by Ann B. Ross
He’d barely gotten in the bedroom before I asked, “What happened?”
“Well,” he said, laughing as he sat on the bed beside me, “I thought Pickens was going to strangle that nephew. The boy is as nearsighted as anybody I’ve ever seen, and he hemmed and hawed over the pictures of Francie and Evelyn. He couldn’t make up his mind because they were both wearing turbans, and that was the only thing he definitely remembered. According to him, the woman who sold him the bracelet had what he called a funny kind of do-rag on her head.”
“My word,” I said. “Francie would have a fit at having her custom-made turban called a do-rag. But what about Etta Mae’s picture? Did he say anything about that?”
“Didn’t give it a second glance. Anyway, we went from there to the sheriff’s office, called Lieutenant Peavey and waited for him. That’s why we were so long. So Peavey went with us back to the pawnshop, and by that time the nephew had decided it was Evelyn. I don’t know how well he’ll hold up to give testimony, but it hardly matters. Once Peavey homes in on Evelyn, I think he’ll get the truth. He’ll want to talk to you and Lloyd, as well.”
“About time,” I murmured, then said, “So tell me what happened at church tonight. What did Pastor Ledbetter have to say about Dr. Fowler?”
Sam started laughing again. “I’ll tell you the truth: if you hadn’t already told me what really happened with Francie, I wouldn’t have heard about it tonight. Ledbetter went on and on, putting the best face on it he could, but what it came down to was Dr. Fowler had to withdraw for personal reasons. Which, I noted with interest, were never clearly defined. So the enrichment classes are canceled, and nobody seemed that upset about it.”
“But Sam,” I said, putting my hand on his arm, “are you upset?”
“Me? With football on Monday nights? I should say not.” He put his hand on mine. “Why? Were you planning to go?”
“Oh goodness, no. Our marriage is as enriched as it can get as far as I’m concerned. But Sam,” I said, almost choking on the emotion I was feeling, “if you don’t feel that way, we can find another counselor, one with some sense this time, or I’ll read a book, or I’ll even ask Francie to share some of her secrets, even though it would about kill me to do it. What I mean is, well, I’ll do anything to make you happy.”
Sam frowned and looked carefully at me. “What is this? I’m already a happy man. I don’t need, or want, anything else.”
“Well, but you wouldn’t have gone to those classes if you hadn’t felt something was missing, and, I declare, Sam, I don’t know how to stoke our embers any higher than they are, but if you’ll just tell me, I’ll try my best to do whatever it takes.”
“Honey, I told you. I only went because Ledbetter asked us to. I thought it’d be something you and I could laugh about, because there wouldn’t be a thing Dr. Fowler could teach us. I thought you’d enjoy the irony of an unmarried man who lives with his mother trying to teach new tricks to a couple of old hands like us.”
“Oh, Sam,” I said, trying not to cry but doing it anyway, “I couldn’t enjoy anything with that man around. I’ve spent all this time trying to stay out of his way, afraid he’d say something that would turn you against me. You don’t know what I’ve suffered, and I could just stay quiet and not tell you now because he’s leaving, but I have to. I can’t stand keeping it from you, so here it is.” I stopped, took a rasping breath and whispered, “Pastor Ledbetter caught Dr. Fowler and me in the bridal parlor, too.”
Sam stared at me for a minute, then he said, “You mean that time they were after the Springer estate? Sweetheart, I know all about that. Ledbetter told me in detail at the time.”
“He did?” I sat straight up in bed and glared at him. “You mean you’ve known all along? I can’t believe this. Then why did you think I’d want to be anywhere around Dr. Fowler? And,” I said, flopping back on the pillow, just so undone, “how could you marry me, knowing all that?”
“Why, sweetheart, that just made me more eager. I like a feisty woman, or haven’t you noticed?”
“It never made any difference to you?”
“Look, I knew what Ledbetter and Fowler were doing and what they were after. But I didn’t know that you were still troubled by it. I should’ve figured it out, though, and I’m sorry about that. All I knew was that if Fowler made a move toward you, I was going to cut him off at the knees.”
“Oh, Sam,” I said, trying to decide whether to laugh or to cry. “Maybe we need a class on communication skills, but then again,” I went on as he stretched out beside me, “maybe not.”
A while later, I said, “Sam?”
“Hmm?” He was a little out of breath.
“Hazel Marie thinks we should renew our vows.”
His head rose up off the pillow. “You mean they’ve expired? I thought we had a lifetime subscription.”
“Well, I do. I just want to be sure that you do, too.”
“How can you not be sure?” Sam said, smiling as he smoothed back the hair from my face. “Look at me. I’m the happiest man you’ll ever meet. Besides, we’ve gotten married twice already.”
“I know, but the first one didn’t take, so we can’t count that. Anyway, I just want you to know that I do love and honor you, and I promise to try to obey you, and I will do all three for the rest of my life. And if you ever begin to feel impoverished, like something’s missing and in need of anything at all, I promise to do whatever it takes to make your life as happy and as full as it can possibly be.” I put my hand on his neck and smiled up at him. “There now. I’ve renewed my vows. Are you feeling enriched?”
“More than you know,” he said with the sweetest smile.
Chapter 46
Not only did Evelyn own up to hitting Francie and taking her bracelet, she told Lieutenant Peavey she’d do it again if she had to. We got all the inside information from Mr. Pickens, who got it from the lieutenant and from what he called general cop talk.
According to what he heard, Evelyn had said, “If you had to live with that woman, you’d do worse than me. At least I didn’t kill her, though I thought about it many a time.” And all during her confession, she’d not expressed any remorse or even any concern as to what would happen to her. She was as calm and self-assured as she could be. In fact, Mr. Pickens said that all the deputies were just shaking their heads at how little the whole affair seemed to affect her.
At one point, when her court-appointed attorney told her how many years she could expect to be sentenced to serve, she’d said, “I’m tired of living with Francie anyway.”
She’s getting a psychological evaluation as we speak, and I just hope whoever’s doing it has better qualifications than Dr. Fred Fowler.
Francie, of course, was outraged when the truth came out, although she’d gotten a good idea of what the truth was from seeing that dented cookie sheet waved in front of her face. Arley Hopkins told us that Francie kept saying over and over to whoever at Mountain Villas would listen to her that Evelyn had bitten the hand that fed her. “I took her into my home, held her to my bosom, and she turned on me. Just turned on me. That’s gratitude for you, isn’t it? She didn’t have a nickel to her name, and I took her in because she was a relative, after all, and she attacked me in my own home, sent me to the hospital, and now she doesn’t even have the intestinal fortitude to face me and say she’s sorry. I hope they put her under the jail.”
We haven’t heard anything more about the Coral Gables police, but if I were Francie, I’d be careful about flinging the word jail around. Arley’s on the lookout, though, and she’ll let us know if some official cars from Florida show up.
But the next thing that Arley told us was that Francie had been keeping company with a certain gentleman at Mountain Villas who had suddenly gained a new lease on life. Arley said the residents out there are amazed because he’s dashing around in his scooter chair with a lecherous glint in his eyes. She said the women scatter like a flock of birds when they see him coming. And the word is
out that he’s buried three wives to Francie’s five husbands, so if they marry, an enterprising resident plans to take wagers on which one will bury the other. My money would go on Francie if I were a gambling woman.
But things might change, because I just got a call from LuAnne, who’d just talked with Arley, who told her that Dr. Fowler had been seen at Mountain Villas yesterday looking into reserving a place for his mother. And what’s more, he’d visited Francie and had stayed long enough to have lunch with her. And what’s even more, Francie had played bridge later that afternoon sporting a new bracelet that she made sure everybody noticed. “A friend gave it to me,” she’d said with a coy titter, “as an indication of his honorable intentions.”
Arley said that a certain gentleman in the scooter chair was noticeably toned down at dinner last night, not even trying to pinch the ladies or look up anybody’s dress. So Francie must’ve cut him off after realizing she’d had a better offer. But can you imagine her and Dr. Fowler married to each other—she for the sixth time and he for the first? It boggles the mind to think about it, and I could almost work up some sympathy for him—if I didn’t know him so well.
And wouldn’t you know, Francie’s not said one word to or about Etta Mae. And talk about no remorse, Francie goes on her merry way with no thought of the damage she did or the anguish that young woman suffered from being a suspect. But Etta Mae’s doing all right now; she’s even gone back to wearing Shania Twain by Stetson, and every time I get a whiff of it I think of collard greens. I can’t help it; the connection, if not the smell, is just there, that’s all. And one time, Etta Mae confided that she did the same thing, but she had to use it up because she couldn’t afford to throw out a perfectly good bottle of perfume. “But as soon as I use it up,” she’d said, “I’m going to try Jessica Simpson’s Dessert.” No telling what that’ll smell like.
As soon as the newspaper reported that Evelyn had been arrested, the owner of the Handy Home Helpers was on the phone begging Etta Mae to come back to work. I told Etta Mae she should show some reluctance to work for someone who was so quick to fire her, and she did, but not much. But that little bit gained her a salary increase that emboldened Etta Mae enough to negotiate a six-week leave of absence when Hazel Marie has those babies. So we can count on her being back in the house when we need her most, and that suits me fine. The more I think about it, the less eager I am to be up half the night changing and feeding infants. The Lord knew what he was doing when he gave children to the young.
And Hazel Marie, bless her heart, is enjoying these months, sitting around and getting bigger by the day. Oh, she walks, or rather waddles, every day, but I don’t know how long that’s going to last. From the looks of her, she’s going to need a crane to get up and down before long. But happy? That woman is happy. No, a better word is serene. I’ve never seen a woman so completely satisfied with being married. Of course, it took her long enough to get that way. Every time I look at her there’s a blissful smile on her face, and in spite of my doubts as to his qualifications as husband material, I have to give the credit to Mr. Pickens. He’s as caring and attentive a husband as anyone could ask for, although that hasn’t stopped him from taking off for days at a time to pursue his investigative career.
Nor has it stopped him from teasing me. Every once in a while, he’ll look sidewise at me, shake his head and say, “Dysosmia. Who would’ve thought it?” Or something like, “Baked any cookies today?” I think he’s just put out that Lloyd and I showed up both him and the sheriff’s department.
So it looks as if everything’s been solved, and we’ve settled down to await the advent of whatever Hazel Marie’s carrying. Lillian says that at least one of them is a boy because she’s carrying it low, but the way she’s filling out looks to me like she’s carrying both high and low. Maybe that means something. The doctor thinks we’ll have New Year’s babies, maybe even for Christmas because twins tend to come early. Lloyd says he figures it’ll be a holiday regardless of when they come, so it doesn’t matter to him. He’s been busy making a list of names for his mother to choose from—some of them make Mr. Pickens laugh and my eyes roll.
And Sam? Why, Sam’s a happy man, I’m finally convinced of it. I’d just projected my own insecurities onto him and let myself get in a swivet because of them. See, I know a little psychology, too. Because Sam was never in doubt as to the state of our marriage, he’s just gone right on being his own darling self, while I, well, I’m positive that Hazel Marie was right. Renewing our vows was all it took—even if I did most of the renewing and did it not at an altar but in our bed, which, come to think of it, may be the best place for any kind of renewing, enriching or stoking of embers.
So I’m sitting back and letting life roll on, smiling to myself on occasion at how well things worked out. Hazel Marie got married, Etta Mae got out from under suspicion, Evelyn got arrested and Francie got Dr. Fowler, which means that he’ll get what’s coming to him.
Sam is feeling fully and completely enriched these days, and justifiably so, because I’m seeing to it myself.