Aurora 04 - The Julius House (16 page)

“You never saw him?”

“Just said that, didn’t I?”

“Did you see other members of the family?”

“I’m about to tell you. You’re the one wanting to know all about it.”

“Sorry.”

“Charity’s boyfriend, Harley, came out to help if I needed him. And the mother-in-law, don’t remember her name, came out of the garage apartment and watched us for a spell. While we were pouring, Washington was in the form getting everything to flow right, and then we were both finishing it. I could see in the kitchen window. Hope was in there wearing an apron, fixing supper, looked like. She waved at me but didn’t come out to speak. I thought, She must be in a hurry. They must be going out later.”

“She was usually friendly?”

“Hope? Oh, yes, she was a friendly woman, meek. That cancer was really draining her, but that day she looked better and moved easier than she had in the month or two I’d known her.”

He’d seen every member of the Julius family but T.C.

“Was the light in the kitchen on?” I asked.

“No, I don’t think so. There was still plenty of light. I got there at four, and it was late October; it wasn’t real bright, come to think of it. But it was Hope I saw.”

“And there’s no way that after you left, bodies could have been put in the concrete.”

“I went out late the next day after I’d talked to the police. That concrete was exactly like me and Washington left it, and no one had touched it.”

Parnell said this with a finality that was absolutely believable. He leaned up in his chair to a squeal of springs, and said, “Now, I think that’s it, Roe.”

He got up to walk me to the door, so I slung my purse over my shoulder and obediently preceded him. I thought of one last question.

“Parnell, why did you think Mrs. Julius was going out later?”

“Well,” he said, and then stopped dead. “Now why did I?” he wondered, scratching the side of his nose with the papers he’d picked up again. His narrow face went blank as he rummaged through his memory. “Because of the wig,” he said, pleased at his ability to recall. “Hope was wearing her Sunday wig.”

* * *

I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.

It was unlocked. I could see across the right angle formed by the church and the parish hall, where the office was. Aubrey was seated at his desk. But I went in the church. It was warm and dusty. I sat at the back, let down a kneeler, and slid down on it.

I was hoping to bring order to chaos.

I’d promised Martin to stay with him, when we married. I loved him.

But he was—a Bad Guy. Or, at the very least, a Not-So-Good Guy.

I winced as I formulated the thought, but I couldn’t deny its truth.

If someone came to me—say, Aubrey—and told me, “I know a man who sells arms illegally to desperate people in Latin America,” what would I assume?

I would assume that this man was bad, because no matter what else was good in his life, it would not balance that piece of—evil.

This man who was doing that evil act was my husband, the man who had made alternate honeymoon plans so he’d be sure I was happy, the man who thought he was extremely lucky to marry me, the man who’d fought a horrible war in Vietnam, a man who loved and supported an ungrateful son.

I was convinced Martin was doing what he was doing not because he was intrinsically evil but because he was addicted to danger, adventure, and maybe because he thought he was serving his country. But what he was doing would poison our life together, no matter how much good that life contained. He was my sweetheart, he was my lover, he was an agricultural company executive, he was a veteran, he was an athlete, but I could not forget what else he did.

I cried for a while. I heard the door of the church open quietly. I felt someone standing in the narthex behind me: Aubrey. He must have noticed my car. But I didn’t turn around because I didn’t want him to see my face. After a while I felt his hand brush my hair in a caress and rest lightly on my shoulder. He gave me a pat, and I heard the door squeak shut behind him.

Peachtree Leisure Apartments. A different security guard, also black, less formidable and less good-natured. This man’s name was Roosevelt, which I was sure pleased Mrs. Totino. She was less pleased with me, however; her voice, which I could hear crackling over the lobby phone, was not enthusiastic. Perhaps she was regretting the purple and silver placemats.

“You been crying,” she said sharply, standing back from her door with none too gracious an air. Why the sudden coolness? I remembered she had a reputation for being disagreeable. Maybe she’d just reverted to character.

“I wanted to ask you something,” I said. “I’m sorry I didn’t call before I came.” Actually, that had been a stroke of luck, I now considered.

She wasn’t going to ask me to sit.

“What?” she said rudely.

“The day the concrete was poured for the patio .. .”

She nodded curtly, her thin bent figure outlined in the sun coming through the one window in the cramped and crowded living room.

“Can you think of any reason why your daughter would be wearing her Sunday wig?”

“Go!” she shrieked at me suddenly. “Go! Go! Go! You bought the house! That’s an end of it!

You can’t leave it alone, can you? We’ll never know! You know what one old fool here told me?

Told me they’d got eaten by Martians! I’ve listened to it for years. I just can’t stand it!”

Utterly taken aback and deeply embarrassed at having provoked such a ruckus—doors were opening up and down the hall—I stepped back and gave her the room she needed to slam the door in my face.

To cap off a perfect twenty-four hours, Martin telephoned from work to say his superior at the main office in Chicago had called an urgent meeting of all plant managers for as soon as everyone could get there. He’d come home to pack and I hadn’t been there, and no one had known where I was.

Whom had he asked? I wondered.

“So I’ll have to fly straight from Chicago to Guatemala,” he said.

I made a little noise of protest. I couldn’t reach any decision about my life with Martin, but I knew I would miss him and I hated for him to leave the country before we could resolve our problems.

“Roe,” he said in a more private, less brisk, voice. “I’m going to quit.”

Unfortunately, I started crying again.

“Promise,” I sobbed, like a nine-year-old.

“I promise,” he said. “This last trip is it. I’ll start disentangling myself while I’m down there.

There are people I have to talk to, arrangements I have to make. But it’s over for me.”

“Thank God,” I said.

I thought I’d wept more in my four-week marriage to Martin than I had in the previous four years.

THE NEXT DAY, I called Harley Dimmoch’s parents to find out where their son was now.

The name was not exactly common, and Columbia, South Carolina, is not that big. There were three Dimmochs; the second listing was the right one.

I told Harley Dimmoch’s mother that I had just bought the house the Julius family lived in.

“I’m interested in the history of the house. I was hoping he could tell me about the day before they disappeared.”

“He doesn’t like to talk about it. He was really sweet on the girl, you know.”

“Charity.”

“Yes. I hadn’t thought of that in a year or two, Harley is so different now.”

“Does he live in Columbia with you?”

“No, he lives close to the Gulf Coast now, working in a lumber yard. He’s got a girlfriend now, oh for several years he’s been seeing this young woman. He comes home to visit about once a year, to let us have a look at him.”

“And you say he doesn’t talk about Charity’s disappearance?”

“No, he’s real touchy about it. His dad and me, we always thought he felt kind of guilty. Like if he’d stayed instead of coming on home that night, he could have stopped whatever happened.”

“So he came home the day—”

“He came home very late the night before Mrs. Totino found they were gone. Oh, the police came over here and talked to him forever, we were afraid he’d lose his temper, which he’s a little prone to do, and say something that would make them think he’d done it. . .”

I liked this woman. She was loquacious.

“But he just seemed stunned, like. He hardly knew what he was doing. He told us a thousand times, ‘Mama, Daddy, I helped Mr. Julius with the roof and I watched that man pour the concrete for the patio and I ate supper, and I left.’”

“He never mentioned they were quarreling with each other, or strangers came to the door, or anything odd?” I was trolling, now.

“No, everything was just as usual, he kept on telling us that like we doubted him. And the police went over and over that old car of his, like to drove us crazy. He was just nuts about Charity. He has never been the same since that time.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, he just couldn’t settle down after that. He is older than—well, Charity was fifteen or sixteen, and Harley was eighteen when it happened. It’s hard to believe my baby is twenty-four now, almost twenty-five! We had hoped he’d stay with us, maybe think about going to a junior college, or something like that. He had just gotten laid off at his first job when he went over to see Charity that time. But after it happened, he just wanted to take off on his own, didn’t want to stay around here. And the shock of it. It’s like he don’t want more surprises, ever in his life again. He don’t like phone calls if he’s not expecting us to call. We call him on Sunday, or not at all. We don’t drive down to see him on the spur of the moment, so to speak, we tell him way in advance.”

I made an indeterminate sound that was meant to be encouraging.

“So I’d better not give you his number, Miss. Because he wouldn’t appreciate a phone call from out of the blue. But if you’ll give me your number, I’ll pass it on to him the next time we speak.”

I gave her my name and phone number, thanked her sincerely, and hung up.

I related this conversation to Angel as we sat on the front porch with lemonade two days later.

The house was measured all over and we’d knocked on walls for hollow places. We’d scanned the yard. Neecy Dawson, whom I wanted to ask about the sealed-up closet, had gone to Natchez to tour antebellum homes with a busload of other ladies. Bettina Anderson had left a message on my answering machine. I’d seen my mother and John off to a real estate brokers’ convention in Tucson, and the weather was swiftly getting hotter. There was never enough spring in Georgia.

Martin had called to say he’d arrived in Chicago, and Emily Kaye had called to ask me to join St. James’s Altar Guild. Both calls had made me anxious, though on different levels. Martin had sounded worried but determined; it was the worried part that frightened me. Would it be easy to extricate himself from this business? Emily, in her very nicest way, had quite refused to take no for an answer and had sweetly demanded I attend the Altar Guild meeting today to find out more about it.

“So what have you learned?” Angel was asking in her flat Florida voice.

“I have learned,” I began slowly, “that Mrs. Julius was wearing her Sunday wig on a weekday night. I have learned that Mrs. Totino doesn’t want to talk about the disappearance anymore. I have learned that there were no bodies under the concrete, and none could have been put there afterward. I have learned that Harley Dimmoch was a changed person after Charity Julius disappeared, but that at the time the police were satisfied with his story, because Mrs. Totino saw the Juliuses after he left—presumably.”

“So Mrs. Totino’s word is all you have that they were alive?”

“Yes,” I conceded. “But after all, she’s the mother of the woman who’s missing. She was part of the family. Her daughter had cancer.”

“Maybe you should talk to the sister. Mrs. Totino’s sister. The one in Metairie.”

“I don’t know what she could tell me. According to Mrs. Totino, the sister’s never been up here. Mrs. Totino is so in love with New Orleans she goes down there every now and then, she says, though somehow it sounded like the sister wasn’t exactly happy to have her.”

“Wonder why?”

“Well, she can certainly pitch a fit when she wants to, and evidently from what the security guard said the first day I visited, she has a reputation for being unpleasant.”

“If she’s such a bitch, how come the Juliuses wanted her around?”

“To help in the house, while Mrs. Julius was having her cancer treatments, I guess.”

“But wouldn’t that have made everything worse? I mean, you’ve got a sick woman, and a teenage girl mad because she had to move away from her boyfriend, and a husband trying to start his own business in a new town. Wouldn’t a woman like that be more trouble than she was worth? They could’ve hired a maid cheaper than building onto the garage.”

Put like that, it
was
mysterious. I would mull it over when I had the time. Right now I had to meet with the members of the Altar Guild, presumably to talk about altar topics, whatever that might include.

“I’ve got to go,” I said reluctantly. I moved to pick up the glasses.

“I’ll get them,” Angel said. “I’ll just put them in the kitchen and lock the back door on my way out.”

So we went inside together, since I needed my purse and keys. I was wearing what I hoped was a suitable tailored khaki skirt and a striped blouse with a bright yellow barrette to hold back my hair, and my soberest pair of glasses, the ones with the tortoiseshell rims. My purse was right inside, at the front door, so I was going down the front porch steps before Angel had even reached the kitchen. It was warm, but not that breathless glaring heat you get in a fullblown Georgia summer. I scuffled through the grass, thinking that buying a riding mower at Sears might be a good idea; the yard was so big.