Biggie and the Devil Diet - By Nancy Bell Page 0,53

Tyler?"

"Here, I guess. Biggie and Rosebud are there now."

"No, I ain't," Rosebud said, coming in the back door. "Miss Biggie sent me home and said she'd call when she's ready for me to fetch her. Is this coffee fresh?"

Willie Mae nodded, and he poured himself a cup and sat down at the table.

"How's the lady doin'?" Willie Mae asked.

"Not well," Rosebud said. "She won't wake up. And she's got a whole bunch of broken bones. They're afraid to try to set them on account of the anesthetic, doncha know, her bein' in a coma and all. Then that there Grace Higgins is going around getting in everybody's way and telling the doctors what to do."

"Well, I don't see why Biggie has to stay," I grumbled.

"Sounds to me like they needs somebody what gots some sense out there." Willie Mae peered into the refrigerator. "I need some butter to go in these potatoes."

"I'll go," I said, shoving the pot full of potatoes toward Rosebud, "if Rosebud will finish peeling."

"You all heart," Rosebud said, picking up the knife and plucking a potato out of the pot.

I jumped on my bike and headed downtown to the Piggly Wiggly, where I picked up a pound of butter for Willie Mae. On the way back, I happened to pass the Owl Café. Sitting inside at the big round table in the middle of the room was Butch, eating a big piece of apple pie and talking with Miss Julia, Norman Thripp, and Mr. Populus, who owns the café. The pie looked awfully good, so I decided to join them.

"Hey, J.R.," Butch said, talking around a mouthful of pie. "Hey," I said, taking a seat at the table. "What kind of pie you got today?" I asked Mr. Populus.

"Chocolate, cherry, lemon, opple, and peenopple," Mr. Populus said. Being Greek, Mr. Populus doesn't speak English too well.

"I'll have chocolate," I said, "and a Big Red."

Butch and Miss Julia looked at each other and made faces.

"What?" I asked.

"Just doesn't sound very good," Butch said. "What's Biggie up to?"

"She's at the hospital." I watched as Mr. Populus set my pie and drink in front of me, then I took a bite.

Norman Thripp, who is as long and thin as a mashed snake, looked at me with his ball-bearing eyes. "How come she's at the hospital? She sick?"

"Uh-uh." I took a swig of my Big Red and remembered to wipe my chin with my napkin.

"Oh, Lordy," Butch said. "Has something happened to Rosebud— or Willie Mae?"

"Uh-uh. Biggie's out there seeing about Miz Laura Barnwell, who fell off a horse and is pretty near dead. It happened right after they read my granddaddy's will, which said I'm going to get five hundred thousand dollars." I took another bite of pie.

"My soul." Miss Julia took her little notebook out of her handbag. "Tell me the facts, J.R."

I told her everything I could remember, not leaving out the part about Stacie acting like a crazy person. "I wouldn't be surprised if she wasn't in the hospital, too. More than likely wrapped up in a strait jacket."

"And he didn't leave his own daughter any money?" Norman Thripp said. "That don't seem right."

"Well, he did leave her a big, huge diamond ring," I said.

"I'd sure like to see that," Butch said.

Just then the front door darkened, and Rosebud strode in. He pointed to me.

"Oops," I picked up my sack of butter. "I got to go." I dropped some money on the table and followed Rosebud outside to the sidewalk.

"You better get to the house fast," he said. "Miss Biggie's done home, and Willie Mae's ready for her butter."

When I got to the house, the table was set in the dining room. I went straight to the kitchen and saw that Willie Mae had made chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, butterbeans, and hot biscuits.

"How come we're not eating in here?" I asked, handing Willie Mae the butter.

"Miss Biggie's invited that Ranger Upchurch for supper," she said. "You go get washed up."

I went up the stairs and found Biggie sitting at her dressing table combing her hair. I plopped down on her bed and waited for her to say something.

"Where have you been?" she asked.

"Downtown," I said. "Willie Mae sent me on an errand. How's Laura? Is she dead?"

"No, she's not dead— not yet anyway. She's in bad shape, J.R."

"What about Stacie? I was tellin' 'um down at the café. I said I bet they had her tied up in a strait jacket by now. That girl's