“Okay,” I said, and sentenced them each to jail, ten days of active time with another ninety days suspended under the usual conditions.
“Jail?” protested little Mrs. Reed, glaring at me over her bifocals. “But I’m a senior citizen.”
“Sorry,” I said. “No discounts for seniors.”
Haywood and Isabel’s son Stevie, home from college for the Thanksgiving weekend, met me in chambers after adjournment at twelve-thirty.
“You sure you don’t mind driving them?” he asked. “Gayle and I were going to Raleigh, do some Christmas shopping and maybe catch a movie, but we could wait and go tomorrow.”
I told him not to be silly and we went down to the parking lot where his parents were waiting. Isabel looked appropriately glitzy in gold stretch pants, gold purse and shoes, and a bright green, hip-length sweater ornamented with pearl drops, oversized rhinestones, and gold beading.
In his matching green sports jacket, string bolo tie, and porkpie hat, Haywood looked more massive than usual as he stood beside my sleek little Firebird.
“I don’t know, shug,” he said doubtfully. “I’m almost afraid I might break it.”
“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” said Stevie. “Deborah could drive y’all’s car and then you wouldn’t have to ride all scrunched up.”
“But how’ll you get home?” asked Isabel.
“Don’t even think about it,” I told him.
Stevie laughed and just stood there. He knows he’s my favorite nephew.
I sighed and handed over my keys. “If there’s the least little dent, the tiniest scratch, I will personally come over to Chapel Hill and bang you out with a rubber mallet.”
We transferred my things to the capacious trunk of Haywood and Isabel’s living room on wheels, a ten-year-old Mercury Grand Marquis with broad leather seats and lots of legroom, which is a real necessity since Haywood has lots of leg.
As we drove through Dobbs, Haywood and Isabel asked if I’d heard anything more about Billy Wall.
“Nothing except Dwight’s pretty sure he lied about paying Mr. Jap. They can prove he has a lot more cash than he ought to have.”
“But he ain’t said he did it?” asked Haywood.
“No. And they let him out on bond.”
“Poor boy,” said Isabel. “He’s really messed up his life, hasn’t he?”
It was hard to talk and drive, too. The fog was as bad as I could ever remember, thick and soft and cottony white. Visibility was severely limited and I couldn’t relax till we finally got off the two-lane road and onto Seventy East’s four lanes. Even then I didn’t feel comfortable enough to go faster than fifty.
“Hope they don’t cancel our plane,” Isabel said anxiously from the backseat. “Zach says Adam’s worried they may cancel his.”
“Might not be a bad thing if they did,” said Haywood. “Something’s eating on that boy. I believe he loved congregating together with us this visit, but I got the feeling his life’s real flusterated right now. You don’t know what it is, do you?”
“What do Daddy and Seth think?” I hedged.
“They think the same thing,” he answered obscurely.
“He’s probably been out in California too long,” said Isabel. “People out yonder just don’t think like we do. It’s probably messed up his judgment, don’t you reckon?”
Somehow California and its citizens got her off on the people moving into a recently built subdivision over near Robert and Doris.
“I never saw such long names as is on those new mailboxes. Half of them’s nothing but vowels and the other half’s all consonants. They need to shake ’em up in a box and start over.”
“You think maybe Adam’s got a health problem?” said Haywood.
“—and of course Doris could find fault with Jesus Christ if he came back to earth, but it bothers me, too, to see people out cutting their grass on Sunday morning. ‘Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.’ That means going to church. It
I resisted asking why the Sabbath injunction never seemed to include cooking a big Sunday dinner and washing up the dishes afterward. Cooking and doing dishes probably fall under the ox-in-the-ditch exemption.
“Maybe it relaxes them,” I said. “Some people like to cut grass better than play golf.”
“I just hate to see our ways changing,” said Isabel as she rummaged in her gold purse for the little notebook she uses to record their gambling wins and losses. “You see that in the paper how they’re going to plunk down a Food Lion over by the Interstate, just four miles from us? And one of them new people said she was counting the days ’cause she has to drive twelve miles to shop right now. Like twelve miles is a trip to China! How come she didn’t move to North Raleigh if she wants to live next door to a grocery store?”
“Or maybe things ain’t like they should be between him and Karen,” said Hay wood. “You know, they ain’t been back home together in a long time.”
“Nadine said one of ’em came into the Coffee Pot the other day, ordered a breakfast plate and thought that the grits were cream of wheat. Wanted to know how he was supposed to put milk on ’em and them laying there on a flat plate. Can you believe that?”
“ ’Course it might be his work. I hear tell they’s lots of people losing their jobs these days.”
“Tink Dupree told Nadine he was going to get him one of those T-shirts that say
