Chili Con Corpses, page 14
“How am I supposed to concentrate on fat, carbohydrates, and salt content all at once?” he demanded of his reflection. “I should just eat lettuce. Seems to be the only safe food.” Cocking his head, he thought he heard the doorbell again. Knowing that his father would never get out of his recliner in order to see if someone was at the door, James hastened down the stairs with eager steps.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” Murphy said from beneath the layers of a plaid scarf that had worked its way over her pointed chin. Standing on the threshold, she leaned over and kissed him quickly on the lips. Her arms were laden with a white box bearing homemade dill rolls from the Sweet Tooth, a bouquet of ochre-colored roses, and two bottles of dry champagne.
“Come on in,” James said, recovering from her demonstration of affection. Fleeting as the kiss had been, it was the first time a woman other than Lucy had brushed his lips with her own, and he felt a twinge of irrational guilt. “I’m so glad you could join me and Pop today,” he added warmly as she put her packages down on a small table in the hall.
He helped her shrug off her brown leather coat and hung it on one of the heart-shaped hooks lining the wall outside the kitchen. As he turned to gather up the champagne bottles, the doorbell rang again.
“Aha!” James rubbed his hands together with glee. “Our chef has arrived!”
Murphy gave him an odd look but said nothing. Her view of the next guest was blocked by James’s broad back, but she recognized the exuberant voice immediately.
“You are such a dear boy to include me in your holiday!” Milla planted a maternal kiss on his cheek, leaving a dimpled oval of rosy lipstick behind. “I’ve got the sweet potato casserole almost ready for the oven, but the turkey’s out in the car along with my delicious cornbread and oyster dressing and the fixings for dessert.”
James ushered her into the hall. “You come in and make yourself at home. I’ll get your things from the car.”
It took three trips to bring in the cardboard boxes filled with food, spices, pots, pans, and kitchen gadgets. When he was done, James joined the two women in the kitchen as Milla rearranged everything in the refrigerator and rummaged through the cabinets in order to get a complete assessment of what kind of kitchen she had been invited to take control over.
“What do we have here?” Milla peeked under the lid of a Tupperware bowl.
“Cranberry-orange relish,” James replied proudly. “I also made green bean casserole. I told you I wasn’t going to let you cook the whole dinner.” He pointed at a pie cooling on a wire rack on top of the fridge. “That’s just a regular pumpkin pie. You’re going to make a dessert on top of the sweet potatoes, turkey, and stuffing?”
“You bet your boots I am!” Milla put her hands on her hips and then smiled at Murphy. “Why don’t you visit with James? I’m going to put the other man of the house to work. It’s well past time he learned how to use some of the tools crammed in these drawers.” Her eyes twinkled. “Send him in here, James.”
James hesitated.
“Go on,” Milla ordered. “I can hold my own. Besides, I doubt he bites.”
“He just might,” James mumbled and then took Murphy’s arm and led her into the lion’s den.
Jackson barely glanced away from the television screen as James introduced him to Murphy. He grunted something that might have been the word “hello,” but that was the extent of his hospitality. Murphy, nonplussed as always, didn’t try to force Jackson into conversation. Instead, she spied a battered Monopoly box on one of the bookshelves and carried the game over to the room’s only table, which was cluttered with magazines and stacks of books.
“How about a little game of vicious capitalism before dinner?” she asked James, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Monopoly used to bring us kids close to blows during most of our family holidays.”
“Well I’m not playing some kids’ game,” Jackson grumbled, and James knew that despite his gruffness, his father was doing his best to deal with two strange females invading his home for a holiday that had only been special while his wife was still alive.
“That’s right, you’re not, Pop.” James switched off the TV set and jerked his thumb toward the kitchen. “You’re wanted in there.”
Jackson’s eyebrows almost merged with his hairline. “What?” he growled in surprise. “A man’s supposed to stay out of the way ’til it’s time to carve the turkey. Don’t you know the first thing about women, boy?”
“This woman wants your company,” Milla stated from the doorway. She wore an apron covered with turkeys being chased by a fat chef wielding a cleaver. Smiling, she marched over to the recliner, grabbed Jackson’s hand, and led him from the room. “We two widows need to stick together,” James heard her say. “Plus, I’ve got some heart-warmin’ bourbon that I’m going to mix into the sweet potatoes. My thinkin’ is we’d better try some first. Make sure it’s good enough to serve to everyone else!”
James didn’t hear Jackson’s reply, but whatever he said sent Milla into peals of laughter. Tuning the radio to a light classical station, James settled down across from Murphy and spent half of the afternoon trying to coax her out of charging him the required rent as he landed on property after property dominated by her hotels.
“I never win when I play with the dog piece,” he said sulkily as she directed her own playing piece, the top hat, straight to Free Parking. “I can’t believe it! You’ve won that three times!”
Murphy laughed. “Why do you keep playing with the dog if you never win with it?”
James shrugged. “There’s a first time for everything.”
“That’s what is so endearing about you.” Murphy reached across her mountain of paper money and squeezed his hand. “Your optimism. It’s infectious.”
“You’re just trying to make me feel better about getting my butt kicked two games in a row. I surrender. You’re too much of a real estate tycoon for me to handle.” He eyed the bookshelves. “How are you at Scrabble?”
She gave him a lopsided grin. “I am in the business of words, so I’m not bad, but I haven’t played in decades.”
“Good, then maybe I stand a chance.” James rose and replaced the Monopoly assemblage with an equally ratty Scrabble box. “Can I get you anything while I’m up?”
“Let’s break into that champagne,” Murphy suggested.
As James cautiously entered the kitchen, he was amazed by both the nostalgic aromas floating out of the oven and the sight of his father, seated across the table from Milla, happily peeling Granny Smith apples.
“You cannot be a novice, Jackson Henry,” Milla teased. “No true beginner can get the peel off in one whole piece. I believe you’ve been fibbing to me all afternoon long about not knowing your way around a kitchen.”
“When I tell a fib, ma’am, it’s a whopper!” Jackson stated proudly.
Was his father flirting? The thought froze James in his tracks. Milla spied him and shook a flour-encrusted rolling pin his way. “No interfering with my tutoring lesson.”
“We have some parched throats back in the den,” James explained. “Am I allowed to open some champagne?”
Milla stepped out of the way. “Why didn’t you say so? Your father and I are already feeling nice and warm from sampling the bourbon, so you go on ahead without us.”
After James popped the cork on the champagne bottle, he realized that he didn’t own the appropriate glassware for a sparkling beverage. Settling for highball glasses, he first peeked into the oven at an unbelievably plump and browning turkey before returning to the den.
“We’re having a feast fit for royalty,” he told Murphy as he handed her a glass.
The pair had only consumed several sips of champagne and completed two highly competitive rounds of Scrabble when Milla ordered them to relocate to the dining room.
“Nice spread, Professor,” Murphy praised James as she looked over the table setting.
Earlier in the week, he had driven to a gourmet kitchen store in Charlottesville and purchased mustard and cranberry-hued pottery plates and a set of wire napkin rings in the shape of pumpkins. He had taken out the good silverware, which hadn’t seen the light of day in years, and buffed his mother’s set of crystal water goblets to a high shine. Milla had cut Murphy’s flowers short and arranged them in a woven basket. The small chandelier cast a soft light overhead and two tapers in deep red illuminated the center of the table. James realized that he should have ironed the tablecloth, but he doubted much of the surface would be visible under such a vast array of food dishes.
Jackson carried Milla’s sweet potato casserole with bourbon in one hand and James’s green bean casserole in the other. Milla trailed behind him bearing a bowl heaped so high with mashed potatoes that James felt the weight of the dish might cause the older woman to become unbalanced and pitch forward. In her other hand was a napkin-lined basket containing the fragrant dill rolls from the Sweet Tooth and a butter dish. Whispering orders to Jackson, who complied with a nod and a shy smile, Milla laid out the food and surveyed the table.
“Let’s see. Your daddy’s getting the cranberry-orange relish, the oyster cornbread dressing, and the gravy, so I guess it’s time to bring on the main attraction.”
The turkey had shrunk several sizes during its long roast in the oven, but its skin had been burnished a golden brown. Milla had lovingly coated it with high quality olive oil, sea salt, fresh ground pepper, and sprigs of fresh rosemary. She had also stuffed the cavity with more rosemary and fresh thyme. Jackson’s eyes shone with lascivious greed as he surveyed the bird, and James knew that his father was secretly fantasizing over claiming both drumsticks.
“You’d better sharpen that knife, Pop,” he cautioned his father upon seeing the carving set appear next to the platter bearing the regal turkey.
“Shoot, boy. I had these ready to go days ago.” Jackson pointed at the knife, preferring not to look any of his guests in the eye. “This blade’s so sharp it’d cut through a piece of lead pipe just like jelly. Watch and learn, son. Carvin’ is a man’s job.”
“Truer words were never spoken,” Milla declared, winking at Jackson as if they shared a secret.
As a slight grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, Jackson deftly sliced off pieces of tender breast meat and made a big show of serving Milla first. “You always pay respect to the cook,” he said, presumably for James’s benefit, though James was certain it was his father’s way of paying Milla a compliment.
When everyone was served and the glasses set before them were filled with fizzing champagne, Milla raised her hands and said, “I’d like to say a blessing, if I may.”
James shot Jackson a worried glance, as his father had never been big on saying grace. He had avoided attending church service his entire life outside of his own wedding and the baptism of his only child. James and his mother had always gone to church together, but Jackson claimed he was suspicious of all churches and didn’t need anyone to tell him how to talk to his Maker.
“He’s talking to his Maker with his fishing pole,” James’s mother would joke as they’d settle into their regular pew. That was often all she’d have time to say before the sound of Ruby Pennington pouring passion into the ancient organ—whose reluctant pipes seemed unable to keep pace with Ruby’s flying fingers—would explode inside the church. The image of Ruby seated on her bench in front of the organ reminded James that he had an important task to complete before the night was through, but for the moment, he took Murphy’s outstretched hand and bowed his head.
“Lord,” Milla prayed. “Thank you for bringing us together and for the bounty before us. We are so grateful for the friends we have held close to us as we have grown older and to the friends we have lost along the road of life.” She paused for a fraction of a second as her voice caught. Next to James, Murphy’s eyes had filled with tears, as she was undoubtedly thinking of Parker. Milla inhaled and continued. “And we are grateful for new friends. It is the people in our lives that define us and I couldn’t be happier to be holding hands with such wonderful people as the friends seated around me. Amen.”
“Amen!” Jackson declared and then immediately added, “Tuck in!”
Over the next hour, the foursome traded innocuous gossip and small talk while interjecting exclamations over the sumptuousness of the food. James was pleasantly amazed at how comfortable Jackson seemed to be with the two women who had invaded his home and forced him to speak more sentences over the course of the past few hours than he had uttered during the whole of the past two months.
During the dessert course, which consisted of pumpkin pie, apple crisp with fresh whipped cream, and decaf coffees, the foursome grew lethargic. Their bellies were so full that it was an effort to even swallow a sip of water. Pushing themselves away from the table, they unanimously declared that the meal was done.
James and Murphy volunteered to clean up. After clearing the table, they loaded the dishwasher and then began scrubbing the dozen pans, pots, and bowls that Milla had brought over.
“Why don’t I come back tomorrow to collect all of my things?” Milla quietly asked Jackson as he held out her coat. James stiffened, wondering what his father would say. He even put down the pan he was drying and spied on the couple as they stood in the hallway. “We can have some coffee.”
Jackson hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded his assent and walked Milla to her car.
“They are so sweet together,” Murphy whispered as she watched them leave. Drying her hands with a paper towel, she put an arm around James. “Thanks for having me over. With my family away at my older sister’s, I would have felt so lonely today.”
James could sense an air of expectation descend upon their shared space. Turning to Murphy, he stared at her pretty face and saw the gratitude in her hazel eyes. Without pausing to dissect his feelings, he leaned over and kissed her, drawing her trim body into his. He kissed her warmly for almost a minute and then slowly released her, smiling tenderly as he did so. James didn’t want to admit it, but he was still experiencing some conflicting emotions about Lucy, and he didn’t want to begin a serious relationship with Murphy until his confusion had been completely resolved.
“Hey,” he said to her as Jackson came back inside, rubbing his cold hands together. “How would you like to witness the unfolding of an incredibly heartwarming news story?”
A gleam appeared in her eyes. “When? Right now?”
“Yes.” He handed her a pen and paper. “Follow me to the phone, Brenda Starr.”
James removed a memo pad from his backpack that he had taken notes on during his meeting with Ruby Pennington. He had two phone numbers written on it, and he dialed the first one eagerly.
“Mrs. Matthews? Hello, this is James Henry from Shenandoah County Library.” He paused. “I know this is Thanksgiving, ma’am, and I don’t want to take up too much of your time.” He took a moment to find the right words. “It’s just that I have some good tidings to pass along, and I promised to do so before the holiday was over.”
James went on to explain that an anonymous library patron turned out to be the owner of a winning lottery ticket worth a great deal of money. “This person doesn’t believe in coincidence, Mrs. Matthews. This person felt that there was confusion about who owned the ticket for a reason. This person feels that was there was a specific purpose behind there being three other library patrons’ books in the book box. Because of this, I have been directed to tell you that a check for twenty-five thousand dollars is waiting for you at the library. It is this person’s way of giving thanks for the realization that they are already living a rich and fulfilled life.”
Mrs. Matthews didn’t respond. James was certain she was in shock.
“Ma’am? Did you follow what I said?” He waited. “Mrs. Matthews? Are you okay?”
She started crying. “Are you serious, Professor? Because if you are …” She trailed off. “You don’t know what this would mean for our family.”
James smiled into the phone. “I wouldn’t pull your leg, ma’am, and I’ve got the check to prove it. Stop in tomorrow when it’s convenient.”
Sniffling, Mrs. Matthews tried to catch her breath. “How can I thank this person, Professor? I just can’t take the money without expressing my deepest gratitude!”
“He or she especially wished to remain anonymous, Mrs. Matthews. They just wanted to spread a little cheer on this special day.”
“I can’t believe there is really someone like this out there, Professor! It’s like finding our own personal angel.”
James smiled. “I believe Quincy’s Gap is chock full of them. Good night and Happy Thanksgiving.”
Murphy’s mouth was hanging open, though her hand was working furiously. “Are you going to tell me who this person is?”
James shook his head. “Nope. Danny Leary was also given the same amount, and I’m now going to call Wendy Carver, a woman who has worked in the elementary school cafeteria for over twenty years, and tell her about her windfall. She makes the third person whose books were in our box.” He narrowed his eyes. “And don’t try to get anything out of Scott or Francis, either. They won’t tell you a thing.”
Fingers trembling with excitement, he dialed Wendy Carver’s number.
Wendy’s reaction was to shriek like a maimed hyena for over two minutes. James put her reaction on speakerphone as he and Murphy giggled gleefully, waiting for the cafeteria worker to calm down.
“Bless you, Professor!” Wendy yelled joyfully over and over again.
“Don’t bless me. I’m just the messenger,” James answered happily when he could finally get a word in edgewise.
James could almost visualize Wendy shaking a finger at him. “Don’t you tell me who I can bless! I say bless you and yours and that angel from heaven who’s given me this crazy gift and … and everyone! Yessir! Bless everyone!”
“Can I ask you a personal question, Ms. Carver?” James interrupted.
“Sure, hon. But better do it quick, ’fore I have a heart attack.”
