Part 15 (1/2)
”Whaddaya want?” he yelled, not moving from the grill.
I flashed him my brightest smile and got out of the car gingerly, keeping a tight hold on the door handle. I heard a wild barking coming from close by. For all I knew, a pair of pit bulls would come racing around the battered trailer any second and tear us to shreds. I wished I'd thought to tuck a can of Mace in my purse.
”Mr. Hicks? Can we speak to you for a moment?”
”Whatever you're sellin', I don't want any. And if you're a d.a.m.n bill collector, I cut up my credit cards. You can go look in the garbage if you want.”
What a charmer.
”What a beautiful area, Mr. Hicks,” Mom said, suddenly appearing at my side.
She always did like a challenge. Mom likes to pick the most boring person at a party and engage him in conversation. She wants to see whether she still ”has it,” as she says, whether she can still work her fabled charm on men.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. She had her work cut out for her with Ray Hicks.
”I've just been reading about your lovely development. It's such a pleasure to see it for myself. It is absolutely charming.” She clasped her hands together dramatically. Charming? You would think she was talking about a thirty-room mansion in Boca, not a double-wide in the middle of nowhere.
”Well, it ain't for sale.”
”No?” She gave a little moue of disappointment. ”I can see why. Who would want to sell a such a lovely slice of paradise?” I noticed her spike heel was slipping into a brownish pile of what I hoped was mulch. She reached out for my arm to steady herself, but her smile never faded. A faint smell rose up from the pile.
It wasn't mulch.
”Exquisite!”
Ray Hicks merely grunted at her extravagant praise, but Mom was undaunted. Maybe it's because she's dealt with rejection as an actress (”there were two hundred girls there, auditioning for a three-line part!”), maybe it's her strong personality, but she's persistent to the core. I grinned, wondering what was coming next.
She waved the Florida Travel Guide at him, giving him her best Hollywood smile.
”h.o.m.osa.s.sa,” she said enthusiastically.
”What's that?”
”h.o.m.osa.s.sa.” She gestured to his rusted-out trailer and sandy yard.
”Who you callin' a h.o.m.o, lady?” He waggled a grilling fork at her as if he'd like to skewer her, and she backed up swiftly, stepping on my peep-toe shoes.
”h.o.m.osa.s.sa. It's an Indian word; it means 'land of many fish.' ” She gasped her indignation.
”Yeah? Well, you ain't gonna see too many fish here,” he said grudgingly. ”Unless you count these catfish my fis.h.i.+ng buddy gave me. They were so little, he was going to throw them back, but I told him I'd fry them up with some hush puppies.”
”They look tasty,” Mom said politely.
”If we could just have a few moments of your time,” I began. ”We need to ask you about Sanjay Gingii.”
Ray Hicks turned a violent shade of purple. ”That con man!” he said, jabbing the air with his giant fork. ”Give me five minutes alone with him. That's all I want: five minutes alone.” He grinned menacingly, showing a mouthful of missing teeth. ”There won't be enough of him left to bury, I promise you.”
Mom and I exchanged a look. ”You mean you haven't heard the news?”
”What news is that?”
”Guru Sanjay is dead.” I watched him closely, eager to see his reaction.
”Dead? Dead!” He paused to flip the fish, shaking his head, a satisfied expression on his sweaty face. ”That's the first good news I've heard all week. I've been up in Panama City doing some fis.h.i.+ng. Haven't read the paper or listened to the radio.” He paused. ”Doesn't change my situation any, but I'm glad he got what was coming to him. So what happened to the dude? He have a heart attack or something like that? He was carrying a lot of weight under those bedsheets he always wore.”
”Someone killed him,” Mom blurted out. I raised my eyebrows and gave her a warning nudge.
”For real?” Either Ray Hicks had taken some acting lessons, or he was genuinely surprised to hear the news. Since I couldn't imagine him studying the Stanislavski method through a home-study course, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
”He died under mysterious circ.u.mstances,” I said. ”The police are investigating, but at the moment, they're really not sure what happened to him. He was giving a seminar up in Cypress Grove and was found dead in his hotel room.” I carefully omitted the fact that my own roommate was considered a person of interest by the local police.
”Well, it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy,” he said with grim satisfaction. ”I hope his death was long and slow.”
Mom gave a delicate shudder. ”How well did you know him?”
”Too well,” Ray said with a snicker. ”That sumab.i.t.c.h ruined my life.” He deftly transferred the cooked fish to a plate. ”You ladies want to come inside? I can offer you a cold one.”
”Yes, we'd love to,” Mom said graciously.
”Not sure there's enough of this catfish to go around, though,” he said, peering at the plate.
”Oh, we've already eaten,” Mom rea.s.sured him. ”We stopped at a delightful little seaside place up in Fort Lauderdale. But thank you, kind sir,” she added. ”Your hospitality to two visitors is certainly appreciated.”
Now Mom was channeling Blanche DuBois in Streetcar Named Desire. I waited for her to say her favorite line: ”I have always depended on the kindness of strangers,” but she managed to restrain herself.
So far.
”Well, come in and take a load off,” Ray Hicks said, holding the battered screen door open for us. The orange tabby whizzed past us and jumped on the kitchen counter. ”Don't mind Oscar,” he said. ”He came with the trailer.” The cat immediately jumped into the sink and began drinking water from a leaky tap.
”Delightful,” Mom said, looking at the cluttered mess. There wasn't a touch of irony in her voice. All those years of acting training at the American Academy had finally paid off.
It was stifling in the trailer, like being entombed in a tin box. The ceiling was low, contributing to the claustrophobic feel, and layers of clothes and newspapers covered every available surface. The kitchen, living area, and bedroom all melded into one unsightly mess, and an open lavatory door gave us a view of a yellowing porcelain toilet. Mom's hand involuntarily went to her throat as if she couldn't get enough oxygen.
”How sweet. I see you have little dishes of food scattered around for Oscar,” Mom said. She pointed to some chipped bowls filled with brown pellets that were lined up on the greasy linoleum floor. ”I never trust a man who doesn't like cats. They always seem to be lacking in sensitivity somehow.”
Ray chortled. ”That ain't cat food. That there's rat poison. We got rats the size of possums in this danged place. I think they come up from the swamp.”
”Oh, my.” Mom blanched and for once in her life couldn't think of anything else to say.
Ray peered inside an ice-encrusted dorm-size refrigerator. ”I have Coors and Rolling Rock,” he said, ever the gentleman.
”Just water, please.” Then I spotted a row of cloudy gla.s.ses lined up on the counter. A bluish substance that looked like mold was growing in several of them. It would be like drinking out of a petri dish. Eing down with Ebola is another.
”So how come you pretty ladies are interested in Sanjay?” Ray asked, a sly look crossing his face. ”Don't tell me he did you out of some money, too?”
”Oh, no, not at all,” I said swiftly. ”Nothing like that. I happened to interview him on my radio show up in Cypress Grove. He was in town promoting his latest book. Maybe you've heard of my show? On the Couch with Maggie Walsh?”