Bless Her Dead Little Heart

CHAPTER 6

Dickce stood still. Had she imagined the creaking floorboards overhead? Right now all she heard was the faint whirring of the air-conditioning.

One glance at Junior Pittman’s face assured her she hadn’t imagined the sounds.

She felt sweat forming on her forehead and scalp despite the cool, slightly dank air. The musty odor made her want to sneeze, and she pinched her nose to stop the tickle.

Ahead of her, Diesel slowly climbed the stairs, body low, obviously in hunting mode.

“Let me go first,” Junior whispered and motioned for her to let him pass.

Dickce stepped back, and the young man moved upward, hardly making a sound. He laid a hand on the cat’s head, and Diesel stopped. When Junior’s head reached a point where he could see the upper room through the railing, he paused.

Dickce saw his tensed shoulders relax.

“Dang it, Benjy, what the heck are you doing here?” Junior sounded exasperated.

Dickce waited on the stairs. Was the mysterious Benjy dangerous?

“I didn’t have a lot of choice. You know what my mother’s like.” The petulant tones of a young man’s voice carried down to her. Diesel chirped but didn’t move.

Junior turned to look down at Dickce and frowned. “It’s okay, ma’am. It’s only Benjy.” He disappeared from the stairway.

Diesel climbed the rest of the way up to the landing with Dickce. Her left hand rested on the newel post at the head of the stairs as she paused to catch her breath and give her pulse time to stop racing.

The apartment occupied the full second story of the garage. The bathroom was at the far end, along with a large closet. Otherwise, the space, which included a small kitchen and dining area, was open. The shabby but still serviceable furniture dated from the 1960s.

We really need to replace all this, Dickce thought, before her attention settled on the newcomer.

A youth of perhaps nineteen or twenty, clad in ragged jeans and a garishly colored T-shirt, regarded her with an uncertain smile. His shaggy blond hair, an inch past shoulder length, reminded Dickce of the pageboy style all the young people wore in the 1950s. Each ear sported two earrings, and each eyebrow had a small ring at the outer edge. Dickce was surprised there were no visible tattoos, given his other adornments and choice of clothing. He looked like young men she saw on the street whenever she and An’gel went to Memphis to shop.

Junior Pittman said, “Miss Ducote, this is Benjy Stephens, Marla’s son. Benjy, Miss Dickce Ducote.”

Benjy shook her proffered hand gently. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“You are quite a surprise, young man,” Dickce said, her tone prim. “Before we go any further, we need more air.” How did Benjy know about the garage apartment? She marched across the room to a window that overlooked the woods behind the mansion and set the air conditioner on high.

Dickce turned back to the two men. Diesel was rubbing himself against Benjy’s legs, and the youth grinned as he scratched the cat’s head.

“Why didn’t you come in with your parents when you arrived?” Dickce felt embarrassed when she saw the layer of dust that coated everything in the apartment. Motes floated in the air, disturbed by the force of the air conditioner blower. She wasn’t thrilled to discover yet another guest, but she noted that at least Diesel seemed to approve of him. She had to wonder also whether there were any more family members who might pop up. The situation was beginning to border on the ridiculous.

Benjy’s face darkened as he pulled his hand away from Diesel. “Mom told me there probably wouldn’t be room in the house for me. She said I should stay out here. The Wart’s mother told them about the apartment over the garage, I guess.” He shrugged. “The door wasn’t locked anyway, so I figured nobody would mind.”

Diesel chirped to remind Benjy that he needed attention, and Benjy resumed scratching the cat’s head.

Dickce assumed that the nickname referred to the boy’s stepfather, Wade Thurmond. No love lost there, she reckoned. Then she wondered what kind of mother would tell her child such a thing. Her already low opinion of Marla Stephens plummeted even further.

“We don’t usually lock it,” Dickce said, her tone gentle. “I’m afraid there is no more room in the house. You’re welcome to stay here, but you’ll have to share with Mr. Pittman.” The apartment contained a double bed and a large sofa, and the two ought to be comfortable enough here. “I’m sorry about the dust, but we haven’t had the place aired and cleaned in months.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Junior said. “A little dust isn’t going to bother me. I don’t have any allergies.”

Benjy snorted. “Me either. Mom would have a fit, though, if she had to sleep in here. She’s allergic to all kinds of weird stuff.”

Dickce nodded. “Yes, I believe she did mention her allergies.”

“She would.” Benjy rolled his eyes before gesturing at Diesel. “What’s his name, and what kind of cat is he?”

“His name is Diesel, and he’s a Maine Coon.” Dickce smiled fondly at the cat. “He is visiting with my sister and me while his family vacations in France.”

“I’ve never seen a house cat that big before,” Junior said. “Does he have some kind of glandular problem?”

“Your grandmother asked the same question. No, he’s perfectly healthy,” Dickce replied. “Maine Coons are generally larger than most breeds, but Diesel is exceptional, and not just because of his size.”

The cat warbled, his gaze fixed on Dickce, and the two men laughed.

“He agrees with you,” Benjy said.

“He’s smarter than some people I know,” Dickce said. “He certainly seems to like you.” She found it interesting that the cat had taken to Benjy so quickly. Diesel had an excellent record as a judge of character, and Dickce hoped he hadn’t made an error in this case.

“He can tell I like animals,” Benjy replied. “I want to be a veterinarian, if I can get enough money to finish college.”

“He has two spiders,” Junior said. He shook his head. “They give me the creeps.”

“They’re tarantulas, and they’re not poisonous,” Benjy said, his tone sharp. “How many times do I have to tell you?” He rolled his eyes at Dickce. “Bert and Ernie wouldn’t hurt anyone, as long as they’re left alone. At least my mother isn’t allergic to them, like she is with dogs and cats.”

Dickce wasn’t that fond of spiders herself, but she admired Benjy’s willingness to care for such creatures. “You’ll probably find a few spiders here,” she said. She glanced at Junior and wasn’t surprised to see him grimace.

“Don’t worry, Junior.” Benjy grinned. “I won’t let them bite you.”

Junior muttered under his breath, and Dickce figured it was just as well she couldn’t make out the words. “You’ll need fresh linens for the bed and towels for the bathroom. If one of you would like to come back to the house with me, I’ll get them for you.”

“We’ll both come,” Junior said with a stern glance at Benjy. “My mother and Aunt Bernice need help with their bags, and I have to get my own.”

Benjy shrugged. “Might as well.”

“Come along, then, and we’ll all have something cold to drink before you have to start carrying bags.” Dickce turned for the stairs. Diesel, ever alert, scampered down ahead of her.

“That sounds great,” Benjy said from right behind her. “Any chance of a snack before dinner?”

Diesel warbled, and Dickce giggled. “I’m sure we can find you something, Benjy,” she said as she stepped outside. “Diesel would like a snack, too. Wouldn’t you?”

The cat chirped with enthusiasm, and the men laughed. Satisfied that Junior had shut the apartment door properly, Dickce led men and feline across the drive toward the kitchen door. In the kitchen, she found Clementine busy preparing dinner.

“Something smells awesome.” Benjy sniffed appreciatively.

Clementine glanced at the newcomers curiously but didn’t respond. An’gel, busy at another counter filling glasses with ice, stopped when she realized there was a stranger with Dickce.

Dickce grinned at her sister. “An’gel, we have another guest. This is Benjy Stephens, Marla’s son. We found him in the garage apartment.” She paused. “Evidently his mother told him he should go there instead of coming into the house with her and her husband.”

An’gel frowned as Benjy stepped forward, hand extended. “Nice to meet you, Miss Ducote,” he said. “Sorry if I caused any trouble.”

An’gel accepted the young man’s hand. “Mr. Stephens, I don’t see how you could be at fault by simply doing as your mother told you. I trust my sister made you feel welcome.”

“I brought them over to fetch fresh linens and towels,” Dickce said, her tone bright and cheery. “Mr. Pittman mentioned also that he wanted to help his mother and his aunts with their luggage.”

“There will be time enough for that later,” An’gel said as she reached into the nearby cabinet for more glasses. “Why don’t you join me and your family in the front parlor? I thought we could all use a cold drink about now.”

“That sounds good to me,” Benjy said, and Junior nodded.

“May I carry that for you?” Benjy stepped forward and reached for the tray An’gel had picked up.

An’gel smiled as she relinquished her burden. “Thank you. I’ll show you the way.”

Dickce felt oddly pleased at this show of manners on Benjy’s part. She had taken a liking to this young man, despite his uncouth manner of dressing.

“I’ll be along in a minute,” she said. She wanted to find a snack for Benjy. She knew young men his age often had voracious appetites, and she wouldn’t mind a few nibbles herself.

Benjy, An’gel, and Junior left the room. Diesel stayed behind. He sat near her feet and stared up expectantly.

Dickce grinned. “You know what I’m doing, you rascal. But I’m afraid there won’t be any tidbits for you.”

Diesel chirped and then turned to sit with his back to her.

Clementine chuckled. “Cats sure have a funny way of pouting, don’t they? My grandbaby Lawanna does the same thing.”

“It’s so cute,” Dickce said. “Are there any of those oatmeal raisin cookies left?”

“Should be, unless Miss An’gel got into them last night.” Clementine gestured toward the counter, where a cookie jar in the shape of a potbellied dog sat.

“She didn’t, as far as I know.” Dickce walked over to pull off the lid and peer inside. Her sister had a weakness for Clementine’s cookies, but she had also been watching her weight lately. Dickce was pleased to see the jar was still nearly full.

She found a serving tray and a paper doily, then arranged two dozen cookies on it. She noticed Diesel at her feet, gazing expectantly up at her. “No, sir, these are not for you. I think you’d better stay in the kitchen with Clementine so you won’t be begging.” She glanced at the housekeeper. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Clementine smiled. “No, he’s fine here with me. Besides, he’s gonna be more interested in the fried c-h-i-c-k-e-n anyway.”

Diesel warbled and transferred his attention to the housekeeper.

Dickce laughed. “I have a feeling he knows how to spell.” She headed out the door and down the hall to the front parlor.

She had neared the foot of the stairs when she heard a woman cry out from above her. Startled, she looked up the staircase in time to see Marla Stephens rolling down.