by Ann B. Ross
I nodded, noticing again how thin she was. “Well, I was hoping that you could get off that medication, but you can’t afford to be doing much more throwing up. You’re down to skin and bones as it is. Why don’t you take one of your pills and lie real still for a while? Take a nap, why don’t you? You had such a nice lunch, and you need to keep it down.”
“I guess I better,” she said, reaching for the prescription bottle. “I don’t want to get so that I can’t even keep a pill down.”
“No, we’d be taking you back to the hospital for injections if you do that. Go ahead and take it, then lie down flat and try to sleep. I expect you’ll feel better when you wake up.” Just about the time Mr. Pickens would be coming for dinner, I thought, as I checked the time again. “I’ll keep everything quiet for you.”
She swallowed the pill with a sip of water, looked uneasy for a minute, then she lay back down. “I’m really getting tired of this,” she said. “I want to be up and doing, and making plans, anything besides lying here wondering how fast I can get to the bathroom.”
I smiled at her and straightened the covers. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been this sick when she was expecting Lloyd, but I didn’t ask. If I knew that, I might have some idea of how long she’d have to put up with it this time, and also how long I had to get her married. But the fact that it had been my husband who’d put her in that situation kept me quiet. For me to ask something like that would certainly put her under great emotional stress, so I kept my thoughts to myself. We didn’t often discuss Wesley Lloyd Springer, anyway.
As the afternoon wore on, I became increasingly anxious about seeing Mr. Pickens, knowing now what I hadn’t known the last time I’d seen him. My goodness, since that time the man had started something he couldn’t stop and broken up with Hazel Marie and put his house up for sale and moved away, and I wasn’t supposed to know any of it. Of course, he didn’t know some of it, either, but my problem was how to sit at the table with him, talk with him and entertain him, all without sailing into him about how irresponsible he was being. Lord, I didn’t know how I’d do it.
“Lillian,” I said, pushing through into the kitchen, “how’s dinner coming along? Can I help? Is Lloyd home yet? He ought to be here by now.”
“Dinner comin’ ’long fine, an’ no, I don’t need no help an’ no, Lloyd called, sayin’ he stoppin’ off at Mr. Sam’s ’fore he come home.”
“I knew it! That means he’ll know Mr. Pickens is here and he’ll come running in to tell his mother.”
“Well, she gonna know sometime,” Lillian said, as she stood at the sink, peeling little new potatoes to put around the roast. “I don’t know how you ’spect to keep it a secret anyhow.”
“I can’t, I know that. But I can put it off as long as possible. I’m just afraid if she hears he’s coming, she’ll get all upset and leave before he gets here. And she’s in no condition to be doing that. But, Lillian,” I went on, “don’t you think that all it’ll take is for them to see each other, and they’ll work something out?”
“Yessum, I do. I jus’ don’t know what that workin’ out gonna be.”
“Well, me either, but this is the best I can do. Oh, here’s Lloyd now.” I opened the back door and patted his back as he walked in. I couldn’t help but touch him whenever I could.
Sliding his tennis racket bag off his shoulders, he immediately went to the counter for the snack that Lillian had put out for him. He pushed up his glasses and said, “I think I’ll take this up to Mama’s room and eat it there. I can’t wait to tell her that Mr. Sam’s hired J.D. to investigate and he’s already on the case. Did you know he was coming, Miss Julia?”
“Well, ah, Sam mentioned the possibility, I think.”
“I bet Mama doesn’t know. I’m gonna run tell her.”
“Wait, Lloyd, don’t go up yet. She had a sickly spell a while ago and took some medicine. You know how that flu just lingers on. She’s sound asleep now, so let’s not wake her. She needs the rest. Have your snack down here, and maybe find something to do down here, too.”
“Oh, okay,” he said and quickly downed a glass of milk and a few graham crackers with peanut butter. “I can read a little in the living room, but I’ll bet she’ll be surprised J.D.’s here because she thinks he’s on a case out of town somewhere.”
“Is that right?” I mumbled, watching as he put his racket in a corner and left the kitchen. Turning to Lillian, I said, “I don’t know how long I can keep this up.”
Lillian turned to stare at me, her eyes glinting. “Is Miss Hazel Marie really sleepin’ like you say?”
“Why, she certainly is. I saw her take the medicine, and you know she always sleeps a few hours when she does.”
“Uh-huh, an’ who tole her to take it? She s’posed to be gettin’ off that stuff.”
“Now, Lillian, the doctor wouldn’t’ve given it to her if he didn’t mean for her to take it. Besides, this is the first time she’s needed it in days. And which is better, taking one little pill or throwing up all afternoon?”
“You jus’ want her sleepin’ so she won’t know Mr. Pickens comin’. You ought to know better’n to dose that little woman up like that.”
“Well, I don’t. I’d rather have her asleep than getting all upset, anticipating his coming. I want him already in the house by the time she knows it, so I’m just thinking of her well-being.”
“Uh-huh,” Lillian grumbled. “An’ lightnin’ gonna strike you one of these days, so you better get that table set ’fore it do.”
Chapter 17
There were times when I could view Mr. Pickens in a friendly, objective way and acknowledge the fact that he was a nice-looking man by anybody’s standards—frisky, yes, but quite nice looking. He was handsome in what I think is called a Black Irish way—dark hair and eyes with a medium complexion. But handsome is as handsome does, and he didn’t always stack up so well in that category.
There were other times, though, when I couldn’t help but view him in a more personal way and it was a different story then. Oh, I still saw his good looks, all right, but added to that I’d find myself experiencing a strange and unlikely response to those black eyes and teasing charm that would take my breath away, and I was old enough to be his mother. Almost old enough.
No wonder Hazel Marie had fallen under his spell. She hadn’t been the first to do so, as I’ve mentioned before. Against my better judgment but out of dire necessity, I’d hired him almost sight unseen to find Hazel Marie when she’d gotten herself abducted by a bunch of racing hoodlums. I should’ve known there was trouble ahead when Mr. Pickens took one look at her picture, then demanded a retainer fee that he foolishly thought would commit me to giving him free rein. But he found her with help from yours truly, which he stubbornly refused to acknowledge, and from the moment they laid eyes on each other the sparks began to fly. Hazel Marie looked on him as her hero, as I’ll admit he was to a certain extent, and he seemed to adore her. Love was in the air, as they say, except it had never led anywhere. Mr. Pickens remained as skittish as ever about settling down, content to have his cake and eat it, too.
So here he came with Sam just as Lillian took the roast out of the oven, and the kitchen came alive with just his presence. He was so full of himself, you know. Lillian couldn’t stop grinning and plying him with questions and little appetizers, and Lloyd flew in to be part of the welcoming committee. One of the most attractive aspects of Mr. Pickens, in my opinion and in addition to the more obvious ones, was his affection for that boy. I could somewhat overlook his aversion to marriage because he’d become a father to Lloyd even though he refused to become a husband to the boy’s mother. So far, that is, because the final word on that subject had yet to be said.
I might as well admit that I’d been somewhat standoffish with Mr. Pickens when I first met him. He’d been too arrogant and too self-confident to suit my taste and much too taken with Hazel Marie to let me rest easy. The last thing she needed, then and now, was another
man in no mind to marry her.
And didn’t that prove prophetic? If she’d listened to me then, we wouldn’t be in our present situation, would we?
But as time went on, I’d gradually changed my thinking about him. He was faithful to Hazel Marie, and good, even sweet to her, which goes to show that first appearances can be deceptive. But all that goodness and sweetness and handsomeness—he could make any woman’s heart flutter—couldn’t make up for his stubborn determination to remain single. Even if it’d taken him three previous forays into marriage to build up that determination. It just seemed to me that one more marriage shouldn’t be that big of a deal to someone who’d been in and out of so many before. Especially when so much was at stake with this one.
So as I watched him shake Lloyd’s hand, then draw him close in a hug, I could’ve smacked him to kingdom come just to bring him to his senses. It broke my heart to see how Lloyd loved him and, to give credit where it’s due, how Mr. Pickens returned that love. Even though Mr. Pickens had never had children, as far as any of us knew, he was a father to that boy, teaching him by example—in spite of his rough-as-a-cob exterior—what it meant to be a kind and decent man.
And now, he was just going to let all that slip away? And Hazel Marie was bound and determined to throw him over? It beat all I’d ever heard, and I wasn’t going to stand for it even if I had to lie, cheat, or steal to change their minds.
“And how are you, Miss Julia?” Mr. Pickens said, taking my hand with one of his and putting the other one around my shoulder. “You just get prettier every time I see you.”
Now, see? That’s the way he was, always carrying on so that you couldn’t believe a word he said. Everybody knows that women of a certain age don’t get prettier. They might get more handsome, but not prettier. But that didn’t change the state of my knees when he smiled down at me, black eyes sparkling, and I’d take prettier from him over more handsome any day of the week.
I didn’t have to answer him because Lloyd was chattering on, telling Mr. Pickens that he was helping with the beginners’ tennis lessons. “I have to be at the courts practically all day, J.D.” he said. “My clinic’s in the morning, then I help with the little kids in the afternoon.” From there, he jumped to telling how Sam’s house had been ransacked, how the deputies had swarmed around and how he’d never seen the like.
And all the while, Lillian stood there glowing just from being in Mr. Pickens’s presence.
“Y’all better get on to the table,” she finally said, shooing us out of her way. “I’m about to bring it in.”
As Lloyd took Mr. Pickens’s hand and led him toward the dining room, I sidled over to Sam and took his hand. My feelings about Mr. Pickens were an aberration and no more than a temporary distraction from my darling Sam. “How’s it going?” I whispered.
“You mean . . . ?” he said, his eyes drifting to the ceiling beyond which Hazel Marie lay in bed.
“Yes. Has he said anything?”
Sam shook his head. “Not a word, but did you notice how he kept looking at the door? Like he thought she’d come walking in?”
Well, no, I hadn’t. Too taken up with my own emotions, I guessed. But it warmed my heart to hear that he was watching for her, even if he couldn’t bring himself to ask about her.
I did notice, though, when we got into the dining room that he frowned at only four places set on the table. His head swiveled toward the living room as if he expected her to come from there. Smoothly recovering, though, he took the place I indicated without asking one question as to her whereabouts. Of course, he didn’t have much chance to question anything, for Lloyd talked on and on—except for a brief respite as Sam returned thanks. Lillian began setting one bowl or platter after another before Sam, and Sam began helping the plates and passing them around.
Lillian remained standing between Mr. Pickens and Sam, clasping her hands in front of her, while accepting all the compliments on the food.
Then before I knew it, and just as Mr. Pickens put a huge piece of roast beef in his mouth, she came right out and said, “Mr. Pickens, I guess you wondrin’ ’bout Miss Hazel Marie. But she right upstairs in the bed where she been ever since she got out of the hospital.”
Mr. Pickens’s eyes got big as he took a startled breath. Then he began coughing and choking on that meat, trying to speak and chew and swallow at the same time. Hacking and choking, he shoved his chair back from the table and finally got control of himself, but not before Lillian thumped him hard on the back.
“In the hospital?” he finally managed to get out, his face red and his voice strangled. “What for? Is she all right?”
“Oh,” Lloyd said, blithely, “she’s fine now. She just had a bug from Asia and has to rest up from it.”
Lord, the child had believed me! Well, what else did I expect? Lloyd wasn’t accustomed to being lied to, but I’d done it to downplay Hazel Marie’s condition so he wouldn’t worry. And now my chickens were coming home to roost.
“Have a piece of bread, Mr. Pickens,” I said, as he cleared his throat again. “Or drink some water. That’ll help it go down.”
He pulled his chair back to the table and picked up his fork. “Sorry, Miss Julia. Just swallowed wrong.”
“It happens to the best of us,” I assured him. “I hope you’re all right.”
“I’m fine,” he said, and eyed the tiny bit of broccoli casserole on his fork before putting it in his mouth. “I’m sorry to hear that Hazel Marie’s been sick. But she’s getting better?”
I glanced at Sam, then at Lillian, wondering if this was the time to tell him. But, no, I couldn’t, not with Lloyd there and him not knowing what so far his mother hadn’t seen fit to tell him. “We think she is,” I finally said. “It’ll be a long, drawn-out recuperation period, though—a few months, the doctor said. She’s lost a lot of weight, too, but we expect her to put a good deal back on real soon. Why, you might not even recognize her by springtime, but then she’ll level back to her normal size.”
Lillian’s eyes rolled back in her head—and after she’d started it—and Sam was giving me a quizzical look as Lloyd continued to eat like he hadn’t had a bite all day. Mr. Pickens just sat there like a stump, frowning at another piece of roast beef, while I wondered just how dense the man could be.
By the time Lillian served dessert, Lloyd had steered the conversation back to the trouble at Sam’s house. “J.D., how’re you going to find out who went into Mr. Sam’s house and messed everything up? I thought you’d be out tracking ’em down.”
Mr. Pickens perked up at that, making me aware that he’d been somewhat subdued ever since being notified of Hazel Marie’s illness. But his work was something he could get into without letting little things like a sick ex-girlfriend distress him. So off he took, explaining to the boy how he’d had Sam make a list of all the people whose cases were in the stolen files. Then they’d sorted out who’d been the attorneys, prosecutors, defendants, witnesses, and so on in each case.
“See, Lloyd,” Mr. Pickens went on, as I listened intently. “It’s better to do your homework first, find out just who is who by putting them in categories so you can see how and where they intersect. I use index cards to separate them. Then maybe you can see some patterns in the relationships among the names on the cards. Understand?”
Lloyd nodded, a frown on his forehead. “It sounds like what Miss Carleton tells us to do before we write an essay. Even to the index cards.”
“That’s about it,” Mr. Pickens said, laughing and stretching an arm across the back of Lloyd’s chair. “But don’t worry, we’ll be doing some footwork, too, soon enough. We just need to see where to start and in what direction to go.”
That seemed a sound method to me, so I nodded and suggested we adjourn to the living room. Mr. Pickens, though, said he wanted another look at those lists and thought he’d go on back to Sam’s house. Disappointed, but pleased for Sam’s sake that he was taking the problem so seriously, I could do nothing but wish him a
good night.
As we closed the door behind him, I turned to Sam and said, out of Lloyd’s hearing, “We’ve got our work cut out for us, don’t we?”
Chapter 18
“Miss Julia?” Lloyd called from midway up the stairs. “Can you come up? Mama wants you.”
“I guess I’m in for it now,” I said to Sam, then responded to Lloyd. “Tell her I’ll be right there.”
Detouring to the kitchen where Lillian was stacking dishes in the dishwasher, I said, “Lillian, Hazel Marie’s awake and asking for me. Would you fix her a tray and bring it on up? I think I’m going to need a distraction or some help or something.”
“That’s what I was about to do,” she said, closing the dishwasher door, “since she fin’lly wake up after bein’ dosed up like somebody did to her.”
I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, so I thanked her and turned to go face the music.
“Miss Julia?” Lillian said, stopping me. “I don’t know what to think ’bout that Mr. Pickens. I ’spected him to jump outta that chair an’ go runnin’ upstairs to see her. But all he done was set there an’ nearly choke to death.”
“I know, Lillian, and it worries me, too. He seemed no more concerned than any normal acquaintance would’ve been. I can’t imagine what’s going through that head of his. Or hers, either.” I sighed, then started out again. “Well, we’ve done all we can do for the time being, but now I’ve got to go explain myself to Hazel Marie. Wish me luck.”
I found Hazel Marie pacing the floor of her all-pink bedroom, her arms wrapped around herself and her pink robe billowing out behind her.
“Miss Julia,” she said, stopping to face me as I came through the door. “What is J.D. doing here? I woke up and heard him talking and thought I was dreaming. Or having a nightmare.” She was trembling so that her silk robe shimmered in the lamplight.
“Wait, Hazel Marie,” I said, closing the door behind me. “Lloyd’s across the hall, watching television. He doesn’t need to hear this. Now,” I went on, going over to her, “let’s sit down and I’ll tell you what’s going on.”