Three Bedrooms, One Corpse(17)

“All right. I’ll have to hear the whole story from you sometime.”

“Sure. Yes, well, Martin and I will come, I think . . . maybe.” I had a sudden attack of insecurity. “It’s next Saturday night, right?”

“Right. And Tonia Lee will be buried Tuesday. Don- nie called today. The church service is at”—Mother checked her notes—“Flaming Sword of God Bible Church,” she finished in an arid voice.

~ Three Bedrooms, One Corpse ~

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“Golly. That’s out on the highway, isn’t it?” “Yes, right by Pine Needle Trailer Park.” Mother’s voice could have dried out the Sahara.

“What time?”

“Ten o’clock.”

“Okay. I’ll be there.”

“Aurora. You’re okay? About this change in beaus?”

“Yes. So is Aubrey. So is Martin.”

“All right, then. See you Tuesday morning, if not be- fore. I think Eileen mentioned she had some more properties to show you this afternoon; she should be calling you soon.”

“Okay. See you.”

I took a quick shower, pulled on a green-, rust-, and brown-striped sweater, the matching rust-colored pants, and my brown boots. A glance outside had shown that the day had not brightened, but remained resolutely cold, windy, and wet.

Downstairs I found my answering-machine light was blinking. I’d been too tired to glance that way this morning.

“Roe, this is Eileen, calling on Saturday evening. I have two houses to show you Sunday afternoon if it’s convenient for you, in the afternoon. Give me a call.” A moment of silence between messages.

“Roe, are you asleep?” My face flushed when I heard Martin’s voice. He’d probably called while I was in the shower. “I’m calling from work, sweetheart. I can hardly wait until tomorrow night. I can’t make it to Atlanta that night since I have a meeting early Tues- day morning, but we can at least go to the Carriage

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House.” That being Lawrenceton’s best restaurant. “I want to see you again,” he said simply. “You made me very happy.”

I was pretty damn happy myself.

I called Eileen back to make an appointment for two o’clock, then decided to treat myself to lunch some- where. On impulse, I punched the number of my re- porter friend, Sally Allison, and we arranged to meet at the local Beef ’N More.

Thirty minutes later we were settled opposite each other, after waiting in line through the Sunday church crowd. Sally was working on a hamburger and a salad, and I had virtuously opted for the salad bar only, though I could certainly get enough calories from what was spread up and down its length.

Sally was older than I by more than twelve years, but we’re good friends. She was a Sally who wouldn’t tolerate a nickname. Sally had bronze hair, never out of place, and she bought expensive clothes and ran them into the ground. She was wearing a black suit I’d seen on her countless times, and it still looked good. For once, she had some news to impart before she started digging for more.

“Paul’s working today. He and I got married last weekend,” she said casually, and the cellophane pack- age of crackers I was trying to open exploded. I hastily began to gather up the crumbs.

“You married your first husband’s brother?” “You know we’ve been dating for a long time.” “Well, yes, but I didn’t know it was going to result in a marriage!”

“He’s great.”

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We chatted away. I was dying to know what the first Mr. Allison thought of this new situation, but was aware I really must not ask.

The third time Sally was explaining to me how won- derful Paul was (she knew I’d heard while dating Arthur Smith that Paul had never been popular with his fellow detectives), I was sufficiently bored and skeptical to look around me. To my surprise, I spied Donnie Green- house eating lunch with Idella. They were sitting in one of the few places in the steak house where you could talk without being overheard. Donnie was leaning over the table, talking earnestly and quickly to Idella, whose delicate coloring was showing unbecoming blotches of stress. Idella was shaking her head from side to side. What an odd couple! It was a little strange to see Donnie out in public, even though I dismissed that reac- tion on my part as uncharitable. But with Idella? “They certainly look put out with each other,” Sally said. She’d followed my gaze. “I don’t think this is a widower on the rebound, do you?”

There sure wasn’t anything loverlike in their posture or in the way they were looking at each other. Suddenly Idella sprang up, grabbed her purse, and headed for the women’s room. Donnie scowled after her. I thought Idella was crying.

Sally and I exchanged glances.

“I guess I better go check,” I said. “There’s a fine line between showing concern and butting in, and this situation is right on it.”

The two-stall salmon-and-tan women’s room was empty except for Idella. She was indeed crying, shut in one of the booths.

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“Idella,” I said gently. “It’s Roe. I’m holding the door shut so no one else can come in.” And I braced my back against the door.

“Thanks,” she sobbed. “I’ll straighten up in a minute.”

And sure enough, she pulled herself together and emerged from the booth, though not until I’d had time to decipher the last batch of graffiti through a layer of tan paint. Showing some wear and tear, Idella ran some cold water on a paper towel and held it over her eyes. “It’s going to ruin my makeup,” she said, “but at least my eyes won’t be so puffy.”

It was oddly difficult to talk to her with her eyes covered like that, in this bleak room with the smell of industrial disinfectant clogging my nostrils. “Idella, are you all right?”

“Oh . . . yes, I’ll be okay.” She didn’t sound as though she were certain. “Donnie just has some crazy idea in his head, and he won’t let it go, and he’s hound- ing me about it.”

I waited expectantly. I was so curious I finally prod- ded her. “He surely doesn’t think you had anything to do with Tonia Lee’s death?”

“He thinks I know who did do it,” Idella said wearily. “That’s just ridiculous, of course.” She stared bleakly into the mirror; she looked even more haggard under the harsh light, her dead-grass hair a limp mess around her pale face. “He says he saw my car pulling out of the Greenhouse Realty parking lot the night To- nia Lee was killed.”

“How could he possibly think that?”

But Idella was through confiding, and when someone

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pushed behind me hard enough to make the door move a little, she seized the chance to go back to her table. “Thanks,” she said quickly. “I’ll see you later.” I moved away from the door to let her out, and she shouldered her way past the door-pusher, who turned out to be Terry Sternholtz.

She gave us a very peculiar look; she knew I’d been holding the door shut. I wondered if she’d been out there long.

“Idella seemed upset,” Terry said casually as she pulled open one of the stalls. She looked very bright to- day, her bouncing red hair contrasting cheerfully with a kelly green suit.

“Some upset she had,” I said dismissively, and went back to my table. Sally was waiting, and raised her eye- brows expectantly as I slid into my chair. “I don’t know,” I said to answer Sally’s unspoken query. “She wouldn’t really say.” I didn’t want to re- peat the conversation. It seemed evident Idella was in trouble of some kind, and she had always been so nice to me I didn’t want to compound it by starting a ru- mor. Sally looked at me sideways, to show me she knew I was evading her. “I don’t know why you think I tell everyone everything I know,” she said with more than a little pique in her voice. It looked as if we’d have our own little quarrel.

Just then the group of Pan-Am Agra executives came in for their campaign kick-off lunch, among them Martin. It was just like seeing the boy who’d given you your first kiss the night before. As if I’d had on a hom- ing signal, Martin immediately turned and scanned the crowd, finding me quickly. He excused himself from

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his companions and left the line to come over. My face felt hot. Sally’s back was to him, and she was saying “You look like you just swallowed a fish, Roe,” when he came up, bent over, and gave me a kiss that was just short enough not to be vulgar. Then we beamed at each other.

“This is my friend Sally Allison, Martin,” I said abruptly, suddenly aware of Sally’s interested face. “Hello,” he said politely, and shook Sally’s pro- ferred hand.

“Aren’t you the new plant manager of Pan-Am Agra?” she asked. “I think Jack Forrest did a business- page article on you.”

“I saw it. It was well written,” Martin said. “More than I can say for some of the stories written about me. What time tomorrow night, Roe?”

“Seven?” I said at random.

“I’ll be there at seven.” He kissed me again very quickly, nodded to Sally, and rejoined his group, who were watching with great attention.