by Ann B. Ross
Then he turned back to me. “You reckon something’s wrong? I know Mama’s worried ’cause she hasn’t heard from him.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said, although the more I thought of how weak and far away Mr. Pickens’s voice had sounded, the more disturbed I became. If it even had been Mr. Pickens, though who else would’ve been calling for both Sam and Coleman? “Hurry and do that Return thing before somebody else calls.”
He found the instructions in the phone book and carefully picked up the phone and punched in a few numbers. I leaned in close to try to hear who would answer.
Lloyd said, “It’s ringing,” then he jumped back and said, “Wup. Wrong number,” and hung up.
“Who was it?” I asked. “Who answered? Lloyd, are you all right?” The child’s face was as white as a sheet.
“They said … a man said—I think he said—‘Deputy something or another,’ of some kind of county sheriff’s department. Then he said, ‘Who’s calling?’ real sharp, like. It scared me, and now,” Lloyd said, his face looking even more stricken, “I broke the connection and I don’t know if we can get ’em back.”
“Think real hard and see if you can remember what he said. Think which county he mentioned. What did it sound like?”
“Sounded like Carl or Carroll or something like that. I’m real sorry, Miss Julia. I don’t know why I hung up so fast. It just surprised me so bad I didn’t know what to do.”
“It’s all right,” I said, patting his shoulder. “At least we now know that Mr. Pickens is in good hands. He’d have to be if he’s with a sheriff’s deputy.”
“I don’t know, Miss Julia,” Lloyd said, a frown of worry on his forehead. “I don’t like the sound of it. Not any of it. First off, why would J.D. be calling Mr. Sam? And why hasn’t he called back if he needs help? And why would a deputy have his phone and be answering it?” Lloyd snapped his fingers. “And it was J.D.’s phone—his cell phone. Let’s call it back. You do it this time, Miss Julia.”
Lloyd took his own cell phone out of his backpack, accessed his list of numbers and pressed Send. “Here,” he said, thrusting the phone at me, “it’s ringing.”
I held the phone and listened to the ringing, hoping to hear Mr. Pickens’s voice. I heard a voice, all right, but it wasn’t saying what I wanted to hear. “Voice mail,” I whispered. Then, “Mr. Pickens? This is Julia Murdoch. We’re worried about you. Please call me back as soon as you can.”
Lillian, who’d been watching and listening to all this, said, “What we do now?”
“Let me think a minute,” I said and proceeded to do so. “Lloyd, where was Mr. Pickens going when he left? And when did he leave exactly?”
“Around the first of last week, I think. Yes’m, that was it ’cause, remember? I spent every night this whole past weekend with Mama, and I’m pretty sure she said he’d be back Tuesday. And here it is Friday, and he hasn’t called or anything to let her know when he’ll be home. I think she was a little upset about it, said something about him having to remember he wasn’t exactly free as a bird any longer.”
“Well, I don’t want to upset her any more than she already is. But we need to know where that phone call came from. You think your mother knows where he was going? Who he was working for or anything?”
Mr. Pickens could’ve been almost anywhere, well, anywhere in the country. I didn’t think he was licensed as a private investigator in foreign lands, although who knew? For all I knew, his license could be limited to our own state and he’d strayed off the reservation. So to speak. Still, I couldn’t believe that he would take off for parts unknown without letting his wife know. So, no, he was most likely somewhere in the southeast, most likely in the state, on some kind of case that he’d been hired to look into.
“I could ask her,” Lloyd said. “He always tells her where he’s going, but lots of times he ends up somewhere else. You know, he follows the case wherever it leads.”
Lillian said, “I don’t think y’all ought to worry that little woman ’fore you have to. He might already called her, too, lettin’ her know where he at an’ when he be home.”
“That’s true,” I said, nodding my head, “and let’s hope he has. Or,” I went on, “he was trying to reach Sam because he didn’t want to upset her. I mean if he’s in trouble. And with a deputy answering his phone, I can’t help but think something has happened. Maybe he’s been hurt or injured or something.”
“Well, what do we do? What can we do?” Lloyd was walking back and forth, wringing his hands.
“Two things,” I said, trying to sound decisive and in control. “I think it’s likely that he’s somewhere in the state, so, Lloyd, you run up to your computer and see if you can find the names of all the North Carolina counties. Maybe you’ll recognize the one you heard. And while you do that, I’ll try to find Coleman and see if he’s had a call. At least I think Mr. Pickens mentioned ‘Coleman,’ although he might have been saying the county he’s in, because both start with a hard C.”
“Don’t stay on the telephone too long,” Lillian said. “He might call back.”
“Oh, my goodness, you’re right. Lloyd, let me use your cell phone.”
Lillian said, “He might call on that one, too.”
Lloyd was on his way out of the room, but he turned back. “Use yours, Miss Julia.”
“I can’t. Which will teach me to keep the thing charged. Well, that’s out, so I guess I’ll have to take a chance and use this one. I won’t stay on it long.” Hoping that I wasn’t giving Mr. Pickens a busy signal if he called back, I went to the kitchen phone and dialed the Sheriff’s Department.
When the dispatcher answered, I said, “I need to speak to Sergeant Coleman Bates, please, on a matter of some urgency.”
Somewhat surprised that I wasn’t given a runaround, as they were prone to do on the nonemergency line, I waited only a few seconds until Coleman answered.
“Coleman, this is Julia Murdoch. Have you heard from Mr. Pickens?”
“What?” he said. “No. Should I have?”
“Well, we just hoped you had. See, Coleman, he called here, wanting to speak to Sam, but Sam’s gone, as you well know, and won’t be back for two weeks. Then Mr. Pickens mentioned you, or I think he did—the connection was so bad, I can’t be sure—but anyway, he got cut off and when we did the Return thing, we got a sheriff’s deputy but we don’t know where he was, and when I called Mr. Pickens’s cell phone, all I got was his voice mail. And now we don’t know what to do.”
“Sheriff’s deputy, huh? You think he’s in trouble?”
“That’s all I can think, but we don’t want to worry Hazel Marie with it until we know for sure, so I was hoping that he’d called you and you’d had a better connection. Lloyd’s looking up North Carolina counties to see if he recognizes the county name, which he did hear but didn’t quite catch.”
“Uh, Miss Julia,” Coleman said, “I’m not completely following you. Why don’t I drop by on my way home. I’ll be off duty in a few minutes.”
“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear, because I want to get off this line in case he tries to call back. You come right on, Coleman. We’ll be waiting.”
And I hung up fast. “There. The line’s clear now. Maybe Mr. Pickens will call back.”
“Let’s hope,” Lillian said.
Chapter 7
When Coleman came in, looking all official and professional and sharp as a tack in his dark blue uniform, with wide leather belt and straps creaking, along with clinking metallic sounds, I was relieved to turn everything over to him. Who better to track down an errant investigator? But as I thought about what Coleman was doing—immediately showing up, taking our concerns seriously and ignoring the slice of chocolate cake Lillian set before him—I was becoming more anxious. Frankly, I had assumed that Coleman would laugh it off and tell us that Mr. Pickens could handle any problem that came his way. Coleman wasn’t doing that.
Lloyd told him that he’d found the
names of seven or eight North Carolina counties starting with a hard C, but none of them rang a bell.
Coleman smiled and said, “We’d have a hard time tracking him down that way, so let’s just ask your mother where he was going. That way we’ll have a starting point.”
“I don’t know, Coleman,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to worry her. She has so much on her mind right now.”
“Hmm,” Coleman said, his handsome face serious and concerned. “You’re right, I guess. No need to get her all worked up when it could be nothing. Tell you what. Why don’t I ask her when he’ll be home? I’ll say that somebody wants him for a job, then ease around to asking where he is.”
“That’d work,” Lloyd said, nodding judiciously. “Better than us asking her anyway. She’d want to know why we wanted to know.”
“Maybe so,” Lillian said, “but y’all be careful and don’t get her all scared and worried. She got them babies to look after.”
“I’ll be careful, Lillian,” Coleman said. “In fact, I’ll call her from here.” He went to the phone as I marveled again at what a fine specimen of a man he was. He and Mr. Pickens were direct opposites in coloring—Mr. Pickens so dark and tannned looking while Coleman was blond and fair, yet both so fit and muscular. I would have a hard time judging between them if I was ever called upon to do so. If pushed, though, I’d probably come down on Coleman’s side. The uniform, you know. But then, there was Mr. Pickens’s mustache, so the matter would need more thought.
“I could go by and talk to her,” Coleman was saying, as he picked up the phone. “But if she’s already concerned, a deputy showing up at her door might really scare her.”
“Might give her a heart attack,” Lloyd said. “She’s already thinking the worst ’cause he didn’t come home when he was supposed to.”
So we waited and watched as Coleman punched in Hazel Marie’s number. And listened as he said, “Hazel Marie? Hi, this is Coleman. Yeah… . How you doin’? Oh, fine, fine. Listen, I just heard from somebody who’s looking for a P.I. and was wondering if J.D. would be interested… . Uh-huh, yeah, well, when do you expect him? … And he was finishing up where? … Is that right? Well, you know how those hill people can be. We’ve got a few of ’em around here… . No, I wouldn’t worry about him. He’ll be dragging in before long. Just tell him I called, and you take care of yourself.”
He hung up the phone, turned to us and said, “West Virginia.”
“Law,” Lillian said. “That’s ’way off from here. What in the world he doin’ up there?”
“She’s not sure,” Coleman said. “She thinks he was hired to look into some kind of missing person’s case in Winston-Salem. But he called her last week and told her he had to check out something in West Virginia—he didn’t say exactly where. Then he called again last Friday and said he had to make one more stop before coming on home.”
“One more stop in West Virginia?” I asked.
Coleman nodded. “That’s what she understood, and she’s already worried. He’s three days overdue getting home and she’s not heard from him since last Friday—a week ago.”
“That don’t sound good to me,” Lillian said.
“Me, either,” Lloyd said.
West Virginia, I thought, which might as well be a foreign country, for all I knew about it. I knew a little about a few places in Virginia, but I’d never been to the west of it, but the name conjured up an image of mountains—it was located along the same range as our own Blue Ridge Mountains on the Appalachian range, or something like that. I wasn’t too up on geography. Coal country, I recalled from reading about mining disasters.
“What can we do, Coleman?” I asked. “Because the more I think about that phone call, the more I feel that he needed help. I mean, he didn’t even sound like himself. It took me a minute to recognize his voice, but it was him, I’m pretty sure, especially because a deputy answered when we called back on his phone. Wouldn’t that mean Mr. Pickens wasn’t able to use it himself?”
“Oh, me,” Lloyd moaned, “maybe he’s hurt, been in a car wreck or in a fight or …”
“Hold on, Lloyd,” Coleman said. “Let’s not start thinking the worst. I’ll go back to the office and put in a call to the West Virginia State Police and to the sheriff in Charleston. They can check hospitals, accident calls, and so forth, throughout the state. Might take awhile, but it’s worth doing.”
Lillian had walked over to Lloyd and put her arm around his shoulders. “He gonna be all right, Lloyd. Mr. Pickens never been in bad trouble before, an’ Coleman gonna find him, don’t you worry.” Then she looked at Coleman. “I jus’ don’t know why you callin’ Charleston when it down in South Car’lina. How they gonna know anything going on in West Virginia?”
“Two Charlestons,” Coleman said with a brief grin. “Charleston, West Virginia, is the capital of that state, which makes it a good starting point for us.”
“Oh,” she said. “Wonder why they do that? Look like one of ’em would pick another name.”
Nobody answered her because nobody knew. And it wasn’t important anyway. We were all too focused on Mr. Pickens’s personal state to worry about the names of cities.
Coleman was on his way out the door when I stopped him. “Should we tell Hazel Marie what’s going on?”
He thought for a minute. “I hate to keep anything from her, but we really don’t know anything. Let’s wait until I talk to somebody up there and get a line on him. Time enough to tell her when we know something for sure.”
I nodded, agreeing that we should wait. “Call or come by as soon as you hear anything. We’ll be here waiting.”
“I’ll do it.” And he was out the door and gone.
“Well,” I said, looking at the two worried faces staring after Coleman, “I don’t care what we tell Hazel Marie or don’t tell her. She’s already fretting because Mr. Pickens hasn’t come home, and she’ll be doing even more if he doesn’t soon call her. And if some deputy has his phone, he won’t be calling her. Let’s see if she’ll come over for supper.”
“Good idea,” Lloyd said.
Lillian nodded and opened the silverware drawer. “ ’Least she won’t be settin’ home stewing all by herself. Onliest thing is, though, we ought not be talkin’ ’bout Mr. Pickens when she get here.”
“That’s right. There’re plenty of things we can talk about, and of course the babies will keep us all entertained, too. And Latisha will be here, so a lot will be going on, which is exactly what Hazel Marie needs to keep her mind occupied.” I thought for a minute, then went on. “I wish I had something to occupy mine. All I’ll be thinking about is what Coleman can find out.”
Well, not exactly all I’d be thinking of. There was Sam still in an airplane miles above the earth with nothing but ocean under him—that was preying heavily on my mind. I declare, you let anybody you care about go traipsing off on their own and no telling what can happen. I liked my chickens all under my wing, and now I had two off and gone to fret over. To say nothing of the one who would soon be leaving, too.
“Lloyd, why don’t you go ahead and check in with your mother? Tell her we’re expecting her for dinner, but don’t say anything about Mr. Pickens. Unless she’s heard from him, of course. And in that case, let me know so we can tell Coleman to stop looking for him.”
“Yes, ma’am, I will. And I think I won’t call. I’ll just go over there. That way I can help her with the babies and we’ll all come back together.” Lloyd started out the door, then turned back. “But if you hear anything from Coleman, call me and let me know. We can, maybe, speak in code or something so Mama won’t know what’s going on.”
“You can speak in code if you want to since she’ll be able to hear you. But I’ll tell you straight out, probably no more than ‘He’s all right,’ or ‘You all better get over here,’ or something like that.”
He nodded agreement, a serious look on his face as our eyes met. We were of one mind as we usually were. My heart skipped a beat as I wonder
ed how long that would last as he grew away from me.
Chapter 8
As soon as Lloyd left, I found myself staring at the telephone, willing it to ring. I wanted to hear from Mr. Pickens or from Coleman, or I’d even take that West Virginia deputy—anybody who could let us know what was happening. The phone just sat there like a stump.
“Lillian,” I said, tapping my fingers on the table, “do you think Sam’s cell phone would work in an airplane?”
“Law, Miss Julia, I don’t know. Look like it be too long a reach. But you don’t wanta be callin’ him, ’cause what can he do, half-way ’round the world? No’m, I wouldn’t do that. It jus’ make him sick with worry not being able to stop that plane an’ get off.”
“Well, you’re right. I ought to at least wait till he’s on the ground, where he can get another plane to come home. If he needs to, that is.”
“Now, you jus’ quit ’spectin’ the worst,” Lillian said, walking over to the table and pulling out a chair. “That’s what you always do—’spect the worst an’ sometimes you get it. Of all the folks we know, Mr. Pickens the best at lookin’ after hisself, so you jus’ think of something else ’stead of all them what-ifs goin’ ’round in your head.”
“That’s good advice, Lillian,” I said gratefully, “which is what you always give. So all right, here’s something we can think about while we wait. Have you ever heard of Agnes Whitman? According to Mildred, she lives out in Fairfields on a big estate, so it sounds as if she’s wealthy. I think she’s fairly new in the area.”
Lillian frowned at me and, for a minute, I thought she wasn’t going to answer. “Widder lady?”
“I don’t know. Either that or divorced, maybe. Mildred didn’t mention a husband. Seems, though, that she’s mixed up in some sort of strange religious goings-on. But,” I said with a smile, “Mildred thinks anything that’s not Presbyterian is strange.”