The Sweet Potato Queens' First Big-Ass Novel by Jill Conner Browne

couldn’t keep me away.”
    â€œIt’s not personal, hunny,” Mary Bennett said. “We were just getting a nasty vibe at the House of the Dead Cows. Your old man kept staring at us like we were three-headed snakes in a freak show. Gave us the heebie-jeebies.”
    â€œYeah, man,” Gerald said with a nod. “It was a paranoia party, and we weren’t even stoned.”
    â€œI keep telling them they’re being ridiculous,” Patsy said, her voice high and thin as if near the breaking point. “We’re the Sweet Potato Queens and that means we’re family. You’d be devastated if Gerald and Mary Bennett didn’t come to your wedding. Right?”
    I slid down the wall, utterly exhausted. “Maybe we should just—”
    The ringing of the phone caused me to jump. I reached over to the end table to pick it up.
    â€œHello?” I said. The line sounded dead. “Hello,” I repeated, this time louder. “Who is this?”
    Seconds of silence ticked by. Ordinarily I would have hung up, but something made me hang on for a little longer. Finally, I heard a sound, faint as a baby’s sigh.
    â€œJill?” the voice said.
    â€œTammy? Is that you?”
    There was more silence, and then a gasp, as if the caller was summoning the last vestiges of her strength.
    â€œJill, I took some…pills. Sleepy,” she slurred.
    â€œTammy? Where are you?” I demanded.
    Patsy, Gerald, and Mary Bennett gathered around me in a tight knot, their bodies tensed as they listened to my end of the conversation.
    â€œI shouldn’t have done…mistake.”
    â€œTammy!” I was screaming now. “Where are you?”
    More silence—a deadly quiet that seemed to stretch into forever. Then there was a click and the sound of a dial tone.
    â€œNo!” I said, throwing the receiver to the ground. “Why did you hang up?” Then I lunged for it and quickly replaced it in its cradle. “Ohmigod! She might call back again. Please call back!”
    â€œWhat happened?” a white-faced Patsy asked.
    â€œTammy took some pills,” I said, bolting to Tammy’s room. The others followed on my heels. “She was supposed to see her boyfriend tonight. He’s married, and it must have gone to shit.” I pawed through the memorabilia on her table, sending matchbooks and play programs flying to the floor.
    â€œWhere did they usually meet?” Mary Bennett asked.
    â€œDifferent places. Motels. She was never very specific,” I said, as I pulled open a dresser drawer hoping to find some clue to her whereabouts.
    Gerald put his hands on my shoulders. “Slow down a minute. This isn’t doing any good. Think! Is there anyone who would know where she went tonight?”
    â€œWell, Dr. Day,” I said, tears coursing down my cheeks. “But he won’t tell us anything, he’s—”
    â€œThe fuck he won’t!” Mary Bennett shouted. “Come on. We’ve got to get to his house, pronto! He’ll by God tell us where she is. Do you know where he lives?”
    â€œNorth of Yazoo Road. A couple of streets from your old house,” I said.
    Â 
    A few minutes later, the tires of Mary Bennett’s convertible screeched as we slid to a stop in front of Dr. Day’s darkened Victorian mansion.
    â€œIt’s ten o’clock. He’s probably in bed. What if he won’t answer the door?” I asked.
    â€œDidn’t you say he’s an ob/gyn?” Mary Bennett said.
    â€œYeah,” I said.
    She grabbed a sweater that was lying in the backseat and wadded it up into a ball. “So how could he possibly turn away a pregnant woman who’s in the last stages of labor?” She handed it to Patsy. “Swiss Miss, you’ve got the most innocent face. Stuff this under your shirt and make like you’re preggers. Knock at the door while we hide in the bushes.”
    Patsy