by Ann B. Ross
I almost wore a path on the Oriental in my living room, going back and forth to the front window to watch for Pastor Ledbetter’s car turning into the church parking lot. By late afternoon he still hadn’t shown up, and it occurred to me that if he absented himself from his office all week, we were in for a poorly prepared sermon come Sunday. But I had laid the law down to him, via Norma, so he knew I was just before telling what I’d promised not to tell—officially released or not. Binkie would be most interested in hearing what I had to say, and so would Detective Ellis. Lieutenant Peavey probably wouldn’t care one way or the other.
Then I thought that maybe the pastor wanted to sneak over to see me under the cover of darkness. Which didn’t make much sense, because as soon as he released me from my promise I was going to talk my head off to anybody who’d listen, anyway. But I told Norma he had today, I thought, so I’ll give him till midnight. It was going to be a long wait.
Hearing Lillian and Latisha come in through the kitchen, I hurried to meet them. Latisha, talking constantly, had her little suitcase in one hand and three dolls in the other.
“Go on upstairs an’ put them doll babies in our room,” Lillian was telling her as I came in.
“Hey, Miss Lady,” Latisha said in her high, piercing voice. “We’re spendin’ the night with you, did you know that? Great-granny said you ast us, so here we are.”
“And I’m so happy to see you, Latisha. You’re doing me a great favor by keeping me company while Mr. Sam is away.”
“Well, let me ast you something,” Latisha said, standing beside Lillian and looking me over. “I wanta know when the police comin’ to ’rest you. ’Cause I been wantin’ to see something like that.”
“Latisha!” Lillian cried. “What you talkin’ about! Nobody gonna get arrested ’round here. Miss Julia, I’m sorry. I don’t know where she hear such a thing. I sure didn’t tell her.”
Before I could reassure Lillian, Latisha said, “No’m, Great-granny don’t never tell me nothin’, ’cept, ‘Latisha, go to bed,’ ‘Latisha, go to school,’ ‘Latisha, go to sleep,’ ‘Latisha, go to church,’ till I get tired of all that goin’. But she don’t have to tell me, ’cause I hear it all over school today. Everybody real sorry, Miss Lady.”
“It’s all right, Latisha,” I said, trying not to moan at learning that I was the current event topic for the first grade. “But I’m not going to be arrested, because I haven’t done anything to be arrested for. So that’ll be something you can tell all your classmates tomorrow.”
“Well, that’ll be good,” she said, heading toward the hall. “I’m gonna put all this stuff upstairs, but if the police change they minds, call me. I really wanta see somebody get ’rested.”
“My Jesus,” Lillian said, mopping her face with her hand. “What they learnin’ in school, anyway?”
“There’s no telling. But don’t worry about it, Lillian. I know there’ll be rumors and gossip flying around. I’ll just have to put up with it.” But not for long, I thought, and went back to the living room to check the church parking lot again.
• • •
That evening, the three of us sat around the kitchen table after eating, Lillian and I occasionally talking but mostly listening to Latisha. Sam had called just as we’d gotten to the table to say he was safely in Raleigh, checked into the hotel, and getting ready to meet an old friend for dinner.
Although I’d watched all afternoon, I’d not seen hide nor hair of the pastor, but now that it was getting dark, I had hopes that he’d soon show himself.
“Lillian,” I said, “I may have a visitor sometime this evening, and if so, he’ll probably want to slip in and slip out without anybody seeing him.”
Lillian frowned as she looked at me, one eyebrow arching up. “Do Mr. Sam know ’bout this?”
I smiled. “Not yet, but he will. It all has to do with my current situation, Lillian, and as soon as I can, I’ll tell you about it.”
Latisha opened her mouth to say something, but the front doorbell diverted her. “That pro’bly him,” she said.
“Who?” Lillian asked.
“That man Miss Lady waitin’ on.”
“I certainly hope so,” I said, getting to my feet, eager to put an end to my uncertain status in the eyes of the law.
Lillian stood up as well. “It could be anybody. I better go with you.”
“No, I don’t want to scare him off. You and Latisha, finish your dinner. This shouldn’t take but a minute.”
I hurried through the dining room with a lighter heart, already planning what I’d do as soon as the pastor left. Binkie would be my first call, then Sam as soon as he got back to the hotel. Then I would call Mildred and LuAnne to put their suspicions to rest, and after that I’d call Detective Ellis and tell him to take my name off the suspect list—I had a legitimate reason for having been at the Clayborn house and a respected religious leader who could attest to it.
Thinking that this was one time I could honestly say I was happy to see Pastor Ledbetter, I flipped on the porch light, flung open the door, and opened my mouth to welcome him.
It wasn’t the pastor. It was, instead, a tall, thin man in a Burberry raincoat, the only thing I recognized about him.
Sliding behind the door and holding on to it, I said, “Yes?” as visions of Connie’s kitchen and Connie’s body danced in my head.
“Mrs. Murdoch,” he said, “I apologize for not calling before coming by, but I’m Stan Clayborn, Connie’s husband. I’d like to speak with you, if I could have a few minutes of your time. Just a question or two to help me understand.” He had to pause as his voice broke. “I won’t keep you long.”
Were homicidal maniacs so well spoken? Or, as I noted the fine woolen suit and silk tie under the raincoat, so well dressed?
“Well,” I temporized, “I’m expecting my, ah, my sewing group in a few minutes—about a dozen ladies all with needles and scissors, and there’re people waiting for me in the kitchen. But I know this is a stressful time for you, so . . .” I stopped, looked behind me to see if Lillian was near. “I don’t want to be inconsiderate at such a time, so come in, Mr. Clayborn. And may I say that I am very sorry for your loss.”
I opened the door wider and he stepped inside, allowing me a closer look at him. I declare, the lines on his thin face were etched with grief, his eyes somber and deep in his head, and his cheekbones stood out in sharp relief. I was moved with pity for this suffering man.
But not quite enough for me to forget that I might be in the presence of a psychopathic wife killer. I gestured to the sofa, which he took, while I eschewed my usual seat in the wingback next to the fireplace in favor of a straight Chippendale chair near the door to the hall. Just in case.
Sitting stiffly on the sofa, his feet firmly planted, Mr. Clayborn lifted his haggard face and said, “This may be difficult for you, Mrs. Murdoch, but I can’t rest until I know what Connie’s last words were. Would you be kind enough to tell me what they were?”
My mouth opened as I stared at him. What? What was he talking about? “I’m sorry?” I said, as if I were hard of hearing.
“Her last words. Did she by chance mention me before she died? Or did she say anything that I could treasure and remember her by?”
“Mr. Clayborn,” I said, standing because I couldn’t sit still while he labored under such a misconception. “The last words that your wife said to me were said over the telephone early yesterday morning. I think they were something like, ‘I’ll see you about four.’ I’m sorry to tell you that when I arrived about four—give or take a few minutes—she was in no condition to say anything. I found her body, Mr. Clayborn, and the only words spoken were my own as I tried to rouse her.” I glanced behind me, hoping that Lillian was in the hall. “I can understand your wanting to hold on to her last words, but I assure you, I was not there to hear them.”
“A
h, well,” he said, his head dropping low, “I was afraid it was too much to hope for. But when I learned that you’d been there . . . well, I just hoped.”
“Be assured, Mr. Clayborn, that I would tell you if I had anything to tell. Whoever told you I was there gave you wrong information. I mean, I was there, but she was not. That’s as kindly as I can put it.”
“Well,” he said again, suddenly springing to his feet. “Thank you for trying to help her. I must go. I’ve missed my daily run and I’m not myself if I don’t get in five or six miles every day.”
He strode past me toward the door, and I had to hop to it to let him out. Locking the door behind him, I leaned against it, my mind in a whirl. What I’d thought were signs of grief—the lanky body, the gaunt face—weren’t that at all. He was an emaciated long-distance runner.
And why had he thought that I’d heard Connie’s last words? Did he think I’d killed her? Or—and here I almost sank to the floor—was he making sure that Connie had not identified her killer to me?
“Miss Julia?” Lillian said, taking my arm and leading me away from the door. “You all right? You look like you seen a ghost.”
“No, not a ghost, Lillian, but maybe a ghost maker.”
Chapter 18
The first thing I did Thursday morning—well, not the very first because I had to wait till eight-thirty—was to call Norma at the church office. I hadn’t heard one word from the pastor, so my full confession of why I went to Connie’s was on hold, and I was still up in the air as to what to do. I’d threatened to tell on him even without a formal release, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to actually do it. So far.
“Norma,” I said as soon as she finished her lilting telephonic spiel of “First Presbyterian Church of Abbotsville. This is Norma speaking. How may I help you?” “Did the pastor get my message?”
“He did. I gave it to him when he came in at five o’clock yesterday just as I was getting ready to leave. It was the first time he’d come back all day.”
“Well, what did he say? I haven’t heard from him, and it’s imperative that I do. Believe me, he won’t like the consequences if I don’t.”
There was dead silence on her end for a few seconds, then she said, “I think making threatening phone calls is against the law, Mrs. Murdoch, especially against a minister of the Gospel.”
“Don’t think, Norma, it’ll get you in trouble because I’m not making threats. I’m just telling you—and you can pass it along to him—exactly what’s going to happen if he keeps avoiding me. Now, what did he say?”
“Well,” she huffed. “He said to tell you that he’s taking Mrs. Ledbetter to a specialist at Bowman Gray School of Medicine in Winston-Salem today, and he’ll see you when he gets back. You won’t be able to catch him—they were leaving about six this morning.” She paused, then went on. “I was going to call and tell you.”
“Thank you for passing it along so promptly,” I said, heavy on the sarcasm as I thought of my sleepless night. “But you could’ve told me yesterday afternoon and spared me some concern.”
“It was after five.”
My eyes rolled so far back I was afraid they’d never line up again. But what can you expect from someone like Norma Cantrell, who treated church members as if they were nuisances who impinged on her time and the pastor’s.
There was nothing more I could do, so there I was, hanging by a thread held by Pastor Ledbetter. I could go ahead and tell what I knew—as I’d indeed threatened to do. But now there was Emma Sue to worry about, because she must have gotten worse or, at least, not gotten any better. I had to concede that taking her to a specialist was certainly reason enough for the pastor to have something other than my quandary on his mind. It looked as if I would have to give him a pass—a temporary pass—and wait for his return before making a clean breast of it.
• • •
I walked through the house looking for Lillian and found her changing the sheets on Lloyd’s bed.
“There you are,” I said, going to the far side to catch the sheet that she flapped across the bed. “Talk to me, Lillian. I need something to do besides think about what I’m thinking about.”
“I guess you worryin’ ’bout Coleman like me. Miss Julia, he got no bus’ness livin’ out in the open like that. I wish Miss Binkie’d straighten him out.”
“She can’t do a thing with him, you know that.” I handed her a pillowcase, then said, “But that’s what we can do! Let’s pick up Latisha and Lloyd when school’s out, then ride out there and see him.”
“An’ I can take him something to keep up his strength. Le’s get this bed made so I can make some brownies. I’m glad you think of that, Miss Julia. I feel better when I see how he doin’.”
“You may not see much, Lillian. You know that sign is setting in marshland on the low side of the boulevard, but Coleman said there’s a dry path to walk on. Only thing is, you have to climb over the guardrail to get to the path. I doubt you’ll want to attempt it—I sure don’t. Lloyd will, though.”
“Latisha, too,” Lillian said, laughing. “If it’s somethin’ a little risky, she be the first one to try it.”
I laughed with her, thinking of how impetuous Latisha was. “I can finish up here if you want to start those brownies.”
“I’m ’bout through, but, Miss Julia, I been thinkin’ maybe Mr. Sam or Mr. J.D. ought to talk to Lloyd a little bit.”
I straightened up from spreading out a blanket. “What about?”
“Well, you know I don’t mind doin’ the cleanin’. I cleaned a many of ’em in my day, but Lloyd might need to be told ’fore he marry somebody. Wives don’t much like it.”
“Married? Why, Lillian, he’s nowhere near old enough to think of marrying. What does he need to be told, anyway? I can tell him whatever it is.”
“No’m, he need a man to tell him, somebody that can show him how.”
“How what?”
“Aim better. Miss Julia, he gettin’ up at night without wakin’ up good, an’ he missin’ what he oughta be hittin’.”
“Oh, for goodness sakes,” I said as we laughed together. “You’re right, that’s not for me to bring up. I’d embarrass him to death. And myself, too. I’ll get Sam to talk to him. No way in the world would I speak to Mr. Pickens about that.”
• • •
When the phone rang later that morning, I nearly broke my neck getting to it. At last, somebody wanted to speak to me.
“Miss Julia? It’s Sue,” Dr. Hargrove’s wife said when I answered. “Do you know anything about Emma Sue? I just heard that the pastor’s taken her to a specialist in Winston-Salem, and I’m concerned about her.”
“I am, too, Sue. And, yes, I’ve heard about it, but I don’t know any more than that. I’ve been hoping to hear from the pastor with some details about her condition.” About a few other things as well, but I didn’t mention those. “If I hear anything more, I’ll let you know.”
“Please do. Everybody’s worried about her,” Sue said. “But listen, with Emma Sue out for a while, and Hazel Marie, too, we’re going to be pushed to get our ornaments made in time. I’m thinking that we ought to meet twice a week, or at least a few extra times, so we’ll have enough to sell.”
“That’s a good idea. We’re already behind compared to this time last year. When do you want to meet?”
“Well, tonight? Except I can’t have it at my house—several of Marsha’s friends are coming over to make cookies for the team.” Marsha was Sue’s popular, volleyball-playing teenage daughter. “But I’ve spoken to Mildred and she says we can meet at her house.”
“That’s perfect for me. Sam’s out of town, and it’ll give me something to do.”
“Oh, good. I’ll bring everything with me and see you there.”
So my day and evening schedules were now filled, leaving little time to grap
ple with worrisome matters like suspicious detectives, slippery preachers, and daring sheriff’s deputies hanging out on windswept billboards.
Chapter 19
It wasn’t a simple matter to pick up the children and drive through town to Coleman’s sign. First, I had to call Hazel Marie so she’d know Lloyd wouldn’t be home on time. She was so hoarse with a cold that I could barely understand her, but she said she’d text Lloyd so he’d know to look for my car.
“He can’t use his phone in school, can he?” I asked, not wanting to get the boy in trouble.
“No,” she croaked, “but it’ll be the first thing he looks at when the bell rings.”
Then, while I waited with car keys in hand, Lillian couldn’t make up her mind about how to transport a plate of brownies.
“I don’t guess a silver plate would do, would it?” she said.
“No, we might never get it back. Just put them in a sack, Lillian, and let’s go. The children will be standing outside waiting on us.”
She fiddled around with a brown paper sack, decided against that, then tried a plastic bag and didn’t like that, either. Finally, she placed a stack of brownies on a paper plate and covered it tightly with plastic wrap. “That’ll do it,” she said, finally satisfied, and out we went.
• • •
We drove through the pickup line at school and stopped for Latisha and Lloyd to get in. They piled into the backseat, slinging book bags, coats, and Latisha’s artwork all over the place. Lillian made sure they buckled their seat belts and then we were off.
“I sure am glad somebody thought of this,” Latisha said. “I been worryin’ ’bout Coleman all day long. ’Cept when we went through the lunch line, an’ I saw what they put on my tray. All I could worry ’bout then was starvin’ to death.”
His mind on our destination, Lloyd asked, “Miss Julia, do we know where we’re going? I mean, which sign Coleman’s on?”