Killer Cousins (11 page)

“Hi, I’ve met you,” I said, “but can’t figure out where.”

She stared at my face a full minute. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”

“I’m Cealie Gunther, visiting in town with my cousin Stevie Midnight.” Maybe she knew Stevie. I tried to recall our connection. “Oh, you were at Cajun Delights. You’re the daytime manager, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Babs Jacobs. Hi.” She gave me her slim hand.

“So we didn’t meet. I just saw you around the stage.” I remembered all of the circumstances. She wasn’t smiling then. Her replacement, Jake, had probably arrived late. Stevie guessed Babs was scared to drive at night. Stevie and I both guessed Jake liked her and was too shy or didn’t think he stood a chance with her. “That nice evening manager told all of us your name. Who is he?” I pretended I was thinking.

“Jake Bryant. He is pretty nice.”

I watched her expression while she mentioned him. She seemed to be speaking about a co-worker, not a love interest.

Maybe I could change that.

“He appeared to be a real pleasant guy,” I said with more enthusiasm than I actually felt. I took a mental scroll of what I knew about Jake and came up short. Oh yes, so was he. And stubby. But I did believe he was a good person. He’d joked about himself, which made me like him.

That, and he managed my hunky ex-lover’s restaurant.

So did she. But her smile didn’t grow any wider. I glanced at her hand to double-check for a ring. None on any fingers.

“How’s your boss?” I had to ask. She cocked her head and looked at me quizzically. “You know. Gil Thurman,” I said.

“Oh, him.” Her lips spread into a wide, bright smile. “He owns the place but doesn’t tell us what to do or anything.”

I skimmed her face. She looked barely over thirty.

“You must know your business real well for him to trust you to run the restaurant,” I said.

“Why? Did he say anything about me? You really know him?” Concern replaced her happy expression.

I wouldn’t tell her how intimately I knew the man she worked for.

“I met him.”
And often massaged the small strawberry birthmark on his right hip.

“You have a slight Southern accent,” Babs told me.

“So do you,” I said.

She smiled at our common connection. “I need to move. I go to work in a little while.” She picked up a package of purple grapes.

“You think the purple ones are better than green?”

“These have been a lot sweeter.”

“I’ll try purple.” I swapped my green grapes. “In case Gil is there, would you tell him we met, and I said hi?”

“I will. Nice meeting you, Ms. Gunther.”

A thought made me want to call her back and tell her something positive about Jake that might make her consider him as a love interest. But I watched her and decided that would be out of line. I didn’t really know the man. And I couldn’t think of anything clever to say.

I shoved my buggy toward the checkout, considering things I might tell her if we met at the front of the store.
Give the man a chance. Check out his buns. He might be really hot.

But then I was tugging at my clothes like they were uncomfortable and determined I was considering myself and Gil. Yes, he was really hot. And I’d often checked out his buns. Very nice.

And I was confused and angry about my thoughts. I used to believe that by the time a woman reached a certain age, she would be done with indecision. I found that not true, at least for me. I wanted Gil.

But didn’t want commitment right now.

A woman behind me giggled.

“I’m sorry,” she said as I turned. She was maybe forty, with a man probably her husband, pushing a buggy. “You just looked so funny. Nodding real hard. Then shaking your head like you were telling somebody no.”

I stared at her.

“Oh, I’m really sorry,” she said and rushed her mate toward a checkout farther from me. She lowered her voice, but I heard what she said. “That poor woman. Probably has a tic, and I had to go and point out how she kept shaking her head.”

“See? I told you you talk too much,” her mate warned her.

I stood in the first line, making certain I didn’t move my head or allow another single thought of Gil to enter it.

Chapter 9

I drove to Stevie’s house, deciding I wouldn’t become a matchmaker with Babs and Jake. Even though at first they seemed a good match, I wasn’t sure now. I wasn’t sure if I really thought they’d go well together, or if I’d wanted an excuse to keep going to Cajun Delights. Now my mind was made up. I was keeping my nose far away from their business. And Gil’s restaurant.

With my purse on my shoulder, I hauled my filled bags toward the kitchen. Noise from the rear section of the house stopped me. Voices.

I set my bags on the floor. Who was in the house? What should I do?

Before I could get too frightened, one voice spoke louder. Stevie’s. I hadn’t thought she’d be home. “So that’ll be fine,” she said.

“Are you sure?” The second speaker was April, I could tell once I carried my bags into the kitchen. Stevie was speaking on the phone with her. I couldn’t hear every word April said but could hear her loud voice.

I gave Stevie a sarcastic smile. Why had she left me? Where had she gone? Why had she made me believe she was leaving me all alone today?

She frowned at the bags I set on the table. “I’m sure. See you later.” She hung up and stared at me.

“I thought you’d be gone all day,” I said, somewhat dejectedly.

“To mass?”

I noticed her clothes. A little nicer than the loose long dresses she wore to school. Her shapeless outfit looked less like nightclothes and more like something she’d wear during the day. “I didn’t realize you had mass today.”

“I didn’t ask you since you were never a churchgoer.”

“I was when I was young.”

“Your momma made you go then. That was a long time ago.”

Was she purposely stressing my age? As if I wasn’t months younger than she? Or did she think I looked older than she did now?

“You didn’t need to buy groceries. I have food.”

Yes, and it’s rich enough to make me double my size.

“Most of what I bought isn’t to eat.” I pulled out smoke detectors. “I didn’t see many of these.”

She grimaced. “I’m going to change clothes.” She stomped out of the room.

I removed everything from the bags, angrier by the minute. Leaving it all on the table, I marched over to Minnie. “Do you see what she’s like? My cousin is so frustrating!”

“Like you aren’t?” Stevie was back in the room.

“You were going to change,” I said, like she was the one who’d been caught doing the wrong thing.

“I changed my mind. We might go out to eat today.” She came across the kitchen so quickly she might have been much younger. “You know what? You think I’m stupid for having candles and stones and chimes. But guess what? I am not the woman in this family who thinks a cactus is a person.” She poked her finger at Minnie.

“I know she isn’t a person.” I pulled Minnie’s pot farther away from Stevie’s finger. “She’s a plant, and a nice one. And talking to plants is supposed to be good for them. It helps them grow.”

“Who says?”

“Experts. I read different sources after I almost killed her, and that’s one of the things growers urged. Many plants thrive when people talk to them, exactly like babies need to be held.”

Stevie grabbed Minnie’s pot and brought it close to her face. “Hi. I’m your momma’s cousin. How are you? I’m fine today. I went to church and ate breakfast and went to the bathroom.”

She set the pot down. Turned to me. “Does she look any better than before I told her my business?”

I clenched my teeth. Huffed through my nostrils. “That’s ridiculous,” I said. “A plant won’t brighten up the minute somebody speaks to it.” And then I wondered. “I guess it’s the combination of how you care for a living thing.”

Stevie grabbed Minnie. “I forgot to tell you I also talked on the phone. And ate two chocolate Pop-Tarts.” She set Minnie down. Eyed me like she wondered what I’d do about it.

“What is your problem?” I asked.

She slammed her fists on the counter. “I want a cigarette!”

“Is that all?”

“
All
?
Do you have any idea how hard it is to do without something you crave all the time?
Do you
?”

I’ve desired things—boiled crayfish, sex, chocolate—but not all the time. “I never experienced what you’re going through.”

“I need nicotine, Cealie. I need it!”

“No, you don’t. Just let out tension. Scream whenever you want to smoke.”

“Heee-lp! I want to smoke!”

“Not like that. Don’t yell
help
.”

She looked even more frustrated. “Then what?”

This quitting smoking was more frustrating than I imagined. “Throw something.”

She grabbed Minnie’s pot.

“Not this.” I took it away.

She scanned the kitchen. Stared at the butcher block of knives.

“Let’s go in your bedroom,” I said.

She slunk there with me. I went to the opposite side of her king-size bed. I felt we were waiting for Valentine’s Day with her room done up in pink, red, and white. Lots of decorative pillows in those colors.

I pointed to them. “You can throw pillows.”

She stared at the bed. Her shoulders rose with her huge inhales and apparent indecision. Stevie picked up a pillow. Tossed it on the bed. She lifted another. Did the same. “This isn’t much fun.”

“Throw ’em at me.”

She tossed a round pink pillow across the bed. Then threw a square red one. “I still want to smoke.”

I threw the square one back at her. “Tough. You can’t, and that’s that.”

She threw it back. “Who says?”

I chucked it harder. “Me.”

She flung it again. “You? You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Yes, I can.” I tossed.

“I could sit on you and squash you.” She pummeled me with three pillows.

“That hurts.” I slammed them back.

“They always liked you best.” Stevie rammed me with every pillow from her bed.

“Who?” I shielded my face with my arm. Then grabbed pillows and threw.

“Grandpa Midnight. And Ms. Rodrigue.” She viciously threw them back. Those tightly sewn pillow corners hurt like the devil. Our pillow war didn’t slow down.

“Ms. Rodrigue, our neighbor?” She’d lived between Stevie’s family and mine during the year we resided in the same city. Then Stevie’s family left town. I’d had mixed feelings about that. She and I often played well together. At other times she was mean.

Stevie slammed me with a hard white pillow I blocked with my forearm. “She always gave you the most candy.”

“Really?” Most days when I’d walked home from the bus stop, the widow was sitting on her front porch. I’d tell her hey, and she’d hold up a bag of the chocolates we called silver bells. Some people believed she was murdered.

“She said she gave you more since you were so small, which never made any sense to me.” Stevie walked around the foot of her bed while she spoke. She tossed a hard pillow at my face.

I grabbed it. “I never heard that. It’s stupid. And not my fault.” I hit her arm with the pillow.

She yanked more pillows off the bed, slamming me with them as she stepped closer. “And Grandpa Midnight always wanted to hold
you
.”

I shielded my face with my arms. “You never wanted to sit on his knee.”

“’Cause he stunk. He smoked big fat cigars that made his teeth brown and his breath stink.”

“So you’re mad at me?”

She was right in front of me, red faced, glaring down. She held a red pillow high, like she was ready to slam me. And then her eyes went unfocused. She appeared deep in thought.

Stevie’s eyes refocused on me. She snickered. So did I. She giggled. I did, too.

We fell against each other, hugging and laughing.

She and I laughed and hugged and then stared at each other and giggled. Then we hugged again.

After a while we stood holding each other. We seemed to realize at the same time that this felt a little awkward and pulled apart. A quiet moment ensued. “We need to find out why a man died here,” I said.

Steve nodded. “Do you want to hear one of Momma’s best poems?” she asked.

“Absolutely.”

Stevie went to her dresser, opened a drawer, and grabbed papers. She carried them as if she was holding a precious item.

She laid them on her bed. Brushing at her eye, she lifted the top sheet. “This is her favorite.” She stood erect, cleared her throat, and read, “‘Fears. This is my worst—Stevie will leave me.’”

I watched. Waited. She lowered her head, looking solemn. She peered at me.

“That was nice,” I said. “Cute.”

“Cute? My mother’s poem is cute?”

“Sure, I like it, and I get it. She hated knowing one day you’d leave her.”

Stevie nodded, smiling now, like it was a wonderful thing that I could comprehend what her mother’s poem meant.

“Now I’ll tell my mother’s. This is short, too.” I stared off, my inner view showing me my mother’s constant smiling pink face. Her arms out to hug me. “An angel touched my life the day my daughter sprang into this world. I knew I was blessed.”

Stevie was quiet. “That’s pretty good.”

“You didn’t like it? She was talking about me, you know?”

“I know it, Cealie. Isn’t everything about you?”

“No. What are you talking about?”

“You went and tattled when I was only playing around with your ponytail that day, and I got punished. And Momma always made me let you go first whenever we played games.”

“Because I’m younger.”

She shoved fists on her hips. “Don’t give me that crap anymore, cousin. I’m not a whole lot older. I just looked it ’cause I was always bigger.”

“Taller,” I corrected. “There was a time when you were really thin.”

“So I’m not now? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Girl, neither of us is thin anymore. There was just a time when you were skinny.”

“And you think your body was perfect?” She shoved my arm.

“I’ve never been close to perfect. What’s really bothering you, Stevie?”

“You!”

The phone rang. She slapped my arm and went for the phone on her nightstand.