A Life for a Life - Lynda McDaniel (whitelam books TXT) 📗
- Author: Lynda McDaniel
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“Would she let me have those clothes? The case is closed, so I don’t see how I would be obstructing Brower’s case.”
“I knew you’d want to have a look, so I asked her that. She said if you paid her twenty dollars for the dryer and for several days of storage—can you believe her?—she’d be happy to be shed of them.”
Fortunately the laundromat was open late; I’d been taking off way too much time from the store. At six o’clock I closed up and drove to the Wash ‘n’ Swear—that’s what someone dubbed Blanche’s Wash ‘n’ Wear laundromat. Probably the same comedian who named the Mountain Weakly.
Blanche was up on a ladder installing a new sign when I walked in. I studied some of the other signs she’d tacked up over the years. Their degree of discoloration gave the chronology of her evolving frustrations. One of the earlier ones: “Keep Children Under Control” had “This Means YOU!” taped under it. Next to that: “No change for anything bigger than $10.” She’d crossed through $10 and written $20—likely right after she raised the cost of each load. Other signs included “No Tie Dye,” “No Sitting on Machines,” “No Drying w/o Washing,” “No Clothes Left Unattended.” How long could it be before she tacked up the sign: “No Dirty Clothes”?
I cleared my throat, as much out of nervousness as trying to get her attention. Blanche turned and said, “Oh it’s you. Give me a hand, would you?”
I walked to the ladder and could see the new sign: “No Clothes Kept Past One Week.” Oh hell, were Lucy’s clothes already gone?
“How can I help?” I asked.
“Just make sure this ladder don’t tip, so I don’t break my fool neck!” When she finished with the thumbtacks, she dusted off her hands and asked, “Okay, what do you want?”
“Cleva Hall mentioned you found clothes from the dead woman.” I looked at the new sign and asked, “Do you still have them?”
“Wait one minute. I didn’t find them. They’ve been here taking up valuable space for almost two months now.”
More like five weeks, I thought. But I couldn’t help but smile. Blanche was so ornery, she could be amusing—in small doses and if you were in the right mood. “I can imagine how annoying things can get here,” I said.
Blanche looked me over for any signs of sarcasm but seemed content with what she found. “Yep, I’ve still got ‘em. They’re over there,” she said, pointing to a corner near the dryer vents.
“May I take them off your hands?”
“If you pay for the dryer and the storage fee you can. Cleva thought you’d be willing to pay for them. She’s a good apple, you know?”
I nodded, trying to hide my surprise at the first kind words I’d ever heard Blanche utter. “She sure is.” And she thinks you’re bat-shit crazy, I thought. “And I appreciate this. I hope to find out more about her, Lucy, that is. Brower has closed the case; he’s content with Jane Doe.”
“He’s a sorry son of a bitch,” Blanche said. “That man is useless. I had some kids in here one night, acting all weird, and I called him. You would’ve thought I was picking on some choirboys, just because his nephew was one of them. Those boys were up to no good, but he didn’t care. Told me to get a life and be more careful when I called next time. Well, I haven’t called since, including about these clothes.” She crossed her arms and punctuated her statement with an exaggerated nod of her head.
“What were the boys doing?” I couldn’t douse my curiosity, even though I knew I was in for more ranting.
“They were waiting on some wash—school tracksuits or something like that—and making a lot of racket. I told them to read that sign.” She pointed at “No Horseplay.” “That’s when they started galloping around, whinnying like a bunch of fools. I was furious.”
When weren’t you? I thought, stifling a laugh. By the time I’d packed the clothes into the truck, my ears were ringing. It was a wonder anyone came here, but lots of people didn’t have their own washers and dryers, and it was the only laundromat for miles.
I was closing the truck door when I heard, “Hold on there, missy. Aren’t you forgetting something?”
I couldn’t think which sign I’d violated. I’d paid up and wasn’t partaking in any horseplay, at least not at the moment. “I left the money on the counter, Blanche.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t pay for the extra day of storage. That’s three more dollar for today. You’re a businesswoman; you know you’ve got to run a tight ship.”
My forehead hurt like the devil. I got a bump on it from banging into that dang front window up at the house. I was sitting on the couch after dinner, and I saw a car come cruising by—driving real slow-like. Something about the way it was creeping past the store didn’t feel right. Some kind of sedan I ain’t seen before. It might’ve even been like Alex’s car. I tried to catch another look at it, and that’s when I banged my head into the window. For all of that, I didn’t get a good look.
Maybe I was just trying to make somethin’ happen, because everything seemed to have stopped. There’d been no progress with the murder, and I needed Duane to work with me on the Rollin’ Store, but he had another job he had to do for a few days. Besides, the bus needed an inspection permit before it could head out. None of the regular guys who sat with me, whittling and telling lies, was coming round, neither. They was busy with calving and gardening and such as that. So I kept rubbing my blamed forehead, the way you worry something that hurts, and wishing Della would ask me to help out somehow.
The other evenin’, I saw her come home with a brown package. The next morning, she came out of the store all of a sudden with something in her hand and asked me to watch the store for a second and holler at her if someone drove up. She ran up the steps and was gone a while (no one came), and when she came back, she was carrying an old pair of jeans with stains on the knees. No way they was hers—I reckoned they were the ones she got from the laundromat looney.
I was there when Cleva came flying in to tell her about the clothes at the laundromat. I sure was glad Della didn’t ask me to help her visit that place. When our washer gave out, Mama made me haul our clothes down there for a couple of weeks, along with every bedspread and rug we owned. She figured as long as we were going, we should wash everything that was too big for her regular washer. Well, that crazy woman took a dislike to me the minute I walked in. She told me not to do so many things, I just about froze. Mama told me not to pay her no mind.
I had to hand it to her—she did a smart job of folding people’s raggedy old clothes, and I recognized the package Della carried in as one of hers. But I felt sad, thinking about people pawing through some dead girl’s underwears for clues.
The store was slowing down after the initial rush on gossip and news, so I’d been able to catch up on chores and do the stocking myself. I knew Abit wanted to get back inside, but I honestly didn’t need him. Inside the store, that is. While I sat at the register, I called Alex and brought him up to date about Blanche Scoggins and Lucy’s laundry. I called Cleva, too, and told her what I’d found. Basically nothing.
But as I hung up, I dropped the receiver before it was set in the cradle. When I bent over to pick it up, I felt something poke me through the little watch pocket on my jeans. My earrings, the ones I’d meant to put on that morning, were sticking into me with their sharp wires. That reminded me I hadn’t checked that pocket on Lucy’s jeans. I’d gone over her clothes a half dozen times, but overlooked that.
I asked Abit to hold down the fort and ran up the stairs. Jake was close behind, thinking we were playing a game. Inside, I grabbed Lucy’s jeans and dug deep in that little pocket. I felt something. A piece of paper? It was washed and dried in there, stuck actually, so I got some tweezers and slowly pulled it out.
I went back down the steps, Jake flying ahead of me. “Abit, how far is ESTEND, NC?” I asked, waving the piece of paper and a AAA map of North Carolina. “I can’t find it on this map.”
“I never heard of such a place, but maybe Daddy has. We could go ask him.”
I saw the look on his face, eager to help, but not so much that he wanted to deal with his father. “No, I’ll just call Cleva.”
“Can I see?” Abit asked. He looked at the map’s index, then ran his finger over the map. “I don’t see nothin’ by that name.”
“I know, it’s not on the map. I saw it here,” I said, holding out a washed-out receipt.
Abit took the paper and studied it. “This looks like what Mama gets from the bank. But it’s been through the washer.”
“I found it in this little pocket,” I said, pointing to my own jeans. “I think it’s a bank receipt. From ESTEND.”
“That’s WESTEND. I can just about make out where the W used to be, before it were washed. And that’s about an hour from here. My aunt and uncle and a couple of cousins live over there. I’ve never been, but they’ve been here before.” He was busting with pride at solving the mystery.
“I should go and find out if they have any missing persons in Westend. I’d call, but I can’t imagine they’d give out any information on the phone. It’s doubtful they’ll talk to me in person, but more likely than calling.” I took back the receipt and headed toward the steps.
“Hey! Not fair!” Abit shouted, coming down hard with his chair and stomping his foot. That got my attention. “I solved that town for you, and I want to go, too.”
“You’re right, Mister. How about a road trip? Besides, we need some supplies.” I managed not to smile at how surprised he looked, unaccustomed to getting his own way.
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