Murder Runs in the Family

by Anne George

  "Thanks." I got up, still immersed in the Daniel story. He had the right, didn't he, to his own political views? But I knew the answer to that. He had siblings. Mary Alice would have chased me to the river in a minute. Dangle, baby, dangle.

  "You can take it here." Emily handed me the phone across her still-open books. I answered hesitantly, afraid that Cassie was calling to tell me Geor-giana had taken a turn for the worse.

  "She's stable," Cassie said immediately, knowing what I must be thinking. "She keeps asking for you."

  "For me? Why?"

  "I have no idea. I called to see about her, and the nurse said she keeps asking for Patricia Anne. I don't know of any other Patricia Anne she knows, so it has to be you. I told the woman I would round you up."

  "You mean they want me to come over there?"

  "If you can. Apparently, Georgiana's pretty agitated and they think seeing you might help."

  "I can't imagine what I can do, but I'll be glad to go see her. It's five minutes every hour, isn't it?"

  "Just tell them who you are. I'm sure they'll let you in."

  "Okay. I'll call you when I get home. Wait a minute, how did you know I was here?"

  Cassie laughed. "You're getting hooked. Bye."

  I handed Emily the phone. "Thanks. Georgiana Peach is asking for me for some reason."

  "I heard she was real sick. Tell her I said I hope she's better soon."

  I collected my notebook and purse. The only in-

  formation I had gleaned today was the story about the uncle. But that had seemed more important than all the marriage, birth, and death records I had found. Daniel's Bend. I loved it.

  Coming from the bright spring sunshine into the parking deck at University Hospital is like diving into a dark cave. I turned on my headlights and crept along until my eyes became adjusted. Finally, on Level 4,1 found a parking spot a block or so away from the elevator. I got out, locked the car, and very carefully made a mental note of where the car was. The trouble with my car is that it's so generic. Middle-aged, middle-sized, in a color between a gray and blue, it tends to disappear among other cars.

  I hiked to the elevator, rode down to Level C, which was identified as the crosswalk to the hospital, hiked across that, and finally found Surgical Intensive Care on the seventh floor. A long hike down a long corridor led me to the nurse's station.

  "My name," I said breathlessly to a pretty brunette nurse standing there, "is Patricia Anne Hollowell. I understand that you have a patient, Georgiana Peach, who wants to see me."

  "Don't you just love that name?" she smiled. "Georgiana Peach." She said it again, as if she were savoring it, "Georgiana Peach."

  I glanced at her name tag. Delia Delong.

  "You have a nice name, too," I said. "Alliterative."

  "It used to be Delia Jones."

  "That's a fine name, too."

  "Not as nice as Delia Delong."

  I couldn't figure anywhere else to take this conversation. "Ms. Peach? May I see her?"

  "Let me check. It depends."

  She didn't elaborate, and I was grateful. I sat down in a mustard-colored vinyl chair against the wall and caught my breath while she disappeared through double doors that said "No Visitors." She was back in a minute. "They say come on in."

  I entered the intensive care room with trepidation. Try as I might, and in spite of Haley laughing at me, I've never been able to convince myself that hospitals are where you go to get well. For one thing, all those fluorescent lights make everyone look like they're dying. And God knows what the antiseptic smells are covering up.

  "Mrs. Hollowell?" The nurse who met me was smiling as brightly as if she were inviting me into her parlor. "Ms. Peach has been asking for you. She's pretty sedated, but I think she'll know you're here."

  "How is she doing?"

  "Holding her own."

  I supposed that was good. I didn't ask, just followed the nurse into the room filled with curtained beds on either side. I kept my eyes on her back, not glancing to the right or left. How did Haley do this every day?

  "Here," she said, pushing back a curtain. "Ms. Peach? You want to wake up? Mrs. Hollowell's here."

  To say Georgiana looked like death warmed over is putting it mildly. Tubes and wires seemed to be attached to every inch of her and her skin was the gray of well-chewed chewing gum.

  ' 'Ms. Peach?'' the nurse said, patting Georgiana on the shoulder and ignoring the fact that I had sat down quickly in the metal chair by the bed.

  "What?" Georgiana's lips were so cracked that moving them had to be painful.

  "Mrs. Hollowell's here. You've been asking for her."

  Georgiana's eyes opened. "Patricia Anne?"

  I reached over and grasped her fingers, the only part that didn't appear wired. They were freezing cold. "I'm here, Georgiana. You're going to be okay." The situation called for lying.

  "I'll just leave you a minute. Don't get too tired now, Ms. Peach." The nurse slipped out through the curtains.

  Her getting tired wasn't what I was worried about.

  "Heidi," Georgiana said.

  "It's Patricia Anne, Georgiana. You're going to be fine."

  "Find Heidi."

  "I don't know who Heidi is, Georgiana." But then I remembered. "The woman who worked for you? You want her to come help Cassie while you're sick?"

  "Find Heidi."

  "I will. Don't worry about the business. You just concentrate on getting well."

  Tears coursed down her cheeks. "Bobby is gone."

  "Bobby Haskins?"

  "I loved him so."

  "Everybody did." Wasn't that the truth! What in the world had so many women found attractive about Judge Haskins?

  And then Georgiana answered my unspoken question. "He loved women. Truly loved them."

  Okay. I could understand that. I've known a few men like that. Very few, and Fred's not one of them, thank God. Charming as those men may be, I prefer one who's selective.

  "He killed Meg."

  "Judge Haskins killed Meg?"

  "It wasn't my fault. I loved him."

  A monitor began to beep. The nurse stuck her head into the enclosure. "Visiting time's up!" she said cheerfully, as if nothing were wrong.

  As I let go of Georgiana's fingers, she clutched at my hand. "Find Heidi, Patricia Anne."

  "I'll find her," I promised. "I'll find her today." Given the circumstances, I would have promised almost anything. Of course, I had no idea what I was letting myself in for.

  Thirteen

  On the long walk back through the parking deck, Georgiana's words, Bobby killed Meg, kept running across my brain like the sign across the building in Times Square. Surely not. Surely Meg hadn't paid with her life for those hundred-year-old bastardy papers.

  "I told you all the time it was the judge killed her," Mary Alice said. I had stopped by there on my way home and discovered Sister and Bonnie Blue on their hands and knees on the sunporch surrounded by bright, cheerful paintings, the work of Abe Butler, Bonnie Blue's father, one of Alabama's leading folk artists.

  "You did not. You said she was in the caves under Vulcan."

  "Well, maybe I thought for a while that she was. I can be wrong, you know." Sister picked up a small painting of an angel with a black circle for a face hovering over what seemed to be a cotton field. "I love this one, Bonnie Blue. It's different."

  "Yeah, Daddy's gotten into angels. The ones of them eating watermelons are selling like hotcakes. Let

  me see," Bonnie Blue scooted over to a stack leaning against a chair. "There may be one in here."

  "What are y'all doing?" I asked. My startling news about the judge seemed to have had little effect on these two women crawling around on the floor. These two big women, who were going to have to get up in the not-so-distant future.

  "Picking out Henry and Debbie a wedding present. I had one all wrapped up in paper with wedding bells on it, and damned if Daddy didn't give it to his girlfriend. Here." Bonnie Blue pulle
d a painting from the stack. "Here's one of a bunch of angels at a watermelon-cutting at a church."

  Sister and I laughed at the same time and said, "How wonderful" at the same time.

  "You think that's it, then?" Bonnie Blue held the painting up and looked at it. "There's one in here somewhere of angels roller-skating, too."

  ' 'I think the watermelon-cutting is great. Henry and Debbie will be thrilled," Mary Alice assured her.

  "But they don't even have faces. Look at that."

  It was one of the most charming pictures I had ever seen in my life. Seven black angels in white robes were gathered around a table in the side yard of a country church. Several watermelons were on the table, and each angel either held a slice or was reaching for one. Back under a tree, one angel was pushing another in a swing. "Trust your daddy, Bonnie Blue," I said. "He knows what he's doing."

  "God's truth. Making a mint on these things." Bonnie Blue rocked back on her heels. "Will you tell me how these angels are gonna eat that watermelon, though? You see a mouth?"

  "Angels don't need mouths; they eat spiritually." Sister held up her hands. "Help me up, Mouse."

  "Too bad you're not an angel," I grumbled. "You could get up spiritually." I took her hands and pulled. Actually, it wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be. "The aqua aerobics is really helping, isn't it?" I said sweetly.

  "Go to hell." Mary Alice turned to help Bonnie Blue, who had simply crawled over to the poppy-covered chair and hoisted herself up. "I could have done that," Sister said.

  Bonnie Blue leaned the angel picture against the coffee table and started stacking the others. "That lady, Ms. Peach, she's in intensive care? Maybe she was so doped up she didn't know what she was saying."

  I was impressed. Bonnie Blue had been listening to me after all.

  "She recognized me."

  "Tell us the whole thing again," Mary Alice said.

  I started with how far you have to walk from the UAB parking deck.

  Mary Alice held up her hand in the school-teacher gesture she's stolen from me. "Just what Georgiana said."

  "She said, 'Find Heidi' a couple of times. And then she said she loved Judge Haskins and that he had killed Meg. That's when some monitor went off and the nurse came in and ran me out."

  "Who's Heidi?" Sister asked.

  "She's the other woman who works at The Family Tree, Georgiana's research company. Remember? Cassie said she had gone to see about a sick relative."

  "Who's Cassie?"

  "Oh, that's right. You haven't met her. Her real name is Castine Murphy, and she used to be one of my students."

  Sister groaned. Like Fred, she thinks I've taught everyone in Birmingham. I ignored it.

  "She's a genealogist now. Works with Georgiana at The Family Tree. I've seen her over at the Samford library a couple of times. I'm looking up some of Fred's family history for his birthday." I expected a smart remark from Sister, but instead she asked about Judge Haskins.

  "And Georgiana said plain as day that Judge Haskins killed Meg?"

  "Yes."

  "Then who killed Judge Haskins?"

  "How do I know? Maybe his wife. She's a tail-switcher." I explained what Bo Mitchell had said about the present Mrs. Haskins.

  ' 'If every tail-switcher were a murderer, men would be in bad trouble," Bonnie Blue said.

  Sister added, "Judge Haskins's wife inherited a lot of money, wouldn't you think?"

  "And hid it in the cave under Vulcan." I moved away from Sister. ' 'How should I know if he had any money or not?"

  "Wait a minute, y'all." Bonnie Blue saw where this was heading. "What was the first thing that poor sick lady asked you to do, Patricia Anne?"

  "Find Heidi."

  "Then that's what you ought to do."

  "You're right. Cassie Murphy probably knows where she is. I'll call her."

  "And I've got to go to Food World. They've got bananas three pounds for a dollar. Can you believe that?" Bonnie Blue started gathering up her pictures. Mary Alice and I helped her. Bonnie Blue looked doubtfully at the picture of the angels. "They couldn't eat bananas, either, could they?" We assured her that

  Henry and Debbie would treasure the painting.

  We walked down the hall, and Mary Alice opened the front door. There, as if she had been waiting for us, stood Trinity Buckalew in her blue cape and blue hat.

  "I came to see about Georgiana," she said, "and I realized I'm not sure where she is."

  The doorway was filled with three large women, stacks of pictures, and me.

  "How tall are you?" Trinity asked Bonnie Blue when Sister introduced them.

  "Tall enough," Bonnie Blue answered.

  I could tell they were going to hit it off.

  While we helped Bonnie Blue put the pictures in her car, Trinity went in to use the "little girls' room." When we came back, she was standing at the window in the den, admiring the view. "This is so lovely," she said, turning to greet us. "Have you heard from Georgiana this afternoon?"

  "I saw her," I said. "She's at University, still in intensive care. Her condition is critical but stable." I thought of the monitor going off and crossed my fingers.

  "So she can have visitors?"

  "Five minutes every hour. I went because she asked to see me. She wants me to find the woman who does part-time work for her." I decided not to mention what else Georgiana had said. But Sister blurted, "She said Judge Haskins killed Meg."

  "Well, I'd already told you that," Trinity pulled off her hat and ran her hand through her short gray hair.

  "Won't you let me take your coat?" Sister asked. "Can I get you a Coke or something?"

  "No, thank-you." Trinity turned toward me.

  "What time are the visiting hours? On the hour?"

  I nodded yes.

  "Then I think I'll head for the hospital. Georgiana is my dear friend, you know."

  "Well, you're welcome to come back here tonight," Sister said. "Don't even think about checking into a motel."

  I followed Trinity to her car, and gave her directions to University Hospital.

  "Twentieth? Right down from the statue with the naked butt?"

  "You got it," I said. After she pulled out of the driveway, I stuck my head in the front door and yelled to Sister that I was leaving, too.

  "Wait a minute!" she yelled back. "I'm fixing us Black Cows!"

  The ultimate treat from our childhood. I hurried back to the kitchen, where Sister was pouring Coke over scoops of vanilla ice cream in huge glasses.

  "I got a craving," she said. "I think it was those angels that couldn't eat." She pushed one of the glasses and an iced-tea spoon across the counter to me. Bubba Cat looked up from his heating pad inquiringly. "You'll have to eat yours on the floor," Sister told him. She scooped some ice cream into a bowl, poured Coke over it, and put Bubba down by it. He looked around, taking his time so we wouldn't think he was interested in the treat, and then dived in. So did we, sitting on stools at the counter.

  "This is a wonderful idea," I said. "I haven't had a Black Cow in ages."

  Sister dipped her spoon into the foam, and tasted it. "Ummm. Will you tell me why calories taste so good?"

  "So we'll eat."

  ' 'You know what I think? I think some things were put on earth just for fun. Like ice cream and sex." She took another spoonful of ice cream and foam. "Georgiana Peach said she was in love with Judge Haskins?"

  "That's what she said. At least she said she loved him. There's a difference."

  "A big one."

  "She said he was a man who loved women."

  "Un huh."

  Bubba Cat finished his treat and began an elaborate grooming session.

  "Think she killed him?" Mary Alice asked.

  "Georgiana Peach kill Judge Haskins? Of course not."

  "Why not? She's loved him for years. First he spurns her for Meg, and then for various and sundry other women. She goes to tell him she knows he killed Meg but she won't tell anyone because she loves h
im so. And he laughs at her. It's the breaking point. She pulls out her gun, and BAM! he falls dead, his blood spattering across her shoes."

  "Shut up," I said comfortably, turning my glass up and letting the foam run slowly into my mouth.

  Mary Alice got up. "I really ought to write this down. I liked that blood-spattering part, didn't you?"

  "Make it on white canvas shoes. The teacher will love it." I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. "Where's the phone book?"

  "Here." Sister took it from a drawer and handed it to me. "I wonder where a pencil is."

  "There's one in my purse," I said. I opened the phone book to "Williams." I knew the odds were against Heidi Williams being listed, but maybe I would luck out. I didn't. There were several "H. Wil-

  liams," and a few with another initial added to the "H." Any of them could be Heidi. Or her phone could simply be listed under her husband's name. And there were five pages of Williamses in the Birmingham phone book.

  "Women's names ought to be in phone books," I called to Mary Alice.

  "Mine is," she called back. She came in with a notebook and pencil and sat down at the counter again. "Could the shoes maybe be tan instead of white? It's not Easter yet."

  "White," I declared. I looked at all the Williamses that lived in Birmingham, and it occurred to me that if by some miracle I found Heidi, I didn't know what I would tell her. If I said, "Georgiana Peach said to find you," she would say, "Why?" And what was I supposed to say? "Damned if I know?"

  "I don't know why I'm supposed to be finding this Heidi Williams," I told Mary Alice. "And there are five pages of Williamses here."

  Mary Alice looked up. "You promised a dying woman."

  "She's not dying. Just on the verge."

  "I'm going to write it down. Dying wishes must be honored."

  "Who says?"

  "Mama always said so."

  "Mama never said any such thing." Bubba finished his bath, and hopped back up on the counter. "I'm telling you, Sister, this cat on this heating pad is a fire hazard."

  Sister paused in her writing. "The blood spatters could be shaped like huge red flowers."

  "How big are the shoes?"

  "Little red flowers." Hie pencil swept across the page.

  "Heidi Williams's number will have to be at The Family Tree. I'll see if Cassie's there. She probably knows it, anyway."