Bill Fitzhugh - Fender Benders by Bill Fitzhugh

shape of a great big guitar.   He shook his head slowly.   “Well, check it out,” he said slowly.   It even had strings painted on the bottom.

 
 
    10.

 
    The Mississippi Highway Patrol did the decent thing, sending
a patrolman out of the Gulfport
substation to break the news.   Eddie was
in his hotel room working on a new song when the knock came to his door.   “Mr. Long, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad
news.”
    Eddie blanched when he heard Tammy had been shot.   Of all the things he might have imagined the
patrolman saying, that his wife had been shot would
have been way down the list. The patrolman reached out to catch him when it
looked like Eddie’s legs might give way, but he made it to a chair and sat
down.   “She was shot?”   He couldn’t believe it.
    Eddie canceled the rest of his shows and made the long drive
back to Quitman County.   The whole way back he thought about what his
future held now that Tammy was gone.
    It was a bleak day in the Mississippi
delta when they laid Tammy to rest, overcast with thunder rolling in the
distance.   The humid air was dead still
and thick as two dogs’ heads.
    Eddie did his best to be strong.   He walked on one side of Mrs. Teasdale
offering support while Henry was on the other.   There was a good turn out at the church.   The preacher kept it simple and let anyone speak who was of a mind
to.   Carl sat in the back of the church
with his wife and toddler.   He kept his
mouth shut and felt guilty about everything he’d ever done.
    After the funeral, family and friends gathered at the
Teasdale’s home just outside of Hinchcliff.   Everyone agreed , it smelled good up inside that
house.   It was the largest gathering of
green bean casseroles ever recorded north of Yazoo
City.   There wasn’t a can of cream of mushroom soup
on a grocery store shelf in a four county radius.   And God alone knows how many chickens had
been fried.   And the pies!   The flakiest crusts, the
sugariest fillings, the best fruit and nuts, butter, lard, and shortening.   Pure comfort for the
mournful and two tons of saturated fats.
    A group of women gathered around a vessel of Miss Lexie’s
pineapple casserole, a dish notable for its unique combination of a sweet
tropical fruit, sharp cheese, butter, sugar, and a pile of Ritz cracker
crumbs.   They ate the entire thing
straight from the dish.
    Another group of women, this one cattier and less particular
than the casserole group, stood to the side of the room making derisive
comments about the diameter of certain thighs over at the buffet.   They also talked about how great Eddie looked
in his all-black suit.   They knew it was
tacky, what with the dirt still being fresh on top of his dead wife and all,
but they couldn’t help themselves, and they meant it in the nicest possible
way.   He really did look good in his
grief.
    Carl was there, still with his wife and toddler.   He had surrendered to what he assumed would
be a lifetime of guilt and fear of exposure.   He was drinking bourbon by the tumbler and weeping uncontrollably.   The sheriff was there too.   He had come as a friend to express his
condolences but at one point late in the afternoon Mr. Teasdale pulled him
aside.   “What can you tell me about the
investigation?”
    “Now, Henry, I’m not here on business,” the sheriff
said.   “But if you insist, I’ll tell you
what I can.”
    Henry looked him in the eyes.   “Let’s step outside.”
    They went to the back porch and lit cigarettes.   “Henry,” the sheriff said, “I gotta tell you,
this is got me stumped.   I got evidence
indicating both murder and suicide.”   He
lowered his voice.   “And I don’t mean to
be disrespectful, but not too long before she died, Tammy had sexual relations
with someone other than Eddie.”
    “What’re you saying?”
    “All I’m saying is this thing ain’t on all fours.”
    “It sure ain’t.”   Henry looked away, ashamed that his