Justine Pickerson: Well, you should arrest her for indecent exposure and theft. Those wine coolers cost us $1.75 a piece.
Deputy Lloyd: We can’t arrest someone for something they allegedly did thirteen years ago.
Justine Pickerson: First it’s stealing wine coolers, then it’s selling your body for the marijuana, and next thing you know, you’re murdering someone in cold blood. I’ve seen Cops, I know how fast people spiral out of control. Payton has been living in Chicago since she left town. I heard from Mo Wesley who owns the Gas n Sip who heard from his son Roger who had a friend that visited Chicago once and told them it’s a seedy place full of good-for-nothing criminals. I heard Payton owns a coffee shop called Liquid Crack. You know crack is a fancy word for drugs, right? She probably sells drugs and hangs out with a bunch of rabble-rousers.
Deputy Lloyd: Mrs. Pickerson, do you remember anything else from the night of May 31st?
Justine Pickerson: I don’t think so. But I’m having lunch with Starla after this, so I’ll ask her and get back to you.
CHAPTER 9
Coffee: Do stupid things faster with more energy.
—Coffee Mug
“Bettie, shut off the music.”
I wince at the sound of my own voice, even though it’s muffled and raspy. The combination of my voice and the song blasting through the room makes my head pound so hard that I want to cry.
“Bettie, seriously, turn off the damn music!” I complain again, opening my eyes and immediately regretting that decision when bright sunlight hits them and it feels like a million knives are stabbing into my skull. I roll over on the couch in the back room of Liquid Crack with a groan, quickly sitting up when I realize I’m not on the couch at Liquid Crack, I’m on a floor.
With my hand over my eyes to shield them from the sunlight streaming into the room, I glance around and it all comes back to me. Well, some things come back to me, but most of it is a blur because of the wine hangover sloshing around in my brain and curdling in my stomach. Shoving an empty wine bottle away, I roll over on my hands and knees on the living room floor of Emma Jo’s house, reaching under the coffee table for my phone, A.K.A., the source of the music I had been sleepily arguing with Bettie to turn off.
I grab it and flop over onto my butt, leaning my back against the couch as I finally cut off the ringtone – “Coffee Song” by Frank Sinatra. Normally, this is one of my favorite songs, hence the reason for it being my ringtone, but right now, every noise hurts and makes me want to puke.
“ ’Yep,” I speak into the phone, unable to form any other words at the moment.
“I can’t believe you’ve been in town for more than a day and I have to hear it from Starla Godfrey! You are the worst daughter in the entire world. I bet you wouldn’t care if I died. I could have been lying here in my own bed, dead from a broken heart, and you wouldn’t care,” my mother complains in my ear.
“Mama, can you do me a favor and not talk too loudly?”
“DON’T YOU SASS ME, YOUNG LADY!” she shouts, jamming more knives into my aching head.
“I’m not sassing you, I had a rough night, and I just woke up. I was going to call you today, I swear.”
She huffs loudly. “I heard you did plenty of swearing last night. It’s all over town that you threatened Jed Jackson right on his own front porch. Honestly, Payton, what has gotten into you? Have you been hanging out with hoodlums in Chicago doing drugs? Is that why you never come home to visit? Thirty hours of labor with you, and you’re still making me suffer.”
I’ve tried to explain to my mother over the years why I never come back home to visit, and instead buy plane tickets for my parents to come out and see me whenever they can, but she doesn’t listen. She doesn’t understand that I love Chicago and outgrew Bald Knob and everyone being in your business a long time ago. Clearly nothing has changed since I’ve barely been here for twenty-four hours and I’m already the main source of gossip in this town.
“Jed Jackson isn’t the nice guy everyone thinks he is, Mama. I’ve been telling you that for years, and now I finally have proof,” I inform her.
“Payton Lambert, I still have to apologize to Justine Pickerson every time I see her in church for that time you robbed her bar and urinated in her yard. Whatever you did, you better fix it before they kick me out of the knitting club.”
I sigh, closing my eyes and letting my head drop back to the couch cushions.
“Mama, I’ll come out to the house to see you and Daddy later on today, and I’ll explain everything, okay? Right now, I need to find some coffee before I go on a murderous rampage,” I tell her.