Miss Julia Rocks the Cradle (5 page)

It was a relief to get out of the cold night air and walk into the warm kitchen, and a much greater relief to find Sam, Lloyd, and Mr. Pickens there waiting for me.

Sam met me at the door, a look of concern on his face. “I was about to go looking for you. Come on in here and get warm.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” I said, taking off my coat. “It’s been one after the other going out to look for somebody, then getting lost themselves. I don’t know how I missed you, but, of course, I got mixed up with Thurlow because Ralph Peterson said he’d seen you talking to him. I could’ve gone all day without that little run-in.”

Lloyd immediately perked up. “What did he say about that dead body, Miss Julia?”

“Not one thing, because I wasn’t interested in hearing it. He tried to get me to go inside with him where, he said, he’d tell me everything I wanted to know. But all I wanted was to find you and get you home.”

Mr. Pickens, who, strangely enough, was stirring something on the stove, laughed. “Good thing you didn’t go in, Miss Julia. Sam might’ve had to shoot him.”

Now what do you say to a comment like that? I rolled my eyes and pretended I hadn’t heard him.

Finally catching my breath, relieved that they all were home where they were supposed to be, I realized that the kitchen table was set, Lloyd was putting rolls in a basket, Mr. Pickens was dipping up vegetables, and Sam was slicing a pot roast.

“Where’s Lillian?” I asked.

“We sent her on home,” Sam said. “We didn’t know how long you’d be, and it’s getting late. Besides, we have three good cooks here who can handle putting a meal on the table.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, smiling, “after it’s all cooked, I guess so. Well, then, where’s Hazel Marie? She still resting?”

Mr. Pickens glanced up. “I’m taking a plate to her. She’s propped up on the bed because her back’s hurting.”

That stopped me. “Her
back’s
hurting? Why, Mr. Pickens, that’s an early sign.”

His face went white, and he dropped both spoon and potato into the roasting pan. The resulting splash sprinkled the front of his shirt, but he didn’t notice.

He ran for the bedroom with me close behind. We burst into the bedroom to find Hazel Marie sitting almost upright on the bed, three or four pillows behind her back, leafing through another movie magazine.

She looked up and smiled. “Hey, J.D., hey, Miss Julia. Did y’all know that Brad and Angelina may be breaking up? They’re having a real hard time.”

Mr. Pickens wasn’t interested. “How’s your back? You want me to call the doctor?”

“It could be a sign, Hazel Marie,” I said, looking her over for any other indications. “That’s how Marilee Cooper knew her last baby was coming.”

Hazel Marie frowned, thinking about it. “I think I’m all right. It only hurts when I stand for a while or sit in a straight chair. As long as I stay propped up like this, it feels fine.”

“Maybe I better call the doctor,” Mr. Pickens said, clearly unconvinced.

She laughed and took his hand. “Don’t do that. I’m really all right. Now go on and eat your supper. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

“Well,” I said, relieved, “if you can laugh, you’re not in labor. From what I’ve heard, it’s not exactly a laughing matter. Come on, Mr. Pickens, and get your supper. Then you can come back in and watch her.”

That seemed to reassure him, but he was reluctant to leave her. As we walked through the back hall to the kitchen, he stopped, brushed his hand through his hair, and said, “I don’t know what to do. The doctor doesn’t want her to go into labor. He wants to start it in the hospital so he can monitor her. And you know it’ll take a good thirty minutes to get to Asheville, so if she has the least twinge, we need to leave.”

This was a time when I wished I’d had the labor experience myself, so I’d know whereof I spoke. But I hadn’t, and that was all there was to it. I had to rely on what I’d picked up over the years at the garden club and the book club, and occasionally at the Lila Mae Harding Sunday school class. Oh, and a few tidbits from Lillian as well.

“I think we can rely on her mood, Mr. Pickens,” I told him with a great deal more assurance than I was feeling. “As long as she’s more interested in movie-star doings than in what’s happening inside, I think she’s okay. But if she gets a sort of inward look on her face, like she’s listening to something or feeling something different going on, that’s when you better heat up the car.”

He nodded, a frown of worry still on his face. “I’m glad you’re here, Miss Julia. I’ve never gone through this before.”

Well, neither had I, so I figured it was time for some help. “Maybe we should see if Etta Mae Wiggins can come before the babies do. Two weeks isn’t too early for her to be in the house and on call. And, surely, she’d recognize labor signs before we would.” At least, I hoped so, for as far as I knew, Etta Mae had not had any firsthand experience either.

“I’ll call her first thing in the morning,” Mr. Pickens said with a noticeably relieved look at the thought of having a trained observer on hand. “From the way the doctor talked, we wouldn’t have to worry about this. He said that waiting two more weeks wouldn’t be a problem.” He rubbed his face, then ran a hand through his thick hair. “That’s why I went ahead and took a job in Raleigh. I’m supposed to leave tomorrow and be gone about five days. But now I don’t know whether to go or stay.”

We stood in the dim back hall, light from the kitchen allowing me to see the worry on his face. I knew that Mr. Pickens was deeply concerned about providing for his ready-made family, even though that family had brought enough assets with it to cover everybody’s expenses with a good deal left over. One of the things I admired most about Mr. Pickens was his determination not to live on Lloyd’s inheritance. A lot of men would’ve, you know. So he needed to work, or felt that he did, which was about the same thing in my opinion.

“Why don’t we do this,” I said. “Let’s talk to Etta Mae, and if she thinks Hazel Marie will last five more days, then you go on and do your job. I think having her look in on Hazel Marie would ease your mind. And think of this: you can be home from Raleigh in five hours.”

“If she goes into labor,” he said with the hint of a rueful smile, “four.”

We all sat around the table after finishing the meal that Lillian had left. Lloyd and Mr. Pickens kept glancing toward the bedroom, apparently expecting something to happen any minute. But I had earlier tiptoed back there as they began to clear the table, and Hazel Marie was sound asleep, magazines spread out across the bed. I was fairly confident that we’d have no labor alarms any time soon.

“Miss Julia,” Lloyd said as he ate the last bite of apple pie, “I can’t believe that Mr. Jones didn’t tell you anything. I bet he knows all about it.”

“Lloyd,” I said, and quite firmly too, “I didn’t ask him because I don’t want to get mixed up in other people’s problems. It’s so much like meddling, don’t you think? Besides, it’ll be in the paper tomorrow.”

Sam smiled at him, understanding the boy’s fascination. “I don’t think Thurlow knows any more than anybody else, Lloyd. He pretends he does, but his backyard and Miss Petty’s backyard are both large. I doubt he saw or heard anything until the sheriff ’s deputies showed up.”

“Well, then,” I said, suddenly struck with a basic question, “just who found that body? Deputies don’t normally do routine checks of garages and toolsheds, do they? And we know it wasn’t Miss Petty herself, who was the only person with reason to go into her own shed, because they had to get her out of school to tell her about it.”

“Good question,” Mr. Pickens said. “And here’s the answer straight from one of the deputies. Seems a water line broke sometime over the weekend and water spewed out on the street, freezing as it went. It was making pretty much of a skating rink out there. Anyway, that line connected to one that goes to the Petty house and a crew from the water department went out early this morning to fix it. They were working in the yard and one of the crew went in the shed to get out of the wind to have a smoke and found more than he bargained for. Of course, though,” he glanced at me from under those black brows, a glint of mischief in his eyes, “I’m with Miss Julia. I don’t meddle in other people’s business either.”

“And rightly so,” I said with a firm nod of my head, and wondering who I knew at the water department. “Although you’d get paid for it if you did. Still, it’s natural to be a little curious. After all, it’s happening to a neighbor, and we’re supposed to love our neighbors as ourselves and do for them as we would have them do for us. In fact, I’ll ask Lillian to make a casserole for Miss Petty tomorrow and take it to her. That’s not meddling. That’s being neighborly.”

“And,” Mr. Pickens said, those black eyes sparkling, “if she just happens to want to talk about it, you’ll be right there to listen.”

“Yes, and we’re supposed to bear one another’s burdens, so of course I’ll listen. Drink your milk, Lloyd.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, picking up his glass. “But I think I better not go to school tomorrow so I can go with you. Miss Petty might need some yard work or something, and we’re supposed to help the needy.”

Sam laughed. “Nice try, Lloyd, but I expect you’ll find out more in school than picking up limbs in Miss Petty’s yard.”

“And,” I said, “I want you to come straight home from school tomorrow. No standing around listening to rumors, and certainly no going over to Miss Petty’s house or to Thurlow’s.”

“No, ma’am, I won’t. I mean, I’ll come straight home, and I won’t go anywhere else. But I bet Miss Petty won’t be at school, and that means we’ll have a substitute.” Lloyd rolled his eyes in mock despair. “I might as well stay home for all the learning I’ll get.”

“Another good one,” Sam said, amusement in his voice. “But you go on to school, then hurry home to tell us everything you’ve heard. I have a feeling that you’re going to be the one to keep us up to date.”

“Don’t encourage him, Sam,” I said. “He doesn’t need to have dead bodies on his mind. He’ll end up having nightmares. Besides, Lloyd,” I went on, turning to him, “you’ll be better off putting your mind on the Little Bighorn, as Miss Petty wants you to.”

“Well,” he said, his eyes sparkling, “looks like that’d give me nightmares too, ’cause that place was just about covered with dead bodies.”

The next morning, right after breakfast, I realized that Sam was dithering around the bedroom instead of immediately heading out for the office at his house, as he usually did.

“What’s bothering you, Sam?” I asked. “You keep going downstairs and coming back up again.”

“I’m trying to decide whether I want to go to Raleigh with Pickens.”

“Why in the world would you want to?”

“Well, the family of a deceased judge just released his personal papers, and those papers throw a different light on a number of cases that I’ve already written about. I may have to rewrite a few chapters, but before I do, I want to go through the archives in Raleigh to make sure.”