Murder Shoots the Bull

by Anne George

  A light came on in the kitchen. I watched Lisa open a bottle of aspirin, pour some water. I didn’t get up; I would frighten her if I opened the kitchen door. In a moment, the light went out.

  Another worry.

  Lisa has been my daughter-in-law for fifteen years, and we’ve always had a very pleasant relationship. But we’ve never been very close. She and Alan have always lived in Atlanta, and I was teaching and she was working and had the children. Most of the distance was my fault, though, I had to admit. Having suffered from what Sister called the mother-in-law from hell for twenty-five years, I was determined that I was not going to interfere in my children’s marriages. Maybe I had gone too far in the other direction. But at least Lisa had felt free to come to us when she needed help.

  The kitchen light came on again. Fred this time. He opened the back door and looked out.

  “Honey, what are you doing out there? You okay?”

  “Just couldn’t sleep. Come out and look at the moon.”

  He stepped out onto the deck, the kitchen light behind him making his gray-white hair a halo.

  “Sit with me,” I said.

  “No way that chair would hold us both.” He held out his hand. “Come on back to bed. It’s getting chilly out here.”

  I took his hand. “I love you,” I said. Sometimes you suddenly realize how much.

  “And I love you. We got any Maalox?”

  “Always.” I got up and followed him into the kitchen.

  “You know what?” he said. “Let’s call Haley. It’s lunchtime in Warsaw. I’ll bet she’s home.”

  She was. She was fixing up their apartment that was just two blocks from the university, not far from Old Town which really wasn’t old but rebuilt, but looked old. The weather was beautiful, already feeling like fall. She couldn’t wait for us to come visit. We had to get e-mail. Send her some of those Combat things. Philip liked his classes. There were wonderful restaurants. They’d tried several. And was everything all right at home?

  Everything was fine, we assured her. After we hung up, we went to bed and went right to sleep.

  Ten

  Fred had gone to work when I woke up, and the door to the guest room was closed so I assumed Lisa was still asleep. It was a few minutes after eight so I called the vet before I poured my coffee.

  “His fever’s down this morning,” she reported. “Can you get antibiotics down him?”

  “Absolutely,” I promised.

  “Then there’s a good chance he can go home this afternoon. Call me.”

  I hung up and dialed Fred’s number to tell him the good news, but Karen, his secretary, said he hadn’t gotten there yet. So I told her to give him the message.

  “Mr. Hollowell didn’t tell me Woofer’s sick,” she said indignantly.

  “He just got sick yesterday. The vet thinks a possum bit him.”

  “One bit my cat,” Karen said. “You could see right where those teeth went in.”

  I knew Karen was holding her fingers up in the universal possum sign.

  “I’ll tell Mr. Hollowell soon as he comes in. Possums. I swear.”

  I had just sat down at the table with my first cup of coffee and the paper when there was a knock on the backdoor.

  “Mrs. Hollowell?” Arabella Hardt stood there in a blue chenille bathrobe. Her dark red hair was uncombed, she had on no makeup, and she was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Her eyes were golden-green, the color Mama always called tiger eyes, and her skin was pale and flawless. “I’m Arabella. Aunt Mitzi wants to know if you have any Pepto-Bismol. She’s sick to her stomach this morning.”

  “Come in, Arabella. I’m sure I do. You want some coffee while I look?”

  “No, ma’am. But thank you. Is Lisa up?”

  “I think she’s still asleep. Her door’s closed. Sit down. I’ll be back in a minute.” At the rate people were consuming my medical supplies, I was going to have to make a trip to the drugstore.

  When I came back, bottle in hand, Arabella was standing at the bay window, looking out.

  “I like your kitchen,” she said.

  “Thanks. Is Mitzi very sick?”

  Arabella shook her head no. “She says it’s nerves and bourbon.”

  “She’s not much of a drinker.”

  Arabella took the bottle. “Must not be. She didn’t have that much.”

  “I was so sorry about your mother. I just met her once. She was lovely.”

  “Thank you.” Arabella paused a moment as if she were going to say something else, and then said, “I’d better get this over to Aunt Mitzi.”

  “If she doesn’t get to feeling better, call me.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  I watched her cross the yard. There was an outside chance the color of that hair was real.

  “What did Arabella want?” Lisa was standing behind me.

  “Mitzi’s not feeling well this morning. She came to get some Pepto-Bismol. Did you know she calls her aunt Mitzi?”

  Lisa poured a cup of coffee. “Aunt Mitzi and Uncle Arthur. I noticed that, too. Well, I guess they are related in a way.”

  Not in any way I could think of, but I let it go.

  “I like her,” Lisa said.

  “She’s certainly beautiful.”

  “And down-to-earth.” Lisa put two teaspoons of sugar in her coffee. “Have you called about Woofer?”

  “He’s better. We can probably get him this afternoon.”

  “That’s great.”

  “And we talked to Haley last night. Actually about three o’clock this morning. She’s happy as a lark.”

  “I knew she would be. I’ll bet you she’s pregnant by Christmas.”

  “I think she hopes so.”

  I was putting the clothes in the washing machine when the phone rang. Lisa answered it, talked a few minutes, and then handed it to me. “It’s Aunt Sister.”

  “What’s going on over there?” she asked. “Debbie called and said Arthur’s been arrested for murder.”

  “God’s truth. It’s crazy. Have you been talking to her this morning?”

  “Just hung up. I was out with Cedric last night. And Mouse, you’re not going to believe what happened.”

  I was sure I would find out, but I asked what anyway.

  “He wanted to go up to Vulcan’s observation tower and I thought, Well, why not. I’ve lived here all my life and I’ve never been up there. It’ll be sort of an adventure. And believe you me, it was.”

  “You didn’t climb the stairs?” For a moment I thought the adventure had been calling 911.

  “Of course not. But the elevator got stuck. We were there for about an hour. Me, Cedric, a man from Cincinnati, and two guys from Bangladesh, stuck halfway up Vulcan.”

  “My Lord. Did anybody panic?”

  “We weren’t falling, Mouse. We were just sitting there. We called down and told them we were stuck and then we played poker. I had some cards in my purse. And those guys from Bangladesh, I’ve never seen folks who could play poker like that. No telling what they could have done if they’d spoken English. Cedric and I each lost about ten dollars and I don’t know about the guy from Cincinnati, but he was losing, too. The floor sure got hard, though. I kept switching from my knees to my butt, but I’m still sore this morning.”

  “Are you making this up?”

  “How could I make up two card sharks from Bangladesh stuck on the Vulcan elevator? Where is Bangladesh, anyway?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Somewhere near India. I’m impressed they’re visiting Birmingham, though.”

  “I think they’re here for medical treatment at UAB. Maybe heart surgery. The older guy kept clutching his chest.”

  “But it didn’t affect his poker playing.”

  “Not one bit. In fact, it may have been a distracting maneuver.”

  “It’s possible.” I knew I would be hearing this story for some time, so I asked what else Debbie had had to say about Arthur.

  �
��That’s what I called to tell you. She said this lawyer, who charges an arm and a leg, incidentally, has set up a bail hearing for Arthur at one o’clock.”

  “That’s good. Is it the woman lawyer?”

  “Peyton somebody. How come you didn’t call last night and tell me about Arthur being arrested?”

  “I tried. You were stuck in the elevator.”

  “That’s true,” Sister conceded. “How’s Mitzi?”

  “Not too good. A little while ago, Arabella, Sophie’s daughter, came over for some Pepto-Bismol.”

  “I’m not surprised. I’m glad none of my husbands ever murdered anybody.”

  “Arthur didn’t murder anybody.”

  “Well, I know that.” A beep announced there was a call waiting. “Gotta go,” Sister said. “Talk to you later.”

  I turned from the phone shaking my head.

  “What is it?” Lisa looked up from her cereal.

  I told her about Sister’s adventure on the elevator. I embellished it some, clutching my chest like the man from Bangladesh, and got the laughter I was hoping for. I poured myself some coffee and sat down before I told her that Arthur’s bail hearing was set for one o’clock.

  “I hope Mrs. Phizer feels like going,” Lisa said.

  “I’ll go check on her in a little while.” I didn’t mention the fact that the bail might be way beyond the Phizers’ financial means. In fact, the lawyer charging “an arm and a leg,” as Sister had described it, was a worry.

  I finished putting the clothes in the washing machine, fixed a bowl of cereal, and followed Lisa out to the deck where she was sitting at the table in the September sun. It was a beautiful morning, the kind of morning that would have been perfect for a long walk with Woofer. Damn. I’d never joke again about him being a Norwegian possum hound.

  I sat down across from Lisa. “You said Arabella was down-to-earth? Mitzi described her as the wild child, the one Sophie worried about.”

  “She sounded real sensible to me. Shaken up about her mother’s death, but who wouldn’t be. I mean, Lord, who expects their mother to get poisoned?”

  Good question.

  “Did she say anything about her sister?” I asked.

  “Not really. I got the impression they’re not very close.”

  “That’s what Mitzi said.” I finished my cereal and pushed the bowl back. “I looked up their father on the computer at school yesterday. He was a very outstanding man. One of Ronald Reagan’s advisors.”

  “She didn’t mention him.” Lisa leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “This sun feels wonderful.”

  “Ummm.” I closed my own eyes, stretched out and soaked up a few harmful UV rays.

  “I’m glad I’m here,” Lisa said. “If I’d gone home to Dalton, Mother and Daddy would have had a fit. Daddy probably would have taken a shotgun to Alan.”

  Knowing Lisa’s mild-mannered father, I doubted this seriously, but it still caused a flutter in my stomach. “I’m glad you’re here, too.” I didn’t condone what Alan had done, but I wanted him all in one piece. “And I’m going to take advantage of your presence. Come help me take the draperies down. Your Aunt Sister’s right. They need cleaning.”

  “They sure do,” Lisa agreed.

  One excuse I have for not cleaning house more is that when I do one thing, I see something else that needs doing. That was what happened with the draperies. When we got them down, we saw how bad the windows needed washing.

  Lisa pitched in and helped, and when we were finished, she volunteered to take the draperies to the cleaners. While she was gone, I hopped into the shower, put on some shorts and a tee shirt, and went next door to check on Mitzi and see if there was anything I could do to help.

  “She’s feeling better,” Arabella reported when she came to the door. “She’s still lying down, though. Come on in, Mrs. Hollowell.”

  “No, I’m not lying down.” Mitzi was standing in the den doorway. “I’m feeling much better.”

  I was glad she’d told me; the woman looked like death warmed over.

  “Can I get you something, Aunt Mitzi?” Arabella asked. “Some Coke?”

  “Thanks, Arabella. That would be nice. Let’s sit in the den, Patricia Anne.”

  The Phizers’ house and our house have an identical floor plan. So do most of the other houses on our block since most of them were built in the 1930’s. Living room, dining room, and kitchen were originally lined up down one side and two bedrooms and bath down the other. Kitchens, dens, master bedrooms, and baths have been added to most of them, but the original plan is recognizable. Most of the people who have remodeled have had the sense to keep the large front porches which, with the sidewalks, make it such a nice neighborhood.

  I followed Mitzi into the den. She’s a larger woman than I am, but if she didn’t make it to the sofa, I was prepared to break her fall somehow.

  “Lisa and I have been washing windows,” I said brightly as she sat down. “I took down the dining room draperies and the windows looked awful.”

  Mitzi smiled and nodded.

  “And Mary Alice got stuck in the elevator at Vulcan last night with four guys, two of them from Bangladesh. They played poker until the park people rescued them.”

  I sat across from Mitzi. “Do you know where Bangladesh is?”

  “Asia somewhere?”

  “It’s on the Bay of Bengal. It’s surrounded by India,” Arabella called from the kitchen. “We went there with Daddy one time when it was part of Pakistan.”

  I thought about my unread stacks of National Geographics; I really should do better.

  “In fact,” Arabella came into the den and handed Mitzi and me both a Coke, “Sue, my sister, got malaria while we were there. She and Mama and I had to come home earlier than we had planned.”

  I took the Coke and thanked her. “Did you travel much with your father?”

  “Not as much as I would have liked to.” Arabella went back to the kitchen. In a moment she was back with her own glass. “Some. Mama wasn’t much of a traveler.” She took a sip of her Coke. “Sue wasn’t either. My brother, David, went with him a lot, though.” Another sip. “David was killed in a car crash while he was in college.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  Arabella shrugged. “The irony was that Daddy was pulling all kinds of strings to keep him out of Vietnam.”

  “That wasn’t uncommon,” I said. “It was a confusing time.”

  “People didn’t know what to do,” Mitzi agreed.

  “Some people did.” Then abruptly, Arabella said, “I’m going to take a shower. Can I get you anything else, Aunt Mitzi?”

  “I’m fine, honey. You go ahead.”

  “I’ll see you later, Mrs. Hollowell.” Arabella disappeared down the hall.

  “Such a nice child,” Mitzi said.

  Down-to-earth and a nice child? There had been a lot of bitterness in Arabella’s voice when she talked about her family.

  I changed the subject. “Have you heard from Arthur this morning?”

  “The lawyer called. She said she had a long talk with him and he’s okay. He was worried about me.” Mitzi tried to smile. “Bless his heart.”

  “Are you going to feel like going to the hearing?”

  “I have to go.”

  “Okay if I go with you?”

  “I’d appreciate it. I don’t even know how a bail bond hearing works. Do you?”

  “Not really. I guess we’ll find out, though.” I kept quiet about what Debbie had said about the amount of money the bail might be. Maybe she was wrong.

  “I know it’s going to be a lot of money,” Mitzi said as if she had read my thoughts. “Peyton Phillips has already asked me if our house is paid for. I told her it was.”

  I wondered if Peyton had also told her that they might not set bail. I hadn’t been able to mention the possibility the night before.

  “Hell, Mitzi, we’ll get Arthur out. We’ll get Sister to come up with the money. Lord knows she’s
loaded.”

  Mitzi actually grinned. “Mary Alice would love your generous offer.”

  “She’d do it.”

  “She probably would, bless her heart. Let’s wait and see what happens. Okay?”

  And that was the way we left it.

  The Birmingham library, the city hall, the museum, and the Jefferson County courthouse all face Linn Park, a lovely park with large trees and a fountain. I let Mitzi and Arabella out in front of the courthouse and drove around looking for a parking place. Fortunately, I spotted a woman unlocking a car by the side of the library. I made a totally illegal, dangerous U turn and grabbed the place. I waited a moment for a policeman to tap on the window. This area and the area around Southside near the university are the most highly patrolled in the city. But I had lucked out. I locked the car and walked across the park where a lot of people were taking advantage of the beautiful weather by eating their lunches outside. Beds of red and pink begonias were still in full bloom.

  The sun was so bright, I had to wait a moment for my eyes to adjust when I entered the courthouse. I almost missed the large figure darting into the women’s rest room. My sister, Mary Alice. What the hell?

  “I’m here to buy Cedric a fishing license,” she said, when I announced to her feet that I knew she was in there.

  Have I ever mentioned that Sister is the worst liar in the world? She has a way of twitching her lips like a rabbit that’s a dead giveaway. But you don’t have to be looking at her. Her voice gets a little higher, a little sweeter.

  “No, you’re not. Cedric doesn’t even need a fishing license if he’s over sixty-five. He may not even need one anyway since he’s a foreigner.”

  The toilet flushed and Sister sailed out of the cubicle. “Well, that’s what I’m here for. He wants a fishing license. He’s going up to Logan Martin Lake tomorrow.”

  “For the Bass Master tournament?” The tournament had been the week before.

  “Yes.” Sister was trying to figure out how the water turned on in the sink.