Do Unto Others (16 page)

I nodded. “So I guess I’m not under suspicion any more. But I can’t believe that Eula Mae is some calculating plotter.”

“Having read her books, neither can I,” Old Man Renfro agreed with a tad of asperity.

“Yes, Eula Mae’s strong suit has always been characters,” I retorted. I didn’t feel picking on Eula Mae’s writing skills was helpful at this critical time.

“Her character hasn’t always been above reproach,” Old Man Renfro said, turning his own wordplay, “but I find it hard to believe Eula Mae would willingly hurt another person, much less a young woman she didn’t know.”

“What’ll happen to Eula Mae’s cats when she’s in jail?” Gaston wondered. “Maybe she’ll donate them to science.”

“Gaston, dear, I’ll take care of her cats, don’t you worry.” Candace patted his arm, looking a mite green.

“I only know what I read from Sayers, Christie, and Hammett.” Old Man Renfro tented his fingers across his face. “But if Eula Mae was going to kill someone, I don’t see her swinging a baseball bat or firing a gun.
I think a nice, quick poison would be her choice. Not to sound morbid, but I don’t think Eula Mae would want to see someone die at her feet. She would much rather spike their iced tea with something that would not act immediately, get out, and leave their final sufferings to her overactive imagination.”

I opened my mouth and shut it again before flies made it a home. He was absolutely right.

“What I don’t get is why Miz Harcher was even in the library when she got killed,” Gaston interjected, wiping his nose without benefit of facial tissue. “She didn’t even like this place.”

I quickly explained Junebug’s theory that Beta had intended to incinerate this den of evil. Old Man Renfro’s eyes hardened, and Gaston wheezed with dismay at the thought of all his unread Anne McCaffreys, Piers Anthonys, and André Nortons that would have gone up in smoke.

“I don’t understand that,” Candace put in. She ran a hand through her lovely, tawny hair and frowned. “Does that mean the killer was here to help her burn down the library?”

“Maybe that’s how the killer lured her here,” I said. “Offering to help her burn down the place she hadn’t been able to censor or close. That would’ve appealed to Beta.”

“And the person must’ve been someone she wasn’t afraid of,” Old Man Renfro added. “Someone it wouldn’t bother her to be alone with.”

“I don’t think she was afraid of anybody,” Candace said.

I thought of that list of names. “I think more folks were afraid of her than the other way around.” I pulled out my notes and flipped to the questions. “I wrote this up after she was killed.” My eyes flicked to Old Man
Renfro and Gaston. “There are things mentioned here that aren’t mentioned in the paper. Can I count on y’all’s discretion?”

Old Man Renfro nodded, and him I didn’t worry about. Gaston was another problem, though. Anything he knew about the case, he’d brag about to his classmates in a futile attempt to move up the high school food chain.

“Now, Gaston, don’t go blabbing about what we talk about here. If you do—and rest assured I will hear if your lips start flapping—I’m going to cut back on the science-fiction orders. No new David Brins or Greg Bears. Do you understand me?”

He nodded like a scared addict, afraid that his supply would be terminated. I could almost imagine Gaston stealing TVs so he could hit the used bookstores in Austin to keep the narcotics of his favorite literary pastime available.

I opened the notebook and went down the list of questions. I still don’t know why Beta had made that list of names and Bible verses, but I suspected it had to do with blackmail. She knew Eula Mae had faked her first book, and Eula Mae’s quote talked about an enemy writing a book. Some of the other quotes—such as Tamma’s and Bob Don’s—also hinted at secrets preferably kept. I realized though, I still didn’t have answers to most of my questions. I still didn’t know why Beta was dressed in black (unless it was supposed to be in vogue for nighttime book burnings), why her shoes were caked with mud, and why the killer used the bat in my office. I did know why she was at the library now, but her having a key still bothered me. If Eula Mae had met her at the library to kill her, Beta wouldn’t have needed a key; Eula Mae had one. So why swipe Adam Hufnagel’s key, the one found on her person? I
only had the Hufnagels’ word that Beta had taken the key; could they have given it to her, knowing she might burn down the library? Did they still hold a grudge for having lost the censorship fight?

Old Man Renfro looked through my notes, humming. Gaston leaned over his shoulder and I fished out a tissue for him, just to protect Old Man Renfro’s jacket. Allergies are tough here in the spring.

“I hope at the end of our lives, there are no questions,” Old Man Renfro said softly. “I used to think I knew who Beta Harcher was, but I didn’t.”

“Who did you think she was?” Candace asked.

“I’d heard she wasn’t always the paragon of religious virtue she pretended to be,” I added.

Old Man Renfro leaned back. “She was a very pretty young woman. I remember she used to come into the post office when she was young, back in the Fifties; she had a pen pal in Europe. I remember that because those were the only letters I ever remember mailing to Norway. She always seemed to be in a sweet, good mood.”

“Sourness crept in somewhere,” I interrupted. “That Norwegian pen pal send her some pickled herring that stuck in her mouth?”

Old Man Renfro shook his head. “I don’t like to repeat old gossip, especially if there’s no way to prove it. But I guess when you die by violence, you lose all privacy. Your life’s not the only thing your murderer steals from you.” His dark eyes met mine. “There was a rumor, long ago, that she got her religion on a trip to Mexico.”

“Mexico?” Candace said. “She wasn’t Catholic.”

“No, she didn’t get any particular faith,” Old Man Renfro agreed. “But back then, young ladies could get … problems taken care of over the border they couldn’t always get taken care of here.”

Gaston appeared utterly lost, but I swallowed. “You mean she’d gotten in trouble? An abortion?”

Old Man Renfro nodded. “That was just the rumor that swept through town, but I don’t think anyone really believed it. My sister told me she’d heard it from a lady who cooked for one of the Harchers’ neighbors. Of course, Beta started going to church on pretty much a twenty-four-hour basis and I guess that rumor died, like most do.”

I shook my head. “I’m not going to go chasing thirty-year-old shadows on rumor.”

Gaston scanned the list again. “Her shoes were real muddy?”

“Caked with it,” Candace answered.

“Maybe her car broke down again,” Gaston offered helpfully.

“What d’you mean?” I asked. “You working for Triple A now?”

Gaston sniffed. “Naw, I just saw her car last week, out on the dirt road that goes out to the east side of Bavary. Late last Wednesday night I was coming back from my D and D game—”

“D and D?” Old Man Renfro asked, sounding as though he thought Gaston was engaging in kinky hobbies with Bavary housewives.

“Dungeons and Dragons,” Gaston explained with a sigh. “It’s this really cool game where you pretend to be a fantasy character and you have adventures—”

“Thank you, Gaston, but you said you saw her car?” I wasn’t in the mood to hear about Gaston’s latest escapades as a slayer of dragons and saver of virgins.

“Oh, well, yeah. See, I wasn’t really concentrating on the road because I was mad I hadn’t killed the Black Druid with my enchanted broadsword when I could’ve
and I was wondering if I’d have a second chance next week—”

“Gaston,” I interrupted again. “I’m sure Tolkien fans will be in a mad dash to buy your adventure when you get it all written down, but where did you see Beta’s car late at night?”

He looked hurt behind those thick lenses and I felt bad. I squeezed his bony shoulder. “Sorry,” I said, “I’m just a little jumpy.”

“As I was saying,” Gaston began with great dignity, “I was concentrating on my poor strategy in the game. I nearly ran her car down. She was barely parked on the shoulder. I knew it was her car ’cause it had all those Jesus bumper stickers on it.”

I nodded. Beta had driven an old Ford Tempo with enough religious bumper stickers on it to look like a scout car for a Billy Graham revival.

“Anyhow, I stopped, because I thought her car must’ve broken down and it was awful late—around eleven. I got out, but she wasn’t in the car. I called out her name, but there wasn’t any answer. I figured someone else had picked her up and she hadn’t come back for the car yet.”

“Where on the road was this?” I asked.

“Not too far out of town,” he shrugged. “Maybe a couple of miles, no more. Near the Blalock farm.”

“Isn’t that interesting?” I said to Candace.

“I was sort of glad she’d gotten picked up,” Gaston continued. “She didn’t like me.”

“Well, Gaston, you did speak out very eloquently against censorship when she tried to—” I started, but Gaston shook his head. Fortunately no grease flew off.

“No, that’s not it. I go to the Baptist church. She heard about the kind of books I like to read and the role-playing games I like to play. I tried to get some of
the other youth-group kids interested in playing one that doesn’t even involve swords and sorcery on a retreat, and she chewed me out good!” Gaston said, the picture of wounded innocence. “She said they were Satanic and evil. Of course she didn’t know that Bobby Jay Tumpfer and Lila Duke were sneaking into each other’s rooms during that whole trip. And all I wanted to do was play a game!”

“Hey, Gaston, was this the trip to Lake Travis that Beta chaperoned?” I asked.

“Yeah, she and Mrs. Hufnagel went with us. It rained, so there wasn’t much to do ’cept listen to Miz Harcher preach at us.”

“Sounds like she was warming up for her church with y’all,” I muttered. “Anything else happen on that trip?”

Gaston thought. “No, we were all just trying to figure out when Bobby Jay and Lila were going to get caught and what old Beta would do if she caught ’em. And nobody really picked on me too much during that trip.” It seemed a fond memory for him, and he paused. “Oh, well, that was the trip that Hally’s daddy’s camcorder got stolen.”

“A camcorder?” I asked.

“Yeah, one his dad loaned him for the trip. He left his room unlocked or something and somebody took off with it. There were a couple of other youth groups there, too, so I suppose someone from one of them took it. It never did turn up and Hally was awful upset.”

A missing camcorder. Beta had checked out a book on using camcorders. Had she swiped it and not gotten the instruction manual at the same time?

The phone jangled, interrupting my thoughts. Candace scooped it up. “Mirabeau library, Candace speaking,” she said. Her eyes frosted lightly. “Why, yes, Ruth, he is. One moment.” She handed me the phone.
“Your little friend in white. Although why she’s allowed to wear that color I don’t know.”

Old Man Renfro and Gaston stared at this unusual ferocity from Candace. She smiled sweetly at them.

“Hello, Ruth?” I said.

“Jordy, hi. Listen, I only have a minute. I understand from Junebug that you found Shannon Harcher today.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you might want to know her condition.”

“I tried earlier, but they wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“She’s in a coma,” Ruth said, her voice lowering. “She’s got a depressed skull fracture. There’s been a lot of bleeding around the brain. She’s going to need surgery.”

“My God! Do you think she has a chance?” I thought of telling Mark that she didn’t and dreaded it.

“Yes, I do,” Ruth said. “The bullet didn’t actually penetrate Shannon’s brain. It hit and deflected at a fairly thick part of her skull. Her face is going to need some fixing later, but if they can relieve the pressure around the brain, I’d say her chances are good. She’s young and strong. They’re getting in a specialist from Austin tonight.”

“Oh, God, I hope she makes it,” I breathed. “Thanks for calling and letting me know.”

“I knew you’d be worried about her,” Ruth said, her voice sweetening. “And I have a selfish reason for calling, too. I hoped you might be able to come by the hospital now. I have a matter I’d like to discuss with you.”

“I don’t know, Ruth. We just reopened the library and I’m pretty backlogged.”

“I’m sure Candace can handle that. She seems extraordinarily capable of taking care of all those mundane, boring details,” Ruth said. “Please, Jordy, it’s
important. I’ll expect you here in about fifteen minutes. Meet me in the front lobby.”

I hesitated, then decided to take her up on her offer. “Okay, fine. I’ll be there. Goodbye.” I replaced the phone receiver in its cradle. I looked at the trio before me. “Shannon Harcher’s in a coma right now, but they think she has a chance. She’s undergoing brain surgery.” That last part seemed a good segue, so I added: “They need me to come down to the hospital.”

Candace’s eyebrows arched. “They do, do they? Are they looking for a brain donor?”

“Yes, I mean, no,” I muttered. “Look, Candace, can you keep this place open just another hour or so? I really do need to go down to the hospital and see how Shannon’s doing.”

“Sure, why not?” she said. “It’s not like I had any other pressing engagements this evening.”

I thanked her, and thanked Gaston and Old Man Renfro for their help. Picking up my notebook on Beta, I dashed into the late afternoon sunlight.

  I hate the smell of hospitals. I tried to ignore the heady mix of antiseptic, bland food, and general illness that pervades that mecca of modern medicine, Mirabeau Memorial. Ruth met me in the front lobby, holding a Baby Ruth candy bar that she said was her snack for a quick break. She munched on it as we walked through the hallways.

“Junebug has Shannon Harcher under police guard,” she told me. “Whoever hurt her isn’t going to get another try.”

“You know they’ve made an arrest?” I asked.

She shook her head. I told her about Eula Mae.

For a moment, there was complete shock on Ruth’s finely featured face. She blinked and the surprise
dropped away like flaky makeup. “I suppose they must have had good reason for that. Yes, I can see Eula Mae killing someone.”