by Nancy Bell
Mr. Masters nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“I’m going,” Biggie said. “I have a feeling Annabeth would have wanted me to.”
“Could I have another piece of chicken?” I asked.
After supper, Biggie caught up with Brian in the lobby. “Could I have a word with you?” she asked.
Brian looked at his watch. “I have to meet someone at seven,” he said.
“This won’t take a minute.” Biggie led him into the little side room where we had met with the sheriff. I followed.
“Son,” Biggie said after we had all taken a seat, “there’s a young lady in this town who needs your help.”
Brian looked surprised. I guess he had been expecting Biggie to ask him about the murder. “Ma’am?”
“Are you religious at all?”
Now, Brian looked really surprised, and I guess I did, too. Biggie doesn’t usually talk that way.
“I guess,” he said, embarrassed. “Why?”
“Because, if you are, maybe you feel a sense of responsibility for your fellow human beings.”
“Well … sure,” Brian said.
“Then you wouldn’t mind helping one of God’s creatures who is sorely in need of a friend?”
“You mean that kid? Annabeth’s sister? Sure. What can I do?”
“No, I don’t mean Lucy; I mean Emily Faye.”
Brian looked away. “No, ma’am. No way. I’m not having anything to do with her.” He brushed back his hair with his hand. “If you knew what I know about her … .”
“We do,” Biggie said. “We saw her out at the bait shop this afternoon.”
Brian let out a sigh. “Well, then, Miss Biggie, if you know what she is, what makes you think I could help her—if I wanted to?”
“I betcha I can tell you,” I said, surprising myself. “Uh, well …”
Biggie looked at me, surprised, but didn’t say anything, so I went on. “When I was in third grade, we had a new kid move to town. He was from up north somewhere, and he didn’t dress like any of us. He wore white Keds to school, and soccer shirts, while all the rest of us wore tee shirts and jeans and high-top basketball shoes. The kids took to calling him ‘Miss Jenkins’ after a lady who works in the cafeteria and always wears white Keds.” I paused and looked at Biggie to see if she’d tell me to shut up. She just nodded for me to go on.
“Not only did he dress funny,” I continued, “but he was a loud-mouthed know-it-all—kept bragging all the time about how much better it was back in Ohio where he came from. Everybody hated his guts, even the teachers. Well, one day, I came home from baseball practice, and who should be sitting on my front steps but old Sammy Knudson, that was his name. I like to croaked.”
“I had invited him over,” Biggie said with a smile.
“Well, I just walked right past him and went up to my room and slammed the door,” I said. “Then Biggie came up and told me I had to play with him because his parents were out of town and we were keeping him. Overnight!”
“So, what happened?” Brian said, kind of bored.
I could tell he wanted to get this over with, so I hurried on. “Nothin’ much. I went back downstairs and got him off my porch in a hurry, so nobody would see him there. I took him out to the backyard and told him he could throw me a few balls so I could practice batting. He didn’t argue, just followed me and commenced tossing balls. Man, could he throw—fast balls, curve balls, grounders. Well, after awhile, I let him bat, and he sent one right over Mrs. Moody’s fence and into the next yard. I asked him how come he never told anybody how good he could play, and he said nobody had given him a chance, that they wouldn’t even talk to him. I had to admit it; he was right. After that, we got to talking, and it turned out, he was a good guy, just different. I gave him a few pointers on how to dress and how to get along with kids, and before the school year was out, he’d made some friends and the coach had made him alternate pitcher on the baseball team.”
I stopped and let out a sigh as Brian looked at his watch. “Well, that was nice of you, J.R., but I guarantee, Emily Faye is not anything like your Sammy. She’s poison, and I’m steering clear of her.” He looked at Biggie. “Sorry Miss Biggie. I know you’re only trying to help.” He left the room and we heard the screen door at the front slam as he left.
Biggie got up and gave me a hug. “You did good, honey,” she said.
“It didn’t help a bit, Biggie. You saw how he acted.”
“Maybe it did. Sometimes, when you plant a seed, it takes a while for it to sprout. Know what I’ve a notion to do? I’ve got a notion to examine that little room you told me about. You game?”
“Sure!”
“Then go find Rosebud. I’d like for him to go with us.”
Twenty minutes later, we were standing in the courtyard in front of the little door. Rosebud pushed it open, holding the big flashlight he had borrowed again from Miss Mary Ann’s sewing basket. He took his big hand and swiped away a cobweb before letting Biggie go in ahead of him. I followed.
“It smells like something has died in here,” Biggie said. “Rosebud shine your light in all the corners. It may be a rat.”
Rosebud swung the light slowly around the room until it stopped at the pile of old rags I’d seen before.
“Maybe it’s another body,” I said, surprised that my voice trembled.
Rosebud walked over and kicked at the thing. “Naw,” he said, “it ain’t nothing but an old blanket. Sure smells though.” He spread the blanket out, holding it with two fingers by the corners, and examined it with the light. It was covered with dark stains. “Miss Biggie, I believe this thing’s got blood on it.”
“Let me see.” Biggie walked over and looked. She touched it with one finger. “It’s still damp,” she said.
“You reckon it’s Annabeth’s?” I asked. “And if it is, how come it’s still wet? It ought to have dried up by now.”
“Not necessarily,” Biggie said, holding her hand over her nose. “Not in this damp cellar. Rosebud shine the light on the floor—see if there’s more blood. Stop right here. What’s this?”
Rosebud touched the dark spot she was pointing to and raised his finger to his nose. “Blood,” he said.
“Leave everything, and let’s get out of here,” Biggie said. “I’ll report this to the sheriff first thing in the morning.”
Once we had left by the little door and were standing in the courtyard, Biggie looked back toward the little door. “My soul,” she said. “That door is almost invisible against the brick foundation. It’s no wonder the sheriff and his men never saw it.”
I saw what she meant. The door was hidden behind a big bush, and the worn paint was almost the same color as the bricks.
“Biggie,” I said, “I’ll bet whoever killed Annabeth stabbed her in there and then wrapped her in that blanket and moved her to the fountain.”
“I’ll bet you’re one hundred percent right.” Biggie rumpled my hair. “Well, there’s nothing more we can do here. Let’s all go get bathed and into bed. Tomorrow promises to be a busy day.”
16
The next morning when I came downstairs, I found Brian, dressed in sweatpants and no shirt, sprawled across a sofa reading a magazine.
I sat down near him and cleared my throat.
He looked up from his magazine. “Oh, hey, J.R.”
“I wasn’t buttin’ in,” I said.
“Huh?”
“You know, buttin’ in. What I said last night? About Sammy Knudson? It wasn’t any of my business.”
Brian grinned at me. “Hey, man. No big deal.” He went back to reading.
“You should have seen her rubbing up against that guy,” I said, glad that Brian seemed to be feeling a little better.
“Um, yeah.”
“She sure had me fooled.”
“Um-hmmm.”
“And you weren’t even a little bit surprised?”
Brian put down his magazine and looked straight at me. “Everybody know
s about Emily,” he said. “All the kids, that is. That’s why nobody’ll have anything to do with her.”
“Those guys out at the bait shop sure didn’t feel that way.”
“Look, kid, guys, well, you know how guys are—they’ll, like, do anything they can—when nobody’s looking.”
“I’m never going to be that way.”
Brian looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, I’m not!”
“You’re young, hotshot. Wait a couple of years, then see what you’ll do.” He looked out the window with a serious look on his face. “Sometimes life gets complicated. Now, scram and let me read my magazine.”
Just then, Biggie came down the stairs with her big black handbag over her arm. “I’m going to the courthouse. I have several people to see, so I may not be back by lunchtime.”
“Okay,” I said.
“What are you going to do while I’m gone?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Hang out with Rosebud, I guess.”
“Fine,” Biggie said. “Just see you stay out of trouble.”
After Biggie left, I went out to the kitchen, where I found Mr. Masters sitting at the table drinking a cup of coffee with Rosebud. Willie Mae was rolling out piecrusts at the counter.
“You mean to say you jumped into alligator-infested waters to pull the boy out?” Mr. Masters shook his head. “My hat’s off to you. Not many men would have had the courage.”
Rosebud took out a red bandanna and blew his nose with a loud honk, then refolded the hankie and dabbed the end of his nose with it before putting it back in his pocket. “It wasn’t what you’d say exactly like that,” he said. “See, when that crazy kid commenced slapping that flat-bottom boat against the water, it made a awful racket that scared them ’gators so bad, they hightailed it out of there.”
“Wow,” I said. “You never told me that part.”
Rosebud ignored me and went on talking to Mr. Masters. “Wellsir, quick as a flash, I waded in and grabbed the boy here before they could come back.” He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and sniffed it. Willie Mae gave him a look. “I ain’t lightin’ it, sugar.” He grinned, showing his gold teeth. “Of course, they’d a been back, no question about that. All I done was, I taken my window of opportunity, as they say.”
I stood up and threw my arms around Rosebud’s neck. “Thanks!” I said.
“That there’s a mighty peculiar bunch of folks out there.” Rosebud was looking at Mr. Masters, who looked away.
“I say, they’s mighty peculiar.”
“I expect you’re right.” Mr. Masters looked at his watch. “Well, I’m off. I promised Mary Ann I’d help her hang some new curtains in the Sarah Bernhardt Room. Thanks for the coffee, Miss Willie Mae.”
I had an idea. “Hey, Rosebud,” I said. “Want to go take a carriage ride around town?”
“You got the ten bucks?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Well, then, I’m gonna take me a little nap. Rescuing folks takes it out of a feller.” With that, he got up and headed up the stairs.
I watched Willie Mae’s back as she worked at the counter. Now she was cutting up peaches to go in the pies she was making.
“I’m about ready to go home,” I said, just to make conversation.
“Hand me the cinnamon out of the pantry,” Willie Mae said.
I went to the big closet they used for a pantry and found the cinnamon. “Aren’t you?” I asked her.
“Aren’t I what?”
“Ready to go home.”
Willie Mae sprinkled sugar and cinnamon on the peaches piled up in the pie shells. “What would you be doin’ if you was home—besides warting me in the kitchen like you doing now?”
I could think of a lot of things, but I didn’t really believe Willie Mae expected an answer, so I went outside and sat in one of the rockers in front of the hotel. I watched the tourists dressed in summer shorts and sundresses strolling in and out of the shops across the street. I was mighty tired of being cooped up in this place and was hoping Biggie would solve this case in a hurry so we could go home. I rocked for awhile, just being lazy in the sun. I must have dozed off, because the next thing I remember was Biggie shaking me.
“J.R., wake up. You’re going to get sunburned sitting out here. Come inside this minute!”
I rubbed my eyes while I followed Biggie into the lobby. “What time is it?”
“Almost 11:30.” Biggie flopped down on the tufted sofa. “I’m roasting. Go in the kitchen and bring me a glass of tea, then I’ll tell you what I’ve been doing.”
I brought back the tea, then sat beside Biggie on the sofa. She took a long drink and set the glass on a marble-topped table. “Well,” she said. “That hits the spot!”
“Did you talk to the child protective folks?”
“Yep. They’re sending somebody out there this very afternoon. They say if things are as bad as all that, they can get an emergency order from the judge and take her right away—today. The caseworker told me she knew a nice young married couple, trained in child psychology. She said she was pretty sure they would be glad to take her.”
“Boy, I sure feel sorry for them.” I was still mad at that girl for almost getting me killed. “Did you talk to the sheriff?”
“Yep. In fact, there he is, now. He’s going to take blood samples from the blanket and also the soil from the floor of the little room. Not much doubt in my mind, it’ll be Annabeth’s. After that, I stopped by the County Clerk’s office and had a little chat with Emily Faye.”
“Why, Biggie?”
Biggie decided to be mysterious. “Oh, just girl talk. Afterward, she took her coffee break and we went down to the Style Shoppe. I bought her an outfit and talked to her about the possibility of her going off to college in the fall.” She grinned. “Now, let’s see if Willie Mae has lunch ready.”
After lunch, Biggie announced that she was going to have a nap, but I was to wake her at 2:00 if she wasn’t up.
At 2:00, I went to her room and tapped on her door. She was sitting on the bed glancing through her little address book. When she saw me, she dropped it into her purse. “I know who the killer is,” she said.
“Who?”
I felt a chill go down my spine when she told me.
“Now, don’t you breathe a word to anybody. I’m going, right now, to ask Mary Ann to help me set up a meeting this evening. I want everyone there, including the members of the historical society.”
17
Supper was at six. Afterward, we all filed into the lobby to wait for the others. Willie Mae brought in a tray holding two bottles of wine, one white and one red, a bottle of brandy, and a carafe of coffee. She set them on the lobby bar. Rosebud followed with glasses and china coffee cups and saucers. Miss Mary Ann fluttered around nervously, putting out ashtrays and arranging things to her liking. Mr. Masters talked in a low voice to Rosebud, who had taken a seat beside him, while Lucas sat under a floor lamp reading a large book. Brian came in last and sat at the little game table with his magazine. He didn’t look at anyone.
The first to arrive were Sheriff Dugger and Deputy Wiggs. They both took seats in straight chairs near the door. The sheriff was still pale, but seemed stronger than he had before. I watched as Deputy Wiggs got out his tape recorder and set it on the table next to him. Biggie walked over to them and they had a conversation, which I couldn’t hear, even though I tried.
Next to get there was Hen Lester. She was wearing a royal blue pants suit with a red scarf and a frown on her face. “I hope this won’t take long,” she said. “I have my study club tonight, and I’m recording secretary.”
“Just have a seat, Hen,” Biggie said. “I know this is an inconvenience, and I’ll make it as short as possible.”
Hen walked to the bar, poured herself a cup of coffee, and took a seat on the tufted sofa opposite Rosebud and Mr. Masters. She was no sooner seated than Alice LaRue came in followed by Emily. Emily was wearing a slim straight sundress made of som
e kind of silky cloth. It was yellow with a design of green leaves and pink flowers. Her hair was pulled back with a yellow ribbon and little ringlets hung down the back and sides. She had sandals on her feet. Everybody stared.
“I don’t blame you for looking.” Alice flopped down beside Hen. “Don’t she look a fright?”
“Not a bit of it,” Lucas said. “She’s lovely. Just lovely.” He got up and offered his chair to Emily, who smiled and took it.
“She certainly is,” Hen said.
“It’s a waste of money, is what it is,” Alice said. “Child’s got a whole closet full of perfectly good clothes—mine that I’ve got too fat for. And now she’s talking about going off to school. I don’t know what’s got into that girl.” She talked about Emily like she wasn’t even in the room.
“Mama,” Emily said, “I’m making my own money, now, and I’ve got a trust left by my granddaddy. From now on, I’m going to do as I please.”
Alice seemed to deflate like this air leaking out of a balloon. She sank back on the couch.
Brian just stared.
Biggie stood in front of the marble fireplace, her head barely reaching the mantel. “Everyone’s here, so we can get started. Refreshments are available at the bar. Please, help yourselves.”
Alice LaRue was the first there, pouring herself a healthy slug of brandy in a round glass. Lucas had the same while Mary Ann and Mr. Masters had white wine. Hen refilled her coffee cup. Biggie watched while they served themselves. When they had finally settled back down in their chairs, she spoke.
“I have brought you together this evening to reveal the murderer of Annabeth Baugh.”
Lucas half-rose out of his chair, then flopped back down.
“Oh, my!” Hen Lester said.
Alice snorted loudly. “Who the hell do you think you are, some kind of Hercules Parrot, or something? We got a perfectly good sheriff to do our sleuthing, thank you, ma’am.”
Biggie held up her hand. “As you know, the sheriff had to have emergency surgery, and he asked for my help. He had heard that I’ve had some success with this sort of thing in the past.” She looked at the sheriff, who nodded.