“Momma?”
“I’ve told you,” Big Mim answered in a mock scolding tone. “Your very first words were ‘nana, nana,” and you were in your daddy’s arms down at the stable, looking into a stall. We laughed because we thought you were trying to neigh.“
“Bet I was. Well, at least I’m consistent. I’d rather be in the stable than anywhere else.”
“Even the governor’s mansion?”
“Fat chance of that now. Mother, I love politics, it’s in my blood, but if you put a knife to my throat—God, I wish I hadn’t just said that.”
Big Mim waved the comment away. “Figure of speech.”
“I’d rather be in the stable.” She paused as they reached her car. “I think I can do some good. I’m practical and I don’t give in to fads, pressure.”
“Then you will get there. This is a test. You will come through. I don’t have to tell you how ugly it may get if Jonathan spills the beans, or if his accomplice does. Stand firm, be clear, and speak the truth. That alone puts you in the minority.” She waited a moment as Little Mim opened the driver’s door. “Don’t pass up motherhood because of a college mistake.”
“You just want to be a grandmother.” A bit of Little Mim’s contrariness was returning, so she was feeling better.
Also, being around Aunt Tally morning, noon, and night had an effect.
“I do, but, darling, I love you. I want you to feel the happiness a child, children, can bring. I know I wasn’t a good mother. I was responsible, but I’m not, you know, a Miranda or a BoomBoom or a Susan, where the love bubbles up on the surface and overflows. I’m too rational. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for a lot of things, but I have always loved you, and I love you more now than I ever have. I’m proud of you.”
Stunned, Little Mim burst into tears, reaching for her mother. The two stood there, crying, hugging.
At last, Little Marilyn caught her breath. “Mother, I’ve always wanted to be like you, but I can’t. I’m not as smart as you are. I’m not the woman you are.”
“Oh, Marilyn, you are your own woman, and you had to fight me to get there. I’m no example.” She released her daughter. Tears ran down both their faces. “And you are smart.”
“Mother, your mind flies at the speed of light. I’ve never met anyone like you. Sometimes you scare me. You scare all of us.”
“I don’t mean to, darling, truly, I don’t. Don’t compare yourself to me. My failings would fill the house.” She breathed deeply. “Do you have Kleenex in the car?”
Little Marilyn laughed, the laugh of one for whom a great emotion had been resolved. “Yes. Come on. We need to repair our makeup before getting to the sheriff’s office.”
Pressman hopped in the backseat as the two wiped away their tears and their mascara, too. As Little Mim drove, her mother flipped down the sunshade with the mirror on the back on the passenger side. She didn’t have her purse, but Little Mim, well armed, always filled the center console with the necessities of a woman’s life.
Big Mim plucked out a long tube of mascara. “You know, I’ve never tried Lancôme. I’m still using Stendhal. I wonder if they named it for The Red and the Black, one of my favorite novels.”
“I don’t have the patience to use cake mascara—standing there over the sink, wetting the brush, applying it, doing it over two or three times—but it does give your lashes the best look. I know that, but I guess I’m like most other people in the world. I’m getting lazy.”
“Overcommitted is more like it.” Big Mim liked how smoothly the mascara rolled on her lashes.
“There’s blusher in there, too.”
“You could do makeup for a film shoot with what you’ve stashed in there.” Big Mim teased her and then that mind clicked on again. “You know, I don’t believe you are the only woman to receive those letters.”
Little Mim’s hands suddenly gripped the steering wheel with added pressure. “I hadn’t thought of that. I was so caught up in my own misery.”
“My experience is that emotions cloud the mind, although in some rare instances they sharpen the mind and one has epiphanies. Something terrible is going on around us. I don’t know what it is. Well, I assume blackmail, but I don’t know who. The motive would be clear enough—money, perhaps revenge. But, mmm, do you remember seven years ago when we were down at the stables? Snowed. We knew it was going to snow, but it turned into a blizzard, and we couldn’t see the hand in front of our faces.”
“Yes, we wanted to get back to the house, and you realized we might not make it, we might wander around in circles. Luckily, you turned me back before even the stable was swallowed up in white, and we weren’t ten yards from it.”
“You couldn’t hear anything but the wind and the snow blowing back into one’s ears. Stung. But we managed to get back into the stables and we spent the night there. When we woke up, it was still snowing, but we could see. This is like that. We can’t see. We can only hope that, in time, there’s a clearing.”
“It can’t go on.”
“Were you ever physically threatened?”
“No. My career was the focus. Like a fool, I was so angry and upset I burned the letters.”
“Understandable. Did you check the postmarks?”
“22905. At least I had the presence of mind to do that and remember.”
“I hope whoever else is receiving letters will come forward. I doubt their careers are being threatened.”
22
“What is it about Mondays?” Cooper sat down at her desk and viewed the pile of paperwork with distaste.
A law-enforcement officer saves lives, pulls injured and dead people out of car wrecks, faces armed men hopped up on crank, endures abuse from angry people over whatever it is that has gone wrong in their lives, and listens to lies, a tidal wave of lies. However, the paperwork, mounting with each year as Americans became ever more dazzled by worthless litigation, seemed much worse than the physical dangers.
“Court appearance.” She tossed that aside. “Why do people protest speeding tickets?”
“Because sometimes they win.” Rick also faced a daunting pile. “Big Mim called. She and her daughter are on their way.”
“She was just here this morning.” Surprise, then resignation, filled her voice. “We can’t do a thing about Tazio Chappars. Surely she must understand that. The murder took place in Bedford County.”
“What Big Mim wants, Big Mim gets.” He smiled wanly. “One way or the other. And she might be on to something about payoffs to our beloved building inspector.”
“Ah, yes, Mike McElvoy. Actually, I look forward to poking around in his business.”
“I do, too. Something’s rotten in Denmark.”
“The king dies, the queen dies, Ham dies, they all die.” Cooper smiled, remembering the old joke about Hamlet, a play she didn’t like.
She didn’t like Shakespeare, but if she breathed a word of it, Harry, Susan, Alicia, BoomBoom, Big Mim, even Fair, would be scandalized.
“Come on outside with me for a minute. I need a nicotine hit before they get here. I have no idea why I am being treated to Big Mim twice in one day. More curious, she’s coming to me.”
The two rose, walked down the narrow hall and out the back door. Rick reached into his shirt pocket, fetching a pack of Camels.
“A black pack?”
“Little different coffin nail, so the package is black. Actually, they’re pretty good. Want one?”
Coop looked around like a criminal might before breaking and entering. “Yeah. Did I ever tell you about the time I gave Harry a cigarette and she smoked it? Funniest thing I ever saw.”