by Ann B. Ross
She turned to the three of us—Lillian, Hazel Marie and me—who were lingering at the breakfast table after the men had left. “That was Binkie,” she said, as she slumped into her chair. “Mrs. Delacorte’s bracelet has turned up.”
“Why, that’s good,” I said, trying to encourage her. “At least now they know you didn’t have it. Where did they find it? Or did Francie have it all along?”
Etta Mae shook her head. “No, it was turned in to the sheriff by a pawnshop owner, the one on the Asheville highway.”
Not knowing that there were any pawnshops in town, much less more than one, I nodded as if I did. “Well then, that’s one thing they can take off the books against you. Although I never did think it was all that important—compared, I mean, to the alleged physical attack.”
Lillian, who’d been contemplating the matter, spoke up. “When you go to pawn something, the pawn man take down yo’ name an’ address an’ all kinda things, an’ he give you a ticket for when you come back to pay off an’ get yo’ belongin’s back. So that lieutenant ought to know by now jus’ who did the pawnin’.”
“My goodness, Lillian,” I said. “I didn’t know you knew how to pawn something.”
“I know lotsa things,” Lillian said, laughing. “Like anybody do that can’t make it till payday.”
Hazel Marie, who’d been sipping a glass of orange juice, said, “My granddaddy used to pawn things all the time. He had an old railroad watch that he must’ve pawned a dozen times, over and over.”
Etta Mae nodded knowingly. “Mine, too. But Binkie said that the problem with this is that the bracelet wasn’t pawned. It was sold outright, so the pawnbroker didn’t have to keep any records. And he didn’t, so he doesn’t know who sold it.”
“You mean,” I said unbelievingly, “that he bought that bracelet within the last few days and can’t remember who brought it in? That’s ridiculous.”
“No,” Etta Mae said, as she turned her coffee cup around and around in its saucer. “He wasn’t there at the time. It was a nephew he’d left in charge over the weekend while he took some time off, and Binkie said the nephew’s pretty sure it was a woman who brought it in.”
“That’s all?” Hazel Marie asked. “You’d think he’d be able to give some kind of description, wouldn’t you? But how did the pawnbroker or his nephew know the bracelet was stolen?”
“Binkie said,” Etta Mae said, “that the sheriff always puts out a list of stolen property, which goes to all the pawnshops. When the owner got back, he looked at the transactions his nephew had made, and there it was. That’s when he reported it to the sheriff, bright and early this morning.”
“But they don’t know who brought it in?” I asked.
“No.” Etta Mae shook her head. “So Lieutenant Peavey’s going to do a lineup to see if the nephew can identify somebody. I’ll be in it.”
I almost came out of my chair, thinking of Etta Mae lined up with a row of criminals. “They’re going to put you in a lineup? They can’t do that, can they? What did Binkie say?”
“Yes, ma’am, they can. But it’s not a real lineup like on television. I don’t even have to be there. They’ll just use my picture along with several others and see if the nephew can pick me out.” Her hands trembled as she picked up a spoon and stared at it.
Hazel Marie reached over to put her hand on Etta Mae’s. “You don’t need to worry. He can’t pick you out because you were never in there.”
“Not recently, anyway,” Etta Mae said, her face coloring with what I thought might be shame. “I’ve pawned a couple of things in the past, back when I was really up against it, so he might recognize me.”
“Oh, Lord,” I moaned under my breath. Then, with a start, I spoke up. “If whoever brought the bracelet in brought it in over the weekend, it couldn’t have been you, Etta Mae. You were here all weekend, and I know for a fact that you weren’t out of our sight either Saturday or Sunday.”
“Yes, ma’am, I know it, too. But I went home Friday to pack a few clothes, remember? So I guess it’ll depend on which day of the weekend it was, and whether Friday is part of it.”
“Well, yes, I guess so, but Friday is never considered part of a weekend unless you’re talking about a long weekend. Then it is. Either that or a Monday.” I stopped, realizing that I was getting off the track. “But what are we doing trying to think up an alibi? You didn’t do it, and that’s all there is to it.”
Etta Mae looked at me through a sheen of grateful tears, and I thought again of how I’d like to wring Francie’s neck for putting her through this.
“Well,” she said, getting to her feet, “I better get ready and go on. Binkie wants me in her office about ten. I think that’s when the lieutenant will let her know if the nephew identifies me. If he does, well, I guess I’m in for it.”
“I’ll go with you, Etta Mae,” Hazel Marie said.
Etta Mae started shaking her head, as Lillian and I both said, “No, you won’t.”
“You got to rest,” Lillian went on. “You don’t need to be in a sheriff’s office or a lawyer’s. ’Sides, you need to unpack them suitcases in yonder, so I can put in a load of washin’, an’ if anybody goin’ with Miss Etta Mae, it be me.”
“No, it won’t,” I said, standing. “I’m going with her.”
“No, wait,” Etta Mae said, smiling in spite of herself. “Thank you all, but Binkie said to plan on staying awhile. Regardless of whose picture he picks out, she wants us to go over everything again. So I’ll just call you when I hear something.”
That being determined, we all set to our various tasks, even though that left me with little to do. It was just as well, though, because after Etta Mae left and Hazel Marie was handing her soiled lingerie and Mr. Pickens’s used underclothes to Lillian, I got another phone call from Francie.
“Julia?” she said when I answered. “Have you heard that my bracelet has turned up? From a pawnshop, would you believe? And that lieutenant won’t even let me have it. Says it’s evidence, and he has to keep it until the case is closed, of all things.”
“Why, yes, I suppose he does. But I’m pleased that it’s been found. I know how much it means to you.”
“Well,” Francie said, a snippy tone in her voice, “apparently it didn’t mean much to anybody else. The pawnbroker only gave the Wiggins woman seventy-five dollars for it, and Julia, it’s solid eighteen-karat gold. That’s an insult.”
“Francie, I’ll remind you that it hasn’t been determined that Miss Wiggins was the one who pawned it, and I wish you’d stop accusing her.”
“Oh,” she said in an offhand manner, “it’s only a matter of time. But listen, Julia, is Sam there? I need to speak with him. Oh, and by the way, how’re you feeling this morning?”
“I’m fine, and no, Sam’s not here.”
“I really need to talk to him. Where can I reach him?”
“You can’t,” I said, my mind racing ahead trying to figure out why she’d want to speak to him. I certainly wasn’t going to give her the phone number at his house. “He’s gone for the day and won’t be back until late.”
“I bet you know where he is, though, don’t you?” Then, without moving away from the phone, she shouted, “Evelyn! I told you not to do that. Can’t you ever do anything right?” And in a normal tone, she resumed her conversation with me. “Now, Julia, just give me the number where I can reach him. I’m sure he’d want you to.”
Before I could think how to respond, she took off on Evelyn again, but this time her tirade was muffled as she covered the phone. All I could hear was the vicious sound of her voice and the occasional sharp exclamation aimed at Evelyn. But don’t you just hate it when somebody interrupts a conversation to berate a child or a pet or to carry on with somebody else? It’s so rude, you know. It just left me standing there, waiting for her to get back to me. I mean, she had called me, and if she’d needed to tend to other matters, she should’ve postponed the call.
“Whew,” Francie said, spe
aking again into the phone. “I tell you, Julia, I don’t know what I’m going to do with that woman. She drives me to distraction. Now, where were we?”
“I’m not sure, Francie. You called me, remember?”
“Oh, of course. I need Sam to come over. I have a couple of lightbulbs that need replacing and Evelyn can’t reach them. But Sam’s so handy and he did offer help if I needed anything.”
A flash of white-hot anger ripped through me. Sam might’ve been handy, but he was no handyman at her beck and call. “Francie,” I said, and sharply, too, “you can call the maintenance people out there where you live. That’s what they’re there for and what you’re paying for. Sam doesn’t have time to be replacing lightbulbs for you.”
“Oh, Julia,” she said, with a little titter, “you misunderstood me. The lightbulbs are just a while-you’re-here matter. What I really need Sam for is to advise me on some legal problems that have come up from when I lived in Coral Gables. The family of my next-to-last husband is trying to make waves.”
“Sam no longer practices law,” I snapped, just so irritated that she would impose on him. “He’s retired and has other things on his mind. I’d advise you to hire a practicing attorney if you need legal advice.”
“Well,” she almost huffed, “I can see that you’re no help. Perhaps we’re feeling a little under the weather today?”
“Maybe you are, but I’m feeling fine.”
“I understand,” she said, as if she were soothing a child. “Don’t worry about it. Just tell Sam to call me when he gets in. Can you remember to do that, dear?”
If the phone hadn’t been made of hard plastic, I would’ve squeezed it to death. “I think I can manage to remember. So nice to talk to you, Francie, but I have to hang up now. I’ll be late for a meeting.”
And I did hang up, in spite of the fact that it was rude of me to end a call that I had not placed. But if we’re comparing levels of rudeness, mine hardly placed.
I remained standing by the phone, gritting my teeth while thinking of a million other things I wished I’d said. Hazel Marie wandered into the kitchen, took one look at me and stopped.
“Are you all right?”
“That woman!” Then I proceeded to tell Hazel Marie what Francie had wanted and how, even worse, she had assumed the right to call on Sam for whatever she needed, from legal advice to home maintenance.
Hazel Marie smiled. “Sounds like she has a crush on him.”
I turned so quickly I almost put a crick in my neck. “A what?”
“A crush. You know, after what you told me about her and all her husbands, maybe she’s after him now.”
“But why? He’s married.”
“Huh,” Hazel Marie said, “that wouldn’t stop some women. Besides, you said she keeps thinking you’re sick and offering her help.” Hazel Marie pulled out a chair and sat down. “I’ve known of a couple of cases where a best friend tended to someone who was dying, then right after the funeral, up and married the widower.”
The sickening light dawned, and all I could do was collapse onto a chair next to Hazel Marie. “That’s it, Hazel Marie. That’s what she’s doing. She’s after my darling Sam and can’t wait to see me in my coffin.” I clenched my fists, angered by the unmitigated gall of Francie Pitts. “And for all I know, she’s capable of hurrying me into it.” I reared back and straightened my shoulders. “But I’ll tell you this, she is not going to find it easy, and I don’t care if she does have some kind of secret erotic knowledge. I’ll fight fire with fire if I have to.”
Chapter 37
Hazel Marie frowned. “She has what?”
“Secret erotic knowledge. That’s what Sam said she probably had to get all those husbands, when it’s obvious that she has nothing else to recommend her.”
“How would Mr. Sam know that?”
“It was a guess, Hazel Marie!” I said, more sharply than I’d intended, because I was wondering the same thing. “He doesn’t know for sure. How could he?”
Yes, I thought, how could he know? But there it was: it wasn’t possible that Sam would have personal knowledge of Francie’s secret knowledge—he hadn’t known her long enough. But he knew enough to feel that something was missing in our marriage, else he wouldn’t have been so eager to attend those blasted enrichment sessions. Lord! He was searching for something that I didn’t have, but Francie did.
“Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie said with a far-off look in her eyes. “You could ask J.D. about that, because I think he has some of it, too.”
“Some of what?”
“That secret stuff you mentioned. I’m pretty sure he knows all about it.”
“Hazel Marie, honey, I’m not about to discuss such a subject with Mr. Pickens. I’d never hear the last of it and never live it down, either. No, I’ve got to go about this some other way, though I don’t know what it’ll be.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about Mr. Sam,” Hazel Marie said. She put her hand on my arm and smiled. “He’s so in love he can’t see straight.”
“No, he’s not.” A pain like a knife thrust ripped through my heart, and I covered my face with my hands. “Oh, Hazel Marie, I hate to say this, but Sam’s so unhappy and I don’t know why. Except it has to be because of me.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute.” Hazel Marie spoke so firmly, I had to look up at her. “No way in the world is that man unhappy because of you or for any other reason. And I don’t see how you’d even think so.”
So I told her. I told her about Sam wanting us to go to Dr. Fowler’s marriage enrichment classes and how I couldn’t. Hazel Marie already knew a little because she’d been around during my first encounter with the man. “So, see,” I went on, “why would Sam want us to go to those classes if he was happy with the way things are? I tell you, Hazel Marie, it’s a clear wake-up call to me that Sam feels something is lacking in our marriage. Why would he want us to go get enriched if he didn’t feel impoverished?”
“Maybe it’s just what he said,” Hazel Marie said. “He wants to support the pastor. I don’t think you need to look for anything else.”
“But Hazel Marie, the wife is always the last to know, and I’m afraid that his wanting to get me to those classes is an indication that something is wrong. I’d be a fool to ignore it, and under any other circumstances I’d just go and be done with it. But I can’t, not with Dr. Fowler there, because if Sam learns about that little episode, I might as well head out for Reno. Or for a quiet divorce downtown. Because that will give him the excuse he’s looking for.”
“Oh, Miss Julia, you can’t believe that!”
“Well, I don’t, but that’s what I’m afraid of. And now you say that Francie Pitts is just waiting in the wings, so that’s another thing to worry about. Wanting to go to those classes is clear evidence to me that Sam is restless, and she’s just waiting to pounce.” I grabbed a napkin to mop up the tears that had been waiting to spill out, for the more I thought of all that had happened, the more I’d convinced myself that our marriage was on the rocks.
“You’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” Hazel Marie said. “I don’t for a minute believe that Mr. Sam’s unhappy about anything, and as for Francie, don’t make me laugh. From what you say about her, he wouldn’t have her on a silver platter.”
“Well, Hazel Marie, when you look back at how we got married, you have to admit that Sam might have a hard time feeling married. Remember? We eloped to Pigeon Forge and ended up before a defrocked preacher who had no legal right to marry anybody. Then, in order to rectify that, we got remarried by the Reverend Morris Abernathy. Now, I know that Lillian’s pastor is as legal and as qualified to marry people as they come, but a wedding ceremony in an empty classroom at the high school after a beauty pageant? What kind of wedding is that? I don’t wonder that Sam feels he’s missed out on something. I sometimes feel that way myself.”
“Well, that’s easy to fix,” Hazel Marie said. “Why don’t you just get remarried? You can re
new your vows—you know, like you told everybody that J.D. and I did. Only you and Sam really would. And you could have a big reception with all the trimmings, invite everybody and have the kind of wedding every woman dreams of. I’d love to help. It’d be like having my own real wedding, although,” she quickly added, “I’m happy with the one I got, considering how slippery J.D.’s been all these years.”
“I don’t know, Hazel Marie,” I said, cringing at the thought of such a public spectacle, yet thinking at the same time that it would be a small price to pay to ease Sam’s mind.
“Think about it,” Hazel Marie urged. “And feel Mr. Sam out. It might be just the thing to put a little fire back into your marriage. If that’s what’s missing, I mean.”
“Well, that’s just the thing. If it’s fire that’s missing, I sure haven’t noticed. Yet Dr. Fowler’s classes are all about how to stoke the embers and stir up the flames, so maybe that is the area that concerns Sam.” I wiped my face, shuddering a little for discussing such intimate matters with Hazel Marie. Or with anyone, for that matter. What happens in the bedroom ought to stay there, in my opinion. Yet the longer we’d talked, the more desperate my situation seemed, and at least Hazel Marie had suggested something I could do other than just worry about it. “Well, it’s something to think about, Hazel Marie, and I will. But I’ll tell you, after all the other times I’ve been through it, I’ve about memorized those vows.”
Etta Mae knocked on the back door, then walked in, looking edgier than usual after her visit to Binkie’s office. Hazel Marie and I both looked at her, just as Lillian came into the kitchen.
“What happened?” We all said at about the same time, bringing a tiny smile to Etta Mae’s face.
She dropped into a chair and said, “Well, he didn’t identify me.”
We all, in our various ways, expressed relief and gratification that the pawnbroker’s nephew had such an excellent memory.