Miss Julia Takes the Wheel

by Ann B. Ross

  Since it was a weeknight—deliberately chosen by me—it was not a late evening. By eleven o’clock, Sam closed the door on the last of our guests, turned to me and asked, “Well, what did you think?”

  Chapter 8

  *

  “I’m not sure you want to know,” I said. Then, turning toward the kitchen, I went on. “Let me check on Lillian. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  As expected, though, the kitchen was both clean and empty. Lillian and I had worked out such matters long before this, so she had gone home when her work was done. I checked the lock on the back door, turned off the lights, and resumed the discussion of the evening with Sam.

  “Oh, me,” I said tiredly as I sat in the wing chair opposite his, “that poor young woman. You tried valiantly, Sam, to draw her out, but she just wouldn’t be drawn. What do you think is wrong with her?”

  “Painfully shy,” he said with a note of sympathy in his voice. “I felt sorry for her, but the more I tried to interest her, the more uncomfortable she seemed. I think she would’ve much rather I’d ignored her.”

  “That’s almost pitiful, until I think of how at her age she should’ve already learned how to at least act her part. How old do you think she is, anyway?”

  “The only hint I got,” Sam said, “was when she said—only in answer to my question, mind you—that she and Don had met when she was a freshman in college and he was an intern. That would mean about an eight or nine year age difference. And they’ve been married long enough to have two children. In other words, old enough not to be out of her depth around nice, friendly folks like us.”

  “My feeling exactly. It’s interesting, though,” I went on in a musing way, “that he is so approachable and at ease among strangers. And entertaining—that medical school story he told was quite funny. In other words, he had no trouble keeping up his end of the conversation—such a stark contrast to his wife. Overall,” I added, “I got a good feeling about him. He seemed both confident and competent, so I don’t think I’d hesitate to call on him if we needed anything.”

  Sam nodded. “That’s good, but I’m going to worry a little about her.”

  “I know,” I said, nodding back. “She doesn’t exactly epitomize what I’d call California glamour.”

  Sam smiled. “I was thinking along the lines of whether she’ll enjoy her stay here. If she doesn’t, they could pull out and leave the Hargrove practice in limbo.”

  That was not a comforting thought to take to bed, so I resigned myself to seeing that Lauren Crawford enjoyed her stay in Abbotsville. Which was exactly where I wanted them to be until my doctor returned.

  * * *

  —

  Midmorning the following day and, as expected, Hazel Marie called to thank me for having them, compliment me on the dinner, and comment on how much she and Mr. Pickens had enjoyed the evening.

  After completing her due diligence, she said, “But, Miss Julia, I felt so sorry for Lauren Crawford. What is wrong with her?”

  “I declare, I don’t know,” I said. “Sam and I talked a little last night, and he thinks she’s just very shy. But it’s been my experience that shy people generally outgrow it, or at least learn to compensate for it. I mean, they don’t have to turn into blathering chatterboxes. All they have to do is learn to smile occasionally and answer a question with more than ‘Yes,’ ‘No,’ or ‘I don’t know.’”

  “That is true, but that’s about all I got when I tried to talk to her. She did show a little interest when I asked about her children, but as soon as I mentioned a playdate with my girls, she began to sink back in her shell. I pushed a little, saying I’d call her and set up a time, but she mumbled something about Don’s being very particular about who their children were with.”

  As I absorbed that, Hazel Marie seemed to have a sudden insight. “You know,” she said in an awed tone, “now that I think of it, I think that was an insult.”

  “Pretty close to it,” I agreed. “Although I don’t think she has enough gumption to have meant it that way, or to even realize how insulting it actually was. But who knows, Hazel Marie? She’s a puzzle, all right, especially in light of how easy and comfortable her husband was.”

  “I know,” Hazel Marie said emphatically. “I feel safer than I did about his taking Dr. Hargrove’s place, although we’re unlikely to need him. Our little girls are seen by a pediatrician, thank goodness, and she’s not planning to go anywhere.”

  “So what’re you going to do?” I asked. “I mean about following up with Lauren Crawford. I wouldn’t blame you if you just do nothing.” Actually, the more I thought about the woman’s response to a playdate with Hazel Marie’s children, the hotter I could feel myself getting. After all, shyness is not an excuse for rudeness.

  Hazel Marie, however, was not as easily stirred or as quickly angered as I. “I’ll probably sleep on it for a while,” she said. “Then maybe ask her to come for tea and bring her children to play with the girls. Surely she—or he—wouldn’t worry about them if she’s in the same house.”

  It was all very strange, we concluded, but also not a long-term problem. The Crawfords would be gone when Dr. Hargrove returned, and some other town would be dealing with them—or trying to deal with them. For myself, I had done my duty by having them for a meal and introducing them to two attractive young couples. As far as I was concerned, they were now on their own. Especially since by bedtime, Lauren Crawford had not called to thank me or to reciprocate in any way at all.

  * * *

  —

  But long before bedtime, during her lunch hour to be precise, Binkie had called with her thanks and especially with her compliments to Lillian.

  “I’ll tell you what’s a fact,” she’d said, “if I can ever learn to cook roast beef without getting it either so rare or so well done it’s inedible, I’ll be happy. Lillian’s is always perfect.”

  “Well, it almost wasn’t,” I said, “since the Crawfords were so late. But you know Lillian would be glad to show you or tell you how she does it. I wouldn’t know how to begin.”

  “Speaking of the Crawfords,” Binkie said, blithely abandoning the subject of cookery, “I didn’t get a chance to speak with Lauren last night, so I called her between clients this morning. I wanted to tell her about St. Mark’s preschool program—we have Gracie enrolled there, and it’s really excellent. And it’s about the only one that’ll take children on a short-term basis. But,” Binkie said with a sigh, “Lauren wasn’t interested. She said her children are homeschooled.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “No,” Binkie went on, “that’s understandable. It’s probably easier on the children than changing schools every few months. It was just the way she put it.”

  “Why? How did she put it?”

  “Well, I may be reading too much into it, but she said—and I’m quoting—‘Don likes for me to homeschool them.’ I didn’t think much of it at the time, but the more I think of it, the stranger it sounds. I mean, it wasn’t as if, for whatever reason, they thought it best for the children, but rather the decision was based on what he liked. Doesn’t that sound odd to you?”

  “Well, yes, it does,” I said, “but remember whom you were speaking to. Hazel Marie and I have already decided that she’s the odd one, and you may’ve been quoting her, but she may not have been quoting him. Exactly, I mean.”

  “Hm-m, yes, I guess that’s true. Don’t repeat this, but Coleman felt a little uneasy about him.”

  “Really?” That stunned me, for I’d given Don Crawford high marks on my assessment of him. On the other hand, Deputy Sheriff Sergeant Coleman Bates was an able and experienced judge of men, having seen so many at their worst. “What did Coleman say?”

  “Oh, he just said that Don was a little off-putting and something about the way he stared at whoever he was talking to.”

  “My goodness, I didn’t notice that at all.�
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  “Well, you know Coleman. His thinking may be a little warped since he deals with so much riffraff.” Then Binkie laughed. “Come to think of it, so do I.

  “Anyway,” she went on, “I just wanted you to know that I’ve made an effort with Lauren. Since I didn’t get anywhere, I’ll probably let it go. Not because she wasn’t interested in St. Mark’s, but because she wasn’t interested in much of anything. I know everybody says they don’t have time for things, but, Miss Julia, I really don’t. Coleman and I are so busy that we have to take Gracie out of school and go out of town just to be together. I really don’t have time for someone who has to be courted, and I hope you’ll understand.”

  “That’s perfectly all right, Binkie. You don’t need to explain anything to me. I understand and I appreciate you making the effort. And to be honest, I had them over last night mainly because Sue Hargrove had asked me to. Of course, I probably would have eventually, anyway. So let’s both of us say that we’ve done as we should toward Lauren, and the next move is up to her.”

  Binkie laughed again. “We’ll probably be waiting awhile for that.”

  After hanging up, I found myself feeling unsettled, not because none of my young friends had a good impression of Lauren Crawford, but because one of the most trusted of them had questions concerning Don Crawford.

  Mentally throwing up my hands, one thought kept running through my head—Oh, won’t you come home, Bob Hargrove, won’t you come home?

  Chapter 9

  *

  Well aware that I was on the verge of stepping off the edge of a canyon, I visited Hazel Marie the next morning—not, however, without calling first, as one should. She seemed pleased to see me, although with the twins in preschool for half the day, she’d probably looked forward to having a few hours to herself. Yet now, there I was using up her free time.

  “Hazel Marie,” I said after she’d taken my coat and led me into the living room of the lovely old house that Sam had once owned, “I hope you didn’t change any plans for me. This could’ve waited, although you know how I am—when I get something on my mind, I can’t rest until I do something about it.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, “I had nothing planned for the morning, and I’m always glad to see you. Let’s go to the dining room and sit at the table. James is bringing in coffee, and I’m tired of balancing a cup and saucer while trying to talk.” She laughed easily, knowing that I would recall the incident to which she was referring. We’d both been at the last circle meeting when Elaine Whitmire had leaned over to speak to someone, tilting the saucer she was holding so that a full cup of coffee toppled off into her lap. No lasting damage was done, for Elaine had been talking so much that her coffee had cooled considerably.

  James came in from the kitchen, smiling broadly at me as he laid out cups and saucers, a coffeepot, and a plate of cookies. “Been a long time since I seen you, Miss Julia,” he said. “How’s Miss Lillian doin’?”

  “She’s doing well,” I said. “Still trying to keep up with Latisha.”

  “An’ that’s a job,” he said, as we laughed at the thought of the little whirlwind that was Lillian’s great-granddaughter.

  Hazel Marie and I sat at the table, prepared our coffee to our tastes, then she said, “What’s going on, Miss Julia? I can tell you have something on your mind. I hope it’s not Lloyd you’re worried about.”

  “Oh, no, not Lloyd. As far as I can tell, he’s thriving in high school, but since you’ve brought it up . . . Hazel Marie, is Mr. Pickens really buying that child a car?”

  She smiled. “I think we’re going to have to stop thinking of him as a child. Though it’s so hard for me to do. I can’t believe he’s old enough to drive, but J.D. says that if he’s going to be a safe driver, he needs to be an experienced driver. He wants Lloyd to have a lot of supervised driving time before he’s turned loose to drive by himself. And I guess that makes sense, but the thought of Lloyd behind the wheel, well, it just gives me nightmares.”

  “But does he really need a car of his own at his age? I mean, he’s not even sixteen yet.”

  “I know, but with his beginner’s permit, he can drive with a licensed driver in the car with him. So J.D. is planning to buy him an old, used car that he says can be dented and scratched and even crashed while Lloyd is getting experience. He says it’ll be a lot cheaper to let him wreck an old, beat-up car than one of ours.”

  “Lord, Hazel Marie! He’s expecting him to have a wreck?”

  “No, no, that’s not what he meant. J.D. says a new driver has to back up about a hundred times before he learns how to do it. And that he’ll back into something about ninety-nine times while he’s learning—I know I still can’t back up straight.”

  “Me, either,” I admitted, as a certain harrowing experience in reverse came to mind. “In fact, I’ve been known to drive all around the block just to avoid having to back up a few feet.”

  “Anyway,” Hazel Marie went on, “J.D. says it’s likely that Lloyd will end up in a ditch a few times, and an old, heavy car that already has dents and scratches on it will be safer and cheaper for him to learn in.

  “And think of this, Miss Julia, J.D. will be letting him learn to drive on all kinds of roads, and turning around in empty parking lots, and questioning him on the rules of the road every weekend he’s home. So, what finally made me see the wisdom of it was realizing that by the time Lloyd can drive by himself, he’ll really know how to do it.”

  “Well,” I conceded with some reluctance, “I guess that makes sense. I just know that I didn’t learn to drive till I was twenty-two years old, so fifteen sounds a little young to me.”

  “Yes’m, I know. I was about the same age as you before I began to drive, but it was because we didn’t have a car for anybody to drive.”

  “Well,” I said, holding out my cup for a refill, “that wasn’t really what I wanted to talk about. I mean, I intended to talk to you about it eventually, but something else has come up. And I realize that I may be starting something that could be severely damaging to someone, so, Hazel Marie, please don’t let this go any further.

  “Well, wait,” I went on, “it’ll have to go one more step, but Mr. Pickens is certainly not a gossip. Not that you are, I didn’t mean that. I mean I trust you both not to repeat this, but I need to ease my mind about it. Else I’d keep it to myself, which is probably what I ought to do.”

  “What in the world?” Hazel Marie said, frowning as she sat straight up in her Queen Anne dining chair.

  “All I want to know is this, has Mr. Pickens said anything to you about Dr. Don Crawford? I mean, has he said what he thought of him? Because, see, it’s like this. He made a good impression on me—especially in contrast to his wife—and he did on everybody else who was there the other night, except for one person. The problem is that I respect that one person and his—or her—instincts. It’s got me befuddled, Hazel Marie, because what if Sam or I fall ill before Dr. Hargrove gets back? I want to know the kind of doctor I’ll be dealing with.”

  She turned her cup around in its saucer, looked away, then back again. “Well,” she said, “I’m like you. I was impressed with him, but J.D. was kinda wishy-washy. But you know he never takes anyone at face value. He withholds judgment, I guess you could say, until he’s sure one way or the other. I sometimes think he’s too suspicious of people, but he says he’s been burned too many times.”

  I leaned back from the table, absorbing Mr. Pickens’s reserved opinion of Don Crawford. Like Coleman Bates, Mr. Pickens often had to deal with the dregs of the earth. Had those experiences given them the ability to recognize certain qualities or traits that would be invisible to others?

  “What, exactly,” I finally asked, “did Mr. Pickens say about him? If you don’t mind repeating it.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind telling you. Actually, it was so silly that I had to laugh. He just said he looked funny.”
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br />   “Looked funny? What does that mean?”

  Hazel Marie shrugged. “Just the way he looked, I guess.”

  “Well, that’s interesting because I thought he looked quite nice. He was wearing pretty much what the other men were wearing.”

  “No, that wasn’t what he meant. He meant he looked funny.”

  “That’s what I meant. I didn’t notice anything unusual.”

  “No, Miss Julia, J.D. meant the way he looked at people. He stared, he said. Without blinking, he said.”

  “Oh, my goodness, that’s pretty much what Coleman said.” Then I gasped and leaned my head on my hand in dismay. “Oh, me, now I’ve just told you who else had reservations. I didn’t mean to do that. First thing you know, I’ll be accused of starting a smear campaign around town. Forget I told you, Hazel Marie. Forget I even brought it up. I am so sorry.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said. “I know you’re not a gossip. Besides, like I told J.D., the man was just doing what he’d been taught to do. How many times have you and I told Lloyd that he should look people in the eye, especially when speaking to them?”

  “Well, yes, that’s true. We have done that, and I can remember my mother telling me the same thing. Thank you, Hazel Marie, I feel better about the whole thing now. Dr. Crawford was just doing what he’d been taught. He was being polite.”

  * * *

  —

  The whole thing was troubling, though, specifically because of the high esteem in which I held the opinions of Coleman and Mr. Pickens. If anybody could recognize warning signs, it was those two.

  But warning signs of what? That Don Crawford was too polite? Ridiculous. I had met people who were too polite—you know the type. They’re the people who fawn over you, who’re courteous to the point of oiliness, and who make you wonder what they’re really after. Don Crawford had done nothing like that, and I, who prided myself on being able to read people, had not noticed the intense gaze that had twitched the antennas of two law enforcement men.