The Cane Mutiny by Tamar Myers Read Free Book Online Page A

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    â€œNonsense,” Claudette said. “You ladies are most welcome. Confidentially, between you and I, and my four hundred walls, it can get a mite lonesome here.”
    Her house, like all homes in this area that are built close to water, was on stilts. She led us across gleaming hardwood floors, into a large room fronted by an immense bay window. Ancient spreading oak trees framed views that were stunning: first marsh, then the sparkling waters of the Wadmalaw, and then more marsh, followed by more woods. There was an abandoned barge inthe middle of the river, and on it perched a lone blue heron. The furniture in the room was contemporary, and comfortable without detracting from the view.
    â€œPlease have a seat,” our impromptu hostess said.
    â€œDon’t mind if I do,” Mama said, and settled her skirts into an armchair.
    â€œSweet or unsweet?”
    â€œSweet,” Mama said.
    â€œUnsweet,” I said. I was trying to be good. At my height even a pound or two makes a huge difference.
    Claudette Aikenberg stared at me in horror. “I’m sorry. I only have sweet. But it will only take me a few minutes to make some fresh.”
    Much to my chagrin, I realized I’d committed a cardinal sin of the Deep South. Only diabetics and Yankees ever set lips to a glass of unsweetened tea. Claudette had offered me a choice out of pure politeness; she hadn’t, for a second, dreamed I would take her up on it. My only excuse, if it is one, was that a dear friend of mine, Bob Steuben, hails from north of the Line. He drinks the unsweetened variety—in secret, of course—and in private has been touting it as a weight loss solution, given that on a normal day I can drink a gallon of the sweet stuff.
    â€œDid I say un sweet? Silly me. Of course I meant sweet.”
    The instant Claudette disappeared to carry out her hostess duties, I pounced on Mama like a cat on a vole. “Mama, what’s this about her being a celebrity? This isn’t another of your sniffing claims, is it?”
    Some years ago Mama started saying she could smell trouble coming. She meant that literally. From there her amazing nose progressed to being able to detect future events of all sorts. She even predicted the results of the last national election. From the very beginning of this phenomenon I went on record as being a skeptic. But if she’s right an additional six or seven more times, I will be seriously tempted to lay money on her nasal prognostications.
    â€œAnd you call yourself a sleuth,” Mama said. “Tsk tsk tsk.”
    â€œI don’t claim to be anything but a put-upon antiques dealer. Now spill it, please, before she returns with our sweet tea.”
    â€œWell dear, there’s a console table in the foyer. Just opposite the door. And right smack dab in the middle is this huge trophy. I didn’t get a chance to read any of the fine print, but it looked like a beauty queen trophy to me.”
    Our hostess returned bearing a tray of teaglasses and a bowl of cheese straws. We thanked her and then Mama got right down to business.
    â€œWhat’s your exact title, dear?”
    â€œMrs. James Aikenberg.”
    â€œYes, of course. But I was referring to that stunning trophy in the foyer.”
    Claudette giggled and blushed. Even my regular nose could tell it was an act.
    â€œOh that, ” she said. “Big Jim always insisted that I keep it there, and who was little ol’ me to argue? But to answer your question, I was Miss Sugar Tit, South Carolina. We have a Bubba festival every year. It’s a lot of fun. Y’all really ought to come.”
    I strained my brain trying to recollect where Sugar Tit was. Was it up near Spartanburg? Maybe outside of Greenville? And what exactly was a Sugar Tit, besides a great name for a porn star? Something to do with babies. That’s right, a sugar tit was a rag soaked in sugar water that was given to an infant to keep