Murder Runs in the Family

by Anne George

  The research library is housed in what was the main library. It has high vaulted ceilings, murals of mythological figures, and row after row of study tables and lamps that are well-used. And unlike the new, modern

  building across the street, it smells like a library, a combination of old books, ink, furniture polish, floor wax. It's as distinctive as the smell of a school.

  I sniffed appreciatively as we crossed the main reading room to the elevators.

  "You need a Kleenex?" Sister asked.

  And then we were in the department where I had had my first job. A portrait of Miss Boxx, the lady who had been responsible for this impressive collection of Southern history, stared at me as sternly as she had when I was nineteen. The artist had captured her daring anyone to mess up what she had spent years amassing.

  "The genealogy stuff is over here," I said, turning left.

  "Good God!" Sister said as a dozen Megs looked up from the tables to see who had come in. They all frowned and then resumed their work.

  "They all look alike," Sister whispered.

  "I think it's the same bunch that was here forty years ago." We giggled and got the same frowns. "Come on, let's look at some Georgia stuff. Fred said his great grandmother or somebody was born in Madison."

  "What was her name?"

  "I don't know. Maybe we'll run up on some Tates. Everybody in Alabama came from Georgia or South Carolina. Or Virginia."

  "That really narrows it down." Mary Alice followed me to the Georgia section. Bound records are arranged alphabetically by states.

  "Land grants?" I asked, looking at the shelves. "Census records? Deaths?"

  "Yuck." Mary Alice plunked the briefcases down

  on a table. Two Megs looked up and frowned. "Let's just wait on Meg."

  But I had opened an 1842 census record and discovered a Tate listed in the index. "Look. Page ninety-four."

  ' 'Probably a horse thief like you said. I just want to know about the good ones."

  ' 'This is a good one. Joshua Tree Tate, landowner. Wife Maria Caldwell Tate. And five children. See?" I handed the book to Sister.

  "What kind of a name is Joshua Tree? Isn't there a real tree named that?"

  "I'll bet his mother was a Tree."

  "Shhh," said the two old ladies at our table.

  "You know what, Mouse?" Sister whispered, calling me by my childhood nickname. "These boys would all have been just the right age to serve in the Civil War."

  "Those records are here, too," I said. "We could find out what regiment they were in and whether they were killed."

  We were hooked.

  It was at least a half hour later when Mary Alice wondered where Meg was. "She said she would be here in a few minutes."

  "She's fine," I said. "Look. Here's where one of the sons married his brother's widow."

  Another half hour had passed when we began to hear an unusual amount of noise outside. Fire trucks, police cars, ambulances. All seemed to be coming to a screeching halt close to the library.

  "Think someone needs to shout 'Fire'?" Sister asked.

  "Something's going on. I wish these damn windows weren't so high."

  The librarian was talking into her phone. She hung up and came over to our table. "Something's happened over at the courthouse. Nothing to concern us."

  "A shooting?" one of the Megs asked eagerly.

  "I don't think so," the librarian assured her.

  "We better go find Meg," Sister said. "She may be trying to cross the park and they have it blocked."

  But the small park between the courthouse and the library wasn't blocked. We cut right across to the back of a crowd that had collected around a couple of police cars, a fire truck, and a rescue squad. From inside the library, it had sounded like a dozen sirens wailing at once.

  "Someone must have had a heart attack," I said.

  A man in front of us turned. "Somebody took a dive," he said

  "What?"

  "Jumped from the eighth floor."

  "Oh, my God!" Mary Alice pressed her hands to her mouth. "Let's go back to the library, Mouse."

  I agreed. My stomach has never cooperated at the sight of blood.

  We had neared the fountain in the center of the park when we heard footsteps rushing up behind us.

  "Wait, wait!" Judge Haskins said. Short of breath and redfaced, he staggered to the curb of the reflecting pool, sat down, and put his head between his knees. "I think I'm dying," he gasped.

  I grabbed a Kleenex from my purse, dipped it in the pool, and held it against his forehead. "Just keep your head down."

  "That water's filthy," Sister said. "Kids pee in it." I gave her a hard look. "You know. When they go wading."

  But the judge wasn't worried about bacteria. He

  took the wet Kleenex and held it against his eyes. I reached in my purse for another one.

  "Are you having a heart attack or something?" I asked, kneeling beside him. "The paramedics are right over yonder."

  "She's dead," he mumbled.

  "What did he say?" Sister asked.

  "He said, 'She's dead.' "

  "It was a woman who jumped?"

  "Oh, God." The judge began to sob, loud gasping sobs. He still hadn't raised his head, and I could see the deep pink of scalp through thinning white hair.

  And then I knew. "It's Meg," I said. "Meg's dead, isn't she?"

  Mary Alice sank down on the curb beside Judge Haskins. "Don't be ridiculous. It couldn't be Meg."

  But the judge's head was nodding up and down, affirming what I had said.

  Mary Alice grabbed his shoulder and gave it a shake. "Are you telling us that Meg Bryan jumped from the eighth floor of the courthouse?"

  His head moved sideways in a no.

  I closed my eyes in relief. Mary Alice gave a small whistle, a "whew."

  "The ninth."

  Sister and I stared at each other. "What?" we said together.

  He sobbed again. "She's dead."

  Mary Alice reached into the reflecting pool with cupped hands and doused Judge Haskins's bowed head. "Sit up and talk like you've got sense!"

  For a moment, I thought she'd killed him. The gasping breathing stopped. Then, with a long sigh, he raised his head. "Do you have another Kleenex?"

  I handed him another, and he wiped his face. "Thanks."

  "Well?" Mary Alice said. Behind us, the fire truck was leaving.

  "Meg jumped from the ninth floor. Or the tenth. Anyway, I was sitting at my desk on the eighth and she came sailing by. Looked right in at me. I think she said good-bye. Like this. The judge mouthed, "Goood-byyeeeee" and hiccuped. Tears began to run down his face again. "It was awful." His hands were trembling against his pants legs. Old hands. Liver spots.

  "Are you all right?" I asked.

  "I don't know," he said truthfully.

  "Meg's dead?" Mary Alice asked.

  "That's what he said, Sister." I patted the judge's hand.

  "Dear God. Why would she have done that?"

  The judge said he had no idea, that they had compared their genealogical findings and Meg had left. The next thing he knew, she was sailing past his window looking right in, "Goood-byeeee." He mouthed it again.

  "She sure didn't seem suicidal to me." Mary Alice said. "She ate a good lunch, didn't she, Mouse. Three of those veal medallions with orange sauce on them. Green beans with almonds."

  "We finished her cheesecake," I offered.

  The three of us were quiet for a few minutes, watching as the crowd parted for the rescue squad. Nothing more they could do here.

  "Patricia Anne," Sister said. "You need to go tell them who the body is."

  "She's your company. Your son-in-law's cousin."

  The judge got up. His legs were still shaky, but his

  voice was steady. "I'll go tell them," he said.

  "Where will they take her?" Mary Alice asked. "Ridout's?" Ridout's has always seemed an apropos name for a funeral home.

  "The morgue, I guess.
" The judge started away and turned. "Will you call her family?"

  "I don't know how," Sister said.

  "Her sister, Trinity Buckalew, lives in Fairhope. She'll get the word around. Believe me."

  "One of us will call," Sister promised.

  "You'll call," I said. "She was your company." I watched the judge walking away and thought of what he was walking to, the broken body on the courthouse steps, the blue-gray jacket and flowered dress crumpled and bloody. The black purse with the contents scattered. Shoes flung onto the sidewalk. I shuddered.

  "Wait a minute!" I yelled to Judge Haskins.

  He turned. "What?"

  I jumped up, ran to him, and snatched Meg Bryan's briefcase, the heavier one with the computer inside, from under his arm.

  "Oh, I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so upset, I don't know what I'm doing."

  "Tell me about it." I walked back to the reflecting pool. "Did you see that?" I asked Sister. "He was trying to get away with Meg Bryan's computer, and her lying over there dead as a doornail."

  Sister shook her head. "I still can't believe it. She was so nice and quiet. So ladylike." She pointed toward the crowd. "Look at all that commotion. That's not ladylike at all."

  "How would you recommend a lady do herself in?"

  "Nothing bloody. Taking a whole lot of Valium and then walking into the water might be nice." She

  got up and sighed. "Well, at least she had a good lunch."

  "Things do tend to balance out, don't they?" Sarcasm is totally lost on Sister. She agreed that yes, indeed, they do.

  Four

  You mean," Fred said that night, "that you and Mary Alice had lunch with this lady, that she didn't seem at all upset or suicidal, and yet she went over to the courthouse and jumped out of the ninth-floor window?"

  "Maybe the tenth. She passed Judge Raskins's window and he thinks she said, 'Goood-byyeee.' Really shook him up, her sailing by the window like that."

  ' 'Gooood-byeeeee?''

  I nodded. "That's what he said."

  "Where were you and Mary Alice?"

  "At the library, Fred, and damn it, don't lay a guilt trip on me. She didn't say, 'I'm going to go jump out of a tenth-floor window. Splat.' She seemed fine. And if we'd been there, face it, it's not like we could have given her CPR."

  "I'm not trying to lay a guilt trip on you, honey. I'm just having a hard time believing Meg Bryan would commit suicide that way. Remember how she wouldn't even sit on the wall at The Club on Saturday? Said she was scared of heights."

  I shivered. "Damn, I'd forgotten about that." I got up from the table to pour some more tea. "Shook the hell out of the judge. That's for sure." I handed Fred a packet of Sweet'n Low. "I didn't tell you he tried to steal her computer."

  "What?"

  "He had it under his arm and was hightailing it out of the park. I just happened to see it, and snatched it away from him. He said he was so upset he didn't know what he was doing. But he knew. I think it's got all kinds of genealogy research stuff in it that he wants."

  "What did you say his name is?"

  "Judge Robert Haskins. You ever heard of him? Looks sort of like a weasel."

  "Nope." Fred stirred his tea., "Where's the computer now?"

  "Mary Alice has it. The other briefcase, too. She was going to call the family in Fairhope."

  "I'm surprised she didn't make you do it."

  "She tried." We smiled at each other. I hesitated, and then asked, "Did you hear anything from Universal Satellite today?"

  Fred shook his head no. "They won't return my calls." He pushed his chair back and stood up. "I'm going to go watch Jeopardy."

  Well, so much for that conversation. I looked out into the lighted backyard. Several years ago, we had had a bay window put in the breakfast nook, and it immediately became our favorite place to sit. My sweet Fred placed some lights in the shrubbery, creating just the soft effect I wanted. The incentive for his doing it was the estimate a couple of landscape architects gave me. Fred hit the road to Wal-Mart run-

  ning. But that was okay. Tonight I could see how pretty the forsythia and quince were.

  Our dog Woofer's igloo doghouse is partly hidden by shrubbery. But only partly. I know it's big, and that a small family of Eskimos would fit right in, but Woofer's getting old. When it's snowing or raining, I like to think of him snuggled up in his igloo.

  I sipped my tea and looked out at my peaceful yard. I thought about lunch, about Meg Bryan who had seemed to enjoy herself and then, an hour later, had been dead.

  "Heights make me nervous." Wasn't that what she had said? "Heights make me nervous." Did they make her nervous because she felt the urge to jump? I'd heard of that.

  Woofer came from his igloo, walked over to the peach tree, and hiked his leg. I tapped on the window, and he came to the door to be let in.

  "Bernard Baruch!" Fred yelled at the television. "It's Bernard Baruch, you dummies."

  I opened the door for Woofer, let him in, and gave him a dog biscuit.

  Or someone could have pushed her. I scraped the dishes and began to stack them in the dishwasher. Someone like Judge Haskins, who wanted what was on her computer. He knew she had left it with us. Probably knew she was writing a new program. Maybe that was it. Push her out of the window, grab the computer, and make a mint. Like the guy who started Apple. Not that he had thrown anybody out of a window, but he sure had made a mint. And wasn't it ironic that Meg, who was working on Windows, had jumped out of one. I put the detergent in and started the dishwasher, and ground the scraps in the disposal with such a racket that Woofer loped into the

  den leaving a definite smell of dog behind him.

  A knock at the back door startled me. I looked up and saw Mary Alice.

  "Tell Fred I knocked," she said when I opened the door.

  "Sister knocked, Fred," I called. He's always complaining that she barges in without knocking.

  He came and stood in the den door holding his hands to his chest. "I'm not sure I can take the shock."

  "Smart-ass." Mary Alice came in carrying a large tote bag. She put it down on the kitchen table with a clunk. "Tapes," she said. "Of the wedding. I thought we'd watch them and cheer up some. This day has been hell, Fred, pure hell for Patricia Anne and I."

  "Me," I said.

  Mary Alice turned and looked at me, puzzled. "Didn't I say you?"

  "You said 'for Patricia Anne and I.' But it's Patricia Anne and me. For me. Objective case."

  Mary Alice's eyes narrowed. "Stick it up your textbook, English teacher."

  And Fred laughed. The traitor. Mary Alice smiled at him appreciatively.

  "Did Patricia Anne tell you everything that happened today?" she asked him.

  "She told me enough to curl my hair."

  Mary Alice looked at his head. "I assume you're being facetious."

  It was my turn to laugh. Fred has a very nice, full head of hair that used to be ash blond and has gradually become gray blond. It's hair. What can I say? But every morning he stands before the mirror examining the width of his forehead. And every two weeks he goes to a barber named Edna who tells him

  all her female problems. He swears she is the only one who can cut his hair right, but after hearing the ordeal of the third miscarriage, he was shaken for days. Mary Alice, of course, knows all this.

  Fred turned and walked back to the den. We followed him, Mary Alice carrying one of the tapes.

  "Did you get in touch with Meg's family?" I asked.

  "Her sister."

  "Which one?"

  "Trinity. She said she'd be here tomorrow to make arrangements and have Bobby Haskins arrested."

  "The judge?" Fred stepped over Woofer.

  "She says he killed her." Mary Alice knelt by the VCR. "How do you turn this thing on?"

  "That button on the left. But wait a minute," I said as Sister put the tape in. "She said the judge killed her? Did she say why she thought so?"

  Mary Alice shook her head no. "I'm staying out of it."
She pushed the Play button and the wedding music from St. Mark's blared out, making us all jump. "Too loud!" Mary Alice adjusted the volume.

  "Look, Fred," I said, pointing to us sitting in the front row. "There we are."

  "And I'm fixing to come down the aisle." Mary Alice got up from her knees, groaning, and sank down on the sofa.

  Fred reached over and pushed Stop. Both Sister and I looked up in surprise.

  "What's the matter?" I asked.

  "A woman you had lunch with either committed suicide or was killed a few minutes after she left you. Her sister says it was the guy you met, the guy who tried to steal her computer." Mary Mice and i looked at him and nodded yes.

  "Well?" He looked from one to the other.

  "Well, what?" Mary Alice asked.

  "Don't you think you ought to talk about it?"

  "Okay," she agreed.

  The three of us sat and looked at each other.

  "I know," Sister said finally. "You know that book, The Tenth Good Thing About Barney, or maybe it's thirteenth. Anyway, we could do that about Meg."

  Fred looked at me like what the hell is she talking about. "It's a children's book," I explained. "About a cat that dies and they make a list of the good things about him. I cry every time I read it."

  "I'll start," Sister said. She looked down at her hands. "Meg Bryan was clean. The whites of her fingernails were so white they didn't look real." She nodded to me.

  "Meg Bryan was smart," I said. "She knew how to work a computer. Even how to write her own programs." I nodded to Fred.

  He got up and turned the TV on. The wedding music soared forth.

  "See," Sister said. "There I come down the aisle. That dress looks good, doesn't it? Those damn pantyhose are already making me walk funny, though. Can you tell it?" I assured her that you couldn't.

  The camera panned across the aisle and there was Meg Bryan sitting by herself on the groom's side. She was clutching a navy-blue purse, and her legs were crossed neatly at the ankles. She was also smiling. At Henry? This time I reached over and pushed Stop.

  "Did you call Henry?" I asked Sister.

  "I haven't yet. I will in the morning."