Charlaine Harris - Poppy Done to Death

“After the police have… if they arrest John David, I can. Other than that, I haven’t any legal right to see them. They’re John David’s records, too. He could request them, give me permission… I’ll think about it.”

We were silent during the rest of the drive. I guess both of us had plenty to think about. But I don’t think we were pondering the same things.

By the time I got back to my house, Phillip was home and more than willing to help me unload the groceries-so he could find out what I’d gotten that he wanted to eat. I’d seen about half the people I knew dashing frantically through the grocery store, and all of them looked as scatterbrained as I felt, but I hadn’t been so frantic that I’d forgotten to buy some snack stuff.

I told Phillip he was going to help me cook, and he stared longingly at the television before he agreed.

“How was your lunch with Robin?” I asked.

“We had ham sandwiches,” Phillip said, which was not exactly the information I was after. “He’s pretty cool,” Phillip added almost grudgingly after I’d put away the contents of one bag. “We had a long talk about stuff. The only dumb thing about him is his name.”

“I’m glad you two are getting along,” I said. I was very curious to hear Robin’s account of their conversation.

“You gonna marry him?”

It would be beyond coy to pretend I’d never thought of it. “If he asks me, I’ll think about it,” I said.

“You could ask him.”

Hmmm. “No,” I said. “I just don’t think I could do that.” Though I was a raving liberal compared to 50 percent of the people I knew in Lawrenceton, I knew asking Robin to marry me was way beyond my possibility level, even though I was now an Uppity Woman.

“Chicken,” Phillip said fondly.

“Yep,” I said. “That’s me. Oh, by the way, I found a gas receipt on the floor Monday night. Did your friend stop for gas on her way into Lawrenceton?”

His face turned red just at the mention. “No,” he said. “We stopped for gas in Rome. Remember, I took a bus into Lawrenceton.”

Phillip had no reason to lie, and he’d never known Poppy. I had enough confirmation to drop him from my list. Though Emma had narrowed the list down, I needed to talk to the other people who might have dropped the receipt. I wanted to hear their stories with my own ears.

Opening the refrigerator, I poked the turkey breast with an anxious finger. It was close to being thawed. I got the package of ready-made piecrust out so it could be reaching room temperature, then took the pecans out of the freezer for the pecan pie. I handed my little brother a recipe for pumpkin pie and a can of pumpkin. “Put all of this stuff in there,” I said. I got everything required out of the cabinet and put it in a clump on the counter. I pulled out my little electric mixer and a mixing bowl and set them on the counter by his stuff. “There you go,” I said briskly. I turned on both of my ovens, yanked two pie plates out of the cabinet, and patted the piecrusts into place. Then I threw together the pecan pie.

Phillip worked quite a bit slower, but once he found out where the measuring spoons were and so on, he did a creditable job of preparing the pumpkin filling.

Since Robin’s mom was coming, I felt obliged to follow Lizanne’s example in making my own cranberry sauce, but that’s the easiest thing in the world, and I got that ready while the pies were baking. Phillip ran the vacuum for me while I cooked the sweet potatoes and put them through the food processor for the sweet potato casserole, and I decided after that was done, we could rest. Every dish went into the dishwasher, I started it running, and then Phillip and I watched a stupid game show on television. We competed with each other to see who could shout out the answer the fastest, and in general we had a silly good time.

I called out for Chinese-we considered ourselves on the cutting edge, in Lawrenceton, having a Chinese restaurant that delivered-and though it was late in the evening to be eating, I was feeling relaxed, since the house looked good, I’d gotten a head start on the cooking, and, most of all, my brother just couldn’t be involved in any way in Poppy’s death.

Tomorrow, I would meet Robin’s mother, and while I was a bit anxious about that, I figured since Robin spoke so lovingly of her, she couldn’t be too formidable… And after all, I’d been a grown woman, married and widowed, for many years now.

Just when I was feeling fairly saturated with satisfaction, the phone rang. I reached over to the table by my chair, gestured to Phillip to turn down the volume on the television, and answered it.

“Aurora,” Mother said.

“Hi, Mother. How are things at your house?”

“John is doing fairly well,” she said, giving me the most important news first. “John David hasn’t been arrested, thank God. Melinda called. He was over at her house, and he announced he was taking the baby and they were spending the night in a motel. He said he felt like he’d been enough trouble to people and that he should spend some time with his son.”

I held the phone away and gaped at it. Would wonders never cease? “That’s amazing,” I said, finally realizing I had to say something.

“Yes,” she said a little dryly. “I thought so, too.”

“Can you and John come over tomorrow to have a glass of wine with Phillip and Robin and Robin’s mother?”

“His mother? His mother’s in town?” Mother was shocked out of her weariness. “Oh my Lord, you should have told me!”

“Yes, she’s over at his apartment now. She’s coming to Thanksgiving here tomorrow.” I knew Mother had too much on her shoulders right now, but it was good to hear her sounding more like her normal self. “What about you and John? If you want to come here to eat, I’ll have plenty. Did John David tell you any plans he might have? Should I invite him?” Three extra adults would be stretching it, but I could manage. I had assumed that John David would be staying with John and my mother and that they’d be eating together, though celebrating would be impossible.

“Of course John and I will come over for a glass of wine, and to meet Robin’s mother. But I don’t think we’d be exactly up to a festive meal. I’m feeding us out of the refrigerator tomorrow, since I just couldn’t work up the energy for anything else. I think we have enough food here to last us for two weeks, and we actually have a smoked turkey breast and a ham. John David is coming over here. What time would you like us to drop by?”

I had planned to serve the holiday meal at one, so we settled on three o’clock. I told mother I’d call John David at his motel and at least invite him to come eat (no matter how much I secretly hoped he would decline). I remembered one more question for my mother before I hung up.

“Has John David heard from the police about when he’s going to get Poppy’s body back to bury?”

“It seems as though there’s a backlog in Atlanta, so it won’t be until Monday at the earliest.”

“Oh no.” Though in a way it was a relief that Poppy’s funeral wouldn’t be within the next couple of days, I didn’t want to think about that backlog.

“I’m so glad the Wynns decided to go back home,” Mother continued. “I know they had things to take care of, because they left to come over here in such a hurry. It’ll be much better if they just come back when the funeral’s settled. I think they assumed they’d be making the arrangements, and it took them aback when John David told them what he was going to do.”

“The Wynns are leaving? Where are they now?” I had actually forgotten about the Wynns, and to my shame, my Thanksgiving plans had never included them. I carried the cordless phone over to the door of the room the Wynns had been using and glanced inside. Their things were still there. Hmm.