Blanche Passes Go Page 7

  “Mr. Henry say it ain’t true,” Clarice had told Blanche and Ardell regarding the rumor that the police had arrested a black man. Clarice’s boyfriend, Jimmy Henry, was the janitor and gofer in the Sheriff’s Office, so the catering staff got the news before most folks, black or white.

  The falseness of the rumor did nothing to stop women in Blanche’s community from being sharper with their sons, as if irritated at their boys for having been born black and male into a world where their name was Enemy Suspect. Blanche was sure the crackdown on black men would prompt many black couples to reach for each other with a bit more abandon than usual, fearful that this might be the last time. The memories of innocent black men dragged from their beds and lynched or otherwise murdered for being black were as fresh in black people’s minds as yesterday’s newspaper.

  Carolina Catering was serving a buffet supper after an orchestra concert when Clarice arrived winded and wide-eyed with the next piece of the Maybelle story:

  “Sheriff lookin’ for that Bobby Larsen for killin’ Maybelle Jenkins. Mr. Henry say Bobby was s’posed to be her boyfriend and he the one found her and Maybelle’s daddy tell Sheriff Maybelle and Bobby had some kinda fallin’ out. Mr. Henry say somebody else tole Sheriff they saw Bobby hitchhikin’ down the highway headed for Greensboro. If he ain’t do nothin’, what he runnin’ for, Sheriff say. But Mr. Henry say naw, ’cuz Bobby’s mama was the one stuck up for that black girl bein’ picked on over at the farm show some years back.” Clarice loaded a tray with the ham-and-cheese hors d’oeuvres Blanche took from the oven.

  “Clarice, that ain’t got squat to do with Bobby killing that girl,” Blanche told her. “Lotta women are raped and murdered by somebody they know. A lot of them somebodies is called the-man-in-her-life,” she said, although it wasn’t true in her own case.

  Ardell put a sprig of parsley on the salmon mousse before Clarice picked it up. “Humm. I’m just glad the Sheriff got somebody to focus on and that that person ain’t black. Thing like this could ruin my business. You know how these folks like to blame all of us when one of us does something wrong.”

  Blanche didn’t so much disagree as she was surprised that Ardell, who had a son, would think first of her business. Of course, her son was down in Atlanta, out of this harm’s way. Still…“I’ll take these in, and check on things.” Blanche picked up the tray of canapés.

  Blanche knew she could have let Clarice or Ardell take the tray to the front of the house, but she’d been serious about refusing to let Palmer keep her from anything. She took a deep breath. There was no way of knowing which of these events David Palmer might attend, so she always had to be ready. But the man she ran into this time made her break out in a grin. She saw him at the same moment he saw her, and both their faces were washed with delight. Blanche set the tray down as he hurried across the room. He wrapped his arms round Blanche so tightly her ribs ached. Over her shoulder, she watched other guests watching them with interest. Probably think I’m the old family nursemaid, Blanche thought.

  “Blanche, Blanche, Blanche,” he whispered as he rocked her like a lost child just found. He finally let her go and stepped back. “Oh, Blanche! I am so glad to see you!”

  “Mumsfield, you sure are looking fine, honey.” And she meant it. Age had sculpted grooves and hollows that relieved his moon-round face of any babyishness. His once palest-blue eyes had deepened to a darker shade with more bittersweet in it. The slant of his eyes, evidence of his Mosaicism—a mild form of Down’s syndrome—made him look mysterious. How old was he? she wondered as they beamed at each other. Twenty-eight? Thirty? He looked distinguished in black tie, like a junior banker. He was still into suspenders. When she’d first known him, when she was working for his mad, murderous cousin and hiding out from the Sheriff, Mumsfield had worn a different color suspenders for each activity—one color for fixing the car, another color for driving, and so forth. She was a tad disappointed to see that tonight his suspenders were black, like those of every other man in the place.

  “I’m sorry I did not know you were in town, Blanche,” he said.

  “Well, it ain’t as though we run in the same set, honey.”

  Mumsfield nodded. “Yes, Blanche. Cousin Archibald explained that it was better not to try to find you when you left. I missed you very much, Blanche. But now you are here.” A grin split his face before he turned serious again. “I hope you still like me and want to be my friend, Blanche.”

  Friend! Blanche was always amazed at how some people threw that word around. She’d had employers who’d introduced her to guests as their friend. It wasn’t a term Blanche used lightly. There were lots of people—from those she liked well enough to those for whom she felt deep love—that she did not consider friends. Mumsfield was one of them. She thought there ought to be another word, one that allowed for concern and affection but didn’t include the mutual trust, soul-bearing honesty, and responsibility to guard each other’s back that she considered to be the heart of friendship. She’d been through this once with Mumsfield when she’d worked for his people. Despite the distance she’d tried to maintain between them, Mumsfield had latched on to her as though she’d held out her arms to him. She understood why he wanted them to be friends: because of his Down’s syndrome, much of the world treated him the same way it treated her. So he knew what it meant to be invisible, to be assumed to be the dummy in the room, to be laughed at because of parts of himself over which he had no control. This gave them something in common. But she didn’t think mutual mistreatment was a basis for friendship. Still, he’d done her a kindness when she’d worked for his people, and she’d always be grateful—which made him more than just an ex-employer.

  “Well, well, what a pleasant surprise!” Archibald Symington, Mumsfield’s cousin, lawyer, and money manager, shook Blanche’s hand. “Welcome home.”

  “It’s good to be home,” she said, although she wasn’t altogether sure this was true.

  “Has Mumsfield told you his big news?” Something went wrong with the way he said “big news.”

  Mumsfield smiled as though determined to show her all of his teeth. “Yes, Blanche. I am getting married!”

  Archibald didn’t crack a smile.

  “Well, congratulations, honey,” Blanche said, “I hope you’ll be very happy.”

  “I will, Blanche. I want you to meet Karen, Blanche. She is coming with her mother. She will be here soon, I hope.” He looked around the room as if to see if she might have already arrived, then excused himself before Blanche could tell him this wasn’t a good time.

  Archibald watched him for a moment, then turned to Blanche. “Don’t worry, I’ll explain that you’re busy.” He gave Blanche a full look. “Many times I’ve thought of you, my dear. Many times. And lately…”

  Blanche wondered what was up. Something surely was.

  “I, uh, wonder if I might…”

  A silver-haired matron, like a snowball wrapped in yellow satin, walked up and took Archibald’s arm. “Archibald, dear. You must come and meet my nephew and his charming new wife in from Sweden,” she said as though he’d been talking to the wall instead of to Blanche. Blanche slipped away, still wondering about that current she felt running beneath Archibald’s words.

  EIGHT

  PHONE CALLS AND PHILANTHROPY

  It was too early to talk to anybody when the phone rang her out of a dream of swimming in the ocean with a porpoise, or seal, or some other sleek black creature that felt like silk when it brushed against her body. She groped for the phone.

  “Yeah?”

  “Did I wake you, Blanche?” Archibald’s voice was so wide awake and cheery it made Blanche evil.

  She didn’t bother to ask him how he, one of the richer, better-connected citizens of Farleigh, got her phone number. “If you was worried about waking me up you wouldn’t be calling me at six-thirty in the morning.”

  Archibald chuckle
d. “Quite right. I was much more concerned with speaking to you than with your rest.”

  “About Mumsfield.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Just smart, I guess, even at this hour.”

  Archibald cleared his throat. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have called quite so early. I do apologize.”

  “And I accept. Now, what’s up?” She waited for Archibald to get over being talked to as though he were just any old body.

  “Ahem, yes, well. It’s about his engagement. If I may speak confidentially…”

  “You can speak any way you want. I’ll decide whether it’s confidential after I hear it.”

  “Yes, well. I suppose…I’ll have to trust your judgment on that.”

  “You don’t have to. You could just not tell me.” She never understood why people acted like they were doing you a favor when they wanted to tell you some tacky business that didn’t have doodly-squat to do with you.

  Archibald cleared his throat once again. “Well, the problem is…You see, this marriage really won’t do, Blanche.” Archibald’s voice was full of looking-down-your-nose. “This young woman is simply not suitable.”

  “How come?”

  “Well, her father has already informed me that once Mumsfield joins his family my services will no longer be required, as if I’m some sort of old family retainer who can be…Not that such a thing is possible, but the very idea, the suggestion that…”

  Blanche yawned. Money, of course. What else got rich folks’ blood boiling at such an early hour? Archibald just didn’t want to lose control of all that money his cousin Mumsfield had inherited.

  “What does Mumsfield say?”

  “You know what the boy is like, Blanche. He thinks she’s some kind of angel.”

  “Maybe she is. None of us get to pick our family. She don’t have to be like her daddy.”

  “It’s not just the father. Her older sister married a man still in mourning for his first wife and old enough to be her grandfather. Of course, she’s running through his money. She made him a laughingstock in Farleigh, then insisted they move to Florida, where he has no friends and no one to…”

  Blanche didn’t have a drop of sympathy for some old geezer who’d bought himself a youngster but didn’t want to pay the price. “Sisters aren’t always alike any more than parents and children.”

  “Yes, but in this case I’m sure…”

  “Why you telling me all this?” Blanche inched toward the edge of the bed. She had to pee, and she wanted to wash her hair before she met Ardell.

  “I know you’re fond of the boy, Blanche, so I was wondering if you might be willing to help me convince him to at least wait a while. They’ve only been seeing each other a few months.”

  Fond of the boy? She liked him well enough, but did that equal fond? She wondered if Archibald’s calling Mumsfield a boy had anything to do with his views on Mumsfield’s readiness for marriage.

  “I don’t even know the woman. How can I try to convince him not to marry her? Anyway…”

  “Well, actually,” Archibald interrupted, “I was hoping you might provide some information that would convince him.”

  “How? What kind of information?”

  “Oh, you know. Despite your well-taken comments about not choosing one’s family members, there is a chance that this young woman herself is not above reproach. Indeed, it’s not quite accurate to refer to her as a young woman. She’s at least five or six years Mumsfield’s senior. Surely she has some past, some…”

  “Sounds to me like you need a detective.”

  “Yes, yes, I thought of that. But then, when I saw you the other night, it occurred to me that you might be better suited to…the people who have information might be more willing to talk with you than to some stranger.”

  “You mean the help.”

  “Exactly. Who else is likely to have more information than…”

  “So you want me to collect dirt from the servants on Mumsfield’s girlfriend without telling him I’m doing it.”

  “I wouldn’t put it in such harsh terms, my dear. Let’s say I’d like you to help me ensure that Mumsfield doesn’t get hurt.”

  Blanche was sympathetic to Archibald’s desire to make sure Mumsfield’s fiancée wasn’t out to take him. She could also see how Archibald might consider it part of his job as Mumsfield’s money manager and lawyer.

  “Have you told Mumsfield how you feel?” She knew from the long silence that he hadn’t.

  “He’s quite touchy where she’s concerned,” Archibald said at last.

  “Well, I’m quite touchy about sneaking around trying to find reasons to rain on somebody’s parade, especially when that somebody considers himself my friend.”

  “I understand your reluctance, Blanche, and I assure you, I wouldn’t resort to such methods if…Mumsfield is like a son to me. We both know what a wonderful person he is, kind and generous and really quite wise in his own way. But to other people…Well, why would a normal woman choose to marry…I couldn’t bear to see the boy hurt, emotionally or financially.”

  Blanche agreed to herself that it would take a so-called normal woman as special in her own way as Mumsfield was in his to see deep enough into him to want to be his wife. But Mumsfield was rich, which made him prime husband material even if he had collard greens for brains. Anyway, being normal among some of the families down here included all those who were toilet-trained and could count all their fingers without help. Blanche shook her head, even though Archibald couldn’t see her. “I’m sorry, Archibald. I just don’t think I want to get mixed up in this.”

  “He’s very fond of you, Blanche. He was despondent for months after you left. He wanted to hire someone to find you. Of course, I knew you wouldn’t want that, wouldn’t want to take a chance on the Sheriff also finding you. He was quite put out about your having escaped from that jail sentence, so…”

  So I did you a favor, now you do one for me. “Let me think about it, Archibald,” she said, more to get him off the phone than anything else.

  “Please do, Blanche. This Palmer woman simply is not right for Mumsfield and I know there’s some…”

  Blanche shot off the bed like the mattress was on fire. Every cell in her body came to attention. “Who? This who?”

  “Palmer, Karen Palmer, the woman Mumsfield intends to marry. She…”

  Blanche interrupted him. “Does she have a…a somebody in her family named David?”

  “Yes. A brother. The family owns the…”

  “Listen, Archibald, I gotta go. I’ll call you back later.”

  Blanche staggered to the bathroom to pee, then sat on the side of the bed while she considered the news that Mumsfield was engaged to David Palmer’s sister. At moments like this, people’s lives seemed to her like a basket of yarn of different colors and sizes all tangled together, running over, under, and between each other, creating knots and loop-backs that no one could design or predict. Who would have figured that her need to get back at David Palmer and Archibald’s questions about Mumsfield’s coming marriage would be woven together into a single coil, a single way to satisfy both her need and Archibald’s? But here it was: She would use Archibald’s money and interest in Karen Palmer to learn all that she could about David Palmer. He had put a knife to her throat and threatened to cut her if she dared to resist him. What else had he done? What secrets did he want kept? She was willing to bet he’d done evil more than once. Maybe he’d raped other women, or left the scene of a hit-and-run, or lied in court. Somewhere in the musty corners and back halls of David Palmer’s life there was something she could use against him, and she intended to find it. And she would use it any way she could to bring him down. She felt calmer and more sure of herself than she had for days. She knew what she was going to do, and she knew how.

  She reached for the phone book. She fou
nd the numbers she needed, but it was still too early to call.

  She brushed her teeth, and made herself get down on the floor to stretch her muscles and do three sets of twenty sit-ups and thirty push-ups. While she worked her body, her mind roamed around her decision not to tell Archibald what she knew about David Palmer. Even if rapists ran in the family, it wasn’t likely that Karen was one, given that most rapists were men. As far as Blanche was concerned, what David had done had nothing to do with Karen. Blanche knew what it felt like to be held responsible for other people’s crimes just because you belonged to the same racial group. Wasn’t this a similar kind of thing? She could just hear Archibald asking Mumsfield if that was the sort of person he wanted at the family table, as if Karen had created her brother. Blanche stopped mid-stretch. There was another reason why she didn’t want to tell Archibald about Palmer.

  Although she felt sure Archibald would happily use her rape as a club to beat Karen off of Mumsfield, she doubted Archibald would take the rape seriously enough to do anything else with the information. Would he make sure that women in his circle knew that Palmer was dangerous? Would he see that Palmer was cut from the our-kind list? Or would he tsk-tsk, pat her on the shoulder, and maybe give her an extra bit of bonus for her pains? After all, if assaulting poor black women could get rich white males ostracized, half the dinner parties in town would be short some guests. As for Mumsfield, he would have sympathy for what had happened to her, but she was sure it wouldn’t make a crumb of difference to his marriage plans. She rolled over and did her push-ups before she rose from the floor.

  Of course, she praised herself mightily when she finished her exercises. It had taken her getting knocked around by a couple of thugs and over two years of starts and stops to get to this point. Now she only grumbled about exercising every other morning, which meant she was halfway to making it as much a part of her daily ritual as brushing her teeth. And it was worth it. She hadn’t lost a speck of weight, but a whole lot of flab was gone. When she flexed her upper arms, nothing wobbled, and the muscle that rose was firm and round. She could also run a couple of blocks without panting if she had to, and stairs never gave her any trouble. As an adult, she’d had a mostly good relationship with her big black body, but having muscles had turned that relationship into a love affair.