Strange Brew Part 6

"The German guy was, but with the Ansley Mall case we're not sure. The victim's a John Doe. Kid was a baby, no more than eighteen. Street hustler, probably, but we've never made an ID on him."

"What if I got Wuvvy to talk to you?" I asked. "Would you at least listen? Keep looking around for the real killer?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "The case is still open. We're still questioning people. If Wuvvy's got some information, I'd like to hear it. In the meantime, the sooner we hear from her, the better off she'll be."

"I'll do what I can," I told him. "In the meantime, you might want to stop at a drugstore on the way back to the shop. Pick up some nail polish remover. 'Cause that pink is definitely too dressy for daytime."

He held up his hands, and a look of horror flashed across his face. I strolled off, happy to have been of service.

When I got home Mac was busy blowing gusts of leaves and dirt and sawdust off what was left of the front porch. Edna was silhouetted in the open doorway, a beer bottle in her right hand, cheering him on.

I felt like cheering myself.

We sat out on the front steps and ate leftovers off the same plate. Talk about romantic. I did insist, however, on having my own beer. Rufus and Maybelline sat at Mac's feet, watching anxiously as he ate.

"They missed you," I told him, snuggling closer.

"They just like Edna's cooking," he said. He took a piece of meat and tossed it to Rufus, who gulped it down in midair.

"Equal opportunity for the women," I said, throwing a bigger piece to Maybelline. "Besides, I think she's getting ready to have those puppies. Poor thing, it must be h.e.l.l, dragging around a bellyful of squirming babies."

"She's a cla.s.s act," Mac said, scratching the white place under Maybelline's chin. "She'll do fine. Won't you, girl?"

A pair of mourning doves had settled themselves on the bottom limb of a dogwood that had somehow escaped the tornado, and with darkness and a lull in power saws and other heavy equipment, the two of them called out to each other. "WOO-EE-OOH-WOO-OOH-OOH."

"You ever notice how they always say the same thing?" I asked, pointing into the shadows of the tree limbs.

"Sounds like Indian signals," Mac agreed, sipping his beer.

We sat there and listened to the doves and watched while the streetlights came on. You could see a lot more of the street with the trees gone. The whole front of the house was bathed in a pool of yellow from the streetlight at the curb. It wasn't a view I welcomed. Edna and I always liked the idea of peeping out at the world from behind the screen of our landscaping. Now the world was right up in our faces. No wonder Mac preferred living out in the woods.

Mac had heard about Jackson Poole's murder on the radio driving back to Atlanta, but thankfully there'd been no mention of how the body was found. I filled him in on the gruesome details and tried to jog his memory about having met Wuvvy in the park, but Mac is hopeless with that kind of thing. He remembers every bend in every river he's ever crossed, every hair on every kind of fishing fly he's ever tied, but he couldn't tell you the name of a person he met last week, not even if his life depended on it.

"Sorry," he said. "I remember somebody playing Frisbee with a dog in Candler Park, but that's about it. Anyway, what more do you know about this Wuvvy person? I never heard you talk about her, did I?"

"Probably not," I said. "I didn't even know her real name until Bucky told me. It's Virginia Lee Mincey."

Mac stretched and yawned. "Mincey. That's a good Southern name. There's a crew of Minceys out in Douglas County. Leroy Mincey was county commissioner back in the eighties."

He stood up and whistled. The dogs got up and moved to his side. "Let's go, guys," he said. "I wanna see if we still have a roof over our heads."

I didn't bother to try to hide my disappointment. "Can't you stay? It's dark already. Too late to try to fix anything if there is damage. Your suitcase is still in the Blazer, right? So you can head out early in the morning. You owe me for standing me up on Halloween, you know."

"I'll have to leave by six A.M." he said. "Early meeting. The dogs would have to stay here another day."

"We'll try to bear up," I said, squeezing his hand. "Come on. There's half a chocolate cake on the kitchen counter. We can have dessert in bed."

He put both hands on my b.u.t.t and pulled me close, so that his beard brushed the top of my head. "I was counting on dessert in your bed. We can have the cake for breakfast."

It had been a tough couple of days. I decided I deserved dessert and s.e.x and cake for breakfast.

We were doing a little chocolate fingerpainting when the phone rang. I licked some frosting off Mac's fingers, sighed happily, and reached for the phone.

"Let it ring," he said, pushing the phone away from his side of the bed. He dabbed some frosting on my breast with his forefinger. "Now it's my turn."

It wouldn't have been fair to have him miss his turn. Especially when he played so nicely.

I let the phone ring six times, and it finally stopped. "That's better," he murmured.

"Much better," I agreed. Mac was really an artist with that chocolate frosting. Around and around and around until...

The d.a.m.n phone started ringing again. "Keep going," I whispered. On the tenth ring, I was starting to lose my concentration.

"s.h.i.t!" I scrambled across Mac and picked up the phone. "What?"

"That's not a very nice way to talk to the police." It was Bucky. "Did you talk to Wuvvy?"

"She's not my client," I said. "Anyway, I can't talk right now."

"She's not Virginia Lee Mincey, either," Bucky said quickly. "Thought you'd want to know."

"Who is it?" Mac asked. He was running a line of frosting down between my shoulder blades, down my spine. G.o.d. Who knew chocolate was that good?

"It's Deavers," I said, holding my hand over the receiver.

"Tell him you're having dessert," Mac said. He was following the frosting with his tongue.

"Bucky, I gotta go," I said, trying not to giggle.

"Callahan," he said urgently. "The GCIC computer finally kicked on again. We found a Social Security number in some of Wuvvy's papers. The number comes up as Virginia Lee Poole. Does that name sound familiar to you?"

"Poole?" I said, brushing Mac's hand away. "As in Jackson Poole? They were related?"

"Only by marriage," Bucky said. He was enjoying himself now. "You don't recognize the name? Virginia Lee Poole? Think about it, Callahan. You're older than I am. You should remember the name."

"I never heard of Virginia Lee Poole," I said. "Why should I?"

"I have," Mac said.

I put my hand over the receiver again. These three-way conversations were tricky. "Who is she?"

He picked up his plate and took a bite of cake. "Shot her husband in the face with a shotgun. Must have been back in the seventies. Broward Poole. He was the biggest pecan grower in the state. Down in Hawkinsville, I think was where it was."

"You remember that far back?" Some days I wasn't sure he remembered my name.

"Sure," he said. "Gorgeous young wife blows her rich, prominent husband away with a shotgun, tries to claim it was an accident? You know what I remember best? She tried to say the husband had been out in the pecan grove, shooting at crows, when he stumbled and shot himself."

I could hear Bucky laughing on the other end of the line.

"What's so funny?" I demanded, pulling the sheets up over my chest. I knew it was impossible, but I had the feeling he knew what he'd interrupted.

"Sounds like you got company. Mac remembers Broward Poole, doesn't he?"

"He remembers some gorgeous s.e.xy young wife," I said. "That can't be Wuvvy."

"Ten years in prison will work some changes on a person," Bucky said. "Jury gave her a life sentence, but the governor commuted it to time served in '87. Call me tomorrow, or come by the homicide unit after noon. The district attorney down in Pulaski County is faxing me the case file tonight, but the photo quality sucks. He's having a sheriff's deputy hand-deliver the rest of the file tomorrow. Even with the fax, if you look close enough, you can see a little bit of Wuvvy in Virginia Lee Poole. Way before she got rode hard and put up wet."

I hung up the phone and looked at Mac. He'd finished the cake and was now eyeing me hungrily. He has a very healthy appet.i.te, Mac does.

"Wuvvy an ex-con. A murderer. Somebody's trophy wife. Who knew?"

He pulled the sheet down and slipped his arms around my neck.

"Did you miss me?"

"Oh yes," I said, savoring the moment.

We'd only been back together for a few months now. That was following a painful breakup that had taken a year to heal. It probably wasn't all the way healed yet. We'd been working our way back toward a new relationship, but the process was taking time.

"I worried about you guys," Mac said, taking my hand and kissing my fingertips one by one. "The meeting got moved to b.u.t.ts County and I started home as soon as it broke up, but they had the Georgia State Patrol set up roadblocks on I-75 at Forsyth, and they wouldn't let me get any farther north. I kept trying to call you, but the lines were down."

"We were all right," I said, breathing in the smell of him: chocolate and the salt of sweat and aftershave and even an undercurrent of Ben-Gay. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

He sighed. "There's nothing you can't handle, Julia Callahan Garrity. h.e.l.l or high water. So what do you need me for?"

I ran my hand down his belly and was rewarded by his involuntary shiver of pleasure.

"Stud service," I told him. "And heavy lifting. I have highly specialized needs, you know."

"I know all about your needs," he said, pulling me to him again. And that part was true.

9.

When I staggered out to the kitchen with an armload of chocolate-covered sheets for the washing machine the next morning, Edna was already on the phone.

"Oh yes, ma'am," she said in a voice oozing concern. "Mrs. Isom mentioned you'd be calling. I'm so sorry about your home. Fortunately, the House Mouse is running a natural disaster special this week. Three hundred dollars. That includes your basic sweeping, mopping, and dusting, plus gla.s.s and storm water cleanup and removal of interior storm debris."

"What?" I screeched, dumping the sheets in the washing machine. "Are you out of your mind?"

Edna made a hand signal telling me to pipe down.

"Yes. That's one of our specialists for a minimum of three hours. But no windows, no carpet or drape removal, and oven and refrigerator cleaning will be a hundred dollars extra, this week only."

Edna scribbled furiously on a sheet of paper. "Yes, I think we can have someone over there by noon. Fine. And you understand, since this is a one-time service, that payment will be in cash?"

She hung up the phone, her eyes shining greedily. "Make hay while the sun shines," she told me.

"That's three times our going rate," I said. "n.o.body in their right mind will pay that."

But n.o.body was in their right mind that day. The phone rang off the hook all morning long. Edna's natural disaster special was a winner. We called Cheezer and gave him three houses to hit right away, diverted Ruby from her regular Monday morning job, and called Neva Jean and left a message for her to report ASAP.

"I'll take one of these jobs," Edna said, plucking a piece of paper from her stack of a.s.signments.

"No you won't," I said, s.n.a.t.c.hing it out of her hand. "You stay here and run the office. Or I'll sic your doctor on you."

We were still arguing about whether or not Edna was allowed to vacuum when Baby and Sister yoo-hooed from the back door.

They were both dressed in conspicuously new clothes: colorful cotton blouses with the price tags still dangling from the sleeves, stiffly creased oversized jeans cinched around their waists with what looked like pieces of clothesline, and sparkling white cotton tennis shoes. Miss Sister had topped off her ensemble with an Atlanta Braves baseball cap. They were both jaunty and in high spirits.

"Well, look at you two," I said, giving them both a hug. "I guess you came through the tornado all right."

"I guess we sure did," Miss Sister said. "See these new duds we got? Red Cross give us these new clothes. Give us breakfast at McDonald's, too. Had me an Egg Mcm.u.f.fin and the cutest little cup of orange juice you ever saw. Got the cup right here." She pulled the disposable plastic cup out of the front of her blouse and waved it under my nose so that I could see it.

"Did you get evacuated?" Edna asked.

"Oh no," Miss Baby said proudly. "My bowels held up real good. They made us leave the senior-citizen high-rise on account of some of them peoples don't walk so good, and they was afraid somebody might have a heart attack or something."

"She said EVACUATED, not CONSTIPATED," Sister said, her black eyes snapping from behind her thick-lensed eyegla.s.ses. "We did so get evacuated. Took us all in ambulances to a Holiday Inn way out there near Conyers. Ooh, me and Baby had the nicest hotel room."

Baby helped her sister to a kitchen chair. "Guess who nearly got us kicked out on account of ordering room service when she didn't have twelve dollars to spend on a hamburger sandwich and a Coca-Cola?" Baby taunted.

"Whose idea was it to watch that nudie movie on the Nice 'n' Nasty channel?" Sister countered. "You think a Christian woman needs to look at a movie called Cheerleaders in Chains? That's the devil's work."

"I thought it was a movie about football," Baby replied, shamefaced. "As soon as I seen them little cheerleader girls didn't wear no panties under their little-bitty skirts I turned that TV off. I surely did. Called downstairs and told them people they had p.o.r.nography coming in that hotel."

"Not till it was over, she didn't," Sister insisted. "She watched that movie clear through to the end. Would have watched another one, too, except the pastor's wife knocked on the door to see if we wanted to have Bible study."

Edna poured mugs of coffee for both the girls and added two teaspoons of sugar to each cup. "We're just glad you made out all right," Edna said. "How did you get over here this morning?"

"Red Cross van brought us right up your driveway and dropped us off," Sister said. "Me and Baby need to make us a little spending money. You got some work today?"

"Gotta pay for those hamburgers and Coca-Colas," Baby said darkly.

Edna flipped open the appointment book. "We do have lots of work," she said. "When Neva Jean gets here, she can drop you off at Judy Knight's house. You think you feel up to that today?"

"Better call over there and tell her to lock that chihuahua of hers up in the bathroom," Baby said. "Last time we was to that house, Miss You-Know-Who thought that dog was a big ole rat and kept smacking it over the head with a flyswatter. Like to knocked that dog silly before I made her stop."

A horn tooted from the driveway. "That should be Neva Jean," Edna said. The horn tooted three more times.

We all trooped outside to see what the ruckus was about.

Swannelle and Neva Jean were perched on the hood of a bright blue tow truck I'd never seen before. The hand-lettered sign on the driver's-side door said MCCOMB AUTO BODY. Swannelle was grinning like a man who'd just broken the bank at Monte Carlo.