Miss Julia Renews Her Vows (40 page)

We got out of the car and went up the driveway to the walk that spanned the front of the cottage to the small stoop. I could see that the front door was open, probably because we were having a warm and beautiful autumn day, although a full-length glass storm door kept the nice breeze out.

When we were halfway across the walk, I stopped Lloyd with a hand on his shoulder. “Wait,” I whispered, as a loud voice emanating from inside the house went on and on, getting shriller and more hateful by the minute. It was Francie’s voice, and even though the words were indistinct, they were said in the same tone I’d heard her use with Evelyn and Emma Sue had also heard.

My hand tightened on Lloyd’s shoulder as the thought crossed my mind that Emma Sue might’ve been right: a demon was loose in that house. Then I shook myself. Basically, it was Francie’s vicious temper, call it whatever else you will.

“Lloyd,” I said, “that’s one of the women I want you to get, and the other one is the woman she’s yelling at. But let’s wait a minute till she runs out of steam. I don’t want to get in the middle of it.”

“Me, either,” he said, but then he began easing toward the stoop, with me right with him. “I never heard the like. Let’s see if we can find out what brought it on.”

We reached the stoop and stood there for a few seconds, peering through the storm door while waiting for Francie to get whatever it was out of her system. I could see a short way down the center hall, but the glare prevented me from seeing into the sunroom at the far end, whence came the flow of abuse.

Then we heard a metallic
wha-ang,
and Francie’s voice came to a sudden stop. Lloyd jerked back in alarm, and his eyes widened as my mouth dropped open.

“What was that?” he whispered.

“I don’t know, but it sure put a stop to her, didn’t it?”

“Reckon anybody got hurt?”

“I don’t know,” I said again, while images of mayhem flashed through my head. “Something could’ve fallen. Or maybe somebody threw something.” Or maybe, which I didn’t say, somebody really stopped Francie.

Lloyd said, half under his breath, “Maybe we ought to go.”

I considered it, I really did. But I don’t like leaving a job half finished, and besides, somebody could be lying inside injured and in need of help. “No, let’s see what’s going on.”

And I walked boldly across the stoop and rang the bell, as if we’d just appeared on the scene with no knowledge of anything amiss. Out of the gloom of the hall, Evelyn appeared, scuttling toward the door in a gray sacklike dress, her head bound in a lopsided purple turban.

“Yes?” she murmured as she reached the door.

“Good afternoon. Miss Plemmons, is it? Or do you prefer Evelyn? I’m Mrs. Julia Murdoch, a friend of Francie’s, remember? I visited with her the other day, and we’ve just dropped by to see how she is. Oh, and this is Lloyd. May we come in? We can’t stay long.”

Without a word, she unlatched the door and pushed it open for us, and I got my first close-up view of her face—wrinkled, uncared for, without expression and with hooded eyes. Tired, it seemed to me, more than anything. Deep, bone-weary fatigue, etched not only on her face but also on her slumped shoulders and her entire bearing. It didn’t help that the turban she wore was cockeyed on her head, the knot skewed around to one side with strands of gray hair straggling out from around the edges.

“She’s in the sunroom,” Evelyn mumbled, turning away as if it didn’t matter one way or the other whether we followed her or not.

We did, though, and turned left toward Francie’s chair when we reached the room, as Evelyn, without a word, veered right toward the kitchen.

I hurried over to Francie, trying to appear bright and cheerful to give her no hint that I’d heard the aforementioned commotion.

“Francie, how are you?” I said, my eyes glancing around to see if a vase had been thrown or a walking cane wielded. The only damage I saw was on the edge of a side table, where a long sliver of veneer was missing.

I pretended not to notice and turned to Francie. “I hope you don’t mind our dropping in like this. This is Lloyd, my . . . Well, we were out this way, and I thought I’d come by to see how you’re doing. Last evening must’ve been traumatic for you, and I was wondering if you’ve heard from Dr. Fowler. He was so concerned about how the situation might’ve appeared to the pastor and eager to correct any false impressions. You should’ve heard him. Everybody says he’s thoughtful that way, and, you know, Pastor Ledbetter was a little short with you. I expect he regrets that today.”

I was rambling because Francie wasn’t responding. She sat, enthroned in her chair, her foot with its gouty toe elevated on an ottoman. There was a stunned look on her face. Lloyd edged to my side, his thumbs going a mile a minute, but she took no notice of him.

“Are you all right?” I asked, leaning down to look closely at her. “Can I get you anything?”

“No. No, I’m fine,” she said, stirring a little as if she were coming out of shock. “Although I could be dead for all anybody cares.” Then in a lower voice, she asked, “Where’s Evelyn?”

“In the kitchen, I believe. You want me to get her?”

“No, leave her alone. Oh, Julia, I’m so glad you’re here. You wouldn’t believe . . . Listen,” she whispered, reaching up and grabbing my hand, “I need to talk to Sam. Where is he? I need to see him right away.”

“Francie,” I said, heaving a sigh of exasperation, “I’ve told you. Sam is not a maintenance man. You’ll have to have someone else replace your lightbulbs. Why don’t you call Dr. Fowler? He seems fairly handy.”

“I’m not thinking about lightbulbs,” she snapped, her voice rising as she shifted in the chair. “I need to see Sam, and I mean
today.
”

I reared back. “I’ll pass the word along,” I said through tight lips.

“You need to do more than that. This is urgent, Julia, and all you have to do is tell that boy with you to call him up.”

Lloyd looked up, his thumbs momentarily stilled, his eyes wide at being singled out. He glanced at me as I gave a little shake of my head. Then, with his quick grasp of the situation, he nodded and said, “Yes, ma’am, I’ll call him now.”

We waited while he punched a few buttons, put the phone to his ear and gazed off into the distance. Francie watched avidly, then demanded, “Hand it here. I want to talk to him.”

Lloyd ignored her, continued to listen to whatever the phone was doing, then shook his head. “Nobody answers, not even the answering machine. He may be downtown.”

Francie sagged back into the chair. “I can’t stand this! Nobody is ever where they ought to be. I need him! Julia, go find him for me. I . . .”

She stopped abruptly, looking past my shoulder at Evelyn, who had come silently in, holding a tray. But a tray the likes of which I’d never seen. My eyes widened as I realized that it was a Teflon-coated cookie sheet, but one that was warped at one end. Balanced on it was a plate of cookies.

She took the plate of cookies off and put it on the table beside Francie. Without a word, she stood for a second, holding the warped cookie sheet in front of Francie, then turned and went back into the kitchen. As she passed Lloyd, he turned his phone toward her, a movement that she paid no attention to. The whole episode unnerved me.

“Well, ah, Francie, I guess we’d better go. Lloyd has homework and I can see this is not a good time. I’ll try to reach Sam for you, but if I don’t, maybe you should look for another attorney. As I told you, he’s no longer practicing anyway.”

Francie hunkered down in her chair and gave me a brief nod, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. Or sulking, one of the two.

I put my arm around Lloyd’s shoulders and soldiered out of the house as fast as I could go. We didn’t say a word until we were in the car and the engine turned on.

“What happened in there, Lloyd?” I asked as I steered the car around the circle that led us to the main road of Mountain Villas.

“I don’t know, Miss Julia, but something did. That lady acted weird.”

“Which one?” I asked with a nervous laugh.

“Well, both of ’em, come to think of it. That fat lady in the chair? I think she was the one yelling at the other lady before we went in, and the other one, that gray lady, she gave me the creeps the way she came up behind me with those cookies.” He took his bottom lip in his teeth, thought for a minute, then went on. “And did you see that tray she had? It looked like something you bake cookies on, not serve ’em on.”

“It was a cookie sheet, all right. And did you see the way it was warped? Of course, a really hot oven can sometimes do that, except that one looked actually dented.”

I drove out of the gated confines of Mountain Villas, raising a hand to the gatekeeper as we passed. Lloyd and I were silent as I maneuvered the car through the traffic, but my mind was replaying the scene we’d left. One thing was for sure, I wanted to find Sam and tell him as soon as I could, not that I wanted him to rush to Francie’s side, but something strange was going on and he’d know what to do about it.

After a couple of stoplights held us up, Lloyd, in a musing kind of way, said, “Miss Julia, have you ever read that story about a woman who killed her husband with a leg of lamb she took out of the freezer?”

“Why, no, I don’t believe I have.” I glanced at him with a smile. “What brought that to mind?”

“Well, that cookie sheet did. Because in the story, after she killed her husband with the frozen leg of lamb, she put it in the oven and cooked it. Then when the police came, she served it to them and they ate up the murder weapon.”

“I declare,” I murmured. Then, with sudden understanding, I almost threw up my hands. “It was Evelyn! And that warped cookie sheet was right there in front of our eyes!” I veered out of the traffic and pulled to the side of the road. “Lloyd, you are the smartest boy in the world. They said Francie had a blunt-force injury from something large and flat, and Sam said the weapon would have evidence on it. But a weapon was never found. I bet that thing went in the dishwasher and was clean as a whistle when the deputies got there.”

“Yes’m,” Lloyd said, wiggling with excitement, “and did you see how that fat lady got real quiet when Evelyn walked in and just held it in front of her?”

“It certainly subdued her, didn’t it? It was a threat, Lloyd, and I think what we heard before we went in was Evelyn’s demonstration of what would happen again if Francie kept on at her. Honey, we’ve solved the whole thing, or rather,
you
have. Now all we have to do is get them to admit it, and Etta Mae’ll be free of any suspicion whatsoever.” Then as I sat there thinking, I remembered our reason for visiting Francie. “Did you get their pictures?”

“I sure did, good ones, too, because they weren’t paying any attention to me. I’ll print ’em out and show you.”

“And I,” I said, “will find Sam.” But not for Francie, at least not for the reason she wanted him. I pulled back into a lane and headed for home. “On second thought, we may need Mr. Pickens more. This case calls for a professional now, although I think we’ve done a pretty good job on our own.”

We arrived home full of excitement and ready to lay it all out for everybody. Lloyd immediately ran through the kitchen and up the back stairs to print out the pictures he’d made, with Lillian calling after him to come to the table. I was taken aback to find that supper had been served early to accommodate Sam.

“Where is he?” I demanded. I couldn’t believe they hadn’t waited for us—that was the second night in a row—and Sam was off somewhere again.

“That pastor call a meetin’ which Mr. Sam say is to decide what to do ’bout that man you don’t like. He think they gonna get rid of him.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day. Except the pastor already decided that last night. I guess he wants to make it official, but I declare, Lillian, I need Sam here.”

“He say he won’t be long, so you an’ Lloyd go on in to the table. They all still settin’ in there.”

And so they were—Hazel Marie, Mr. Pickens and Etta Mae—and none of them looking too happy. Lillian brought in a glass of iced tea for me and milk for Lloyd, still grumbling about his flying off upstairs without eating.

“He’ll be down soon,” I told her, as I took in the long faces around the table.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “You look like you’ve had bad news.”

Nobody said anything for a minute, then Etta Mae sighed. “Yes’m, at least I have. Lieutenant Peavey wants to interview me again in the morning.”

“What for? He should know by now that you had nothing to do with it. Mr. Pickens,” I said, glaring at him, “didn’t you tell him what happens when a person gets hit on the head? You could’ve called Dr. Hargrove, you know, if the lieutenant had any questions.”

“That’s exactly what he did,” Mr. Pickens said. “But the problem is not what the woman smelled or didn’t smell. The problem is still who hit her, and Etta Mae is one of the ones who had access. Looks like he’s reinterviewing everybody.”