coming right along. What’s up with you?”
“You got an hour or so?”
“I think I’m the only one on the whole campus today. Tell me.”
So I told her about Haley and Philip. Frances commiserated with me; her only son lives in London. Then I got into the Ray-Sunshine story, described the dinner party, the snooping trip Mary Alice and I took, and
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