Miss Julia Delivers the Goods (10 page)

Sam nodded. “You may be right. Well, tell her I asked about her, but that Coleman needs me at the house.”

 

 

 

 

While we were eating lunch, Coleman called to tell Sam that they were through with their clue-searching business and that he should get started on a list of anything missing. After running up to tell Hazel Marie that we’d be at Sam’s house for the afternoon and ask if she needed anything, I asked Lillian to stay with her. Lloyd was torn between staying with his mother and accompanying us to the burglarized house. He ended up going with us, since investigating a burglary was more exciting than watching Hazel Marie take a nap. He felt bad about it, though, and ran back several times during the afternoon to look in on her.

To say that the sight of Sam’s elegant home so torn up was disheartening is an understatement. I could’ve cried as I surveyed what had been done to it. As we waded into the shambles and began to set chairs upright and replace cushions, it looked more and more as if the perpetrators had destroyed just for the unhealthy thrill of it. Cushions and mattresses had been sliced open and the foam pulled out. A layer of down feathers was all over the living room, causing James to sneeze his head off. When I couldn’t stand the eruptions any longer, I sent him back to the kitchen and told him to stay there.

I was purely sickened by the senseless damage, realizing that we’d have to have almost everything reupholstered. But other than that, the only real destruction was a couple of smashed television sets and a French porcelain lamp that lay in shattered pieces in the front hall. I did tear up a little when I saw it, for I’d kept meaning to take that lamp home with me and had never gotten around to it.

Finally, after we’d made some headway in the straightening process, Lloyd and Sam began to pick up the books and papers that were scattered all along the hall and especially in Sam’s study where the worst of the destruction had taken place. His desk drawers had been pulled out and the contents dumped, books thrown off the shelves, and his computer kicked in with wires left dangling.

I walked up behind Sam as he stood with slumped shoulders, gazing at the ruined computer. I put my arms around him and laid my head against his back. I knew he was looking at the loss of all he’d worked on for so long.

“I’m so sorry, Sam,” I said. “This is just awful. Who could’ve done such a thing?”

He put his hands on my arms where they wrapped around him. “I don’t know, Julia. At this point, I can’t even guess who or why.”

“But all your work, Sam! Years of research and writing and putting things together—it’s all gone. But, listen,” I said, turning him to face me as I struggled to reassure him, “you can do it all again. You’ve got all that information in your head, and that’s a better computer than anybody can make. Please don’t be discouraged, and don’t let this deter you. I know you hate to have to start from scratch, but you can do it.”

“Well,” he said, looking somewhat pleased with himself, “hardly from scratch.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny black tube. “See this? It’s a flash drive and it has every word that was on the computer in it.”

“Everything? In that little thing? Oh, Sam, if that’s true, you are the most foresighted man I’ve ever known.”

“Oh, I doubt that. It’s common practice to back up your work with one of these things. But,” he went on, glancing around at the paper- and book-strewn room, “there’s all this to deal with. My reference notes, my sources, and most of all the copies I made of public documents—most of that wasn’t on the computer to begin with. I’ve got to get them in order, or I’ll be going back and redoing a couple of years worth of work.”

It was going to be a job, for papers—yellow pages torn from legal pads, smudged photocopied sheets, and torn scraps with notes jotted down—practically covered the floor of the study and the front hall. Some pages had been wadded up and thrown aside, while others had been ripped in two and strewn around. It was plain to see that many had been stepped on, but who knew if they were our footprints or those of the deputies or of the villians, themselves? It was purely a shame because Sam was such a neat and orderly soul who took pleasure in knowing exactly where everything was.

“Let’s get to it then,” I said, bending down to scoop up an armful of papers. “You sit down, Sam, and Lloyd and I’ll do the picking up and bring it all to you. You can begin arranging the pages into some kind of order since we can’t help you with that.”

“Okay,” he said with a heavy sigh. “That’s probably the best way to tackle it. Thank you, Julia, but don’t overdo it. When you get tired, just say so and we’ll stop.”

But how could I ever get tired of helping this wonderful man? I was happy to be able to do something for him, although I admit that by the time we crawled into bed that night my back was aching from all the bending over and lifting I’d done throughout the afternoon.

But we had made a dent in the mess, although it would be some time before Sam’s house was back in its original condition. To my mind, though, the break-in was merely a distraction from the real problem, which was Hazel Marie upstairs, growing by the minute, and Mr. Pickens going blithely on his way with no conception of what he’d left behind.

 

 

 

“Sam?” I said, sighing as I put aside the Sunday edition of the
Abbotsville Times
where Maureen Dowd’s column ran about once a month. I looked forward to reading it because the woman couldn’t find a kind word to say about anybody in politics. Even though her column brought forth a spate of complaints to the editor about rampant liberalism, I enjoyed her waspish comments as long as she aimed at somebody I didn’t like. Otherwise, I could take her or leave her. This Sunday afternoon, I left her and turned my attention to the vexatious matter of Hazel Marie.

“Hm-m?” Sam answered, his mind on the front page articles. He had been at his house all morning trying to make greater inroads on the disorder. He’d bypassed both Sunday school and church, since his ox was truly in the ditch in spite of Pastor Ledbetter’s frown at my explanation of his absence.

“I’ve been thinking.”

Sam lowered the paper. “Uh-oh.”

“No, now, listen. I’m thinking that when you locate Mr. Pickens, you shouldn’t even mention Hazel Marie and certainly not her condition. Just make it purely business. And by the way, what have you done about finding him? We don’t have all the time in the world, you know. That baby’ll be here before we know it.”

“I’m on it, Julia. I called the phone number Lillian got this morning, thinking it was a good time to catch him in. Nobody answered and there’s no answering machine.”

“I suppose it’s too much to hope that he was in church somewhere.”

“I expect so,” Sam said, smiling. “But I was able to find out that it’s a residential number, so I got an address. Sounds like an apartment of some kind, which makes sense if he’s just moved. The next thing I’m going to do is what you suggested and contact his real estate agent. He does have his house on the market, which I’ll admit surprises me. So it looks as if they really have broken up.” Sam shook his head in disbelief. “It’s hard to take in, him just giving up and moving off without a word to any of us.”

“He’s hurting, Sam, that’s why. He thinks if he can get far enough away, he can deal with it better. But,” I said with a knowing nod, “Charlotte’s hardly far enough, in my opinion. But, Sam, here’s the thing. When you do talk to him, don’t tell him why we want him back here. We don’t know what’s gone on between those two, and he might think she’s really through with him. Or, who knows, he might have his back up so much that he’s through with her. He could turn you down flat.”

“I don’t think so, Julia. Pickens’ll do the right thing. All he needs is to know that the right thing is called for.”

“Maybe so, but I don’t want to risk it. He’s just as liable to run amok as not. So I think you should leave Hazel Marie out of the conversation entirely. Just tell him that you need him to look into the break-in at your house. Hire him, Sam. Sign a contract or whatever you do when you put a private investigator to work. He won’t turn you down, he thinks too much of you. And,” I went on, getting into my story, “even if nothing’s missing at your house, make up something that you need him to look for. Anything will do, just so there’s some urgency about finding it and, of course, finding out who did the breaking and entering. Offer a reward if you have to. I just think that if you put it to him that this is a purely business proposition, he’s more likely to respond. And once he’s here, why, then we’ll just see what happens. But you have to impress on him that you need him right away. Time is of the essence, you know.”

Sam stared off into the distance, which ended at the opposite wall of the living room, until I had to give him a little nudge with my elbow. “Sam?”

“I’m thinking, Julia,” he said, “and, as it happens, I don’t have to make up something. It’s looking more and more like a few things are missing.” He sighed and brushed his hand over his thick white hair that so distinguished him. “Of course, I haven’t completely brought order out of all the chaos, but there were some papers that I was specifically looking for. And, so far, I haven’t found them.”

“Oh, surely you will, though. I don’t know how you could find anything in all that mess, but we stayed at it long enough last night.” It had been close to midnight the evening before when we’d gotten home from his house, having left everything but his papers in a semblance of order. “To say nothing of the work you did this morning. Do you want to go back over there now? Just tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll help you find it.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m pretty sure those papers are gone. I had them in a special folder, a red one that I used specifically for them. It would be easy to find if it was there. The only thing I know to do is go back to the courthouse tomorrow and start recopying.”

“That’s too bad, but at least they’re not irretrievably gone.”

“No, it just means some lost time, repeating what I’ve already done.”

“Well,” I said, patting his hand, “you have plenty of that, so it’ll work out.”

He smiled. “Yep, time’s what I do have, but it’ll be tedious. What I found was in several different files and cases, which I’m not sure anybody has ever put together before, or seen the connections. The same two names run consistently through them all.”

“Two people?” I sat up straight and looked at him. “Then that’s who broke in. Who are they?”

“Well, that’s just it. They’re both dead.”

“Oh, Sam,” I said, grabbing his arm, “a mystery! It’s a perfect case for Mr. Pickens to investigate. You won’t have to make up a thing. You really do need him.”

 

 

 

 

Later in the afternoon, I walked up the stairs to Hazel Marie’s room to visit the sick and ailing. I found her out of bed, sitting in one of the pink velvet slipper chairs beside the front window.

Her door was open so I walked in. “How’re you feeling, Hazel Marie?”

“All right, I guess,” she said. She smoothed her hand down the silk peignoir she was wearing, her eyes downcast. “At least, my appetite’s coming back a little.”

“And you’re keeping everything down?” I sat across from her in the matching chair.

She nodded. “So far, so good.” She turned away from me to look out the window. She still found it hard to meet my eyes. “The medicine helps even though it makes me sleepy. But I should be able to leave in a day or two if you can put up with me that long.”

“Oh, Hazel Marie, please don’t say that. I don’t want you to leave at all. If you’d only reconsider, we could come up with something that would make it easier for you.”

She gave me a quick glance, then turned her eyes away again. “There’s nothing that’ll make it easier.”

“Well, let me think about it.” So I did for a second or two. “How about this? What if we say you married an old friend but didn’t tell anybody because you realized right away that you’d made a mistake. You’re in the process of getting a divorce and, that way, Hazel Marie, everybody will admire you for having the baby even though your heart is broken.”

She managed a faint smile. “I can see us spreading that around. LuAnne and Emma Sue would want to know the details—when we were married, how long we lived together, and why you didn’t know anything about it. They’d be counting on their fingers and coming up with more questions. They all know about J.D., too, and they’d be asking what happened to him.” She took a Kleenex from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “Besides, I’m not very good at telling stories. Somebody would ask me something and I wouldn’t know what to say.”

She was right about that. Hazel Marie was as open and honest as the day is long, and I knew there was no way she could carry off an involved story like the one I’d just dreamed up. Emma Sue, with the best will in the world, would ask her a question and Hazel Marie would be like a deer in the middle of the road, too stunned to move, much less answer.

“Well,” I said, “maybe that’s not such a good idea, but I’d be willing to try it if it would keep you here. I want you to know how much we all care for you.”

That brought on a full-blown spate of sobs and more apologies for letting me down and bringing shame on my head.

“Listen, now,” I said, when she was able to listen. “Just don’t do anything for a week or so. Say, two or three. You’re still recovering, and it would be awful if you went some place far off and got sick again. You shouldn’t even think of moving until you’re strong and healthy and able to make some wise decisions. I mean, you’ll need to decide just where you’ll go, and then make arrangements for a place to live and find out what kind of doctors are there.” I stopped and did a little looking around myself as I approached the subject of greatest concern. “What have you told Lloyd? Have you talked to him?”