Gail Oust - 'Til Dice Do Us Part

For a short time, Bill helped relieve the emptiness. I’d invite him over for a home-cooked meal. Afterward we’d pop corn and maybe watch a video. Hold hands on the sofa. Kiss good night. It’d been nice while it lasted-I missed the closeness. While we were slowly regaining lost ground, our relationship still wasn’t back to where it had been before his brother’s heart attack.

I was about to set the mail aside when an ad from an online dating service, Love Line, Inc., caught my eye. Had such an innocent scrap of paper started Claudia’s downward spiral? Had it seduced her with sweet illusions of romance, excitement, and male companionship? Then again, what’s so wrong with romance, excitement, and male companionship? I could stand a little of those myself. I was torn between the temptation to rip open the envelope or toss it in the trash. Common sense prevailed. I threw it away.

A business envelope bearing a Nashville postmark and a logo of a judge’s gavel captured my attention next. Down with Deadbeats was written in large block letters in the upper-left corner. Just below, written in a smaller font, Tennessee’s Premier Detective Agency.

“Hmm,” I muttered aloud. “Interesting.”

All right, busted! I confess that on occasion I do talk to myself. And on rarer occasions, I even talk back. I rationalize this by saying sometimes it’s the only way to have an intelligent conversation.

Down with Deadbeats was about to follow the path of Love Line, Inc. when a second glance revealed the letter wasn’t addressed to me but to my new neighbor, Nadine Peterson. My fingers itched to pry the flap open and find out why Ms. Peterson needed the services of Tennessee’s premier detectives. All I had to do was steam the envelope open with a teakettle. It didn’t require rocket science. Through the years, I’d watched the same trick done a dozen times on TV. Then my conscience kicked in, reminding me mail tampering was against the law, and spoiled my fun.

Heaving a sigh of regret, I slipped on a sweater and headed across the street. I intended to be neighborly even if it killed me. For a nanosecond, I debated my next step. I could easily slip the envelope into the mailbox at the end of her drive. Or I could deliver it in person. I opted for the latter.

As on my last-my one and only-visit, Nadine Peterson was slow to answer the door. A lesser person would have given up, but not I. My persistence paid off when Nadine finally appeared, a smoldering cigarette dangling from her fingertips.

“Kate, isn’t it?” she asked in her deep, throaty voice.

I held out the envelope. “This was delivered to my mailbox by mistake. I thought it might be important.”

She gave it a quick glance. “Sure, thanks.”

I wondered how many times her voice was mistaken for that of a man. If eye shadow alone were any indicator, there’d be no question about her gender. She wore enough eye makeup to supply an entire class of eighth-grade girls.

From her expression, I could tell she was about to close the door in my face. “I, ah, couldn’t help but notice the postmark. You from Nashville?”

“Yeah, I guess you might say that.”

I tossed out another gambit. “Nashville’s a great city.”

At least it had looked great when Jim and I sailed through at seventy miles an hour on our way to Grace-land. I’ve been a big Elvis fan since I was a kid. Jim took me there some years back for my birthday. We even spent the night at the nearby Heartbreak Hotel. He drew the line, however, at listening to Elvis nonstop all the way home. Some men just don’t have an ear for the classics.

Nadine took a drag from her cigarette and blew out a plume of smoke. “Nashville’s OK, I guess.”

Getting this woman to impart information was harder than pulling random chin hairs. Her evasiveness only served to whet my curiosity. Down with Deadbeats? Deadbeat fathers? Boyfriends? Husbands? I racked my brain trying to remember what The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Private Investigating had to say about recalcitrant witnesses. I reminded myself to review that chapter before exam time.

I dug deep into my bag of small talk. “Nice weather we’re having. On the cool side, but nice. Daffodils will be blooming before long.”

She flicked ash on the doorstep. “I’m not into flowers.”

I dug deeper. “How do you like it here so far?”

“Fine.”

“Are you meeting people?”

“Some.”

This would never do. I was glad I wasn’t being graded on technique. Maybe I should come right out and ask if she knew Lance Ledeaux-and why they argued. Nadine, I was fairly certain, was the woman I saw with Lance behind the Pig-same car, same hair. Too bad I hadn’t gotten a better look at the face.

I made one last attempt to forge some sort of bond. I smiled with the genuine warmth of a toaster oven. “Maybe we can get together for lunch sometime.”

“Give me a call.” She stuck the cigarette in the corner of her mouth and closed the door, leaving me standing on the front step.

I could take a hint. The interview was over.

I heard the phone ring even before I pushed open the door. I rushed to answer it before the machine picked up. “Hello,” I said, sounding a bit breathless after my mad dash.

“Miz McCall…?”

Dang! Should have let the machine get it. Instantly I realized my mistake upon recognizing the Voice of Doom, also known as Tammy Lynn Snow. Was it too late to disguise my voice? Adopt a Spanish accent? Hola, señora? Grow up, Kate, I chided myself. Put on your big-girl panties and deal with it.

“Hey, Tammy Lynn. How’re things?”

“Sheriff Wiggins wants to see you here in his office,” the girl said without preamble.

I groaned. I simply couldn’t help it. Why wasn’t my caller telling me I’d won the South Carolina lottery? Or requesting a liver transplant?

“I, ah, I’m kind of busy right now.” Liar, liar! I touched my nose to see if it had grown any. Pinocchio, Pinocchio, wherefore art thou Pinocchio?

“Sheriff said he’d be happy to send Deputy Preston if you needed a lift.”

Send a deputy? Well, that kicked my heart into overdrive. There must be some pretty serious stuff on the agenda. I opted for one more whopper. I crossed my fingers and hoped I’d be able to recognize myself next time I looked in the mirror. “Ah, I have a previous engagement.”

“He was very specific when he told me not to take any excuses. Can you be here by three o’clock?”

“Fine,” I snapped, and instantly regretted it. There was no need to take out my frustration on Tammy Lynn. “Sorry, Tammy Lynn. Tell the sheriff I’ll be there.”

After I hung up, I stood for a moment, a hand over my heart to still its racing. Question after question popped into my head. Why did the sheriff want to see me? Was this another group meeting? Or was I going to fly solo? And if I was convicted of obstruction of justice, could Claudia and I request to be cell mates?

One thing I did know, however. I needed some sound legal advice between now and three o’clock. I dialed BJ Davenport’s office and explained my predicament to Aleatha Higginbotham. My desperation must’ve communicated itself across the line, because Aleatha, bless her heart, promised to squeeze me into BJ’s schedule.

Somewhat relieved, I called Bill, Rita, and Monica. None of them had received a summons from Tammy Lynn. I had a bad feeling about this. It looked like I was going to be the sole guest.

“I heard jail food is very unhealthy,” Monica advised. “Deep-fried and loaded with fat. Be sure to ask for a jumpsuit one size too big in case you gain weight,”

Monica was only trying to be helpful, right?

“Hey, Miz Kate,” Aleatha greeted me with a smile. “Don’t you look nice this afternoon.”