Miss Julia Renews Her Vows

by Ann B. Ross

  “I didn’t know it,” Francie said indignantly, as if I were slow to understand, “until that kitchen girl came in here Sunday with my lunch tray. When she took the cover off the plate, I nearly threw up. Collards, Julia! Have you ever heard of serving collards to a sick person? They reek to high heaven!” Francie switched her head from side to side on the rolled-up pillow under her neck as if she were still trying to escape the odor. “They give you wind, you know.”

  Not me, they don’t. I won’t eat them. “That certainly sounds ill advised,” I said, while Lillian murmured, “Law, law,” under her breath.

  “Anyway,” Francie went on, “those collard greens brought it all back, and I had a nurse call the deputy so I could report it.”

  I blinked in surprise. Report a serving of collards? Maybe Francie’s head injury was worse than I thought. Still, that explained why the deputies waited three days to question Etta Mae, but it didn’t explain what she had to do with collards. “But,” I persisted, “you didn’t actually see who it was?”

  “I didn’t have to see her,” she said, “I could smell her.”

  “Smell her?” My eyebrows went straight up to my hairline.

  “Yes, and that’s how I know it was that little twit who was supposed to be looking after me. See, Julia, while I was lying on the floor, there was this terrible odor that just filled the room, but I didn’t know what it was. But when the lid came off those collards, I knew right then that it had been her perfume. And cheap perfume, at that. Very distinctive and foul smelling, and I called the lieutenant to tell him I’d identified it. I’ll never forget it as long as I live. Just thinking about it turns my stomach.”

  Lord, I had to restrain myself to keep from defending Etta Mae’s choice of scent. Although I wouldn’t have chosen it for myself, it wasn’t all that bad. Etta Mae’s perfume was quite sweet and flowery, in fact, with an undertone of raspberry flavoring—nothing at all like collards, which have a pungent odor all their own.

  But what was I thinking? Choice of perfume wasn’t the problem here. The problem was that Francie had identified Etta Mae solely on an olfactory basis, and I had to get to a telephone.

  “We better be going, Francie,” I said, stepping away from the bed. “We don’t want to tire you. But please call me if I can do anything for you.”

  “I’m not up for telephone conversations, Julia. You’ll have to check with the floor nurses and see if I’ve left word that I need anything. But right now my head aches so bad I can’t think. And Julia, they shaved that place on my head. Had to, they said, to put a bandage on, but I don’t believe it. They could’ve done it without ruining me. Now I’m half bald and look like a monk, but they don’t care.” She lifted her hand and pointed at Lillian. “Before you go, have your woman straighten these sheets for me. They get so bunched up, but tell her not to touch my toe. I am just in agony from it.”

  Mortally offended at Francie’s referring to Lillian as my woman, it was all I could do to hold my tongue. The least she could’ve done was to address Lillian directly and ask for her help. But that was Francie for you. And that was Lillian, too, who carefully smoothed the sheets and stayed far away from the red, swollen, gout-afflicted toe resting on a pillow.

  Francie did not thank Lillian for her efforts, just said to me, “Come back anytime, Julia. It’s good to talk to an old friend, but on your way out, tell a nurse to bring me some fresh water.”

  I took Lillian by the arm and got out of there before Francie sent us on a water run. As I closed the door behind us, a deputy sheriff jumped up from the chair that had been vacant when we went in.

  “What’re you doing in there?” he demanded. “That lady’s not supposed to have visitors.”

  “Oh, don’t mind us,” I said, indicating Lillian’s white uniform. “We were making care arrangements for when Mrs. Delacorte goes home. Besides, you weren’t at your post when we came in, but don’t worry. I won’t mention it when I see Lieutenant Peavey.”

  I turned Lillian with me and we headed toward the elevator. “Hurry, Lillian, I’ve got to find a telephone.”

  “They’s some down in the lobby, but who you got to call?”

  “Binkie, and right away, too. I’ll tell you this, I am going to start carrying a cell phone in my purse from now on. I never thought in this small town I’d need one before I could get home to my own phone. But I do now.”

  Lillian peppered me with questions all the way down to the lobby, but I put her off. My head was so full of what I had to tell Binkie and Etta Mae that I had to hold it in. Besides, we weren’t the only ones in the elevator who didn’t need to hear our business.

  “Just listen,” I told her, as we found a public phone and I at last found a quarter in the bottom of my pocketbook. As soon as Binkie came on the line, I said, “Is Etta Mae still there?”

  “I can’t talk now, Miss Julia,” Binkie said hurriedly. “We’re on our way out. Lieutenant Peavey wants us at the sheriff’s office. I’ll catch you up with everything later on.”

  “Wait! Wait, Binkie, this is important. Don’t take Etta Mae down there till she’s had a bath. Go to my house and tell her to get in the shower and wash herself good.”

  “What’re you talking about?” Binkie screeched. “We have to go. The lieutenant’s waiting for us.”

  “Please, Binkie, just do it. We’ll meet you at the house, and I’ll explain. Call the lieutenant and make up an excuse. Tell him, I don’t know, tell him her monthlies have started. No, don’t say it like that, just hint around that it’s a lady thing and he’ll be too embarrassed to ask for details. Binkie, please, trust me on this. Get that girl in the shower. Make her wash her hair and change clothes. Lillian and I’ll be there in a few minutes. Oh, and, Binkie, while she’s washing, I want you to go around the house and hide every perfume bottle you can find.”

  Chapter 19

  “You drive, Lillian,” I said as we hurried out of the hospital and into the car. “I’m too nervous to get behind the wheel.”

  On our way to the house, Lillian said, “I don’t know what collards got to do with it, but that sick lady sayin’ she smell Miss Etta Mae’s perfume—is that why you tell Miss Binkie to make her wash it off, ’fore that lieutenant smell it, too?”

  “Exactly,” I said, noting again how quickly Lillian could put two and two together, often faster than I could. “I just hope Binkie’s making her do it.”

  “She is. Look, they already here.” Lillian had turned the corner on Polk Street and was pointing at Binkie’s car parked by the curb at our house.

  We hurried into the house to find Binkie sitting at the kitchen table. She didn’t look happy. “Okay, let’s have it.”

  “Oh, Binkie,” I said, collapsing beside her. “You won’t believe this. But first, where’s Etta Mae? You didn’t take her to the sheriff’s office, did you?”

  “No, but not because I didn’t want to. It was Etta Mae who insisted on doing what you wanted, even though neither of us knew why. She’s in the shower now, and I think if you told her to jump off the roof, she wouldn’t hesitate.”

  “She’s a good girl,” I said with some satisfaction.

  “Well, it certainly put me in a bind. I tell you, when a lieutenant in the sheriff’s department says he wants to talk to a client, I don’t normally fiddle around. So what’s going on?”

  “Well,” I began, then proceeded to tell her how we had gone to the hospital and seen Francie.

  “You mean you just walked in?” Binkie couldn’t believe how easily we’d gotten in, especially because she’d been kept out.

  “We hit it at the right time,” I assured her. “Nobody was around.” Then I told her what Francie had told us. “So, see, Binkie, the only thing the lieutenant’s going on is Francie’s nose. And to me, that’s not evidence of anything except a warped sense of smell. You know as well as I do that some things smell nice to some people, while the same smell is awful to others. Just think of that musk that some men splash all over themselves
. I have to hold my breath around them, but they think women love it.” I paused to see how Binkie was taking my explanation. “And that’s why I didn’t want Etta Mae going into the sheriff’s department smelling like she did this morning. Lieutenant Peavey might not like wildflowers and raspberries. He might think it was the foul odor that Francie claims she smelled—like collards, would you believe?”

  Binkie lay her head on her arms, which were crossed on the tabletop. “Lord, lord,” she said. “This is one for the books. Well,” she went on, raising her head, “you were right, but you don’t know how close I came to marching Etta Mae right down there, raspberries and all.”

  “Well, here’s the thing, Binkie,” I said, “it’s pretty clear that Francie smelled something. I just don’t believe it was Etta Mae. So what could it have been? Or who could it have been? And I’ll tell you another thing: I think Francie’s recall of a particular odor is mighty poor evidence to be going on.”

  “It is,” Binkie agreed, “which is why Etta Mae hasn’t been arrested. But they’re looking at her; there’s no doubt about that. Not just because of Mrs. Delacorte’s recall of an odor, but because she has positively identified it as coming from Etta Mae.” Binkie tapped her fingers on the table, thinking. “However, I get the feeling that Lieutenant Peavey’s not all that convinced of his victim’s veracity. Or let’s say her ability to remember the details of the attack.”

  “Good for him!” I said. “He ought to tread carefully where Francie Pitts, now Delacorte, is concerned. And here’s another little item, Binkie. You might not know this, but I heard that the Coral Gables police—that’s in Florida—are looking into her next-to-last husband’s death, and they’ve questioned her about it. That should make the lieutenant think twice before believing a word she says.”

  “Really?”

  “Just ask LuAnne Conover. She’s the one who told me. And Arley Hopkins told her, and Arley lives out at Mountain Villas, just as Francie does, and she knows what goes on out there.”

  “If that’s true,” Binkie mused, frowning with thought, “it just might save Etta Mae’s bacon, or at least confuse the issue. I’ll look into it.”

  Etta Mae slipped into the kitchen then, looking somewhat diffident and unsure of herself. She was wearing jeans again, but freshly pressed ones, and a short-sleeved sweater I hadn’t seen before. Her hair was full and shiny, recently washed and bouncing with curls.

  “Come over here, Etta Mae,” I said, “and let me look you over.”

  I walked all around her, delicately sniffing for any whiff of fruity or flowery odors. She turned as I turned, wondering what I was doing.

  “I think she’s fine,” I said to Binkie. “But you and Lillian come see what you think.”

  They did, as Etta Mae endured their examination with a puzzled look on her face. “I took a bath,” she said, “just like you told me. Didn’t I get clean?”

  “What do you think, Lillian?” I asked.

  “She jus’ smell like soap to me.”

  “Binkie?”

  “I think she’s fine. You have to get right up close to her hair to smell anything, and that just smells like apple shampoo.”

  “That’s what I used,” Etta Mae said, looking more and more concerned as tears began to fill her eyes. “Didn’t I get clean enough?”

  “Of course you did,” I said, patting her shoulder. “You’re always clean. The problem is, well, you tell her, Binkie. I don’t think I can go through it again.” I sank down into a chair, realizing that I’d about expended every ounce of energy I had. A couple of days in bed can sap you good.

  So Binkie explained the problem to Etta Mae in a few concise words, like the lawyer she was. I was gratified to see some fire come back into Etta Mae’s eyes.

  “You mean she said I smell bad? Why, I wear Shania Twain by Stetson! And no way does Shania smell like collards, I don’t care what that woman says. She’s crazy!” Etta Mae was outraged, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d stamped her booted foot on my kitchen floor. “So that’s what they were doing,” she went on, frowning in thought. “When they had me in there before, those deputies kept walking around behind me, leaning in and sticking their heads over my shoulders, asking their questions. They were smelling me!”

  “Calm down, Etta Mae,” I said. “Now that we know what they were doing and why, all you have to do is stay away from any and all perfume. In fact, I recommend that you leave off all cologne, eau de toilette, talcum powder, and scented deodorant for the duration. I’d watch the shampoo, too.”

  “Come on, Etta Mae,” Binkie said, snatching up her purse and car keys. “Lieutenant Peavey’s waiting for us, so let’s get it over with.”

  “You think he’s going to put me in jail?” As quickly as Etta Mae’s outrage had flashed up, it died out as she faced the prospect of more questions by the lieutenant.

  “He’d better not,” I said firmly. “You’re going to come out of there smelling like a rose. Well, maybe not a rose, but you know what I mean.”

  After they left for Etta Mae’s second interview, I looked at Lillian, hoping for some reassurance. “What if they still think she did it? What if they believe Francie and don’t believe her?”

  “You got to put yo’ trust in the Lord and Miss Binkie,” Lillian said. “Don’t do no good settin’ around worryin’. An’ if you ast me, that lady in the hospital don’t sound too verasible, jus’ like Miss Binkie say.” She put a pan on the stove and went on. “I got to start dinner, but what you want for lunch first? Or you got somewhere else for us to go?”

  “No, I’ve done all I can do for today. Anything for lunch is fine. A sandwich, whatever. I can’t eat with worrying about Lieutenant Peavey sniffing around Etta Mae.”

  The telephone rang then. I answered it and heard Mildred Allen’s voice.

  “Julia,” she said, “I’m having a few people over tomorrow night, about seven-thirty, just for dessert, and I hope you can come. I know it’s last minute, but I think you’ll enjoy it.”

  “Well, I don’t know, Mildred. I’ve not been feeling well lately, and I’m not sure I should be out late.” I turned away from Lillian, who was frowning at my continuing reliance on a made-up illness. “I’ll have to check with Sam, anyway. He might have something planned.”

  “That’s fine if he does,” Mildred said. “I’m just inviting the ladies for a change. Everybody’s buzzing about Francie Pitts and what happened to her, so I thought a nice little get-together would be fun and maybe instructive. We can discuss safety precautions for women. And I might have a surprise for everybody, too.”

  I could read between the lines as well as anybody, and what Mildred was proposing was a nice little gossip session. I couldn’t resist that because who knows? I might pick up from LuAnne or Arley or somebody else a few tidbits that would be of help to Etta Mae, and Binkie’s defense of her. And who could resist a surprise? The image of a tanned and muscular self-defense instructor sprang to mind—just the sort of surprise that Mildred would love to spring on us.

  “In that case, Mildred, I’m sure I’ll be able to make it.”

  Chapter 20

  After lunch, I took the opportunity to put my feet up for a while, but I couldn’t turn my mind off. It was filled with images of Etta Mae, even then undergoing interrogation with sharp-nosed deputies just waiting for the least whiff of an odor—either foul or flowery, it didn’t seem to matter. By the time Lloyd came home from school, she and Binkie still had not returned, so I began to worry about Etta Mae being jailed on an assault and battery charge, or even an attempted murder charge. I could just picture her scared little face peering out from behind bars.

  “Hey, Miss Julia,” Lloyd said as he came into the living room, where I was resting. “I’m gonna call Mama now—she said for me to. You want to talk to her?”

  “I certainly do. I know she’s been calling you off and on, but I’d like to know how she’s getting along. Your new step-daddy, too.”

  If I had let
myself, I could’ve been hurt because Hazel Marie hadn’t called me, but I put it down to her unwillingness to admit she was enjoying her honeymoon. Every time I thought of her announcement that being married to Mr. Pickens was going to be in name only, I had to laugh. He’d put up with that for about two minutes, if I knew him. No, they’d spend their week, or however long it took, at the Grove Park Inn in Asheville making plans for their life together. At least I hoped they would, for I wasn’t all that convinced that Mr. Pickens would be able to stand a settled married state because he’d never managed to before. Of course, his current married state came with one inherited child and two more on the way, which should be enough to settle anybody down.

  When Lloyd called down the stairs to tell me his mother was on the phone, I picked up and said, “Hazel Marie? How are you feeling?”

  “Oh, I’m feeling fine,” she said, and it pleased me to hear the lightness in her voice. “We’re having such a good time, though J.D. won’t let me do too much. We took a walk around the grounds this morning, and we’re both going to the spa this afternoon. Did you know they have a spa here? It’s beautiful and so soothing. We got massages yesterday, and J.D. said it was the next best thing he’d ever had.”

  “My word,” I mumbled, then said, “But how are you doing?”

  “I’ve not had any trouble at all. In fact, I think the earlier problems I had were all in my mind. Well, not all of them, but you know what I mean. But I did want to tell you, Miss Julia, before we left, Dr. Hargrove recommended that I see an obstetrician over here, just in case, you know. So I went and J.D. went with me, and he got to see the sonogram and everything. And he’s just been so careful of me ever since. Isn’t that the sweetest thing?”

  “Yes, it is,” I said, hoping that sweetness would last. Not that Mr. Pickens was ever unsweet to her; I don’t mean that. But he could get his mind set on other things, like his work, and take off without a backward glance. But maybe seeing two little beings that he’d created swimming around on a sonogram screen had straightened him out.