Miss Julia To The Rescue Part 20
For the rest of the evening and on into the night after Lloyd and I went to bed, my mind was filled with concern about Etta Mae and Mr. Pickens. And all because of one lanky and laconic sheriff of an out-of-state backwoods county who had the power to wheedle his way into Etta Mae's heart, arrest and remove Mr. Pickens from the arms of his family and totally disrupt my sleep.
Chapter 40.
My anxiety hadn't lessened during the night. In fact, by morning, it was worse. My overriding concern at the moment was for Etta Mae: had she gotten home all right, had the sheriff been a gentleman, what was his att.i.tude toward snakes, had she put him in a good mood, although not too good, before he interviewed Mr. Pickens this morning?
As nine o'clock approached, Mr. Pickens took first place on my hit parade of worries. I was tempted to go over there and sit in on the interview if they'd let me. And if they wouldn't, I'd be there to comfort Hazel Marie if Mr. Pickens was led away.
"Lillian," I said, as I paced the kitchen floor, "I can't stand this. I thought Etta Mae would call and let me know how the evening went, but she's at work now so I hesitate to call her. And I'm so distraught over Mr. Pickens, I don't know what to do."
"You done had four cups of coffee. It's no wonder you so antsy. Jus' set yourself down an' wait till somebody lets you know something."
"Easier said than done." But I did as she told me and sat down, only to begin drumming my fingers on the table. The noises of the work crews didn't help my nerves, other than to rea.s.sure me that work was progressing. Adam and Josh had come in earlier and were putting the finishing touches on the room upstairs, and before I could find any peace the carpet men were knocking on the door, ready to install carpet in the new bedroom.
Adam came down, tapped on the kitchen door, and asked if I had anything for them to do while the carpet was being laid.
"We'll move furniture in when they finish," he told me, but I reminded him that the paperhanger had to have room to work, so we couldn't move all of it.
I walked through the house with him, pointing out which pieces could go upstairs, some stacked in the middle of Hazel Marie's former bedroom, but most of them in the hall that had been cleared of Sam's office furniture. Eventually, all the furniture from what had been our bedroom downstairs would go into the new bedroom upstairs, which meant we'd finally have the living and dining rooms back to normal.
Adam nodded agreement to everything I said, but he didn't have much to say for himself. He seemed, in fact, morose and heavy laden, which I put down to an overactive conscience about avoiding work for Agnes Whitman-lying to her, he would call it, while I would term it finishing the job he started for me.
"At least," I said, "we'll have room to walk when part of this is upstairs." I was trying to carry on with Adam as if I'd noticed nothing wrong, then I nearly tripped again over that old Oriental that was still rolled up in the hall. "This thing is going to break my neck. It needs to go to the cleaners so I can give it away." Maybe Hazel Marie could use it at her house as a memento, so to speak, of the night her babies were born.
Sam called just as I got back to the kitchen to remind me that he'd be home Tuesday, as if I hadn't been counting the days. The thought of his being home lifted my spirits, although I had to hold my tongue in order not to tell him that Mr. Pickens was being officially interviewed even as we spoke, and who knew what would happen after that?
"I be glad when he come home," Lillian said as she went into the pantry to get a broom. "Maybe he calm you down."
"I'll calm down when this mess is over. Of course, having him home will help, but I'm hoping it'll be over by the time he gets here."
She just shook her head and started out with the broom. "Gotta sweep off that front porch," she said. "An' run the vacuum in the front room. Them men tracking dirt all over the house."
So nine-thirty came and went with no word from Hazel Marie, then ten, then ten-fifteen, and it was all I could do not to pick up the phone or else dash over there to find out for myself.
At ten-twenty the phone rang and I nearly killed myself getting to it.
"Miss Julia!" Hazel Marie wailed as I thought my heart would stop. Images of Mr. Pickens being led away in handcuffs flashed through my mind.
"Oh, Hazel Marie, what happened?"
"You won't believe what J.D. just did."
"What? What did he do? Has he been arrested?"
"No! He's fine, but he invited Sheriff McAfee to supper tonight, and James is gone and I can't cook and the babies are crying and I'm at my wit's end! I can't believe he'd do such a thing!"
"Wait, wait, Hazel Marie. Slow down and tell me what happened."
She took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. "Well, you know the sheriff came to interview J.D. at nine this morning-."
"Yes, I know, I know. But how did it go? Did he believe Mr. Pickens?"
"I guess, 'cause they're in there talking about fishing and hunting and I don't know what all. I just left after J.D. asked him to supper, because I nearly fainted when he did it."
"Well, but you were in the room when the interview was going on? How did it go? Was the sheriff upset?"
"Oh, it went fine," she said, pa.s.sing it off as if the interview hadn't been a source of anxiety to us all for days on end. "I told J.D. he ought to stay in bed. I had him propped up with pillows, and I put all his medications on the bedside table so the sheriff could see how sick he is, and I told him not to shave or comb his hair. You know, so he'd look like he was too sick to be moved. If the sheriff wanted to move him, I mean."
"Good thinking, Hazel Marie," I said, pleased that she'd had that much forethought. And even more pleased that Mr. Pickens had followed through, which meant that he'd been more concerned about a possible arrest than he'd let on. Mr. Pickens wouldn't do anything he didn't want to do or that he didn't see the need to do.
"All right," I went on, "so the interview is over and they're just chatting? That's rea.s.suring but, Hazel Marie, you must have a long talk with your husband when this is over. He should never issue an invitation before talking it over with you. But where is James? Why can't he fix supper?"
"J.D. did that, too!" Hazel Marie's voice was showing the strain as it went up an octave. "He gave James a long weekend off to go to a homecoming at his family's church. In South Carolina! So he's gone and I'll be all by myself in that kitchen!"
"You really need to have a talk with your husband," I repeated, but what was done was done and no amount of talking would help the current situation. "Maybe we could ask Lillian."
"Oh, would you? She would save my life, Miss Julia, because it's either that or hot dogs, which is the only thing I can cook without ruining. Or maybe peanut b.u.t.ter and jelly sandwiches." She stopped, seemed to consider the matter, then went on. "Any other time, I'd get J.D. to grill something outside because I can bake potatoes and make a salad, but I don't think it'd look too good for him to get out of his sick bed and cook. Do you?"
"No, that wouldn't do," I agreed. "He needs to limp around as long as the sheriff is there, maybe even have his dinner on a tray in bed. But listen, Hazel Marie, I'll see what Lillian says. But you need to speak to her, too. If she can do it, you should plan the meal, let her know what you want."
"Anything, anything," Hazel Marie cried. "Whatever she wants to cook will be fine. Tell her I'll pay her double, triple, anything she wants, because who knows but that sheriff could have a change of heart and take J.D. with him."
Well, I didn't think that was likely, because if Sheriff McAfee had arresting on his mind, he wouldn't hang around to see what kind of supper he'd get. Still, I could understand Hazel Marie's concern. No woman wants to make a poor showing at her dinner table.
"Here's Lillian now," I said as Lillian came into the kitchen to put up the broom. "I'll see what she says."
I covered the phone and explained Hazel Marie's problem to Lillian. "So she wants to know if you'd be available to fix supper at her house tonight. If you can't do it, Lillian, just say so. She can order out. Get pizza or something."
"Law, no!" Lillian was horrified. "That ole sheriff might take Mr. Pickens off an' we never see him again. Tell her I be glad to do it, 'specially since Latisha spendin' the night with a little friend. Oh, an' tell her what we got a whole lot of in the freezer."
"Chicken!" I said. "That's perfect. Hazel Marie," I went on, turning back to the phone. "You think the sheriff would like fried chicken?"
"He better, 'cause I would."
"Good, and don't worry about side dishes. Lillian will know what to fix, maybe some corn and a few other things. You go ahead and set the table-that's all you need to do. Well, except see to the babies."
"Oh, I can't tell you what a load is off my mind. But, Miss Julia, would you come, too? I think it'd be a whole lot easier if there were other people around the table. You know, to make conversation."
"Why, yes, I could do that." And, I thought, find out at the same time what went on during that interview and hope to goodness that Etta Mae had deflected the sheriff's interest away from anything I might've done in his jurisdiction. "And here's another thought, Hazel Marie, why don't you ask Etta Mae, too? If she says no, then we'll know their date last night didn't go too well. But if it went okay, then he'll be too taken up with her to give Mr. Pickens much thought." Or anybody else.
"That's a wonderful idea," Hazel Marie said. "I'll do that right now. And tell Lillian I love her to death for doing this. Tell her I'll dance at her wedding."
After hanging up, I told Lillian what she'd said.
"Huh," Lillian said, smiling in spite of herself, as she wiped off a counter, "that be a long time comin', 'cause I don't have no more marryin' on my mind."
I sat down and started making out a grocery list while Lillian took the frozen chicken out of the freezer, then began mumbling as she rummaged through the kitchen cabinets.
"Wonder she got flour," Lillian said, talking mostly to herself. "She got to have salt an' pepper. Miss Julia, what all she got in her kitchen? Do you know?"
"I wouldn't count on her having everything you'll need. Although surely James has the kitchen fairly well stocked with the basics."
"Huh," she mumbled, putting a jar of paprika on the counter. "Maybe. An' maybe not." She began bagging the odds and ends that she would take to Hazel Marie's house. "If you got that list ready, I'll go on to the store."
"It's ready except we need to think of something for dessert. What would be quick and easy to fix? You don't have enough time to make anything fancy."
Lillian studied it for a minute, then said, "I got a pound cake in the freezer. What about if I toast some slices, put ice cream on 'em an' some chocolate syrup on top of that?"
"Perfect. This is all so last-minute that n.o.body could expect an elaborate meal. Besides, that sheriff should count himself lucky to get anything." I jotted down ice cream and chocolate syrup, then handed the list to her. "Now, Lillian, I want you to make time to put your feet up and rest-you can't work from sunup to sundown without a rest. And if you get over there and find you need something, call me. I'll run to the store for you or bring it from here, whichever."
After we loaded her car and she got off, I returned to the kitchen and heated up my fifth cup of coffee. I didn't know what I'd do for the rest of the day, relegated as I was to the only room in the house where I wouldn't be underfoot of the workmen. And without Lillian to talk to.
But at least my worries about Mr. Pickens's fate had been eased. Sheriff Ardis McAfee surely would not have the gall to sit at his table, then arrest him. I decided that all my fretting over the sheriff's intentions had been for naught and that I could enjoy my first worry-free day in some time. And I continued to feel that way until Hazel Marie called again.
Chapter 41.
"Miss Julia!" Hazel Marie wailed. "You won't believe what he's done now!"
"What! Who! Mr. Pickens?"
"No, that sheriff!"
"Oh, my Lord, has he changed his mind?" That would teach me not to let my guard down-you can never tell what will happen when you stop worrying and begin thinking that all is well.
"No, that's not it," Hazel Marie said, as if she had to think it over. "I don't think he changed his mind exactly. It was more like he just thought of it."
"What, for goodness sake?"
"Well, see, he just called and, I give him credit, because he called me and not J.D. He asked if it'd be all right to bring his niece to supper tonight."
"Oh," I said, relief flooding through me. Although asking to bring an extra to a dinner party indicated a certain lapse of etiquette, it wasn't as bad as I'd feared. "Of course, upsetting a hostess's table placement is something you and I would never do, Hazel Marie, but I guess we can understand. I got the feeling when he mentioned her to Etta Mae and me that she'd been out of touch with her family, so maybe he's trying to remedy that. And, of course, he won't be in town long-at least I hope he won't-so I expect he wants to see as much of her as he can."
"I guess so," Hazel Marie agreed, "but I just got the table set and now I'll have to rearrange everything. Thank goodness, Lloyd's here and not playing tennis. He's sweeping the front porch and the walk for me. But the babies are so fussy today, I had to give them to J.D. just to get anything done at all."
"Were you able to reach Etta Mae? Is she coming?" I crossed my fingers, hoping she'd be there to keep Sheriff McAfee's mind off enforcing the law.
"Oh, yes, and I'm so glad she is. She sounded thrilled to be asked. I tell you what, Miss Julia, I think she really likes him."
That was one thing, then, that I didn't have to worry about, but on the other hand, it opened up a whole new can of worms. Or snakes, as the case might be.
"And," Hazel Marie went on, "Lillian is here, and I am just so grateful to her. And to you, too. Oh, my goodness, I've got to go. J.D.'s calling me. He has got to learn to change diapers."
Well, I thought, smiling as I hung up the phone, lots of luck with that.
I spent the rest of the afternoon thinking up things for Adam and Josh to do, learning at the same time that the two of them were the handiest of men. Adam fretted that I was making work for them, feeling that he was taking ill-gotten gains just so he could honestly tell Agnes Whitman that he hadn't finished at my house.
But it was the truth, because there were any number of things to be repaired, touched up with paint or cleaned out. My gutters, for instance. And a crack in the plaster in the hall. The longer I looked around the house, the more I found for them to do. In fact, I told Adam that if he wanted to fill his Sat.u.r.day-in case Agnes called him again-the outside of the house could use a pressure washing.
As the morning neared eleven o'clock, there was a noticeable diminishment of noise around the house. I had quickly learned that workmen start their days so early that lunchtime for them is an hour before a normal person would eat. Some of them left to go to a local diner, but others-mainly the bricklayers-brought their own lunches. I glanced out the kitchen window and saw three of them sitting in the shade of the arbor, opening brown paper bags. Then I saw Adam and Josh walk over to a garden bench on the other side of the lawn and begin unwrapping sandwiches from their lunch boxes.
Interesting that they did not join the bricklayers, but I supposed that there was a hierarchy among working men.
So I thought I might as well eat, too, and looked in the refrigerator for sandwich makings. I'd just smoothed a layer of mayonnaise on two slices of bread when the front doorbell rang.
"Now what?" I wondered, and put away the mayonnaise before going to answer the door.
"Mrs. Murdoch," Tucker Caldwell p.r.o.nounced, as if I didn't know who I was. "I've come to see how the work is progressing."
I was so taken aback at what he'd added to his appearance that it took me a minute to respond. I stood there, holding the door open and staring at the dapperly dressed little man, bow tie and all, while focusing on the gold stud stuck below his lower lip, making a matched set with the two in his ear.
"All right," I said, cleared my throat and stepped back. "Yes, come in. The men are taking a break for lunch, but several ..." I had started to say, "are in the backyard," but amended it to, "have gone out to eat."
He nodded smartly, then marched past me and headed for the new library. I followed, noticing again his firm way of walking and his rigid posture-a man in control. Or trying to be.
Tucker stood in the middle of the library, looked around, touched a few seams in the paneling, then pursed his mouth. "I'll speak to the foreman about a few things. Nothing for you to worry about. I'll handle it. Now, Mrs. Murdoch," he turned on me so swiftly that I stepped back. "We have to come to an understanding about Adam Waites. He was supposed to be through here two days ago, and I know that you have him doing odd jobs just to keep him on. He is holding up everything at Mrs. Whitman's, and I tell you frankly that she is not a patient woman."
By this time, I'd regained my composure and added a little outrage. "And just what does Mrs. Whitman's lack of self-control have to do with me?"
He heaved a deep breath, as if exasperated beyond belief. "You are keeping him from an excellent job, one that will pay him well. He's too timid to tell you he needs to get out of here and move on. You'll have to do it. Tell him that she is expecting him today. This afternoon, in fact."
My posture suddenly got as good as his. "I certainly will not. Adam is fully employed here for as long as he wants to be. And I'll tell you another thing." I took one of those deep breaths. "I resent Agnes Whitman's domineering att.i.tude. Who is she, or you, to tell me what to do? I resent your interference in this matter, Mr. Caldwell. It's none of your business. And here's something else that neither you nor Agnes seems to have considered: maybe he doesn't want to work for her. So while you're transmitting orders from her to me, here's one you can carry back to her: hire somebody else."
"Well!" he said, drawing himself up as far as he could, which wasn't far. "Well, I'm not sure you and I can work together under these circ.u.mstances."
"You better be sure, and you better see that this work is done as it should be, or I will not hesitate to see my attorney. Now, Mr. Caldwell, you have had your mind more on Mrs. Whitman's project than on mine from the start. If you are determined to put her work ahead of mine, just say so and I'll sue your little pants off."
"Oh, well," he said, losing a good deal of the steam he'd started with. "We don't want to go that far. Of course I'll finish this job, and to your complete satisfaction. There's no need to be thinking of lawsuits. I was, ah, just pa.s.sing along Mrs. Whitman's concern."
"Well, stop pa.s.sing it. Every time I turn around somebody is pa.s.sing along something from Agnes Whitman and I'm tired of it. Tell her to get down off her high horse and stand in line like everybody else."
He patted the air in a futile effort to calm me down. "I didn't mean to upset you. Sometimes I let my pa.s.sion run ahead of me. Agnes, I mean, Mrs. Whitman, is deeply concerned about Adam. As am I. She is helping him work through some spiritual matters. She's a minister, you know, and she's leading him into new ways of connecting with the spiritual world. Old ways, actually, but they're new to him. It would be detrimental to his journey toward unification for you to interfere with his progress." He leaned toward me, as if to pa.s.s along something in confidence. "He is a seeker, you know."
"I figured!" I all but yelled. "Listen, you haven't seen interference, now that I know what you're really doing. And I'll tell you this, Adam is not seeking anything. He's already found it. And another thing," I went on as I waved my hands in the air, "sticking studs all over your face is about the silliest thing I've ever seen in a professional man. Unstud them when you come back to my house. If you come back. And if I let you in."