Mother Finds a Body (6 page)

At a nickel each, she was building up a nice little nest egg for herself, I thought. Not that she was going to be able to keep it. The heavy breathing of my friend with the pink fingernails told me that the money would go for hospital bills.

“Come on out of the house for dinner,” Biff said for the fourteenth time.

Joyce said no again. “We never know when a live one might drop in, then we gotta do another show.”

“I thought this was a rehearsal,” Biff said. “The bartender—”

“He's nuts,” Joyce said. “This is our tea dance. We do 'em twice a week.”

She was wearing a blue-satin evening gown, and every time she leaned over it was show enough—hardly the costume for a tea dance, but Biff had been in burlesque too long to notice it. The bartender, though, was having himself a time.

I tried to tell myself that Biff was just being sociable, that he felt rather sorry for Joyce. It wasn't too hard to feel sorry for her. Her silver shoes were worn down at the heels, perspiration had stained her gown almost to her hips, and she had a black-and-blue mark the size of a Mexican peso on her flabby arm.

She didn't seem to feel uncomfortable, though. She knew Cullucio was burning and she liked being the center of attention. She kept track of the drinks by scratching a mark with her fingernail on the top of the bar.

On the tenth scratch I got to my feet. I tapped Biff on the shoulder. “End of joke,” I said sweetly. “Unless you'd like to stay here alone.” On the alone line I stared straight at Joyce.

The same clock said three forty-five when Biff tore himself away from The Happy Hour. We didn't speak while he settled the check. The walk to the trailer camp was silent, too.

It wasn't that I was jealous or—oh, well, I may as well admit it. I was jealous, and annoyed, and my feet hurt and my head ached. It certainly wasn't the time to tell Biff about Mother, but I did. He looked too complacent. Why should I be the only one to worry, I thought.

“Oh, by the way,” I said casually. “Mother wants you to dig a deeper hole. She buried the body last night.”

We walked on a few feet. Biff had a complacent gleam in his eye.

“She set fire to the woods. I think that's what Corny meant when he said . . .”

We walked a few feet more, and suddenly Biff stopped. He stopped so suddenly he almost lost his balance. I grabbed the box of eggs from him just in time.

“She
what
?”

I couldn't have been more casual if I'd said she took out the furniture so she could sweep under the beds. I walked on toward the trailer. If I could whistle I would have whistled.

I said, “She set fire to the woods so she could get the body out of the trailer.”

5
GEE GEE AND MANDY WERE PLAYING CARDS WHEN
we got home. I put the food in the icebox, and Biff, with a dazed look in his eye, began fixing the drinks.

Dimples heard the clink of the glasses and came out of the trailer. She was still wearing her kimono, a faded-pink affair with a marabou trimming. Her head was covered with a Turkish towel, and little flakes of white henna were on her forehead.

“Where in hell was you so long?” she asked. Then she saw the bottles, and her petulant mouth relaxed. She walked down the steps, being very careful not to trip. One heel of her mules was loose and she had to be careful. The grayish pompoms dragged in the dust as she made her way to the camp chair. She had her manicuring set with her and she placed it on the table, leaving room for the bottle and glasses.

“Where's Mother?” I asked.

Gee Gee tossed a finger toward the burned trailer, and I saw Mother. She was walking with her arm around the woman who had been crying the night before.

“That's Mrs. Smith,” Gee Gee said. “Her husband died, and she used his insurance money to buy the trailer. She had a beauty shop in it and she traveled around giving permanents and stuff. You know how sympathetic Evangie is? Well, when the poor old dame gets burned out, your mother makes room for her with us. She's in the front seat of the car for tonight, but Evangie is fixing a place for her in the bedroom.”

Gee Gee didn't look at me while she was talking. She busied herself with getting the glasses. She put her hand to her mouth, then she bit her thumbnail. Finally she burst out, “Oh, Gyp, I can't tell you what we been through this morning. Your mother has the whole camp in an uproar. Everybody's gonna sue. Don't ask me who they're gonna sue, but Evangie's convinced 'em that the city is responsible for the fire, negligence or somethin'. They been holding a council of war since noon.”

Biff opened his mouth to say something. Then he saw Mother and changed his mind.

She was waving gaily as she passed one trailer after another. She stopped at one to inquire about the health of “little Johnny.”

I looked at Gee Gee.

“That's their kid, and he wouldn't eat his Pablum until Evangie told him a story.”

Mother's stories are enough to give little Johnny permanent indigestion. I wondered if she told him the one about the woman throwing her eleven children to the wolves, or the one about the man cutting off his wife's head with a meat ax. They were Mother's favorites.

“Does Johnny have a wagon?” I asked Gee Gee.

Gee Gee shrugged her shoulders. She was looking at Mother again. The sun on Mother's hair brought out the highlights and the sky made her eyes seem bluer than ever.

“No wonder she's such a spellbinder,” Gee Gee said, as Mother walked toward us.

She was lovely, I thought with pride.

“Where were you, dear?” Mother asked happily. Before I had a chance to tell her, she thrust Mrs. Smith under my nose, introduced her, and then whispered, “She's had so much trouble, Louise. Be nice to her.”

It would have been difficult to be otherwise. Mrs. Smith looked as if she'd had trouble. When she came closer I could see the deep wrinkles in her leathery face, the faded blue of her eyes, the lifelessness of her badly marcelled hair. She couldn't have been much older than Mother, but as they stood together Mother was radiant in comparison.

I told Mrs. Smith that we were very happy to have her with us until she could find more comfortable quarters, and she burst out crying.

“You've all been so wonderful to me,” she sobbed. “I never knew people like you before.”

Mother put her arm around the woman's thin shoulder. “Now, Mamie, don't cry. Everything is going to be all right.”

Biff offered the crying woman a drink, but Mother scowled and shook her head. “And you've had about enough, too,” she said, leading Mamie into the trailer.

When they opened the screen door, all the dogs started barking at once and Cliff piled out the back door.

“Can't a guy get any sleep around here?” he complained as he fell into a chair.

“It's three-thirty. If you wanta sleep, go to a hotel.” Gee Gee pushed a cup of coffee under his face and banged the silver around noisily. “I've been trying to clean up in there since twelve this afternoon,” she added.

Gee Gee's idea of cleaning up was to kick things around until they got lost, but she meant well. Biff usually did the heavy scrubbing, Mother helped me with the cooking. Dimples did the beds, and Mandy was dishwasher. Corny stood around and got in everybody's way. He was hungover but not remorseful. When Biff asked him where he got the load, he said The Happy Hour, and then shut up.

He knew Joyce Janice. They'd played the Eltinge together just a few seasons ago. I thought it rather strange that he didn't mention seeing her at the saloon. Then I had another idea. It could be that he was too drunk to see anyone. I didn't ask him about the broken hitch; I knew he'd lie about it regardless. But I did ask him how he found the sheriff.

“He was hanging around the bar, and when I had trouble getting the car started, he said he'd drive me.” Corny went back to blowing on his coffee and finished drinking it before he said, “I thought you might want to see him. I'm sure he'd be interested in what your mother was doing with that shovel last night. Handled it pretty good, too.”

Corny reached for the bottle and poured himself a stiff drink. Then he lit a cigarette and leaned back in the camp chair. He blew a smoke ring and stuck his finger through it.

“It'd look like hell in the papers, wouldn't it?” he asked quietly.

“What'd look like hell in what papers?” Biff asked.

Corny drank his rye and didn't answer.

He didn't have to. I knew the answer.

Corny and Biff started out in burlesque the same season. Corny went straight to the top. He was first comic, Biff was second. Corny got the billing, Biff got nothing. Corny got the salary. Biff got peanuts. Then suddenly Biff's break arrived. Not just recognition in burlesque, but a made-to-order part in a Broadway show. I knew how Biff's success rankled in Corny's heart. I knew, too, that Corny would never be satisfied until Biff was back in burlesque as a second comic.

Biff took my arm firmly. “Come on, Gyps. We're going to the village again.”

I would like to have put on at least half a face, but with no makeup, my hair in strings, and still wearing the dirty slacks, I allowed myself to be carried off to Ysleta.

Biff didn't loosen his hold on me until we were off the camp grounds. When we passed the last trailer I took out my compact and tried to do something with my face. It was useless.

“Look, darling,” I said, putting the compact back into my pocket, “I don't mind having the natives get a preview of how I look when I wake up in the morning, but I would like to know what is the rush. That is, if I'm not being too obtrusive, as Mother would say.”

Biff didn't even have the courtesy to look at me. With his eyes straight ahead, he replied slowly, “Career or no career, mother-in-law or no mother-in-law, murder is murder. I love your mother. You know that, but . . .”

“Skip the buildup and give me the meat of the dialogue,” I interrupted.

“Well,” Biff said after he had sulked a little, “you'll have to
admit that Evangie can be difficult at times. If Corny did know anything . . .”

“
If?
”

“Yeah, he probably saw Evangie with the shovel heading for the woods. But if he was sure what she was doing, I think he would have come right out and said it.”

We walked on awhile without talking. Then Biff grinned.

“It was kinda cute of her at that. All by herself dragging that putrid old body into the woods and burying it. They don't make women like that today.”

I should have let it go at that, but not me! Oh no, I'm always in there with my big mouth wide open. I had to tell him about my great great grandmother.

“She was a part of the Donner expedition, ya know.”

Biff gave me a “really,” so I went into the story headfirst.

“Yeah. They were homesteading and they got lost in the mountains in the winter. Snow and wolves and no food. It must have been terrible. My grandmother was one of the few survivors. Grandpa used to tell me how the scouts found her. She was in a daze, of course, and her ears were frozen, but she looked so fat and healthy they couldn't figure the thing out. By all rights she shoulda been damn near starved to death, lost for over a month like that. But not my great great grandmother! When they got her home and undressed her, what do you think they found?”

“I dunno,” Biff said disinterestedly.

“Steaks, all strapped around her body. Human steaks.”

I kept on walking but I peeked at Biff from the corner of my eye. He was still staring straight ahead, so I gave him the blackout. “They recognized one piece of the meat as my great great uncle Louie. They could tell by the tattoo on his hip. It was a picture of the rock of ages. I was named after him; you know, Louie, Louise.”

There was more to the story, but Biff made a dive for the bushes. I waited for him. I thought it was the wifely thing to do. When he came out, he was white around the eyes, so I didn't
tell him about my great great grandfather. I suddenly realized I'd better give Biff the family history character by character.

We walked the next half mile silently. Then Biff's complexion cleared a little. “Real pioneer stock,” he said. “Yep, that accounts for it.”

6
WE FOUND THE SHERIFF IN HIS OFFICE. HE WAS
relaxed in a swivel chair, with his feet, in their high-heeled boots, propped up on the roll-top desk. He put down a copy of
Variety
when Biff and I walked in. Then he stood up to greet us.

“Well, well, I didn't expect to see you so soon,” he said jovially. He drew out a chair for me and one for Biff. Then he pulled out a bottle from a drawer in his desk. He poured three drinks into paper cups and placed them in front of us.

“First of all,” he said, “we get sociable.”

Biff gulped his drink.

I nursed mine.

“Come on, drink up,” the sheriff said. “You two look like a couple of beat coyotes. Nothing serious enough for such long faces.”