Not One of Us(16)

In a swift move, she popped the pill in her mouth and swigged it down with a gulp of water. Scowling at the both of us, she set the glass on the counter. “Y’all happy now?” Without waiting for an answer, she shuffled to the den.

Uncle Buddy raised a brow. “Always was a grump in the morning, even as a kid. Tressie was the same. The two of them used to snap at each other every day until noontime.”

Hard to picture Mimi as a child. Especially since she never talked about her childhood. “Was she always this stubborn?” I asked.

“You bet.” He slanted me a curious look and cocked his head toward the door. “Got a moment?”

“Sure. Back in a minute,” I called to Mimi and Zach. Once outside, I turned to him. “What’s up?”

He withdrew a wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a check. “A little something to tide y’all over,” he said, handing me the check.

I accepted it, whistling softly at the amount. “I’m sure this is way more than—”

“Got a call from the bank late yesterday,” he interrupted. “Oatha was overdrawn.”

I groaned. Seemed I’d have to add managing Mimi’s financial affairs to my growing list of duties. “I won’t let it happen again,” I promised.

“Not your fault. I’d have just directly deposited this in her account but figured you needed to know what was going on.”

No telling how many times Uncle Buddy had to “help out” his sister over the years. I suspected he assisted with Tressie’s bills too.

“Thanks. How about you and Aunt Sue coming over one night soon for dinner?”

“Sure thing. I’d reckon Sue would appreciate a break from cooking.”

If she did have a complaint, I couldn’t picture his wife ever voicing it. To me, she’d always appeared a mousy kind of person, shuffling about quietly in the background while Uncle Buddy took center stage with his huge personality. Both of their daughters favored Aunt Sue in looks and personality. Quiet people. I’d never been especially close with my cousins. They were a generation older than me, and both had moved out of state decades ago.

He fixed an intense stare on me. “Anything else I can do to help, give me a call.”

With that, he waved and climbed into his truck. I reentered the house and stepped into the living room, where Mimi and Zach sat together on the couch, chuckling at demolition footage on HGTV.

“Boom,” Zach squealed as a construction crew hammered a wall, slashing holes into slabs of sheetrock.

My heart warmed as I watched. How many times had I observed them laughing together like this? They seemed to bring out the best in each other. I swallowed past a lump in my throat.

Before I could join them, the front doorbell clanged, emitting bursts of green triangles, and we all startled. Nobody ever rang the bell. Friends and family just knocked once on the side door before entering. Like a call after midnight, this signaled something that could not be good.

“I’ll get it.” I wiped my sticky palms on the front of my jeans and headed to the door, stoically pulling it open to face whatever bad news awaited. Two strangers, a man and a woman, stood on the porch. I glanced over the khaki uniforms and the official-looking patches on the shirts. Cops or detectives. My mind raced with questions. Had someone died? Were we in some kind of trouble? Maybe someone had called Social Services again. My heart skittered wildly as I imagined these cops poking into our business and deciding we provided an unsafe environment for Zach. What would become of him then?

The woman spoke first, her voice a blue-gray herringbone pattern. “Are you Jori Trahern?”

I swallowed with difficulty. “Yes.” My answer came out squeaky and timid.

“I’m Deputy Blackwell, and this is Lieutenant Oliver with the Sheriff’s Department. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“About what?”

“Your conversation last night with Raymond Strickland.”

I let out a deep breath. Zach was safe. Along with the relief, my manners returned. “Please, come on in,” I invited, opening the door wider and motioning them to enter. Raymond Strickland. What the hell was this all about? Was he angry that I’d spoken to him last night and drawn the ire of the redneck pool players? Perhaps he’d filed a complaint or restraining order against me. Fine. I had no desire to ever see the man again anyway.

Mimi stepped into the den and frowned as the officers seated themselves on the couch. “What’s all this here about?” she demanded, crossing her arms at the waist. Mimi had never much been the gracious kind, always suspicious of strangers, especially cops. But either old age or the Alzheimer’s disease had made those rough edges sharper.

I gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s about a bar fight I witnessed last night while I was out with Dana. Why don’t you go ahead and finish eating lunch with Zach?”

“I don’t want these people in my house,” she sniffed. With one last glare of distrust, Mimi turned and left us alone. I shrugged an apology to the officers, who acted as though they hadn’t witnessed my grandmother’s rudeness. They were probably used to rude receptions in the course of their duties.

“Has the guy filed a complaint against me?” I asked, getting right down to business. “I didn’t talk to him but a few minutes. And anyway, he told me he was leaving town soon.”