The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires(16)
The phone rang all morning. The incident hadn’t appeared in the morning paper, but it didn’t matter. CNN, NPR, CBS—no newsgathering organization could compete with the women of the Old Village.
“There’s already a run on alarms,” Kitty said. “Horse said the people he called about getting one told him it would be three weeks before they could even make it out here to look at the house. I don’t know how I’m going to survive for three weeks. Horse says we’re safe with his guns, but trust me, I’ve been dove hunting with that man. He can barely hit the sky.”
Slick called next.
“I’ve been praying for you all morning,” she said.
“Thank you, Slick,” Patricia said.
“I heard that Mrs. Savage’s nephew moved down here from someplace up north,” Slick said. She didn’t need to be more specific than that. Everyone knew that any place up north was roughly the same: lawless, relatively savage, and while they might have nice museums and the Statue of Liberty, people cared so little for each other they’d let you die in the street. “Leland told me some real estate agents stopped by and tried to get him to put her house on the market, but he won’t sell. None of them saw Mrs. Savage when they were there. He told them she couldn’t get out of bed, she was so poorly. How’s your ear?”
“She swallowed part of it,” Patricia said.
“I’m so sorry,” Slick said. “Those really were nice earrings.”
Grace called again later that afternoon with breaking news.
“Patricia,” she said. “Grace Cavanaugh. I just heard from Ben: Mrs. Savage passed an hour ago.”
Patricia suddenly felt gray. The den looked dark and dingy. The yellow linoleum seemed worn, and she saw every grubby hand mark on the wall around the light switch.
“How?” she asked.
“It wasn’t rabies, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Grace said. “She had some kind of blood poisoning. She was suffering from malnutrition, she was dehydrated, and she was covered with infected cuts and sores. Ben said the doctors were surprised she lasted this long. He even said”—and here Grace lowered her voice—“that she had track marks on her inner thigh. She’d probably been injecting something for the pain. I’m sure the family doesn’t want anyone to know about that.”
“I feel just miserable about this,” Patricia said.
“Is this about those earrings again?” Grace asked. “Even if you got back the one she swallowed, could you ever really bring yourself to wear them? Knowing where they’d been?”
“I feel like I should take something by,” Patricia said.
“Take something by to the nephew?” Grace asked, and her voice climbed the register so that nephew was a high, clear note of disbelief.
“His aunt passed,” Patricia said. “I should do something.”
“Why?” Grace asked.
“Should I take him flowers, or something to eat?” Patricia asked.
There was a long pause on Grace’s end, and then she spoke firmly.
“I am not sure what the appropriate gesture is to make toward the family of the woman who bit off your ear, but if you felt absolutely compelled, I certainly wouldn’t take food.”
Maryellen called on Saturday and that was what decided things for Patricia.
“I thought you should know,” she said over the phone, “we did the cremation for Ann Savage yesterday.” After her youngest daughter had entered first grade, Maryellen had gotten a job as the bookkeeper at Stuhr’s Funeral Homes. She knew the details of every death in Mt. Pleasant.
“Do you know anything about a memorial service or donations?” Patricia asked. “I want to send something.”
“The nephew did a direct cremation,” Maryellen said. “No flowers, no memorial service, no notice in the paper. I don’t even think he’s putting her in an urn, unless he got one from someplace else. He’ll probably just toss her ashes in a hole for all the care he showed.”
It ate at Patricia, and not merely because she suspected that not putting Ragtag on a leash had somehow caused Ann Savage’s death. One day, she would be the same age as Ann Savage and Miss Mary. Would Korey and Blue act like Carter’s brothers and ship her around like an unwanted fruitcake? Would they argue over who got stuck with her? If Carter died, would they sell the house, her books, her furniture, and split up the proceeds between themselves and she’d have nothing left of her own?
Every time she looked up and saw Miss Mary standing in a doorway, dressed to go out, purse over one arm, staring at her silently, not seeming to know what came next, she felt like it was only a few short steps from there to squatting in the side yard stuffing raw raccoon meat into her mouth.
A woman had died. She needed to take something by the house. Grace was right: it made no sense, but sometimes you did a thing because that was just what you did, not because it was sensible.
CHAPTER 6
Friends and relatives had dropped by the house all Friday and brought Patricia six bunches of flowers, two copies of Southern Living and one copy of Redbook, three casseroles (corn, taco, spinach), a pound of coffee, a bottle of wine, and two pies (Boston cream, peach). She decided that regifting a casserole was appropriate, given the situation, so she took out the taco one to thaw.