“Oh, Ma,” said Marge.
“I wanted to take a shower and now I have to clean up what looks like ten gallons of yucky sludge. What gives?”
“It’s that friend of yours. Dick Bernstein. He put this idea into Tex’s head that he needs to rub his scalp with mayonnaise and then he won’t go bald.”
Vesta frowned at this.“Dick Bernstein said that?”
“He did. And I’m blaming you, by the way.”
“Me! What did I do!”
“You sent Tex to talk to Dick, and now he’s bought himself a year’s supply of mayonnaise, and has been soaking his head in the stuff ever since he got home from work.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Vesta with a tiny grin. She made sure not to show her daughter, though, for Marge looked upset enough as it was. And she didn’t blame her. If her husband started marinating his head in mayonnaise she wouldn’t like it much either. Of course her husband had soaked his liver in alcohol, which was probably worse.
“Do you think Dick is playing Tex for a fool? Or does he actually believe this stuff himself?”
Vesta held up her hands.“All I know is that Dick once told me he’d figured out the secret for keeping his hair. Though at the time he mentioned ketchup, not mayonnaise, so maybe he got things mixed up—I don’t know.”
“Ketchup!”
“Yeah, I thought it sounded like baloney, but you gotta admit: that man has great hair. And so does Rock.”
“They do have great hair,” Marge murmured.
When she continued looking distraught, Vesta patted her daughter’s shoulder. “Look at the bright side, honey. Mayonnaise is cheap. Cheaper than some of those hair products to treat premature baldness.”
“But Tex isn’t losing his hair.”
“He is getting thinner on top.”
“No, he’s not. That’s all in his head.”
“What’s in my head?” asked Tex as he strode into the kitchen with a spring in his step. He looked more chipper and bright than he had in a long time.
“You’re in a good mood,” said Vesta as she studied her son-in-law, and more specifically his hair. She didn’t notice anything different, but then the effect of that mayonnaise probably took a while to manifest.
“I wanted to thank you for that great tip, Vesta,” said the doctor as he grabbed a piece of cheese from the fridge and took a nibble.
Marge immediately snatched it away from him and put it back.“Save your appetite, honey,” she said. “Dinner is on the stove.”
“So Dick really came through, huh?” asked Vesta.
“I’ll say he did.” He touched the top of his head. “I can almost feel the follicles producing new hairs as we speak. Who knew mayonnaise could do all that? It’s amazing.”
“Oh, Tex, you’re a doctor,” said his wife, who clearly felt she could no longer keep her tongue. “I can’t believe you would fall for such, such—such awful quackery!”
“It’s not quackery if it works,” Tex pointed out.
“You keep rubbing that mayo if it makes you feel good, Tex,” said Vesta. “No harm, no foul. Now in other news, I heard through the grapevine that Francis Reilly is thinking about retiring. Is it true?”
“I haven’t heard anything,” said Tex with a shrug, but then of course Tex never did hear anything. The man lived in his own world most of the time—a world of medicine, garden gnomes and, since today, mayonnaise.
“Marge?”
“All I know is that Marigold came into the library a couple of days ago, wanting to have a chat.”
“A chat? What about?”
“Well, turns out she’s sick and tired of Francis neglecting to take his responsibility, as she called it. So she gave him an ultimatum: either he retires and marries her and officially recognizes Angel as his daughter, or she’s leaving him.”
“Oh, my,” said Vesta. She took a seat at the kitchen table and smoothed the floral-pattern chintz covering, removing a few crumbs as she did.
“Yeah, so I asked if she thought she was getting through to him, and she said she didn’t know. That Francis had made her plenty of promises over the years, but this time she was prepared to go to the limit.”
“So she was actually thinking of leaving him?”
“That’s what she said. And she looked like she meant it.”
“Who’s leaving whom?” asked Tex, who’d surreptitiously opened the fridge again and was now sneaking out the same piece of Gouda, which was a particular favorite of his.
“Marigold is leaving Francis,” said Marge. “If he doesn’t retire and marry her.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. I like Francis. He’s the best priest we’ve had in years.”
“He’s the only priest we’ve had in years,” Vesta pointed out. “And the only priest you’ve ever known, Tex.”
“I’ll certainly miss him,” said Marge.
“Me, too,” said Tex.
“Oh, nonsense,” said Vesta. “When do you ever go to church?”
“Well, on Christmas,” said Tex, “and, um…”
“Exactly. So don’t give me that crap that you’ll miss him. Besides, change is good. Lately Francis’s sermons have been very dreary. A young priest might bring zip into this parish, and make people start going to church again.”
“Well, let’s certainly hope so,” said Marge. “And let’s hope that people won’t be too upset when Francis reveals he’s going to marry his longtime housekeeper, and recognize her daughter as his.”
“Nobody will be shocked, because everybody already knows. And now I have about a hundred gallons of mayonnaise to clean up, cause I want to take that shower.” She pointed to her son-in-law. “And you better help me clean them up, buddy boy. Or else I’ll sneak into your room tonight and personally yank those precious new hairs out of your skull.”
Marge had to suppress a smile at this, but Tex did as he was told, and moments later they were cleaning the bathtub together.
“Do you really think this cure will make a difference, Vesta?” asked Tex as he washed the last remnants of mayonnaise down the drain.
“Oh, absolutely. You just keep rubbing that mayo, and a couple of days from now you’ll wake up with hair like Jason Momoa. Big bushy curly head of beautiful hair.”
The smile he gave her was a sight to behold. Like a kid on Christmas morning!
23
“Why didn’t you make him confess?!” I asked once we were out of the rectory and on our way back to the car. “You just had to play good cop, bad cop and you would have had him!”
“Confess what, Max?” asked Odelia.
“That he accidentally killed Angel, of course.” When she gave me an odd look, I continued, “Don’t you see? They had an argument—he told you so himself. Only things got out of hand and there was some pushing and shoving, and she accidentally hit her head and died, and now she’s probably buried in those woods somewhere.”
“What is he saying?” asked Chase as we all piled into the car.
“He believes that Father Reilly accidentally killed Angel. That when they had that fight yesterday he gave her a push and she hit her head and died.”
“Yeah, but she went out with her friends last night, so that scenario can’t have played out the way Max thinks,” Chase pointed out.
“Okay,” I said after a moment’s thought, “so after the party she decided she had more things to say. So she dropped by the rectory again and got Francis out of bed. She was drunk and belligerent and looking to lay into him some more. Only this time the fight was even worse, since she was inebriated and unrestrained, and she probably called him all kinds of names, and so Francis finally lost his temper and that’s when it happened.”
Odelia dutifully translated my words, but Chase still looked dubious.“I don’t know,” he said. “Francis doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who would get violent, even if he was chewed out. In fact the man is so laidback I think he probably mainlines valium.”
“I’m sorry, Max, but I agree with Chase,” said Odelia. “I don’t think Francis is the person we’re looking for.”