Page 69 of Story of My Life
He strutted to the microphone at the front of the room. “Hey, y’all. I’m Gage Bishop.”
“Jesus, Mary, and my butt. We know who you are,” our fourth-grade teacher yelled.
“Thank you for that, Mrs. Hoffman. What you may not know is that I’m also Ms. Hart’s attorney.”
Hazel opened her mouth to speak, but I pulled her back into her seat. “Let him talk,” I advised.
“But I didn’t hire him. What’s he going to do? Plead guilty on my behalf?” she whispered. “Potatoes hurt, Cam!”
“If I can just get everybody to direct their attention to the screen,” Gage continued, pointing to the TV mounted on the wall. “Fire it up will you, Lacresha?”
The funeral home director hit the remote from her seat.
A memorial video collage started with a sepia-toned photo of Mr. Stewart as a baby dressed in a sailor suit over some jazzy big band music.
“Wrong video, Lacresha,” Gage said.
“My bad, folks. Gimme one second,” she said, stabbing remote buttons.
Hazel leaned into me. “What the hell is going on?”
“We’re clearing your name,” I told her.
“Why?”
“Why?” I repeated. “If you want to go down in town history as a bird murderer, that’s your call.”
She bit her lip. “No. I mean, is it because you want to help me or because you’re worried I’ll get run out of town before I can pay you for your work?”
“Obviously the second one.”
Her snort laugh surprised us both. “Well, at least you’re honest.”
“Aha! Here we go,” Lacresha said triumphantly as the correct footage finally rolled.
Hazel leaned forward, watching the screen with rapt attention. I watched her instead of the screen since I already knew what was on it. She was pretty all dolled up like this, but I liked her better the other way. Softer. Messier. More touchable.
What the hell was my problem? I didn’t sit around opining about the attractive qualities of a woman.
The collective gasp drew my attention, and I watched for the fiftieth time as Goose dipped low over the convertible with the gleaming fish in his talons.
Laughter erupted as the damn bird hit the damn woman in the head with the damn fish.
Beside me, Hazel covered her face when her car careened off the road and into the sign. “Oh my God. It looks even worse than it felt.”
“They still gotAmerica’s Funniest Home Videos? ’Cause that there’s a finalist,” someone hooted.
Gage waited until the laughter had quieted to a low roar. “Now, as you can see from my brother Cam’s dashcam footage, Goose hit Hazel. Not the other way around,” he explained, pointing to the eagle as he flew off the car and landed in the grass.
Hazel leaned into her mic. “I told you there was no helicopter.”
A collective mutter rose from the crowd.
“Maybe not. But no one’s seen Goose since yesterday. He could have died from internal injuries after he flew off,” Emilie squawked.
“Thank you for that perfect lead-in to exhibit B, Emilie,” Gage said, flashing a grin that was all charm at the glowering woman.
The dashcam footage disappeared and was replaced with another video.
