Miss Julia Renews Her Vows

by Ann B. Ross

  “I don’t know,” I said again, while images of mayhem flashed through my head. “Something could’ve fallen. Or maybe somebody threw something.” Or maybe, which I didn’t say, somebody really stopped Francie.

  Lloyd said, half under his breath, “Maybe we ought to go.”

  I considered it, I really did. But I don’t like leaving a job half finished, and besides, somebody could be lying inside injured and in need of help. “No, let’s see what’s going on.”

  And I walked boldly across the stoop and rang the bell, as if we’d just appeared on the scene with no knowledge of anything amiss. Out of the gloom of the hall, Evelyn appeared, scuttling toward the door in a gray sacklike dress, her head bound in a lopsided purple turban.

  “Yes?” she murmured as she reached the door.

  “Good afternoon. Miss Plemmons, is it? Or do you prefer Evelyn? I’m Mrs. Julia Murdoch, a friend of Francie’s, remember? I visited with her the other day, and we’ve just dropped by to see how she is. Oh, and this is Lloyd. May we come in? We can’t stay long.”

  Without a word, she unlatched the door and pushed it open for us, and I got my first close-up view of her face—wrinkled, uncared for, without expression and with hooded eyes. Tired, it seemed to me, more than anything. Deep, bone-weary fatigue, etched not only on her face but also on her slumped shoulders and her entire bearing. It didn’t help that the turban she wore was cockeyed on her head, the knot skewed around to one side with strands of gray hair straggling out from around the edges.

  “She’s in the sunroom,” Evelyn mumbled, turning away as if it didn’t matter one way or the other whether we followed her or not.

  We did, though, and turned left toward Francie’s chair when we reached the room, as Evelyn, without a word, veered right toward the kitchen.

  I hurried over to Francie, trying to appear bright and cheerful to give her no hint that I’d heard the aforementioned commotion.

  “Francie, how are you?” I said, my eyes glancing around to see if a vase had been thrown or a walking cane wielded. The only damage I saw was on the edge of a side table, where a long sliver of veneer was missing.

  I pretended not to notice and turned to Francie. “I hope you don’t mind our dropping in like this. This is Lloyd, my . . . Well, we were out this way, and I thought I’d come by to see how you’re doing. Last evening must’ve been traumatic for you, and I was wondering if you’ve heard from Dr. Fowler. He was so concerned about how the situation might’ve appeared to the pastor and eager to correct any false impressions. You should’ve heard him. Everybody says he’s thoughtful that way, and, you know, Pastor Ledbetter was a little short with you. I expect he regrets that today.”

  I was rambling because Francie wasn’t responding. She sat, enthroned in her chair, her foot with its gouty toe elevated on an ottoman. There was a stunned look on her face. Lloyd edged to my side, his thumbs going a mile a minute, but she took no notice of him.

  “Are you all right?” I asked, leaning down to look closely at her. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No. No, I’m fine,” she said, stirring a little as if she were coming out of shock. “Although I could be dead for all anybody cares.” Then in a lower voice, she asked, “Where’s Evelyn?”

  “In the kitchen, I believe. You want me to get her?”

  “No, leave her alone. Oh, Julia, I’m so glad you’re here. You wouldn’t believe . . . Listen,” she whispered, reaching up and grabbing my hand, “I need to talk to Sam. Where is he? I need to see him right away.”

  “Francie,” I said, heaving a sigh of exasperation, “I’ve told you. Sam is not a maintenance man. You’ll have to have someone else replace your lightbulbs. Why don’t you call Dr. Fowler? He seems fairly handy.”

  “I’m not thinking about lightbulbs,” she snapped, her voice rising as she shifted in the chair. “I need to see Sam, and I mean today.”

  I reared back. “I’ll pass the word along,” I said through tight lips.

  “You need to do more than that. This is urgent, Julia, and all you have to do is tell that boy with you to call him up.”

  Lloyd looked up, his thumbs momentarily stilled, his eyes wide at being singled out. He glanced at me as I gave a little shake of my head. Then, with his quick grasp of the situation, he nodded and said, “Yes, ma’am, I’ll call him now.”

  We waited while he punched a few buttons, put the phone to his ear and gazed off into the distance. Francie watched avidly, then demanded, “Hand it here. I want to talk to him.”

  Lloyd ignored her, continued to listen to whatever the phone was doing, then shook his head. “Nobody answers, not even the answering machine. He may be downtown.”

  Francie sagged back into the chair. “I can’t stand this! Nobody is ever where they ought to be. I need him! Julia, go find him for me. I . . .”

  She stopped abruptly, looking past my shoulder at Evelyn, who had come silently in, holding a tray. But a tray the likes of which I’d never seen. My eyes widened as I realized that it was a Teflon-coated cookie sheet, but one that was warped at one end. Balanced on it was a plate of cookies.

  She took the plate of cookies off and put it on the table beside Francie. Without a word, she stood for a second, holding the warped cookie sheet in front of Francie, then turned and went back into the kitchen. As she passed Lloyd, he turned his phone toward her, a movement that she paid no attention to. The whole episode unnerved me.

  “Well, ah, Francie, I guess we’d better go. Lloyd has homework and I can see this is not a good time. I’ll try to reach Sam for you, but if I don’t, maybe you should look for another attorney. As I told you, he’s no longer practicing anyway.”

  Francie hunkered down in her chair and gave me a brief nod, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. Or sulking, one of the two.

  I put my arm around Lloyd’s shoulders and soldiered out of the house as fast as I could go. We didn’t say a word until we were in the car and the engine turned on.

  “What happened in there, Lloyd?” I asked as I steered the car around the circle that led us to the main road of Mountain Villas.

  “I don’t know, Miss Julia, but something did. That lady acted weird.”

  “Which one?” I asked with a nervous laugh.

  “Well, both of ’em, come to think of it. That fat lady in the chair? I think she was the one yelling at the other lady before we went in, and the other one, that gray lady, she gave me the creeps the way she came up behind me with those cookies.” He took his bottom lip in his teeth, thought for a minute, then went on. “And did you see that tray she had? It looked like something you bake cookies on, not serve ’em on.”

  “It was a cookie sheet, all right. And did you see the way it was warped? Of course, a really hot oven can sometimes do that, except that one looked actually dented.”

  I drove out of the gated confines of Mountain Villas, raising a hand to the gatekeeper as we passed. Lloyd and I were silent as I maneuvered the car through the traffic, but my mind was replaying the scene we’d left. One thing was for sure, I wanted to find Sam and tell him as soon as I could, not that I wanted him to rush to Francie’s side, but something strange was going on and he’d know what to do about it.

  After a couple of stoplights held us up, Lloyd, in a musing kind of way, said, “Miss Julia, have you ever read that story about a woman who killed her husband with a leg of lamb she took out of the freezer?”

  “Why, no, I don’t believe I have.” I glanced at him with a smile. “What brought that to mind?”

  “Well, that cookie sheet did. Because in the story, after she killed her husband with the frozen leg of lamb, she put it in the oven and cooked it. Then when the police came, she served it to them and they ate up the murder weapon.”

  “I declare,” I murmured. Then, with sudden understanding, I almost threw up my hands. “It was Evelyn! And that warped cookie sheet was right there in front of our eyes!” I veered out of the traffic and pulled to the side of the road. “Lloyd, you are th
e smartest boy in the world. They said Francie had a blunt-force injury from something large and flat, and Sam said the weapon would have evidence on it. But a weapon was never found. I bet that thing went in the dishwasher and was clean as a whistle when the deputies got there.”

  “Yes’m,” Lloyd said, wiggling with excitement, “and did you see how that fat lady got real quiet when Evelyn walked in and just held it in front of her?”

  “It certainly subdued her, didn’t it? It was a threat, Lloyd, and I think what we heard before we went in was Evelyn’s demonstration of what would happen again if Francie kept on at her. Honey, we’ve solved the whole thing, or rather, you have. Now all we have to do is get them to admit it, and Etta Mae’ll be free of any suspicion whatsoever.” Then as I sat there thinking, I remembered our reason for visiting Francie. “Did you get their pictures?”

  “I sure did, good ones, too, because they weren’t paying any attention to me. I’ll print ’em out and show you.”

  “And I,” I said, “will find Sam.” But not for Francie, at least not for the reason she wanted him. I pulled back into a lane and headed for home. “On second thought, we may need Mr. Pickens more. This case calls for a professional now, although I think we’ve done a pretty good job on our own.”

  Chapter 45

  We arrived home full of excitement and ready to lay it all out for everybody. Lloyd immediately ran through the kitchen and up the back stairs to print out the pictures he’d made, with Lillian calling after him to come to the table. I was taken aback to find that supper had been served early to accommodate Sam.

  “Where is he?” I demanded. I couldn’t believe they hadn’t waited for us—that was the second night in a row—and Sam was off somewhere again.

  “That pastor call a meetin’ which Mr. Sam say is to decide what to do ’bout that man you don’t like. He think they gonna get rid of him.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day. Except the pastor already decided that last night. I guess he wants to make it official, but I declare, Lillian, I need Sam here.”

  “He say he won’t be long, so you an’ Lloyd go on in to the table. They all still settin’ in there.”

  And so they were—Hazel Marie, Mr. Pickens and Etta Mae—and none of them looking too happy. Lillian brought in a glass of iced tea for me and milk for Lloyd, still grumbling about his flying off upstairs without eating.

  “He’ll be down soon,” I told her, as I took in the long faces around the table.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “You look like you’ve had bad news.”

  Nobody said anything for a minute, then Etta Mae sighed. “Yes’m, at least I have. Lieutenant Peavey wants to interview me again in the morning.”

  “What for? He should know by now that you had nothing to do with it. Mr. Pickens,” I said, glaring at him, “didn’t you tell him what happens when a person gets hit on the head? You could’ve called Dr. Hargrove, you know, if the lieutenant had any questions.”

  “That’s exactly what he did,” Mr. Pickens said. “But the problem is not what the woman smelled or didn’t smell. The problem is still who hit her, and Etta Mae is one of the ones who had access. Looks like he’s reinterviewing everybody.”

  “Then I guess we’d better get something done tonight,” I said as Lillian set a filled plate in front of me. “Don’t despair, Etta Mae. We have one more matter to take care of and you can see the lieutenant without a care in the world.”

  Mr. Pickens’s eyebrows went up, as he sat sideways in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, an arm resting on his empty place mat. The other arm, I noticed, was draped across the back of Hazel Marie’s chair. Etta Mae sat for a few minutes, then with a deep breath, she rose to help Lillian clear the table. Clearly, she was not reassured by what I’d said, but I didn’t go further, hoping that Sam would come in and I’d only have to tell it once.

  As Lloyd came bounding into the dining room, his face beaming and his hands full of photographs, I said, “Mr. Pickens, Lloyd and I would like to have the benefit of your forensic expertise, if you don’t mind. Lloyd, did you get everything printed out?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I sure did, and I got Etta Mae’s picture, too—one I took the other day—so there’d be no question about it. And Miss Julia, I thought of something else. To be completely fair, we ought to have some other pictures in the lineup that are about the same age as the ones we suspect. So I put Mama’s picture in ’cause she’s about Etta Mae’s age.”

  “Thank you, son,” Hazel Marie said, laughing. “I think.”

  “And,” Lloyd said, his eyes shining with eagerness, “I got one of you, Miss Julia, when you weren’t looking, because you’re about the age of those other ladies.”

  “Of me? My word, Lloyd, I don’t want to be in a lineup, and besides, it’s not polite to bring up a person’s age.”

  Mr. Pickens had his usual amused look on his face, but then he straightened up. “Lineup? What’ve you two been doing?”

  “Police work, Mr. Pickens, if you must know. Sit down, Etta Mae, and listen. Between us, Lloyd and I have just about cleared up this mess. All we need is for Mr. Pickens to take our pictures to that pawnbroker’s nephew so he can identify the real culprit, and we need Mr. Pickens to do it because he has some professional authority. Then he can present it, along with what Lloyd and I heard and witnessed this afternoon, to Binkie and to Lieutenant Peavey.”

  Mr. Pickens was sitting straight up by this time, gazing across the table at me with those black eyes. He seemed none too pleased to learn that we’d been encroaching on his territory.

  “What’ve you done?”

  “Let me tell ’em, Miss Julia,” Lloyd said as Lillian guided him firmly to his place at the table.

  “You better eat something ’fore you dry up and blow away,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am, I will, but look, J.D. Look at these pictures. We’ve got a real lineup now, but Miss Julia and me think it was that Evelyn woman, ’cause we heard her crash down that cookie sheet, but we didn’t know what it was at the time, and when we got inside, that other lady acted real scared, telling us we’d come just in time and wanting me to call Mr. Sam to come help her. And then, then that Evelyn woman came in and served cookies on the very same cookie sheet—we know it was the same one because it was dented—and she just kinda stood there, like she was warning the other lady what could happen again, so when I told Miss Julia about the leg of lamb, why, we just figured it all out, because it was in the dishwasher, not the oven, when the deputies came.”

  Hazel Marie peered at him. “What?”

  “Take it a little slower, son,” Mr. Pickens said, “and tell us again.”

  Between the two of us, Lloyd and I went through the events of the afternoon again. “So,” I summed up, “what we have to do now is take those pictures to the pawnshop and see what that nephew says. He’ll identify Evelyn; I’m sure of it just from the way she acted. And Francie knows the truth now, too, so she’ll have to recant her accusation of Etta Mae. And if she won’t, well, I have a few cookie sheets in my kitchen, too.

  “But Mr. Pickens,” I went on, leaning toward him, “we need to get these pictures to the nephew tonight—pawnshops stay open late, don’t they? I mean, with Lieutenant Peavey still breathing down Etta Mae’s neck, we should get this thing settled.”

  All this while, Etta Mae had been looking from Lloyd to me, listening to what we were saying, an expression of hopeful wonder on her face. Hazel Marie jumped up and hugged her.

  “Oh, Etta Mae, it’s over now. The lieutenant will have to believe it, but J.D.,” she said, turning to him, “Miss Julia’s right. You need to get to the pawnshop before it closes. Let’s all go right now.”

  “Hold on just one minute,” Mr. Pickens said as my heart fell at his stern look. “Let me see those pictures. It’d be just like somebody I know to send me off half-cocked.” He shuffled through them, giving each one his full attention. Then he set the gatekeeper’s picture aside, saying
, “What’s this doing in here? We already know it was a woman.”

  “That,” I told him, “was just a practice shot. Please, Mr. Pickens, go do it now. There’s no reason in the world for Etta Mae to go through one more night like she’s been doing.”

  “All right,” he said, getting to his feet, to my great relief. “It won’t be legitimate, but Lieutenant Peavey can conduct a more official lineup tomorrow. And,” he said with a quick smile at Etta Mae, “conduct a few different interviews than the one he’d planned.”

  “I’ll go with you,” I said, hopping up.

  “No, you won’t.” Mr. Pickens glared at me. “I don’t want to make it any more off the books than it already is. Besides, Sam will be here before long, and if I’m not mistaken, you have a few fences to mend, what with gallivanting all over the place and nobody knowing where you were.”

  He gave Hazel Marie a quick kiss and left, taking our picture lineup with him. I was tempted to follow him but decided I could leave it to him. We looked around at one another: Etta Mae with hope lighting up her face; Lloyd with his eyes gleaming with excitement; Lillian unsure of what had happened; and Hazel Marie frowning as she thought about it.

  “Tell me again,” she finally said. “What did a leg of lamb have to do with it?”

  “That’s what I want to know,” Lillian said. “Y’all don’t even like lamb.”

  We heard voices outside and feet shuffling at the front door. Then Sam stuck his head in and called that he was going with Mr. Pickens. I almost got up to go with them but felt too tired to make the effort. I thought to myself that if the menfolk couldn’t close the case after everything had been handed to them on a platter—or, shall we say, on a cookie sheet—I’d get some rest and pick right up after them in the morning.

  So I went to bed, then couldn’t go to sleep for wondering what was happening. As tired as I was from the busy afternoon, to say nothing of the past several days, I sat up in bed and waited for Sam.

  I even tried reading the latest issue of Guideposts but couldn’t concentrate enough to get anything out of it. Hearing Sam and Mr. Pickens come in downstairs, I immediately put it aside and awaited the latest news. But, of course, Hazel Marie and Etta Mae had waited up for them, and I could hear the murmur of conversation downstairs. When I could stand it no longer, I threw off the covers, intending to join them to hear what had taken place. Then I heard Sam’s footsteps on the stairs.