Lovie, now looking tired going on exhausted, said the kitchen was too small for seven people to eat in comfortably, so they’d have to take their meal out back, in what she called the gaze-bo. She told them (proudly) that Claude had built it for her himself, with a kit he got at the Home Depot.
“It might be a little hot at first, but a breeze usually sets in this time of day, and it’s screened against the bugs.”
Holly suggested that the old lady should take a lie-down, and let the company set up for supper outside.
“But you won’t know where anything is!”
“Don’t worry about that,” Holly said. “Finding things is what I do for a living, you know. And these gentlemen will help out, I’m sure.”
Lovie gave in and wheeled along to her bedroom, where they heard her grunting effortfully, followed by the squall of bedsprings.
Ralph stepped out on the front porch to call Jeannie, who answered on the first ring. “E.T. phone home,” she said cheerfully.
“Everything quiet there?”
“Except for the TV. Officers Ramage and Yates have been watching NASCAR. I only surmise bets were made, but know for sure they ate all the brownies.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Oh, and Betsy Riggins came by to show off her new baby. I’d never say this to her, but he looks quite a bit like Winston Churchill.”
“Uh-huh. Listen, I think either Troy or Tom should stay the night.”
“I was thinking both. In with me. We can cuddle. Perhaps even canoodle.”
“What a good idea. Be sure to take some pictures.” A car was approaching; Claude Bolton, back from Tippit with their chicken dinners. “Don’t forget to lock up and set the burglar alarm.”
“The locks and alarm didn’t help the other night.”
“Humor me and do it anyway.” The man who looked exactly like his wife’s nighttime visitor was at that moment getting out of his car, and seeing him gave Ralph a queer feeling of double vision.
“All right. Have you found anything out?”
“Hard to tell.” This was skirting the truth; Ralph thought they had found out a great deal, none of it good. “I’ll try to call you later on, but right now I have to go.”
“Okay. Stay safe.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you, too. And I mean it: stay safe.”
He went down the porch steps to help Claude with half a dozen plastic bags from Highway Heaven.
“Food’s cold, just like I said. But does she listen? Never did, never will.”
“We’ll be fine.”
“Reheated chicken’s always tough. I got the mashed potatoes, because reheated French fries, forget it.”
They started toward the house. Claude stopped at the foot of the porch steps.
“Did you guys have a good talk with my ma?”
“We did,” Ralph said, wondering exactly how to handle this. As it turned out, Claude handled it for him.
“Don’t tell me. That guy might be able to read my mind.”
“So you believe in him?” Ralph was honestly curious.
“I believe that gal believes. That Holly. And I believe there might have been someone around last night. So whatever you talked about, I don’t want to hear.”
“Maybe that’s for the best. But Claude? I think one of us should stay here with you and your mother tonight. I was thinking Lieutenant Sablo could do that.”
“You expecting trouble? Because I don’t feel anything just now except hungry.”
“Not trouble, exactly,” Ralph said. “I was just thinking that if something bad happened around here, and if there happened to be a witness who said the person who did it looked a lot like Claude Bolton, you might like to have a cop handy who could testify that you never left your momma’s house.”
Claude considered. “That might not be such a bad idea. Only we don’t have a guest room, or anything. The couch makes into a bed, but sometimes Ma gets up when she can’t get back to sleep and goes out to the living room to watch TV. She likes those worthless preachers that are always yelling for love-offerins.” He brightened. “But there’s a spare mattress out in the back entry, and it’s gonna be a warm night. I guess he could camp out.”
“In the gaze-bo?”
Claude grinned. “Right! I built that sucker myself.”
12
Holly put the chicken under the broiler for five minutes, and it crisped up nicely. The seven of them ate in the gazebo—there was a ramp for Lovie’s wheelchair—and the conversation was both pleasant and lively. Claude turned out to be quite the raconteur, telling tales about his colorful career as a “security official” at Gentlemen, Please. The stories were funny, but neither mean nor off-color, and no one laughed harder at them than Claude’s mother. She laughed herself into another coughing fit when Howie told the story of how one of his clients, in an effort to prove he was mentally unfit to stand trial, had taken his pants off in court and waved them at the judge.
The reason for their trip to Marysville was never touched upon.
Lovie’s lie-down before dinner had been a short one, and when the meal was done, she announced that she was going back to bed. “Not many dishes with takeout,” she said, “and what there is I can warsh in the morning. I can do it right from my chair, you know, although I have to be careful of the goddam oxygen tank.” She turned to Yune. “You sure you’re gonna be all right out here, Officer Sablo? What if someone comes stirrin around, like last night?”
“I’m fully armed, ma’am,” Yune said, “and this is a very nice place out here.”
“Well . . . you come on in anytime. Wind might kick up strong after midnight. Back door’ll be locked, but the key’s under that olla de barro.” She pointed at the old clay pot, then crossed her hands above her admirable bosom and did a little bow. “You are fine folks, and I thank you for coming here and trying to do right by my boy.” With that, she rolled away. The six of them sat a little longer.
“That’s a good woman,” Alec said.
“Yes,” Holly said. “She is.”
Claude lit a Tiparillo. “Cops on my side,” he said. “That’s a new experience. I like it.”
Holly said, “Is there a Walmart in Plainville, Mr. Bolton? I need to do some shopping, and I love Walmarts.”
“Nope, and a good thing, because Ma does, too, and I’d never get her out of it. Closest thing to it we got in these parts is the Home Depot in Tippit.”
“That should do,” she said, and stood up. “We’ll clean those dishes so Lovie doesn’t have to in the morning, and then we’ll be on our way. We’ll be back tomorrow to pick up Lieutenant Sablo, then leave for home. I think we’ve done all we can do here. Do you agree, Ralph?”
Her eyes told him what to say, and he said it. “Sure.”
“Mr. Gold? Mr. Pelley?”
“I think we’re fine,” Howie said.
Alec went along. “Pretty well done here.”
13
Although they returned to the house only fifteen minutes or so after Lovie had taken her leave, they could already hear rough snores coming from her bedroom. Yune filled the sink with suds, rolled up his sleeves, and began to wash the few things they had used. Ralph dried; Holly put away. The evening light was still strong, and Claude was out back with Howie and Alec, touring the property and looking for any signs of the previous night’s intruder . . . if there had been one.
“I’d’ve been all right even if I’d left my sidearm home,” Yune said. “I had to go through Mrs. Bolton’s bedroom to get into her bathroom where she keeps her oxygen, and she’s well gunned up. Got a Ruger American ten-plus-one on the dresser, extra clip right beside it, and a Remington twelve-gauge leaning in the corner, right next to her Electrolux. Don’t know what old Claudie’s got, but I’m sure he’s got something.”
“Isn’t he a convicted felon?” Holly asked.
“He is,” Ralph agreed, “but this is Texas. And he seems rehabilitated to me.”
“Yes,” she said. “He does, doesn’t he?”
“I think so, too,” Yune said. “Seems like he’s turned his life around. I’ve seen it before when people get into AA or NA. When it works, it’s like a miracle. Still, this outsider couldn’t have picked a better face to hide behind, wouldn’t you say? Given his history of drug sales and service, not to mention a gang background with Satan’s Seven, who’d believe him if he said he was being framed for something?”
“No one believed Terry Maitland,” Ralph said heavily, “and Terry was immaculate.”
14