“No, I meant-”
“Cooter, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t have time for a visit right now. Go ahead and grab a little shut-eye, but whatever you do… stay outta sight,” I say, rushing outta the truck. I simply can’t wait to see Grampa. For once in his life, he won’t be able to walk off when I tell him how much I love him.
At the welcomin’ desk, Darlene Abernathy is doing what they pay her for, greeting and keeping track of who comes in and out the hospital doors. Up until a few months ago, she worked at the high school. Until she got caught making out in the boiler room with the janitor. With her egg white hair and lips the color of strawberry jam, I gotta admit, the girl stands out in this lobby like Top O’ the Mornin’s #6 special.
“Darlene?” I say, approaching on guard. (She and me don’t exactly make beautiful music together.)
“Sign in,” she says, not glancing up from her beauty magazine. (Like I figured, she’s still harboring a grudge against me since I mighta mentioned that boiler room meeting of the mouths in Gibby’s Gazette.)
Balancing Grampa’s box of stuff on the ledge of the desk, I write my name into her reception book, barely able since that smell coming off her mouth is so sickeningly fruity. AND familiar-lookin’. Lordy. It’s the same strawberry lip color I saw covering Sneaky Tim Ray’s neck when he ambushed us in the woods! Darlene must be the “lady friend” Holloway was visiting the night he snatched up Keeper outside Grampa’s room.
“Well, nice chattin’ with you. Gotta get these things to him,” I say, hurrying down the hospital hallway, feeling repulsed.
“Hold up,” Darlene calls after me in that smoky voice of hers. She’s got something in her stretched-out hand. Grampa’s wedding ring, his gold watch. His rubbed-worn wallet. “You’re too late,” she says, when I come back to the desk. “Ya can take these things home with the rest of the stuff.”
“Are visitin’ hours over?” I ask, doubtful.
“They are, but even if they weren’t… your grampa ain’t gonna be needin’ his things.”
“Why isn’t he gonna be needin’ ’em?”
Darlene looks down. Hems and haws. Looks back up. “He’s gone.”
Oh my Lord… no… no… no.
“They took him off just a little while ’fore you got here.” She pats my hand. “I’m sure sorry you didn’t get to say good-bye. Didn’t I overhear Miss Jessie tell ya on the phone to hurry?” she says, unnaturally sweet.
What have I done? I shouldn’ta broke Cooter out… I shoulda come right over here… I shoulda…
The overheads are haloing and the hallway tilting. “When?” I ask, barely able.
“Just a little while ago.”
Oh, Grampa. I’m so sorry… I didn’t even… I…
Darlene stares at me with subzero eyes, then says, “The ambulance took him…”
“What?”
“… out to the airport. They’s flyin’ him all the way to a hospital in Texas on Mr. Big Bill Brown’s private airplane. Ya knew ’bout that, right?”
Her words aren’t coming out at the same time her mouth moves. “What did ya just say?”
“And then they’re gonna open his chest up with a saw and operate on his heart.”
“Grampa’s not dead?” I whimper.
“Now,” she says, “I don’t recall tellin’ you he was dead. That’s something your messed-up brain came to all by its lonesome.” Darlene gives me a loathsome look that says-That right there, missy? That’s what you call tit for tat. For the smooching in the boiler room story you printed in your dumb newspaper that caused me to lose my secretary job up at the high school. “What I said was, your grampa was gone.”
“Darlene Judy Abernathy, I’m… I’m on an important case at the present time, but I’d like you to know, I’m intendin’ to come back.” Scooping up Grampa’s valuables, I slip them into my back pocket, brushing up against the Mr. Buster pictures and the.22, one of which I am mightily tempted to avail myself of. “So might I suggest at your earliest convenience that you pay a visit to the Okins Funeral Salon to make arrangements?”
“Why’d I wanna do that?” she says so damn snippy.
“Because on my return visit you can count on me beatin’ the ever-lovin’ shit outta you with a rusty shovel. Twice.”
Her vengeful self is practically vibrating in victory when she hisses back, “Miz Tanner left this note for ya,” and spins an envelope across the desk at me that looks like it’s already been opened and licked closed again by her been-all-around-town tongue.
Dear Gibby,
We’re taking Charlie to Houston, Texas. Dr. Sam has arranged for him to see a special doctor who’s going to perform heart surgery on him. Sorry we couldn’t wait. Big Bill is piloting us. He’s also promised to send some of his boys to help out at the farm.
Your grampa wants you to say your prayers to you know who and go stay with Mr. and Mrs. Bailey until he gets back. And keep away from Browntown.
Miss Jessie
“How long is this all s’posed to take?” I ask Darlene, trying like hell not to give her the satisfaction of seeing me sob in relief. “In other words, when’s Grampa gonna be back home?”
“I’m sure I don’t have the slightest idea. Take care now, ya hear?” she says, when her receptionist phone starts ringing. On my way out the sliding glass doors, I hear her yowl, “Cooter Smith murdered Buster Malloy? And he’s ’scaped? A reward? How much?”
Outside in the parking lot, pausing to get my bearings, I look up to the western sky. Lightning’s swimming through the black clouds like electric eels. As I hurry back to the truck, it’s easy for this trained investigator to perceive two things.
Another storm is headed our way.
And that varmint Darlene Abernathy is one hard-hearted woman.
Like a Greased Pig
When I fired up the truck engine, Cooter was dead to the world and is only just now rejoining us living as I steer us out onto Route 12. “How was Grampa feelin’?” he asks, cranking down the window farther, not that it’ll help. The air’s hanging like velvet.
I pass him the letter Miss Jessie left for me.
When he’s done reading, Cooter says, “He’ll like bein’ back in Texas, don’t ya think?”
“He will. He’ll like that a lot.” I wish I coulda gotten his Johnny Cash records and whittling knife to him ’fore he left. I hope that Houston is near a lake. He needs a lake. And his peach schnapps.
Cooter asks, “Where we headed?”
“Browntown,” I say, thinking we better get someplace safe ASAP.