by Ann B. Ross
“I like it fine,” he said. “I just wish we had whole days to work on it. By the time we get here after school, it’s almost dark, so we don’t get much done.”
“But you’re in no hurry, are you? School will be out in a few months and you’ll have all summer to work on it.”
“Yes’m,” he said, “but Mr. Wheeler is really going to town on the house next door, and I know we’re not in a race, but I’d like to sorta keep up with him.”
“But you really don’t need to. My understanding is that Dr. Crawford plans to rent out his house, and you’re planning to put yours on the market, aren’t you? So there’ll be no competition involved—renting and buying draw different groups of people.”
“Uh-huh, I know,” he said, nodding. “It’s just that I like to get things done, and not let ’em drag out forever.”
I certainly understood that attitude—I had it myself. Then, very carefully, not wanting to give away my own competitive feelings, I asked, “Do you see much of Dr. Crawford? Does he check on the progress over there?”
“No’m, I’ve not seen him at all. But Mrs. Crawford comes by every now and then. At least, I guess that’s who it is, or,” he said, laughing, “it’s Mr. Wheeler’s girlfriend.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t think so. Mr. Wheeler is much too professional to have a girlfriend at a work site.”
“Well,” he said, “I guess being in my situation, I just have girlfriends on the brain.”
We laughed at that while I took pride in his ability to laugh at himself. “Mrs. Crawford drives a dark blue SUV,” I said, “so now you’ll know when she comes.”
“Then that’s who it is. She finally waved at me the other day when I was taking out a load of trash. Before that, she’d not even looked this way.”
“Well, just be friendly, as I know you will be. From what I’ve seen, she’s one of those people who blow hot and cold. Friendly one day, and doesn’t even recognize you the next.”
“Yes’m, I heard Mama say the same thing. And I sure see it happening at school—all the girls like me one day and won’t have anything to do with me the next.”
* * *
—
The following afternoon, Sam and I dressed in funereal clothing—he in a dark gray suit and subdued tie, and I in a light gray suit and black sweater. Plus overcoats, for the weather was still bitterly cold. Ordinarily we would have been preparing to attend the viewing of the recently deceased, but not this time. LuAnne had called to tell me that the Holcomb family’s plans did not include a public viewing.
“It’ll be in the obituary in tomorrow’s paper,” she’d said. “The viewing was limited to family only—they had an open casket. When the family got through, we closed the casket and that’s the last time anybody’ll ever see him. His oldest son gave us explicit orders—no one else is to be allowed access.” LuAnne had paused to catch her breath. “You know what that means, don’t you? They’re keeping that Sheila woman away from him.”
“Sheila who?”
“I’m trying my best to find out, but no one seems to know. She’s not all that attractive, Julia. I got a glimpse of her yesterday when Mr. Thompson—he’s the owner here, you know. Anyway he was herding her into the Lilac room because Eileen was just coming in, and he knew to keep them apart. Here’s a secret, Julia, I think Dr. Holcomb died at his girlfriend’s condo—wouldn’t that be awful? I bet they won’t put that in his obituary, don’t you?”
I agreed that they wouldn’t, then listened as she explained that the family was having a celebration of life in the activities room of the First Lutheran Church and it would be open to the public.
“He won’t be there, though,” LuAnne assured me. “It’s going to be on the afternoon after the funeral, which will be private, too. Family only. And I heard that the two sons will be at the door to make sure his girlfriend doesn’t sneak in, either at the funeral or at the celebration of his life. Wouldn’t that be awful? I mean, for her and Eileen to come face-to-face, both of them crying their eyes out over a man who couldn’t be faithful to either one of them.”
Now, with Dr. Holcomb already safely interred, Sam and I parked at the Lutheran Church Activities Center and went in to offer our condolences. LuAnne, I noticed, had been right, for both Holcomb sons were greeting guests at the door, carefully scanning faces like airport guards. They welcomed us and pointed us toward their mother, who was seated in a large chair, as a receiving line curved around her. We extended our sympathy, remarked on how Dr. Holcomb would be missed by the entire community, ate a couple of finger sandwiches, and went home.
“Sam,” I said, as he drove us away, “if you ever get a girlfriend, she can bury you. I’m not going to fight over the privilege like Eileen and that Sheila woman are doing. It’s unbecoming of both of them. Downright tacky, in my opinion.”
Sam laughed. “Eileen’s just asserting her authority as the official widow. It’s important to her.”
“A little late, don’t you think? I’d be more likely to assert my authority as the official wife.”
“You are certainly that,” he said, taking my hand and bringing it to his mouth for a quick kiss. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I smiled. “Me, either.”
Chapter 25
*
“Sam,” I said as the six o’clock news ended, “have you ever noticed how attractive doctors are to women?”
“No,” he said, his eyebrows going up at my line of questioning, “I can’t say that I have.”
“That’s because you’ve never watched General Hospital.”
He nodded judiciously. “Probably. Except,” he went on, “I’m not convinced that they’re more attractive to women than any other group.”
“Well, take it from me,” I assured him, “they are. And I’m wondering why. I mean, what’s the underlying reason since you can’t say they’re any better looking as a whole than any other group of men. Well, Dr. Crawford is certainly a handsome man, but, as much as I like and admire Bob Hargrove, I wouldn’t put him in that category.”
Sam rubbed his fingers across his mouth and gave the question considerable thought. “I’d say that it only appears that doctors are more likely to fool around because you know more doctors than, say, accountants.”
My eyebrows went up at that. “You mean accountants fool around, too?”
He laughed. “I have no idea. I’m just saying that doctors are the subjects of gossip more than most groups because people know them. Or know of them.”
“Maybe so.”
“I know so. How many accountants do you know?”
“One. Ours.”
“And how many doctors?”
“All of them, I guess. But I still think there’s something about doctors that draws attention, although I readily admit that many of them may be falsely accused. But that just proves my point—what is it that makes physicians vulnerable to suspicion and gossip?”
“Competence, Julia. That’s a very attractive attribute, especially to patients who need their help. Haven’t you ever felt a special bond between you and your doctor?”
“To Bob Hargrove? I should say not.” Sam was getting much too close for comfort, making me view Dr. Hargrove in a different light. “Besides, he’s much too young for me.”
“Not that young,” Sam said, his eyes twinkling as he teased me. “And speaking of him, I wonder how he and Sue are enjoying their vacation.”
“I do, too. Maybe we’ll get a card from them soon. But you know, Sam, I’m wondering how Dr. Crawford is doing with the practice. Have you heard anything? And by the way, he’s a lot younger than Dr. Hargrove.”
“As far as I know, he’s doing fine. Staying busy, I expect, with all the flu that’s going around. Too busy for fooling around, anyway. You’re not implying that he is, are you?”
“No, not at all,” I said, holdin
g up my hand. “Not one word, in fact, either way. I’d say that you’re right and he’s much too busy even to look after his own affairs. He has his wife overseeing the work on the house he bought and probably some county property, too. I told you about that, didn’t I?”
Well, no, apparently I hadn’t, so I passed along what Nell Hudson had told me, which made Sam wonder, as Hazel Marie and I had, what Dr. Don could want with a parcel of undeveloped land.
“And here,” Sam said, shaking his head, “I’d admired his plans for rental property.”
“Well, anyway,” I went on, “now that I think of all the doctors in town, maybe I’ve had him in mind all along. It was LuAnne who made me think of him.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Oh, she means well, Sam, and she made the point to me that doctors are constantly around attractive women, some of whom may be only too willing to tempt or to be tempted. She just may be right to be concerned. I think I might be, too.”
“About him?”
“No, more about his wife. Sam, that young woman just seems to make herself unattractive. I mean, that severe hair style—all slicked back in a ponytail and not a smidgeon of makeup. And you have to admit that Don Crawford is a handsome man with a warm personality, and she’s such a nonentity in both looks and personality. I told you how striking she was when Hazel Marie fixed her face, and you could almost see her come alive. Yet now she’s cut us all off as if we were leading her down the primrose path. Or something.” I stopped and picked a piece of lint off my sweater. “I can’t help but think that she’s vastly unhappy, and what makes a wife most unhappy? A wandering husband, that’s what.”
“Oh, I doubt he’s a wandering husband. With a busy practice and an interest in real estate, he has enough on his mind without adding a girlfriend or two. Besides,” Sam went on, “I’d think a suspicious wife would be trying to make herself more attractive, not less.”
Not sure that he understood women as much as he thought he did, I said, “You might be surprised. Some women could be so devastated at losing what was supposed to be theirs that any effort is simply beyond them. They just give up, feeling that crumbs are all they deserve, especially if children are involved. You know, they may feel they have to keep the family together at all costs.”
“Well, that’s pretty sad,” Sam said, “but noble in a way.” Then he turned to look at me as the idea dawned on him. “You think something like that is going on with the Crawfords?”
“No, not really. For one thing, Dr. Crawford hasn’t been here long enough to start anything, and if he has someone in another town, why would he keep moving around? No, I don’t think he’s the problem at all. It’s her, but if she can’t get herself straightened out, he could start looking around. At least, that’s what LuAnne thinks, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Hazel Marie thinks the same.”
“You may not be giving us husbands enough credit, honey,” Sam said, taking my hand. “Not all of us are vulnerable to temptation even when a marriage isn’t the best.”
“I know, but not all husbands are as trustworthy as you, and I thank the Lord for you every day of my life. Although,” I went on, smiling as I cut my eyes at him, “that doesn’t make me less thankful that you’re not a doctor.”
* * *
—
“Miss Julia! Mr. Sam!” Lloyd called as he came through the kitchen door. “Anybody home?”
“In here, Lloyd,” Sam said, getting up and beckoning him into the library. “Come on in and get warm.”
“Where’s Miss Lillian?” the boy asked as he dumped his backpack in the hall.
“She’s grocery shopping,” I said, getting to my feet. “Are you hungry? I can fix you something.”
“No, thanks,” he said, plopping down on the facing sofa. “I had a power bar when school let out. To give me strength for the walk, you know.” He grinned.
Sam said, “I thought you were a man with wheels. What’re you doing walking home?”
“Mama had to take the girls to the pediatrician—just a checkup—and J.D. is off somewhere investigating something. So,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders, “I’m afoot again.”
Sam laughed at what I assumed was a literary allusion that he understood and I didn’t. “Well, we’re glad you broke your long walk with a stopover here. How’s the house coming along.”
“Pretty good,” he said, sitting up with sudden interest. “Just wish we had more time to work on it, but Mama’s going to let me drive over to check on things as soon as she gets back. Electricians were supposed to be there today, and I need to see how far they got. J.D. will call tonight to find out.”
“Sounds as if you have things under control,” Sam said.
“I think I have. I hope I have, but that’s why I came by. I’m going to the Sadie Hawkins dance after all.” Lloyd treated us to a pleased smile. “Debbie Morse went for a football player, thank goodness.”
“Why, that’s wonderful,” I said. “Which one of the others asked you?”
“Not which one,” he said, grinning broadly. “All three of ’em.”
“What!” I said, “But doesn’t that put you back into having to choose one?”
“No’m,” he said, unable to stop smiling. “Not at all. I’m taking all three, only I had to promise that none of them would have to sit out any dances. So it’s like this. I’ve gotta take turns dancing with one of ’em every third song, and I’ve gotta make sure the other two have partners. They said if any of ’em have to sit out a dance, I’ll regret it to my dying day.” He laughed. “But that’s not a problem. I’ve already lined up some buddies who’re going stag and they owe me. It’s gonna work out fine, because J.D. will ride with us so I can drive, and the girls said they don’t mind riding together in the back. So it’s all settled and nobody’s mad at me anymore. Although,” he said somewhat mournfully, “I’ll prob’bly be worn to a nub with all that dancing.”
Sam and I laughed.
“You’ll be fine,” Sam said. “Any boy who can manage three women at a time is bound for great things.”
“It was you who gave me the idea,” Lloyd said. “You said I ought to take all three, so I just kinda mentioned it a couple of times—not to them, but to others because that’s the way to get something out that you don’t want to say directly. And it worked, ’cause they think it was their idea. So don’t tell on me.”
Sam gave him a conspiratorial smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it. We men have to stick together.”
Chapter 26
*
I shot straight up out of a sound sleep, the night blaring with sirens and the dark room strobing with red and blue lights.
“Sam!” I cried, shaking him. “Wake up! Wake up, something’s going on!”
I threw off the covers and grabbed a robe against the chill and ran to the front windows. Sam was close behind as we peered down at the street, seeing nothing but flashes of colored lights reflecting off rain-streaked vehicles.
Quicker than I was, now that he was awake, Sam hurried to the side window and opened the curtains. “It’s the Allens,” he said, speaking of Mildred and Horace. “There’s half a dozen cars, trucks, and vans in the driveway. EMTs, firemen, cops, you-name-it. Throw something on, Julia, we need to get over there.”
We both threw something on, and soon were hurrying across our side yard onto the Allen grounds, then, swerving around a fire truck and an emergency van, we gained the front porch. The double doors were wide open with uniformed men and women going in and out, some carrying medical paraphernalia, others talking on phones, and a few standing around waiting to be told what to do.
“We’re neighbors, the Murdochs,” Sam said to an officer who was writing on a chart. “What happened?”
The officer peered closely at us, and I wished I had put on more than a tatty bathrobe—like a fur coat, if I’d had one. The night was as cold
as the North Pole, and I was about to freeze.
“You know these people?” the officer asked.
“Yes, of course,” Sam said. “Been neighbors for years. What happened? Can we help?”
Glancing at me, the officer said, “You know the lady of the house?”
My heart dropped as we moved out of the way of a stretcher being carried in. Was it Mildred who would be carried out?
“Yes,” I said, “we’re close friends. Is she all right? Can I help?”
“Ah, well, yes, maybe so.” The officer looked around, perhaps for some senior advice, but then he decided on his own. “Mrs. Allen is, well, pretty upset. Maybe you could sit with her, calm her down a little?”
“Of course,” I said, relieved by the assumption that Mildred was not the patient. “Is Ida Lee with her?”
“Who?”
“Her housekeeper,” I said, then remembered that Ida Lee was away for two weeks visiting her family in Chicago—a strange place to visit in the dead of winter, but the only time Mildred felt she could do without her. “Oh, my goodness, she’s not here. Yes, officer, I think Mrs. Allen needs us. We won’t get in the way.”
“Slip through here, then,” he said, pointing at the door. “She’s in the kitchen, being seen to.”
What did that mean? First of all, why did she have to be seen to? And second of all, why was she in the kitchen? The times Mildred had been in her kitchen could probably be counted on one hand—a fact that did not bode well.
And then I heard why. A cry of anguish that gradually increased in volume before dying away issued from the back of the house.
“Hurry,” the officer said, urging us inside.
So we did, edging through the crowd at the door, we entered the grand foyer of the house, then went through the dining room by veering around the table that easily sat twelve and often did, and through the swinging doors of the butler’s pantry, and on into the huge kitchen, where I expected to find Mildred being administered to by a covey of medical personnel.
