Free Biggie and the Quincy Ghost by Nancy Bell Page A

her life here in town, they clammed up. Said she’d picked up biggity ideas since she came to town and they don’t hardly know her no more.”
    The sheriff nodded. “That’s right. I reckon the county will have to bury the poor girl, because those sorry Baughs say they don’t have the money to hold a funeral. I reckon
they’re right about that. Old Mule Baugh used to operate a pretty profitable still out in the woods, but since the county voted wet, his income dried up. Now, all he gets is a little from his vegetable stand out by the road. ’Course, they pretty much live off the land out there.”
    “How about the others?”
    “You know as much as I do,” the sheriff said. “They all say they didn’t know her very well. She did work for Hen Lester a couple of months last summer, but that’s all.”
    “What about the casket salesman?”
    “Nothing, so far. I’m waiting for a report from the county up in Arkansas where he came from. I’ll have Wiggs let you know what we find out.” The sheriff lay back on his pillows and closed his eyes. “That’s about it, Mrs. Weatherford.”
    Biggie stood up. “Call me Biggie,” she said.
    When we got back to the hotel and walked into the lobby wonderful smells were coming from the back of the hotel. Gumbo! It could only mean one thing. I raced down the hall, through the dining room, and pushed open the swinging doors that led to the kitchen.
    Willie Mae was standing at the stove stirring a roux in a big pot. Rosebud, with an apron tied on, was chopping up onions and green peppers and celery on the table; I could smell French bread baking in the oven.
    I ran over to Willie Mae and threw my arms around her. “Boy, am I glad to see you!”
    Willie Mae looked down at me with what might have been a smile. “I come to help out Miss Mary Ann,” she said. “And what did I tell you about running in the house? Get you an apron on and hand me that bowl of shrimps
out of the ice box. Then look in the pantry and see do you see any red pepper in there?”
    That night, we all sat down and stuffed ourselves with Willie Mae’s special seafood gumbo, the best in the whole wide world.

8
    “I t’s a lovely evening.” Biggie pushed herself back from the supper table in the dining room and patted her stomach. She had just polished off a big bowl of Willie Mae’s famous raisin bread pudding topped off with rum sauce. “I think I’ll take a little stroll around town. Anybody else want to go along?”
    “I can’t go, Biggie,” Butch said, brushing crumbs off his black velvet jeans. “I’m meeting Chip, you know, I told you about him. He owns the Gilded Lily Tea Room. We’re getting together with some of his friends to watch an old Judy Garland special on video. Don’t you just love Judy?”
    Biggie nodded. “How about you, Mattie? Feel like some fresh air?”
    Miss Mattie made a face. “Can’t,” she said. “Norman’s been having a hissy fit for me to trim his ingrown toenail.”

    “Well, it hurts,” Mr. Thripp whined. “I can’t hardly walk without pain.”
    “Why can’t you do it yourself?” I asked.
    Mr. Thripp stretched out his long legs and set one of his feet on the chair next to him, then leaned over. He bent over and stretched as hard as he could, but he could just barely touch his toes with his hands. “It’s a curse,” he said, “the curse of the Thripps. We’re all built the same, long legs and short arms.”
    “Well, I’ll be jiggered,” Rosebud said, coming in with a tray to clear the table. “If that don’t beat Old Billy.”
    “I have to trim his toenails regularly,” Miss Mattie said. “You should have seen that man’s feet when we married. He did not have one single pair of socks that didn’t have holes in the ends.”
    “I’d had to go to a size larger shoe … .”
    “Ee-yew,” Butch said. “If y’all don’t hush, I’m just gonna to lose all my supper.”
    Biggie grinned. “How about you, J.R.?”
    Frankly, I couldn’t