Miss Julia Lays Down the Law

by Ann B. Ross

  “You think it’s somebody with a flashlight?” I whispered.

  “No’m, it’d be movin’ around if it was a flashlight.”

  “What about a television set?”

  “Don’t think so. I seen enough of ’em when I’m walkin’ by houses to know that light from them changes—kinda flickers, you know, goin’ from light to dark, dependin’ on what’s goin’ on.”

  “You’re right, especially when there’re no other lights on. So what could it be, Lamar, and who could’ve turned it on?”

  “Maybe it’s something on a timer.”

  The mention of a timer relieved my anxiety, but not for long. “If it’s something on a timer, I’d think they’d have used a decent light. I mean, that’s what timers are for—to make it look as if somebody’s home. That little glow wouldn’t deter anybody.”

  “Could be a clock.”

  I stared at him. “A clock?”

  “Yeah, you know, one of them that throws the time up on the ceiling so you don’t have to get out of bed.”

  I recalled the clock that Sam had given Lloyd one Christmas and how much he’d enjoyed waking in the middle of the night to see what time it was on the ceiling.

  “Yes, but somebody has to press a button before it’ll work, then I think it goes off by itself. And what we’re seeing is still on.” I let the minutes go by, then said, “But it wasn’t on when we first got here, was it?”

  “No’m. I’da seen it if it’d been on, but that whole house was dark as the grave when we got here.”

  “Oh, don’t say that! I’m about to jump out of my skin as it is.”

  We sat in silence for a long few minutes, our eyes fixed on the dim block of light emanating from the room at the end of the house.

  Then I blinked, stared again, and blinked some more. “It went off, Lamar! Didn’t it? Can you see it?”

  “No’m, it’s off all right. Wonder what it was.”

  I leaned back, tired of staring into the dark. “Probably what you suggested—something on a timer. Maybe some electronic thing that automatically comes on and backs itself up.” I didn’t know what I was talking about, but I knew Lloyd had any number of in-boxes and out-boxes and Firefoxes and Zip drives and flash drives—none of which I understood nor wanted to understand.

  Breaking the silence, I said, “Lamar?”

  “Yes’m?”

  “I need to go down that hill. Will you go with me in case I fall and break my neck?”

  He waited so long to answer that I began to think he wasn’t going to. Then he said, “Why you need to go?”

  “To see if somebody could’ve approached the house this way. And left this way, too. If I can do it, anybody could.” Even an out-of-shape pastor who had to stop and catch his breath after climbing three steps to the podium.

  “Yes’m, but the cops’re already figuring you could. All you’d be doin’ now is provin’ it.”

  “Well,” I said with some asperity, “I wouldn’t tell them I’d proved it.” I looked him straight in the eye. “Would you?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am, me, neither. I wouldn’t tell.”

  “Then let’s go.” I stuffed the car keys deep in my coat pocket, then crammed my pocketbook under the seat, feeling slightly off-kilter without it.

  After unwrapping the scarf from around his head, Lamar carefully draped it across his shoulders. I started to open my door, then stopped.

  “The car lights’ll come on, won’t they?”

  “Yes’m, but I might can fix ’em.” He twisted around and stretched for the overhead lights. He popped off the covers and unscrewed a couple of bulbs. “That might not be all of ’em. These new cars got lights all over the place.”

  “Then let’s be quick getting out, but don’t slam the door. A flash of light might be missed, but the sound of two car doors slamming will carry.”

  We both got out, quietly pressing on our doors so they’d close enough to turn off a few interior lights that came on.

  A thick row of laurel or some kind of bushes interspersed with pines ran along the edge of the road. We walked carefully beside them, looking for a break in the undergrowth. I was surprised at how well I could see—maybe the clouds had passed on. The lane was clearly visible, as was the roof of Connie’s house below us, but deep in the thicket beneath the trees, it was as dark as pitch.

  “Here’s a place,” Lamar said, jumping the shallow ditch and diving between two laurels.

  I hesitated, then followed him, expecting to be able to stand on the other side. Instead, limbs and leaves surrounded me and it was all I could do to push on through, hunched over and sliding on the pine needle-covered ground.

  “Wait, Lamar,” I gasped, pushing a branch out of my face and getting scratched in the process. “Don’t go so fast.”

  He squatted down and waited. “It’s pretty thick in here,” he said as I caught up with him. “Not as easy as it looks.”

  “Should we go back?”

  “Not ’less you just want to. I bet it’ll clear out closer to the house.”

  He was right. The Clayborns had cleared some of the undergrowth immediately above the house, which would’ve made for an easier descent if they hadn’t left the pine needles. We slipped and slid, grabbing trees, branches, and each other to stay reasonably upright. Finally we reached the top of a retaining wall and squatted down behind a row of evenly planted shrubs—azaleas, maybe. We stopped to survey the house and the concrete yard that featured the dark cover over the pool. Then I looked down—it was at least a man’s height to the pool deck. I discarded the idea of jumping.

  “You could break a leg gettin’ down from here,” Lamar whispered. “We better go back.”

  “Not yet. Let’s slide down to the end of this wall. See if there’s a way to get into the yard without jumping.”

  He didn’t say anything, just kept squatting as he thought for a while. “Okay.” And we began moving along the top of the retaining wall, staying low behind the shrubs, to the far corner, where, lo and behold, we found a set of steps that led down to the pool deck.

  When we got to the bottom of the steps, we both stopped, crouched down low behind some deck chairs, and looked across the pool to the back of the house.

  Holding my breath, I leaned close to Lamar’s ear and whispered, “Think we ought to see if we can tell where that light came from? Maybe see if anybody’s in there?”

  “No’m. I think we oughta go back up.”

  But we were so close, and by this time I had about convinced myself that no one was in the house. Surely if there was, we would’ve heard something or seen some movement by this time. Besides, there was another possibility to consider. If someone was rummaging around in the house and we could make an identification, Detective Ellis would have a much better suspect than he now had. Which was me.

  Chapter 34

  “Scoot around these chairs,” I whispered, giving him a nudge with my shoulder. “If anybody’s looking, they won’t see us. We’re beyond the end of the house.”

  He grunted, hesitated, then moved, and so did I. We stayed out of a direct line from any window and crept around a metal table, minus its umbrella, and several large terra-cotta pots.

  Reaching the corner of the house, I edged one eye to the window and looked into total darkness. Lamar was right on my heels, scrooched up next to me and clinging to the siding.

  “Don’t make no noise,” he whispered.

  I nodded my head, trying to pierce the dark of the room and see something that would make this perilous trek worth the risks. And worth the stinging scratches on my hands and face as well.

  Trying to see inside, I pressed my forehead against a pane of glass and nearly died of shock. Every light in the world—inside and out—came on, and a siren shrieked like a banshee, echoing and bouncing around the hills of Grand View Estates. My hear
t jumped a mile, and my nerves went haywire. Lamar yelled and pushed at me as he scrambled to get away.

  I was screaming, too—I think. I couldn’t hear anything but the wailing blasts of noise summoning every neighbor, gatekeeper, and deputy sheriff within miles of the place.

  Lamar grabbed my arm, pulled, and as I turned to run, my feet tangled with his and, tripping each other, down we went. Expecting to hit the concrete pavement, I braced myself for a hard landing. Instead, I bounced—and so did Lamar, first on top of me, then onto the pool cover, as water sloshed under us.

  Hoping we weren’t over the deep end, I pushed at Lamar. “Hurry!” I panted, getting my knees under me in an effort to rise. “Get up, Lamar! Run!”

  Struggling to his feet, he set the water undulating under us and I went sprawling again. He kept moving, and the last I saw of him was his high-stepping, bouncing run across the roiling pool cover, a jump to the deck, and a sprint up the steps into the laurel thicket.

  I had to move, leave, get out of there, as far away as I could get from the ear-splitting noise of the siren and the eye-watering glare of the lights. But every effort to stand tipped me over and down again. So I crawled. I crawled to the edge of the pool, rolled onto the deck, finally got to my feet, and ran to the steps, panting and heaving, frightened half to death.

  Up the hill I scrambled on hands and knees, grabbing on to roots and branches, pushing and pulling myself up the slippery incline, ignoring vines and branches and briars. Lord, they even had spotlights in the trees! Keeping low—well, I had to—it was too steep to stand up—I finally reached the ditch at the top, coming out a good bit farther along than where we’d gone in.

  I saw the car, darkly gleaming from the glare below. It was right where I’d left it, and nothing had ever looked so good. Hardly able to get my breath, I ran toward it, feeling for the keys in my pocket. No matter if the interior lights came on now—who would notice in the several thousand watts already burning?

  I jerked the door open, tumbled in, jabbed the key into the ignition, and took off, bumping and rocking back and forth on the little-used lane. I couldn’t turn the car around—the lane was too narrow—and I didn’t know where I was going. I just drove wherever it went—it didn’t matter as long as I ended up far from where I was.

  And Lamar? Who knew? I’d thought he’d be waiting in the car, but there was no sign of him.

  Maybe I’d come up on him walking or running along the lane, but I didn’t. As I put some distance between me and the Clayborn house, with all its lights and the racket still echoing and bouncing around the hills, I began to worry about him.

  What if the deputies found him and arrested him? What if he was hiding in the woods, only to freeze to death during the night? Well, it wasn’t that cold, but that didn’t ease my concern for him.

  Finally I reached an intersection where the lane led onto a decent paved road with curbs and stop signs and cars with lights on. That’s when I remembered to turn mine on. I’d been driving half blind for who-knew-how-long. That’s what happens when your mind is on leaving in a hurry.

  Who would’ve thought that the Clayborn house was wired to the gills? I shivered and shook at how close we’d come to being caught sneaking around a crime scene, and, for all I knew, Lamar had been or was about to be. I didn’t know what to do but to keep on going. So I did.

  Turning onto the highway, I headed toward town, my eyes peeled for a small, huddled figure trudging along the side. I didn’t see anybody, huddled or not, and now that I was reasonably safe, regret and a sense of loss swept over me. He’d been so helpful and so considerate, and I’d just gone off and left him. If the deputies found him in the vicinity of the Clayborn house, what would they think? That he’d been there before? Maybe, but I consoled myself by recalling that he’d seemed well armed with alibis, some of which might actually hold up.

  But I couldn’t shake the awful feeling that I’d thought only of myself, without one thought of his safety. Then, as I neared Main Street, I had another thought that gave me considerable relief—he’d left me first, hadn’t he?

  I almost turned for home, but thought better of it. I needed an alibi. I didn’t like the thought of Lieutenant Peavey showing up at my house and demanding an account of my recent activities. What could I say? Oh, I’ve been home all evening, Lieutenant, but, no, there’s no one who can confirm it.

  How well would that go over? And if they caught Lamar anywhere near the Clayborn house, how long would he hold out before telling it all? I’d be nabbed for attempted breaking and entering—although I’d not been close to getting in nor had I even wanted to—and caught in a lie as well. My goose was just before being thoroughly cooked.

  Well, you do the best you can, so I turned off Main Street but not toward home. I’d go see Coleman again on his last night of sign sitting. He’d be able to testify to the fact that I had visited him at least part of the evening. Maybe he wouldn’t notice the time, so he could be wishy-washy about how long I was with him. Some things have to be left to chance, but what better alibi can you have than one from a deputy sergeant of the sheriff’s department?

  Driving out on the boulevard, I glanced at the clock on the dashboard—barely nine o’clock. Where was Lamar Owens? I couldn’t shake the feeling of responsibility for him, but I didn’t know what to do about it. It certainly wouldn’t have helped either of us if I’d lingered at the Clayborn house until the deputies got there.

  And to depress me further, I had seen for myself that the gatekeeper’s record of visitors didn’t amount to a hill of beans. Anyone could have gotten to that house without being seen and could’ve left the same way if they didn’t mind scrambling up and down a bush-covered hillside. And, of course, Lieutenant Peavey and Detective Ellis would include me in that anyone. Until, that is, I presented them with a list of iron-clad alibis for the entire day of Connie’s death up to and including the time I entered Grand View Estates and the time I reported what I’d found.

  But that anyone could include Pastor Ledbetter, as unlikely and unthinkable as that was. He wasn’t in the best of shape, constantly fighting the battle of the bulge and rarely exercising. A large man to begin with, he had reached the age when any extra pounds went to his midsection and stayed there. It wouldn’t have been easy for him to have gotten to and from Connie’s house the back way, but it could’ve been done and no one would’ve been the wiser.

  I didn’t want to even think that. I hated thinking it. I couldn’t bring myself to believe it, but there was no getting around the fact that he was acting in unusually strange ways—even for him.

  I put it all out of my mind as I saw Coleman’s car parked on the wide shoulder of the boulevard. Pulling in behind it and parking, I was thankful there were no other visitors, specifically a certain ditzy librarian. I had enough on my mind without adding her romantic enthusiasm for a married man, and a younger one, at that.

  Chapter 35

  I pulled down the visor to check my stinging face in the mirror. Finding a Kleenex, I wet it with my tongue to clean the long briar scratch across my forehead. Then pulling a few wisps of hair down to cover it, I hoped Coleman wouldn’t notice. No need to give him a reason to question how I’d gotten it.

  There was enough light from the streetlamps on the boulevard to give me pause when I saw the state of my hands. Shocked at the scratches on them and the dirt under my nails—the ones that weren’t broken—I did my best to clean them, then gave up. I didn’t have that much saliva. Instead, I found a pair of gloves in the car and put them on. It was November, after all.

  Then I made the climb over the railing, down the little slope—which was nothing compared to the one I’d recently been on—and along the path, waving merrily to Coleman as I went. He had the ladder waiting for me on the far side of the platform.

  “What’re you doing here, Miss Julia?” Coleman called down as I began the climb to the platform. But he was
smiling and seemed glad to see me. I had a feeling that he’d about had enough of solitary sign sitting in spite of all the horn blowing, catcalls, and eye-popping spectacles that kept him company.

  “Oh, I just got lonely at home, and thought you wouldn’t mind some company.” I caught my breath as he helped me off the ladder. Then, brushing leaves and twigs, undoubtedly from the Clayborn property, from my coat, I made light of my dishevelment. “My goodness, Coleman,” I said, laughing, “if you do this again, you should clear out that path down there.”

  “Don’t want it too clear,” he said, leading me over to his tent. “It keeps down the riffraff.” He helped me crawl into the tent, which I had promised myself not to get stuck in again, but there I was, folded into a limb-cramping position from which I dreaded the pain of getting out. Coleman brought his lawn chair over and sat beside the open flap of the tent. “Mr. Sam didn’t get back?”

  “No, and I’m worried he’ll get caught in that ice storm. Have you heard the weather forecast lately?”

  “The storm’s still on the way, but it may miss us—might be too far to the east. Raleigh’s in its path, though, so he better keep an eye on it.” Coleman’s hands dangled between his knees as he leaned over to talk with me. “You heard anything more about the investigation?”

  “No. Well, not directly. But I have heard that there might be a back way into Grand View Estates. And that means that anybody using it wouldn’t show up on the gatekeeper’s record. Which could put me back in contention for the prime suspect spot. Although,” I said, laughing in a disparaging way, “how anybody could think I would’ve known about it is beyond me. I can hardly find my way downtown.”

  “I’ll be back on duty Monday morning, so I’ll see what’s going on.”

  “That’ll be good,” I said, then wondered how to get off that subject before I said too much. “Oh, Coleman, I’m sorry. I should’ve brought you something to eat. Or a hot drink, at least. I don’t know where my mind is.”