hardly knew who was coming and going.”
I tried not to smile, remembering the last time Sarah was in the hospital. She’d been in a stew because she had succumbed to a scam in which her tax money was stolen. Every time we visited her, she was begging and crying for Mama’s help. It was a far cry from Agatha’s restful demeanor.
To assure Agatha undisturbed rest, Mama suggested we walk out together. Once Carrie’s Buick was out of sight, Mama urged me to hurry. “There are a few phone calls I must make before it gets too late.”
When we got home, Mama headed straight for her bedroom to make her calls. A half hour later she joined me in the kitchen where I was finishing up a cup of southern butter-pecan-flavored coffee and a piece of pineapple upside-down cake.
“I just talked to Hattie,” Mama informed me. “She understands that I’ll need to take the rest of the week off from the office.”
“I figured as much,” I said. “But you know, Sidney allowed me time off to do community service and Ijust wouldn’t feel good if I got back to Atlanta and hadn’t seen to it that one family got clothes.”
Mama smiled. “I know what you’re saying, Simone. Tomorrow, after we get Agatha out of the hospital and comfortably situated, I want to go to the high school. Perhaps I can get Dolly to get a message to Clyde Hicks. I really want to talk to that young man. And I did promise Lurena that I’d talk to Stella in an effort to at least clear up whether or not Victor bothered the girl or not. If the girl is as adamant as her mother that she hadn’t been molested, I’ll close that case. I promise, once we get those things done, we’ll get back to distributing the clothes.”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
I n less than an hour after her discharge, we had Agatha at our house, in our spare bedroom, which Mama calls the boys’ room, since she keeps mementos of my brothers on display there.
Before lunch, we were at the high school.
Otis High School is situated on a five-acre piece of property with several trailers behind it. The campus wasn’t like any I’d ever attended, yet being on school grounds reminded me of days that were fun and days when I worked my butt off to cram so that I could get an A or B+ in a subject I hadn’t paid much attention to in class.
The usual glass-filled cases with sports trophies and plaques were kept in the entrance. The walls and ceiling were painted a drab green color, the floor a muddy gray. All very familiar.
The corridor was crowded with students changing class. Ira Manson, Otis’s new deejay, slipped by us, his clothes disheveled, his face bruised, like he’d been in a fight. Mama called to him and he walked toward us, his manner reluctant. “Are you all right?” she asked him.
“I’m fine,” he said, pouting.
“Listen, Ira,” Mama said to him, “this may not be a good time, but I need to ask you about Brenda Long.”
Ira’s eyes grew hostile. “What about Brenda?”
“Do you know whether or not she had a boyfriend?”
His laugh had a nasty tone. “Are you kidding, Miss Candi? No decent boy in the world would get near that holier-than-thou liar. I ain’t saying Brenda deserved to get killed, but I know why whoever did it cut her lying tongue out.”
Mama changed the subject. “I’m looking for Dolly Grayson,” she told him. “Do you have any idea where I can find her?”
“Look in the last room at the end of this hall,” Ira told Mama. “I saw her there a few minutes ago. I’ve got to go home,” he added angrily.
Dolly was a woman who could have been a lot more attractive had it not been for the puckered worry lines in her forehead. She was pulling wads of papers from a crammed desk. “Dolly, can we talk with you for a minute?” Mama asked as we approached.
The woman looked up. “Is that you, Miss Candi?”
“Yes. And this is my daughter, Simone.”
“What are you doing at the school?” Dolly asked.
“I’m looking for you.”
“Me?”
“I
I tried not to smile, remembering the last time Sarah was in the hospital. She’d been in a stew because she had succumbed to a scam in which her tax money was stolen. Every time we visited her, she was begging and crying for Mama’s help. It was a far cry from Agatha’s restful demeanor.
To assure Agatha undisturbed rest, Mama suggested we walk out together. Once Carrie’s Buick was out of sight, Mama urged me to hurry. “There are a few phone calls I must make before it gets too late.”
When we got home, Mama headed straight for her bedroom to make her calls. A half hour later she joined me in the kitchen where I was finishing up a cup of southern butter-pecan-flavored coffee and a piece of pineapple upside-down cake.
“I just talked to Hattie,” Mama informed me. “She understands that I’ll need to take the rest of the week off from the office.”
“I figured as much,” I said. “But you know, Sidney allowed me time off to do community service and Ijust wouldn’t feel good if I got back to Atlanta and hadn’t seen to it that one family got clothes.”
Mama smiled. “I know what you’re saying, Simone. Tomorrow, after we get Agatha out of the hospital and comfortably situated, I want to go to the high school. Perhaps I can get Dolly to get a message to Clyde Hicks. I really want to talk to that young man. And I did promise Lurena that I’d talk to Stella in an effort to at least clear up whether or not Victor bothered the girl or not. If the girl is as adamant as her mother that she hadn’t been molested, I’ll close that case. I promise, once we get those things done, we’ll get back to distributing the clothes.”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
I n less than an hour after her discharge, we had Agatha at our house, in our spare bedroom, which Mama calls the boys’ room, since she keeps mementos of my brothers on display there.
Before lunch, we were at the high school.
Otis High School is situated on a five-acre piece of property with several trailers behind it. The campus wasn’t like any I’d ever attended, yet being on school grounds reminded me of days that were fun and days when I worked my butt off to cram so that I could get an A or B+ in a subject I hadn’t paid much attention to in class.
The usual glass-filled cases with sports trophies and plaques were kept in the entrance. The walls and ceiling were painted a drab green color, the floor a muddy gray. All very familiar.
The corridor was crowded with students changing class. Ira Manson, Otis’s new deejay, slipped by us, his clothes disheveled, his face bruised, like he’d been in a fight. Mama called to him and he walked toward us, his manner reluctant. “Are you all right?” she asked him.
“I’m fine,” he said, pouting.
“Listen, Ira,” Mama said to him, “this may not be a good time, but I need to ask you about Brenda Long.”
Ira’s eyes grew hostile. “What about Brenda?”
“Do you know whether or not she had a boyfriend?”
His laugh had a nasty tone. “Are you kidding, Miss Candi? No decent boy in the world would get near that holier-than-thou liar. I ain’t saying Brenda deserved to get killed, but I know why whoever did it cut her lying tongue out.”
Mama changed the subject. “I’m looking for Dolly Grayson,” she told him. “Do you have any idea where I can find her?”
“Look in the last room at the end of this hall,” Ira told Mama. “I saw her there a few minutes ago. I’ve got to go home,” he added angrily.
Dolly was a woman who could have been a lot more attractive had it not been for the puckered worry lines in her forehead. She was pulling wads of papers from a crammed desk. “Dolly, can we talk with you for a minute?” Mama asked as we approached.
The woman looked up. “Is that you, Miss Candi?”
“Yes. And this is my daughter, Simone.”
“What are you doing at the school?” Dolly asked.
“I’m looking for you.”
“Me?”
“I
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