Charlaine Harris - A Bone To Pick

Sally’s hair was as perfect as ever. It looked like it could be taken off and put on without one bronze curl being dislodged. But instead of her usual classic suits, Sally was wearing a pair of cutoffs and an old work shirt.

“Girl, it’s hot!” she exclaimed as she let me in. “I’m glad I don’t have to work today.”

“It’s a good day to stay inside,” I agreed, looking around me curiously. I’d never been in Sally’s house before. It was obvious she didn’t give a damn about decor. The couch and armchairs were covered by throws that looked very unfortunate, and the cheap coffee table had rings on top. My resident manager’s eye told me that the whole place needed painting. But the bookcase was wonderfully stuffed with Sally’s favorite Organized Crime books, and the smell coming from the kitchen was delicious. My mouth watered.

Of course I was going to have to pay for my dinner with information, but it just might be worth it.

“Boy, that smells good! When’s it going to be on the table?”

“I’m making the gravy now. Come on back and talk to me while I stir. Want a beer? I’ve got some ice cold.”

“Sure, I’ll take one. It’s the ‘ice cold’ that does it.”

“Here, drink some ice water first for your thirst. Then sip the beer for your pleasure.”

I gulped down the glass of ice water and twisted the cap off the beer. Sally had put out one of those round plastic grippers without my even having to ask. I closed my eyes to appreciate the beer going down my throat. I don’t drink beer any other time of the year, but summer in the South is what beer was made for. Very cold beer. “Ooo,” I murmured blissfully.

“I know. If I didn’t watch out, I could drink a whole six-pack while I cooked.”

“Can I set the table or anything?”

“No, I already got everything done, I think. Soon as this gravy is ready-whoa, let me look at the biscuits-yep, they’re nice and brown-we’ll be ready to eat. Did I get the butter out?”

I scanned the table, which at least was a few feet from the stove. Sally must have been burning up over there.

“It’s here,” I reassured her.

“Okay, here we go. Roast, biscuits, baked potatoes, a salad, and for desert”-Sally took off a cake cover with a flourish-“red velvet cake!”

“Sally, you’re inspired. I haven’t had red velvet cake in ten years.”

“My mama’s recipe.”

“Those are always the best. You’re so smart.” A good southern compliment that could mean almost anything, but this time I meant it quite sincerely. I am not a person who often cooks whole meals for herself. I know single people are supposed to cook full meals, lay the table, and act like they had company, really-but how many single people actually do it? like Sally, when I cook a big meal, I want someone else to appreciate it and enjoy it.

“So, what’s this about you and the man of the cloth?”

Closing in for the kill already. “Sally, you need to wait till I’ve eaten something,” I said. Was the roast worth it?

“What?”

“Oh Sally, it’s really nothing. I’ve have one date with Aubrey Scott, we went to the movies. We had a nice time, and he asked me to come to the church today, which I did.”

“Did you now? How was the sermon?”

“Real good. He’s got brains, no doubt about it.”

“You like him?”

“Yes, I like him, but that’s it. What about you, Sally, are you dating anyone in particular?”

Sally was always so busy asking other people questions, she hardly ever got asked any herself. She looked quite pleased.

“Well, since you ask, I am.”

“Do tell.”

“This is gonna sound funny, but I’m dating Paul Allison.”

“Your husband’s brother?”

“Yes, that Paul Allison,” she said, shaking her head in amazement at her own folly.

“You take my breath away.” Paul Allison was a policeman, a detective about ten years older than Arthur-not much liked by Arthur or Lynn, if I remembered correctly. Paul was a loner, a man never married who did not join in the police force camaraderie with much gusto. He had thinning brown hair, broad shoulders, sharp blue eyes, and a suggestion of a gut. I had seen him at many parties I’d attended while I dated Arthur, but I’d never seen him with Sally.

“How long has this been going on?” I asked.

“About five months. We were at Arthur and Lynn’s wedding, I tried to catch you then, but you left the church before I could. I didn’t see you at the reception?”

“I had the worst headache, I thought I was starting the flu. I just went on home.”

“Oh, it was just another wedding reception. Jack Burns had too much to drink and wanted to arrest one of the waiters he remembered having brought in before on drug charges.”

I was even more glad I’d missed it now.

“How’s Perry?” I asked reluctantly, after a pause. I was sorry to bring poor, sick Perry up, but courtesy demanded it.

“Thanks for asking,” she said. “So many people don’t even want to, because he’s mentally sick instead of having cancer or something. But I do want people to ask, and I go see him every week. I don’t want people to forget he’s alive. Really, Roe, people act like Perry’s dead because he’s mentally ill.”

“I’m sorry, Sally.”

“Well, I do appreciate your asking. He’s better, but he’s not ready to get out yet. Maybe in two more months. Paul’s been going with me to see Perry the past three or four times.”

“He must really love you, Sally,” I said from my heart.

“You know,” she said, and her face brightened, “I really think he does! Bring your plate over, I think everything’s ready.”

We served ourselves from the stove, which was fine with me. Back at the table, we buttered our biscuits and said our little prayer, and dug in like we were starving.

“I guess,” I began after I had told Sally how good everything was, “that you want to hear about Jane’s house.”

“Am I as transparent as all that? Well, I did hear something, you know how gossip gets around, and I thought you would rather me ask you and get it straight than let all this talk around town get out of hand.”

“You know, you’re right. I would rather you get it right and get it out on the gossip circuits. I wonder who’s started the talk?”

“Uh, well…”

“Parnell and Leah Engle,” I guessed suddenly.

“Right the first time.”

“Okay, Sally. I am going to give you a gossip exclusive. There’s no way this could be a story in the paper, but you see everyone in town, and you can give them the straight scoop from the horse’s mouth.”

“I am all ears,” Sally said with a perfectly straight face.

So I told her an amended and edited account. Leaving out the cash amount, of course.

“Her savings, too?” Sally said enviously. “Oh, you lucky duck. And it’s a lot?”

Glee rolled over me suddenly as it did every now and then when I forgot the skull and remembered the money. I nodded with a canary-full grin.

Sally closed her eyes in contemplation of the joy of having a lot of money all of a sudden.

“That’s great,” she said dreamily. “I feel good just knowing someone that’s happened to. Like winning the lottery.”

“Yeah, except Jane had to die for me to get it.”

“My God, girl, she was old as the hills anyway.”

“Oh, Sally, Jane wasn’t so old as people go nowadays. She was in her seventies.”

“That is plenty old. I won’t last so long.”

“I hope you do,” I said mildly. “I want you to make me some more biscuits sometimes.”

We talked some more about Paul Allison, which seemed to make Sally quite happy. Then I asked her about Macon Turner, her boss.