Free Drumsticks by Charlotte Carter Page A

said, appearing for a moment in the doorway. She quickly disappeared.
    â€œI still don’t think anybody paid to have that woman killed,” he told me then. “The fact she had a record don’t prove a thing. This is America—anybody black could have a record. But the best thing you and Aubrey could do is stay out of this Ida Williams business.”
    He chuckled maliciously. “You kinda got up Loveless’s nose the other night, you know. He sounds like he’s a little pissed anyway ’cause of Ida’s record and stuff. The case maybe ain’t as simple as he thought. Anyway, you don’t want him bringing down no kinda heat on you. Believe me.”
    A little mouse-squeak “Shit!” escaped involuntarily from my chest.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?”
    I pushed down the second bout of idiotic laughter. “Look, Leman. I—I better tell you something.”
    He waited for me to go on. I watched his face slowly turn to stone.
    I got up and retrieved the yearbook. Little by little, in the course of recounting how I spent my Thursday afternoon, I confessed to unlawful entry, tampering with evidence, and God knows what other lesser included offenses, as the parlance would have it. Told him all about Ida’s show business partner, too. And the wad of money in the hatbox.
    â€œGod damn ! Same old Cueball,” he accused. “Why didn’t they drown you at birth?” He gestured at the yearbook. “Give that to me, girl, before I—”
    â€œHow we doing in there?” Aubrey’s bright voice broke the rope of tension in the room.
    â€œI’ll let Leman answer that one,” I said. “Come on in, Aubrey. And I’ll take one of those beers, too.”
    Leman snatched the photograph out of the book, looked at it contemptuously, and tossed it aside. He was furiously turning the pages of the yearbook as he went back to strafing me. “What kind of stupid Cueball idea made you do that shit in the first place? Are you crazy, woman? Or you just determined to drive me crazy? And why the hell would you think your daddy’s got anything to do with anything? That’s just plain dumb.”
    My face was burning. It looked as though, once again, I was taking the superstition stuff much too seriously, seeing ill omens where there were none.
    â€œLook what I got for you, Sweet.”
    Aubrey was holding a large plate brimming with snack crackers, looking like a kind of lascivious Welcome Wagon lady. “All low-salt,” she announced giddily.
    Leman began to speak, but she had already smeared one of the biscuits with softened cheese and was popping it into his mouth with newly manicured fingers.
    She sat near him on the sofa. “Don’t let me interrupt,” she said. “Go ahead.”
    He cleared his throat.
    I sighed, resigned. “Yes, go on, Sergeant Sweet. Where were we?”
    But he did not resume his harangue. Instead, he asked, “What’s the name of this school again?”
    â€œStephens Academy,” I answered, needlessly, because he suddenly turned back to the front cover, keeping his place in the book with the other hand.
    â€œThis is the graduating class of ninety-six, right?”
    â€œYeah, why?”
    I got up to see what was so interesting. He was looking down at a pretty young girl in cap and gown, a winningly crooked smile on her face. Her face was not so much pretty as arresting, full of dramatic planes, the perfect setting for her huge almond-shaped eyes and full mouth.
    â€œI’m through yelling at you, Cueball.”
    â€œYou are?”
    â€œYeah. I am. You just gave me an idea. Shit, I’ll even let you call me by my first name.”
    â€œSee?” said Aubrey, pleased as all get out, as if she had just solved all our problems—as if she even knew what he meant.
    â€œNo, I don’t see,” I said. “What idea did I give you, Leman?”
    â€œNever mind