02 - When Good Bras Go Bad Read online

  DIVIDER HERE

  Al’s house was certainly not what I’d expected. I’m not sure exactly what I had expected, but I am sure this tiny dump of a place wasn’t it. The house looked like it had maybe four rooms. Figurin’ one room was the bathroom and another was the kitchen, that didn’t leave Al’s family a whole lotta livin’ space.

  It could’ve been a nice cottage, though, if it was fixed up. It could use a coat or two of paint, and one shutter looked like it was hanging on by its last screw. A couple trash bags took up almost the whole porch, although there was room for one rusty metal chair. It wasn’t a very welcome place to come home to.

  I remembered Claire sayin’ Al hadn’t lived here long. Maybe her family hadn’t had time to renovate the house yet.

  I parked on the side of the road in front of the house and put Matlock on his leash. We went up to the house and I knocked on the door.

  A woman wearing jeans and an oversized green sweatshirt opened the door. She didn’t hardly look old enough to be Alicia’s mother, but I didn’t think she was her sister.

  “Who’re you?” she asked, and her eyes had a hard look to ‘em.

  “Hi,” I said, tryin’ to smile but feelin’ more than a little awkward. “I’m Myrtle Crumb, and I’ve been workin’ at the middle school.”

  She sighed and her breath smelled like stale cigarettes. “What’s Al done now?”

  “Nothin’ that I know of. There was a friend of hers suspended the other day. They believe she stole a bracelet.”

  “Don’t surprise me none.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Sure. That’s the way kids are.”

  “Are you Alicia’s sister?”

  She laughed. “Not hardly. I’m her mother.”

  “You don’t really think all kids are thieves, do you?”

  She flipped her palms. “Kids’ll do whatever they can get away with. That’s how it was in my day, and I figure that’s how it still is.”

  “You’ve got a point.” I thought the apple probably didn’t fall far from the tree.

  “What’s with the dog?”

  “He’s just my buddy,” I said. “I take him everywhere.”

  “He ain’t no drug dog or nothin’, is he?”

  “No, I don’t hardly think so!” I chuckled. She didn’t. “Is Alicia here? I’d like to talk with you all a minute if—”

  “No, she ain’t here, and I don’t know when she will be.”

  “Oh, I’ll…uh…I’ll let you get back to what you were doin’ then. Thank you for your time.” I started off the porch but turned back around. “By the way, Alicia’s doin’ a great job in the play.”

  “What play?”

  “Macbeth. They’re puttin’ it on at school, and she’s got one of the lead roles.”

  “Huh.”

  “Guess I’ll see you opening night.”

  Mrs. Granger shook her head. “I doubt it. My car’s on the fritz.”

  “I’ll be happy to come by and pick you up.”

  “We’ll see.” She went back in the house and shut the door.

  DIVIDER HERE

  On Sunday, Cooper and I had lunch at Carol’s Café before going to see “Mousetrap.” We’d ordered chicken salad sandwiches and iced tea and were waiting for the waitress to bring our food when I decided to ask Coop about what had been on my mind nearly all week.

  I leaned across the table and kept my voice down. “If you have a suspect you think is coverin’ for somebody else, how do you make ‘em fess up?”

  Coop sighed. “So you think Sunny’s covering for the school thief?”

  “Maybe. How do I make her roll over on ‘em?”

  “I’m not sure you can. It’s not a good idea to get wrapped up in investigations where your family might be concerned. If you were on the force, somebody else would be handlin’ this case.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  “Why don’t you just turn it over to Brody? He knows what he’s doin’.”

  “If it was your granddaughter, would you turn it over to Brody?”

  The waitress showed up with our food then, so Coop didn’t have to answer. He didn’t have to anyway; I already knew. He wouldn’t turn it over to Brody any more than I was going to.

  Me and Coop both got the chicken salad (Carol is famous for her good chicken salad, but her meatloaf ain’t fit to eat) so the waitress didn’t have to ask whose was whose. She set our plates down, gave us a big toothy smile and moseyed off.

  “Speakin’ of Sunny,” Coop said, “is she still mad at you?”

  “No, not really. We’re not back to where we used to be yet, and she didn’t come for her usual Saturday visit; but things are better than they were when this week started.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  I told Coop about goin’ over to Alicia Granger’s house. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “Here’s the funny part,” I said. “Mrs. Granger thought Matlock might be a drug dog!” I laughed.

  Coop stared at me wide-eyed and in mid chew. He swallowed. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. I got a big kick out of it, and I think Matlock did, too.”

  Coop blinked. “Was she serious?”

  “Well, she didn’t seem to think it was as funny as I did, but—”

  “Stay away from there.”

  “What?”

  “Stay away from that house,” Coop said. “That woman might be a dope dealer.”

  “Well, wouldn’t that be all the more reason to—”

  “No!” Coop looked around and then lowered his voice. “No. I don’t want you to go there anymore. It could be dangerous.”

  I smiled and patted his hand. “I have too much going on right now to investigate that mess.”

  “So you won’t go snoopin’ around tryin’ to make a drug bust?”

  “No drug busts. I promise.” You’ll notice, though, that I didn’t promise not to go back to the house. I was still bound and determined Alicia’s mama was gonna see her in that play. Maybe that was part of Alicia’s problem—maybe that’s why she stole—maybe she was tryin’ to get some attention from her mama.

  Coop came in for a few minutes after he brought me home from the play. Matlock seems to have taken a shine to him. Me and Coop talked about the play a bit and then he said he had to get home and get ready for work the next day. And, no, I didn’t get no “good-bye kiss.” It was only our second date after all. Do you expect him to be takin’ liberties already? All right, I sort of expected a peck on the jaw or somethin’ and was disappointed he didn’t, but like I told you, it was only our second outing.

  He had barely got out of sight of the house before Tansie came knocking on the door. I opened the door and let her in, and then I sat down in the recliner and kicked off my shoes.

  “How’re you, Tansie?” I asked. That was my way of tellin’ her to say what she came to say and go home so I could get out of the dress I was wearin’. I was tired, and I wanted to relax.

  “I doubt I’m doin’ as well as you are,” she said. “I’m not being squired around by the sheriff.”

  “Maybe not, but I notice the mailman always brings your packages right up to the door.” I was tryin’ to be magnanimous. Ever since the Easton boy said that word to me, I notice I’ve been tryin’ to be that way a lot. Maybe folks’ll start saying, “That Myrtle Crumb sure is magnanimous.” It dawned on me Tansie was saying something. “Hmmm?”

  “I said it’s just because my mailbox is a little on the small side.”

  “It might be your satin robe that’s a little on the small side, at least where your chest is concerned.”

  “The robe shows a bit of décolletage, I suppose, but it’s by no means racy.” Still, I think Tansie looked pleased at the thought of the mailman bringing packages to her door just to get a glimpse of her “décolletage.”

  “How’s Melvia?” I asked. “I haven’t seen her for a few days.”

  “She’s fine…getting more like o
ur mother every day.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

  I figured if Tansie took after their daddy, then Melvia bein’ more like their mama was probably a good thing. I kept my mouth shut, though; you know, bein’ magnanimous and all.

  “Bettie says you’ve been workin’ at the school.” She leaned forward and put her hand on my chair. “We didn’t know you’d fell on hard times, dear.”

  So that Brandon Easton had been running his mouth to his grandmother and who knew who else. Not that he’d have to tell anybody else. Telephone, telegraph and tell-Bettie-Easton if you need to get the word out.

  “I’ve been volunteering at Sunny’s school for a few days,” I said.

  “Is that right? Well, you know, don’t you, that we M.E.L.O.N.S. would be here Johnny-on-the-spot if you should need anything?”

  I faked a smile at her. “Yes, I do know; but isn’t it fortunate that I have enough money and time that I’m able to give of myself to my granddaughter’s school?”

  “Yes,” said Tansie. “Yes, I suppose it is.” She sat back and took her hand off my chair.

  “Speaking of M.E.L.O.N.S.,” I said, referring to the stupid group Bettie had founded calling us Mature Elegant Ladies Open to Nice Suggestions, “are we having a meeting soon?”

  “Actually, that’s the other reason I’m here. We’re having a Halloween soiree on Saturday after Halloween.”

  “Great!” I said it was a stupid group, and it has a stupid name, but I’m all for parties. “What are you takin’?”

  “I thought I’d bake a chocolate cake and swirl a spider web design on the top with vanilla icing.”

  “That sounds good. How about I make a cheese ball?”

  “All right. Do you think you can shape it like a brain? You know, to be in keeping with the Halloween theme?”

  No, I thought; but I said I’d see what I could do.

  DIVIDER HERE

  When Sunny got to the house Monday morning, I had still-warm-from-the-oven blueberry muffins waiting for her. I heard Faye toot the horn goodbye before I heard Sunny come through the door. I hoped that meant things were better between Faye and Sunny, too. That was the first morning I’d heard Faye toot the horn when she dropped Sunny off. I hadn’t had much of a chance to talk with Faye, but I knew she was as tore up as a toddler with a two-wheeled tricycle over Sunny gettin’ suspended.

  “Mornin’,” I said, wonderin’ if I was about to lose whatever ground we’d regained.

  “Mornin’, Mimi.”

  “Have a seat and get you a muffin.” I followed my own instructions. “We need to talk.”

  Sunny draped her jacket over the back of a chair and sat down. “About what?”

  “About Alicia Granger.”

  Sunny commenced rolling her eyes and huffin’ and puffin’.

  “Is she poor?” I asked before the young ‘un blew my house down.

  The huffin’ and puffin’ stopped. “Huh?”

  Risking the walls caving in, I huffed a breath of my own before tellin’ Sunny about goin’ over to Alicia’s house on Friday.

  “The place was shabby as all get-out,” I said. “And when I asked her mother about the play, she said she couldn’t come because her car was broke down.”

  “So you think Al steals because she’s poor?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. If she is the one doin’ the stealin’, maybe it’s for attention. Her mama didn’t even know Alicia has the lead in the school play. Didn’t seem to care, either.”

  Sunny’s appetite finally got the better of her, and she grabbed up a muffin. “So, what? You want me to question Al? Spy on her or somethin’?”

  I shrugged and peeled the paper off my own muffin. “Whatever you wanna do. I wanna get her mama to that play.”

  Sunny stared at me like I’d just spit pea soup at her. (Sorry, but them monster movie commercials are takin’ their toll on me and Matlock both.)

  “Don’t mention it to Alicia,” I said, “or to anybody else for that matter, but I’m gonna do my dead-level best to get her mama to that play on openin’ night.”

  “Why, Mimi?”

  I shook my head. “Honey, if you was in that play and my car was broke down, you’d better believe I’d do whatever it took to get there. Her mama don’t seem to feel that way, and I think it’s a shame.” I tore a piece off the top of my muffin and popped it in my mouth. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try my best. That is, if you don’t care.”

  “Why would I care?” Sunny asked.

  “Alicia might not want her mama at the play. She hadn’t told her about it.”

  “That, I’ll ask about.”

  Chapter Six

  Tuesday I was back at work in the lunchroom. All the ladies asked about Sunny…in a nice way. They didn’t come across as snotty. I told them she was doin’ fine but that she still wouldn’t say who took Mrs. Anderson’s bracelet. Jane Kershaw said young ‘uns were like that—they’d rather be punished themselves than tell on a friend. Another woman—a short little woman with a slight stoop whose name, I believe, is Polly—said Sunny might honest to goodness not know who’s lettin’ her be their patsy.

  I talked to Wilbur Brody as soon as he came in. He said there weren’t any thefts, as far as he knew, during the three days Sunny was suspended. I hate I heard that. I knew Sunny wasn’t stealin’ things, so that had to mean somebody really was settin’ Sunny up to be their patsy.

  Later when she came through the lunch line, I decided to take my cues from her. I didn’t speak. She didn’t acknowledge who I was, but she did speak.

  “Hi, Ms. Crumb.”

  “Hello, Crimson.” I kept on puttin’ food on plates, barely even lookin’ up.

  About fifteen minutes into her lunch, she came lookin’ for me.

  “Everything all right, Mimi?”

  “Yeah, I reckon. You?”

  “All right, I guess.” She stuffed her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “I asked Al if her mama was excited about seein’ her in the play. She said she’s real excited and wants a front-row seat opening night.”

  “I’ll do my best to get her here then. The young ‘un wouldn’t have said that if she didn’t want her mama to be at that play.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.”

  “Well, you’d better get back to your lunch before somebody misses you.”

  Sunny nodded. She turned to leave but then turned back. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No. I’m just tryin’ to act like a lunch lady instead of a grandmother.”

  “Oh.” She walked on back to her table, and I dared myself to cry.

  DIVIDER HERE

  On the way home, I got to thinkin’ about how long it took me to get comfortable last night before I could go to sleep. You see, I like to sleep on my stomach. But—like every woman who likes to sleep on her belly, I imagine—I have a hard time gettin’ comfortable on account of my boobs. Either they’re mushed up under my chin to where I can hardly breathe or else I have to try to tuck ‘em under my arms.

  I’ve decided somebody needs to make a bed with a boob trench. It could have two removable cushions, one on either side of the bed. That way, your husband—if you’ve got one—wouldn’t have to worry about havin’ his boobs in the trench. Although, Harold Miller, Tansie’s husband—God rest his soul—could’ve certainly put a boob trench to good use. He used to come out and mow the yard in just his cut-off jeans and sandals, and I’d say he was a double D cup at the very least.

  Anyhow, you could remove the cushions off whichever side you sleep on, lay down on your belly, and allow your boobs to gently rest in the trench. Now, mind you, the trench would be cushiony mattress stuff. It wouldn’t be a hole. God forbid you’d have your tender bosom just hangin’ there between the bed and the floor…especially if you’ve got a cat.

  If you’d take a notion to sleep on your side or somethin’, you could just slip your pillow back in the trench. And, of course,
you’d do that in the mornin’ when you got up so the bed would look nice and not have a big dip in it after you made it up.

  Well, the more I thought about it, the more the idea grew on me. Somebody really ought to invent a boob-trench bed. Then, you know what? It dawned on me. Why not Lenny? He was smart, and he was willin’ to work. Plus, since he’s a high school student, he might be able to get some grant money to do it with. How proud Delphine and Lenny’s daddy would be! And I bet his sorry, good-for-nothin’ mama would wish she’d never walked off and left such a wonderful young ‘un. Maybe he’d get rich and famous, too. And that little Katie Couric from the “Today” show—and maybe even Oprah—would talk to him on television and he’d say it was all my idea and that I was real special to him.

  You know, it must’ve been meant to be because as I pulled in the driveway, here came the bus. As I got out of the car, Lenny was gettin’ off the bus.

  “Howdy, Ms. Crumb!” he hollered.

  “Hi, darlin’. Have you got a minute? I’ve got an idea I wanna run past you.”

  “Let me go tell Granny.”

  I went in and went through the kitchen to open the back door for Matlock. He enjoys bein’ outside on these pretty days. When I got back to the living room, Lenny was knockin’ on the door.

  “How would you like to be an inventor?” I asked him when I opened up the door.

  “I might like it all right, I reckon. Why?”

  I told him. I believe my boob-trench bed idea shocked him at first because his little face—and plumb to the tops of his ears—got red as a pickled beet. But he thanked me, said he’d give it some thought, and then he went on home.

  I hope he does give it some thought. I really would like to have me a bed with a boob trench.

  Lenny hadn’t been gone more’n ten minutes when Delphine called and asked what I was doin’ talkin’ dirty to Lenny.

  “I most certainly was not talkin’ dirty to that boy! Is that what he told you?”