Murder Runs in the Family

by Anne George

  "She's one of his few relatives."

  "I told you I'd call him." Sister reached her hand toward the TV. "Can I turn this back on?"

  I shook my head. "It makes me sad."

  But Fred surprised me. "Let's see it," he said. "It's a celebration of life."

  Celebration of life? This remark was so unlike him, Mary Alice cut her eyes around at me.

  "Turn it on," I said.

  And soon we were caught up in the celebration. There we were, madly chewing, and the camera moving to show the groom and best man swallowing. There were the bridesmaids, Marilyn, tall and dignified, and Haley, flushed, lovely, smiling at someone at the altar. And then the bride in the wonderful white dress.

  "The ENT!" Fred exclaimed, pointing toward Philip Nachman. "Look, he and Haley are giving each other the eye."

  And there we were exiting the church, talking to Bonnie Blue, entering The Club, watching Henry and Debbie dance with the twins. Watching Haley dance with Philip. "Look at that!" from Fred.

  Once again we sat on the terrace with Meg Bryan and ate and talked and smiled at the camera. I found myself smiling back at the TV images. And when the helicopter lifted off, I clapped as I had at The Club.

  "Thank-you," I told Fred as the helicopter faded in the distance and the screen went dark. "I'm glad we saw it."

  He smiled.

  Mary Alice blew her nose loudly into a Kleenex. "That was very nice. Do you want to see it again?"

  "No," Fred and I said together.

  "Well, I brought you a copy. You can look at it anytime." She ejected the tape. "I've got some videos of the babies. You want to see them?"

  Fred begged off with work to do; I claimed fatigue,

  utter exhaustion. Which was true. But I would watch them later, would look forward to watching them later, which was also true. I think I'm as crazy about those two-year-old twins as Sister is.

  "Come over in the morning," Sister said as she was leaving. "Trinity Buckalew said she would be getting into town about eleven and asked if I would meet her somewhere and help her find her way around. I told her just to come to the house."

  "What do you need me for?"

  "Well, my Lord, Mouse. The woman's sister's dead. She may be falling apart. Probably is."

  "Trinity Buckalew?"

  "Yep."

  "She sounds like a Quaker, doesn't she? Maybe a Shaker."

  "Quaker or Shaker, she's going to be at my house in the morning. Probably falling apart."

  "I'll be there," I promised.

  After Sister left, I put Woofer out and went to see if Fred wanted a cup of hot chocolate. But he was asleep, lying on the bed with his clothes still on and his glasses hanging on the end of his nose. When I slipped the glasses off, he woke up and blinked.

  "Mary Alice gone?"

  "And everything's locked up."

  He got up and went into the bathroom. When he came back, he had on his pajamas.

  "You're a nice man," I said.

  "Tell me about it." He lay down and closed his eyes.

  "You're wise. You understand about celebrating life. You're pretty."

  He snorted.

  "Well, I think you are." I rubbed his shoulder.

  "You have nice hair, lots of it, and cute buns."

  He snorted again. And again.

  "Fred?" But he was snoring away. I fixed myself a cup of hot chocolate and watched the late news. The anchorwoman didn't mention a suicide at the courthouse.

  "Trinity Buckalew," the formidable woman standing at the door said. If I hadn't just seen Julia Child on Good Morning America dumping mashed potatoes into a bowl of rutabagas and getting paid a fortune for it, I'd have sworn she was standing here at Mary Alice's house holding out her hand.

  "Patricia Anne Hollowell." My hand was engulfed by Trinity's.

  "This is the Crane residence, isn't it?"

  "I'm her sister. Won't you come in? We're so sorry about Meg."

  "Yes. Well," she stepped inside and looked around, "we all knew it was going to happen some day."

  "She was depressed?"

  "Of course not." Trinity Buckalew leaned forward and examined the hall tree. She was wearing a bright blue cape that swung forward like wings. "Interesting," she said. "Who made this?"

  It was her husky, authoritative voice, I realized, as well as her size, that reminded me of Julia Child. "I have no idea," I admitted. "It belonged to our grandmother."

  She pushed her bifocals up so she could look through the bottom part. "Interesting."

  "May I take your coat?" Somehow "cape" wouldn't come out. "My sister's on the phone, but

  she'll be here in a minute. There's coffee on the sun-porch."

  Trinity Buckalew straightened up and slipped her cape off. She also removed the matching blue felt hat that reminded me of the ones Daddy used to wear. "Thanks." She handed them to me and I immediately hung them on the hall tree, which she could have done herself, of course, but I was being polite.

  "How tall are you?" she asked.

  "Five one. Why?"

  "Just wondered." She stretched, reaching both hands toward the ceiling. "Stiff from the drive," she explained.

  "Come have some coffee, then." I pointed toward the sunporch.

  "Could I have a Coke and some aspirin instead?"

  "Sure. I'll get it. Come on back."

  We walked back to the sunporch, which is my favorite room in Sister's house. Filled with wicker furniture and plants, it overlooks the city from the crest of Red Mountain, just as Vulcan does. Mary Alice rattles around in this huge, elegant old house. The cost of heating and cooling it boggles my mind. But it would take a bulldozer to get her to move. And looking out over the valley, especially at sunset, it's easy to understand why.

  "This is lovely," Trinity Buckalew said, walking to the window. "Look at that view."

  In the bright light of the sunporch, I could see that she was not as old as I had first thought. Probably around my age, sixty, which would be about right, since she was Meg's second youngest sister. Gray hair that had been held down by the felt hat had sprung straight up, and the only makeup she wore was lipstick. But Trinity Buckalew, far from pretty, was an

  attractive woman with interesting, angular features. She looked nothing like Meg.

  "I'll go get your Coke and aspirin," I said. "Make yourself at home."

  She nodded and turned back to the view. ' 'Look at the planes taking off."

  I went into Sister's ultramodern kitchen, where she has never cooked a meal but where the caterers can move around comfortably; patted Bubba, her fat, lazy cat who spends his days sleeping on a heating pad on the Corian counter; and got a couple of Cokes from the refrigerator.

  I was pouring them into glasses when Sister came in. "What's she like?" she whispered.

  "Big. Not fat, just big. Looks like Julia Child. Sounds like her, too. Said they knew it was going to happen."

  "What?"

  "Meg dying."

  "Really? She said that?"

  "And she wears a blue cape and a blue felt hat like a man's."

  "Really?" Sister reached for the Cokes. "I'll take these in."

  "Wait a minute." I reached for my Coke. "What did Henry say?"

  "He says he's madly in love with my daughter. I told him not to consider interrupting their honeymoon, that we would go to Meg's funeral."

  "You told him what?"

  "Well, Meg came up for the wedding. Lord, Mouse. Don't stand there looking like you've swallowed a bug. It's the least we can do. Tit for tat."

  "Not exactly," I said, getting the aspirin from the cabinet and following her out of the kitchen.

  "Trinity," I heard her say, "I'm Mary Alice. I'm so grieved about dear Meg."

  As I rounded the corner of the sunporch, they were already hugging. Grateful that I was not caught between them, I sat down on the wicker sofa, opened the aspirin bottle, and took two.

  "How tall are you?" Trinity sniffled.

  "Five twelve. Why?"<
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  "Just wondered."

  "How tall are you?"

  "Six two."

  Neither woman seemed to think this was unusual information to elicit during an introduction. Mary Alice produced a small package of Kleenex from her pocket and said, "Here," handing one to Trinity. "I know right where I'm going to take you this afternoon. The Big, Bold, and Beautiful Shoppe. They have the most wonderful things for tall women."

  "I have a headache," Trinity said.

  "I'm sure you do. You just sit right down and I'll go get you some aspirin."

  I held up the bottle.

  "Oh, good." Mary Alice reached for it.

  "Four," Trinity said.

  "Are you sure, dear? It's not good for your stomach, you know. I've got some Tylenol if you'd rather have that."

  "Four aspirin." Julia Child's voice.

  "Sure." Mary Alice handed her the bottle of aspirin.

  "Here's your Coke," I said.

  Trinity sat down on the sofa beside me. The wicker squealed. Mary Alice sat facing us in a chair with cushions covered in a bright material, a white background splashed with big red poppies.

  "Nice room," Trinity said. She took the aspirin one at a time, throwing her head back like a chicken as each tablet went down.

  "Thank-you." Mary Alice dabbed afher eyes one last time. "Now, tell us what we can do to help. Patricia Anne and I are at your beck and call. Just tell us."

  Trinity Buckalew took a long drink of Coke, hic-cuped, and put the glass on the coffee table. "I guess first I have to go identify the body. Where would it be?"

  Mary Alice and I looked at each other blankly. The morgue? But Judge Haskins had said something about Ridout's, hadn't he?

  "I'll call," Mary Alice said sweetly.

  "And then I want to swear out a warrant for Bobby Haskins's arrest."

  Mary Alice and I looked at each other again. "Trinity," she said. "I don't think it's that easy."

  "Oh, I have proof. Right here." Trinity reached into her purse and pulled out a small manila envelope. "Right here," she repeated. She moved her Coke, dried the coffee table with her napkin, and pulled a sheet of paper from the envelope. "See?" she said, opening it.

  Sister and I both got up and leaned over to look at it. It was a legal document of some kind that had xeroxed poorly.

  "See?" she repeated. She pointed to the top of the page. "Look at that."

  I pushed my bifocals up, but they were small help. "Does it say State of Georgia?" I asked.

  "It says more than that. It says Bastard, State of Georgia. And you know who this was, girls?"

  We both shook our heads. I pointed to the document. "Is that name Catherine?"

  "You better believe it. Catherine Anne Taylor, mother of the bastard, Clifford Adams Taylor, who just happens to be the great great grandfather of one Judge Robert Haskins. These are bastardy papers, ladies," Trinity announced proudly.

  Sister and I looked at each other blankly.

  "I don't understand," I said.

  "Bastardy papers?" Sister asked. "You think Judge Haskins would kill somebody because they found out his great great grandfather was born out of wedlock?''

  "Of course. One of the hazards of genealogy." Trinity Buckalew tapped her forefinger against the document. For once, neither Sister nor I could think of a word to say.

  Five

  s this woman hitting on all cylinders?" I whispered to Mary Alice. Trinity Buckalew had asked directions to the "little girls' room" and disappeared down the hall. The document proclaiming Clifford Adams Taylor a Georgia bastard still lay on the coffee table; I picked it up. "Would anybody really commit murder over something like this?"

  Sister shrugged. "She seems to be sensible. So I assume they would."

  "But why?"

  "Lord, Patricia Anne, I don't know. Some people just set a store by having a nice family, I guess."

  "You mean a legal one."

  "Whatever." Sister got up, straightened her back, did a couple of loosening-up sideways stretches, and said she was going to locate the morgue in the yellow pages and reckon how it was listed.

  "Dead Layaway?"

  "Not a damn bit funny!"

  I didn't think so, either. But the truth was that Meg's death had shaken me, and when I get upset my gut reaction is to joke about what's upset me. I figure

  it's as good a way as any of coping. Better than some. But it drives Sister nuts.

  "Act like you've got sense!" she hissed, turning and heading for the kitchen.

  Chastised, I sat and looked over the valley and drank my Coke. I heard the sound of a toilet being flushed, footsteps down the hall, and Mary Alice's voice as she talked to either Bubba Cat or to the morgue.

  "Hard to believe, isn't it?" Trinity was standing beside me pointing to the bastardy document. "But people have killed for less."

  Hard indeed. "It just seems so unimportant."

  "Not to a person trying to establish his lineage."

  "I guess so."

  Trinity Buckalew sat down in the poppy-splashed chair. I noticed that she had combed her hair and put on some lipstick while she was in the bathroom. She sighed and looked out over the valley. "A whole world out there," she said.

  I nodded.

  "Meg will be cremated. It's her wish to have her ashes sprinkled on Mobile Bay."

  I nodded again. There were no jokes in me now. Meg Bryan would go to no more weddings; she would enjoy no more lunches. I felt tears sting my eyes.

  "There, there." Trinity reached across and handed me a Kleenex.

  "What's the matter?" Mary Alice asked, standing in the door.

  "Your sister is a remarkably empathetic woman," Trinity said.

  Mary Alice looked at me suspiciously. I wiped my eyes.

  "I called the morgue," Sister said.

  "Well, we might as well get this over," Trinity started to get up, and the wicker screeched.

  "No." Sister sat on the sofa and looked at us, and Trinity settled back down. "You don't have to identify the body, Trinity."

  "Why not?"

  "They said it wasn't necessary."

  "Trinity says Meg wanted to be cremated," I said. "Sprinkled on Mobile Bay. I think that's nice, Sister, don't you? To be sprinkled on Mobile Bay?"

  "Very nice," Sister agreed.

  Trinity stood up. Huge against the windows. Huge looking down at Sister. "Why don't I have to identify the body?"

  "It's already taken care of," Sister said.

  "By whom?"

  "Well, I think they gave me the wrong name."

  Trinity sat down heavily in the poppy chair. "Bobby Haskins. That bastard Bobby Haskins. Right?"

  Mary Alice nodded. "I'm sure they're wrong."

  Trinity closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair. Sister and I looked at each other nervously.

  "Is she all right?" I mouthed.

  Mary Alice shrugged. We sat for what seemed like several minutes in silence.

  "Trinity?" Mary Alice finally said. "You okay?"

  "Of course I'm all right. I'm thinking."

  "Well, while you're thinking, Patricia Anne and I are going to go fix some sandwiches. Chicken salad suit you? Low fat mayonnaise. Or cream cheese with olives. The cream cheese is low fat; I don't think they've done anything about olives yet, but there aren't many of them in it. Or how about we fix some of each? How does that sound?"

  "Peanut butter and banana," Trinity said, not opening her eyes.

  "That's fine." Mary Alice headed for the kitchen. I followed and shut the door. "Peanut butter's loaded with fat," she mumbled.

  I was right on her heels. "You said Judge Haskins identified the body? I can't believe that."

  Mary Alice opened the cabinet and took out a jar of peanut butter. "God," she read the label. "Fifteen grams." She came back to the counter and reached in the bread box for a loaf of bread. "It gets weirder, Mouse. The woman I talked to said Meg's husband, Judge Robert Haskins, identified the body and claimed it. The body's been move
d."

  "Meg was married to Judge Haskins?" I pulled a stool over to the counter beside Bubba's heating pad and watched Sister slather peanut butter on Merita white. "Are you sure?"

  "I'm not sure about anything except my new son-in-law has strange relatives." Mary Alice reached for a banana. "Get the cream cheese, Mouse."

  I got down and went to the refrigerator. "Judge Haskins was Meg's husband? They sure didn't act married." I checked the date on the cream cheese. I've gotten some unfortunate culinary surprises out of Sister's refrigerator. "Besides," I said, coming back to the counter, "that man looks like a weasel. Remember I told you that? How much he looks like a weasel?''

  "So did my darling Will Alec. I remember on our wedding day Grandmama Alice pulled me aside and said, 'Honey, that man's just downright feral-looking.' I didn't know what she was talking about, so I said, 'Thank-you.' I think it was the whiskers, though, don't you?"

  "Well, he grew the whiskers because he didn't have a chin."

  "That's true. But I loved him." Sister reached for a banana. "Lord, Lord, all that Coca-Cola stock."

  "I guess so." I was rinsing my hands when the second part of Sister's announcement hit me. "The body's not there anymore?"

  "Nope." Mary Alice put the top slice of bread on Trinity's sandwich and sliced it in half. "Here. Find out what she wants to drink."

  "She's going to have a fit when you tell her."

  "I know it. I thought we'd just work it into the Conversation. Make it easier for her."

  "You mean like 'Have another sandwich, Trinity. And by the way, your sister's husband, who obviously isn't on your party list, has claimed her body and taken it somewhere.' "

  "It's at Roebuck Chapel. And, yes, something like that. We could just bring it up casually."

  "Casually."

  "Gently. We don't want it to be too much of a shock."

  "God forbid." I snatched the peanut butter sandwich from Sister and marched into the sunroom. Trinity wasn't there.

  "Trinity," I called down the hall, "here's your sandwich. What do you want to drink?"

  There was no answer. I put the plate down and walked toward the front of the house. "Trinity?"

  Her cape and hat were gone from the hall tree; her car was gone from the driveway.

  "Trinity?" I opened the door and called. Dumb. I went back to the kitchen. "She's gone."