Chapter Eleven
No little silver bell rings when I open the door to Taylor’s Marketplace.
The air inside is cool and smells of old wood and pan-fried burgers.
Other than the missing bell, Taylor’s looks a lot like I remember.
Warped wood floors, short shelves stacked with dry goods, homemade jellies, and canned vegetables.
All sharing space with a bait shop full of live crickets, worms, and leeches.
I’m not sure how the health department works down here, but I can’t imagine a place like this in Fort Worth.
In the back sits a long counter with a grill behind it and a hovering scent of cigarette smoke.
This place is less crowded than Nan’s, but there’s still a buzz in the air coming from the patrons sitting at the back counter.
Ermine Taylor stands behind the cash register, which looks exactly like the one I used when I worked here years ago.
She glances up. “Willamena, you came by.” She moves around the counter faster than I expect and wraps me in a hug. Then pulls back and studies my starched white shirt and pants. Her gaze stops at my feet.
I glance down at the orange boots. They’re starting to grow on me. And they’re much more comfortable than the heels I’d packed.
Ermine keeps her southern manners in check and says, “Don’t you look good.
Can I get you some breakfast?” She clasps her shriveled hand around my wrist and pulls me toward another counter containing bagels, muffins, and wrapped biscuit sandwiches.
In front of it all sits a huge, fat jar filled with a green liquid and floating pale chunks.
The sign next to it, PICKLED PIGS’ FEET.
I cringe and point to the biscuits. She pulls one out and hands it to me. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please. Large.”
I follow her to the back counter and sit while she grabs a pot, a mug, creamer, and sugar.
“Here you go, sweetie,” she says, pouring. She sits next to me and stares, shakes her head. “Except for those fancy-dancy clothes, you look exactly the same.”
I don’t, but I nod. “So do you.”
“How’s your mama?”
I don’t tell her she asked me this already at the diner.
It’s the first question people seem to ask in the South.
Hell, it’s the first question I asked Travis.
Hanging in there or fine or great are all the appropriate answers.
Like the answer I gave her at Nan’s. But she’s staring at me with a look that says she knows good and well she asked me this question already, and this time she wants the truth.
“Mama is . . .” I sigh. “Still complicated.”
Ermine nods. “Fair enough. And you? How’re you?”
Her small hand touches my arm, and without warning, my eyes sting.
I look down into my coffee, swallow the lump in the back of my throat, push aside the memories trying to escape.
If Ermine’s soft touch is that much of a trigger, I need to be careful about how many trips I make to this store. I look up. “I’m fine.”
A man with a white beard at the end of the counter lifts his head above the small group of men beside him and says, “Ms. Ermine, Scooter Rees called me this morning. Said they called him to bring his tow truck back to the bayou just after sunrise. I bet they found something.”
“Dixon Thomas,” Ermine says. “Do not spread rumors in my establishment.”
“No, ma’am. This ain’t no rumor,” Dixon says. “He told me hisself.”
Ermine’s brows crinkle. “Well, that could be anything. And keep it down. I’m trying to catch up with an old friend here.”
Dixon nods and leans into his friends, animating his words but at a much lower decibel level.
Ermine looks at me. “Quite a time to be here. I’ve never seen anything like it. And I lived through Andrew and Katrina. We’ve got this missing schoolteacher, these barrels, a car coming out of the bayou. You ask me, this drought’s uncovering things that probably should have stayed buried.”
Amen, Ermine.
A throat clears behind me, and Ermine looks over my shoulder, makes a disgusted sound.
When I turn, Rita Meade smiles a blinding smile at me. Her thin hands rest on her even thinner hips. She’s dressed casually for Rita Meade, crisp blue jeans and a yellow sleeveless shirt with a giant bow at the neck. “Good morning.”
“No comment,” Ermine says.
Rita turns to me. “I came by to say hello to Dr. Watters.”
“Are you following me?” I ask.
She brings a manicured hand to her chest. “Of course not.”
She doesn’t even try to hide the lie in her tone. Ermine crosses her arms over her chest. Her feelings for Rita are quite clear.
Rita keeps her gaze on me. “I really would love to visit with you, Dr. Watters. In person or over the phone. I see an opportunity with you. And I never pass up an opportunity. You strike me as that type of woman as well. There’s really nothing to lose. You can say off the record anytime.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say in the most professional voice I can muster.
Rita gazes down at me, her eyes bright and hyperfocused.
“Please consider calling me. It won’t be a waste of your time.
” She gives my shoulder a slight squeeze.
“I promise.” She straightens, points to the television hanging behind the counter, and says in a loud voice so everyone can hear, “You may want to turn that up in a few minutes.” Then she clicks off on her stilettos.
Ermine stands, wipes her hands on her slacks. She starts to walk off, and I stop her.
“Ermine?”
“Yes?”
“Would you mind if I ask you some questions? I’m curious about a couple of things. Couple of people actually.”
Her thin brows raise. “Who might that be?”
I swallow. “Do you remember the name of a man my mother worked for that last summer we were here? Had some sort of business where that antique store is now. Could have been a shady guy.” I pause, then add, “Probably was a shady guy. Maybe a bookie.”
Ermine looks to the ceiling for a few seconds in thought, then shrugs. “I can’t say I do. That was a long time ago, and my memory’s not what it used to be. Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay,” I say, working to keep the disappointment out of my voice.
“So who else are you curious about?” she asks with a slight smile.
“I had a peculiar visit from Doyle and Eddie Arceneaux yesterday. What can you tell me about Doyle?”
She scrunches her lips up like she’s tasted something sour.
“Him I know. In and out of trouble his whole life. Petty larceny, disorderly conduct. Impersonating a police officer.” She raises her eyebrows.
“And then Travis is the one who bailed him out.” She shrugs, but I get it.
I know exactly what it’s like to bail out your family.
Ermine continues, “Doyle’s always been a little . . . off. Which isn’t surprising given . . .” Ermine looks around, scratches at her neck.
I lean toward her. “Given what?”
Ermine straightens. “Now, hon, I don’t wanna be the town gossip.”
I need to be careful here. Like when I had patients, getting information is a dance. Sometimes you lead, sometimes you follow. Ermine might need me to lead. “I remember the Aunts never wanted me to go to their house. And I remember their father. He always scared me.”
“Their father? Oh no, he wasn’t the problem. That poor man did the best he could.”
The men at the other end of the counter have moved on to fishing stories. Ermine glances at them. Taps her hand on the side of her leg. Now, I follow. I don’t say a word.
Ermine studies her fingernails for a second, then sits back down on the stool next to mine. Here we go.
“It’s the mother who’s the problem,” she whispers.
“How so?”
Ermine says, “You’ll want to steer clear of Liv Arceneaux. Not that you’ll have a hard time doing that. She’s a recluse.” She looks to the ceiling. “Praise Jesus.”
“What do you know about her?”
“The rumors around her and that poor darlin’ Eddie are tragic. Some say he was born the way he is, and others aren’t so kind. Say Liv Arceneaux fed him all sorts of things like arsenic and rat poison, trying to cure him when he was a baby. Made him worse.”
“Oh my God.”
“I know. Who knows? She could’ve done that with Doyle too.”
Nausea builds in my stomach at the thought of a mother doing that to her child. It’s sickening. I hope Ermine is wrong.
“What about Travis’s other brothers?” I ask.
“Now, that’s quite a crew. Let’s see. The oldest, I think his name is Thomas, lives in Houston.
Divorced and in and out of rehabs. James the Jaybird, as they call him ’cause he got drunk and ran into a Piggly Wiggly naked as the day he was born, is incarcerated up in Monroe.
Drugs. Hunter moved down to Houma, and last I heard, he was working on a rig out in the Gulf of Mexico.
And poor Boone found himself on the wrong end of a shotgun when his girlfriend’s husband came home.
Tragic.” I don’t miss the glint in Ermine’s eye.
We’ve stumbled onto a topic she likes. “Then there was that sweet angel baby, Emily.” Ermine shakes her head.
“That family is cursed. Seven boys and one girl. And a mama I wouldn’t trust to watch my cats. ”
Emily. If I remember right, she’d been a couple of years younger than me but looked closer to Mabry’s age.
“What happened to her?” I say. “Travis told me she passed away.”
“She was a sick little thing. Frail. Travis and Doyle were always the ones looking after her, getting her medicines, getting her groceries, but she was on a bad path too. Even Travis couldn’t protect her.
Ran away one night.” She sighs. “Doyle found her. In the woods behind their house. Unconscious. Never woke up. After that, Eddie quit talking altogether.”
I cover my heart with my hand, close my eyes. I had no idea how bad Travis’s story was. But how would I? I left that summer and never looked back. I exhale as I look into Ermine’s sad eyes. “Did they ever find out what happened to her?”