Death of a Rug Lord by Tamar. Myers

Author:Tamar., Myers, [Tamar., Myers,]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-03-21T10:26:24+00:00

“Hallelujah!” Mama sang. “My bladder thanks

you!”

“Then you better scoot on in and find a stall. I have

a feeling there are a hundred other bladders waiting to

be just as thankful.”

I jumped out and searched for a phone signal. Mama

had wrestled her skirts out of the car and was traipsing after me.

227

T a m a r M y e r s

“Who are you calling?”

“Mama, run! Here comes a high school activities

bus. You know how noisy and messy those kids can

be.”

“Yes, and speaking of which, I’m sticking to you like

stupid to a teenager until you tell me who it is.”

“Mama, that was rude.”

“As a matter of fact it was, and so is lying to your

mama. I don’t see a bus in sight.”

I pressed the Send button on my phone. The party

on the other end picked up immediately.

“Abby, I was just fixing to call you.”

“Greg! Listen, dear—”

“No, you listen. Hon, I lied to you; Booger Boy’s boat

didn’t break down. I’ve been playing golf for the last—

uh, coupla days.”

“Would you repeat that please? I think we have a

bad connection.”

“I said that I’ve been playing golf for the last coupla

days.”

I was careful to breathe in through my nose and out

through my mouth. “That’s what I thought you said.”

“What did he say?” Mama demanded.

“Greg, dearest,” I said, trying to keep him off guard

by the lightness of my tone, “what exactly does ‘coupla’

mean? Two, three? As in, ‘I drank a coupla beers last

night’?”

“Is he drunk?” Mama said. “I knew it! The first time

I met him I could smell mouthwash on his breath.

That’s never a good sign, you know. And once I could

smell too much deodorant. That’s got to mean something bad, Abby; I just don’t know what yet.”

228

D E AT H O F A R U G L O R D

“Well, not exactly a couple,” Greg said in the meantime, although I could barely hear him with Mama

yammering on. Then again, his volume had dropped

to almost a whisper. “Maybe more like two weeks. But

hey, that is a coupla weeks, isn’t it?” The volume increased, as did his confidence, stoked as it was by his

convoluted reasoning.

Mercifully I remembered that I had not tried the

phone reception while still in the car. By then I was

about a hundred yards from my vehicle, and although

I was wearing strappy sandals, at least they had low

heels.

“Look over there, Mama!” I screamed, pointing

toward the nearest light pole. “Isn’t that a wallet lying

on the ground?”

It was no contest; I got there long before Mama did.

Of course I locked the doors behind me and put the

child safety on.

“What was that all about?” Greg asked. “Where are

you?”

Someone once said—it’s probably been said by hundreds of someones over the course of history—that if

you’re going to lie, at least keep it close to the truth.

That way it will be easier for you—the liar—to remember.

“Mama got it in her head to go to Rock Hill and visit

her cousin Imogene. We’re at the rest area just south of

Columbia. What you heard was me doing an evasive

maneuver.”

“Trying to get some privacy out of the earshot of

Donna Reed?”

“Bingo.

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