by Anne George
"Find it?" Trinity called.
"I'm just admiring everything."
"Told you she missed her calling."
"You're right." I opened the shell book to Williams and found the same number and address that Debbie had given me from the city directory. "It's not here," I said, carrying the book back to the kitchen, where Trinity was sitting at the table eating.
"This is wonderful," she said, holding some chicken tetrazzini up on her fork.
"Thanks." No use explaining Mary Alice's caterer had done it.
"Maybe there's something down in the office. A work file," she suggested.
"Can we go down there?"
"Right out the living-room door and down the steps."
"There's no burglar alarm or anything?"
"There is, but it's not on. Cassie said she would come by later and set it. Just the office part. It's locked from the outside, but from here, you can walk right down."
"The records are probably all on computer," I said.
Trinity poured some more ranch dressing onto her salad. "There's some file cabinets and a rolodex."
"I'll go look," I said. "Right out the living room?''
Trinity nodded, her mouth full of lettuce.
The office was neat and attractive, decorated in the same shades of peach and green as the apartment above it. The three desks were white, as were the bookcases and filing cabinets. A small sitting area held a wicker love seat and a couple of wicker rockers with coordinating cushions. Comfortable. Pleasant. On the wall above the love seat was a collage of antique valentines.
"Oh, my," I said admiringly.
"It's lovely, isn't it?"
I jumped guiltily. I hadn't heard Cassie come in behind me. "Trinity said it was okay to come down here," I explained, feeling like a kid without a hall pass.
"Sure it is. What are you looking for, Mrs. Hoi-lowell?"
"I promised Georgiana I'd find Heidi Williams, and I located where she lived, but she's not there and,
according to a neighbor, hasn't been for several days."
"Let's see." Cassie had her hands full, a large purse, a small computer, and a briefcase. She put them on a desk and flipped through the rolodex. "This just has her address."
"What about her application for a job? Don't you have to put next of kin on Social Security?''
"I don't remember. Let me see if I can find it." She went over to a file cabinet and pulled out a drawer. "Williams. Williams. Nope." She came back to the desk. "Maybe it's on the computer." She turned a computer on that was on a side counter. The usual groaning and humming ensued. "Williams. Williams. Here's a Brenda Williams. Most of this is stuff we're working on, though. Georgiana has a CPA who does the books."
"He'd send the records back to her, though."
Cassie turned the computer off. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hollowell. I have no idea where Georgiana keeps stuff like that." She rolled her shoulders backwards and rubbed her neck. "I'll look harder tomorrow. I just came by to set the alarm system."
"You look exhausted," I said.
"I am. I need to go to the library, but I think I'll stop by Subway and get a sandwich and head home." She gathered up her purse and small computer.
"Here," I said, "let me help you." I picked up the briefcase, followed her into the hall, and tucked it under her arm. "How was Georgiana when you left?"
"Her temperature has shot up." Cassie shrugged. "They're switching to another antibiotic. I guess we'll just have to keep our fingers crossed." She turned toward the alarm panel beside the door. "You need to go back upstairs before I set this," she ex-
plained. "The sensors include the foyer. Tell Trinity I'll talk to her later."
"I will. You go home and get some rest."
Trinity was eating her cheesecake and drinking a cup of coffee when I came back into the upstairs apartment. "Want some?" she offered.
I shook my head and said I needed to get home, that Fred would be home soon for supper.
"Men!" she said.
"I like them."
"Oh, I do, too. I just hate to feed them."
I sat back down at the kitchen table. ' Tell me about Judge Haskins," I said. "And Meg."
"Nothing to tell. They met in college. His family was trash, honey. I mean trash. But he'd pulled himself up by his jockstrap and was in law school."
"You mean his bootstrap?"
"I meant what I said. I think he was the first guy Meg ever slept with, and she thought she had to marry him. She adored him. Bobby used Meg as a stepping-stone, but, in a way, I think he loved her, too. Always did. He was just screwed up. Smart, but screwed up."
"How long were they married?"
"Seven years? Eight?" Trinity shook her head. "She finished putting him through law school and taught him manners. But, I swear, Patricia Anne, trash will rise to the surface. You know it."
"But he got to be a judge."
"Tell me about it." Trinity got up and rinsed her coffee cup.
' 'Do you really think he killed Meg because of the bastardy papers?"
"At first I did. Bobby set a store by that trashy family of his, Lord knows why. But Georgiana says Meg knew something Bobby was mixed up in. I don't
have any idea what. But whatever it was got both of them killed."
"But she ran into him accidentally at lunch."
"Hah. Whose idea was it to have lunch there? You didn't know my sister very well."
"I think it was Mary Alice's idea."
"You want to bet? I'd stake my life on the fact that Meg knew where he was having lunch. She just 'accidentally' ran into Bobby every time she came to Birmingham."
"And Georgiana loved him, too." This was a statement, not a question.
Trinity shook her head yes. "There's just no accounting, is there? Even I had a hankering for the old fellow at one time."
The phone rang while I was thinking about this. Trinity didn't answer it. Instead, Georgiana's voice came on with The Family Tree message. We heard a woman asking Georgiana to call her when she got a chance. But while the woman was leaving her message, I remembered the voice that had sounded like Meg's saying, "Help me!"
"Have you listened to the messages?" I asked Trinity.
"No. I figured they were all that genealogy stuff."
"Well, there's one here I want you to listen to." I ran the tape back, but I couldn't find the "Help me!" message.
"What is it?" Trinity asked as I wandered through "that genealogy stuff."
"Just a message I thought you might be interested in. Nothing, really."
She was getting her things ready to leave and didn't question me any closer, for which I was grateful. How do you explain a dead sister's voice saying, "Help
me?" And how do you explain the initials MMB on a briefcase that obviously had a small computer in it and which was being carried by Castine Murphy?
After supper I startled Fred by telling him I was going over to Sister's for a while.
"Why?" he said. "Just wait a while and she'll show up. What do you need to see her for, anyway?''
"About the trip to New Orleans."
"Why don't you just call her?" He looked at me over the paper. He would be dozing in ten minutes; he and I both knew it. But while he was dozing, he wanted the television on and me reading or sewing across from him.
"I did. I want her to check out the dress I'm going to wear. Besides, her masseuse is there."
"Her what?"
"The woman who gives Sister massages. She says she can work me in one."
"I'll give you a massage," Fred said. "I don't want you out running the streets at night, Patricia Anne. It's too dangerous."
"Old coot," I said, "I'll be home by the time you finish your paper." I kissed him and went out into our crime-ridden neighborhood, which was filled with joggers and neighbors talking over fences in the late twilight. I forgot to bring a dress to show to Sister, but fortunately, Fred didn't notice.
Mary Alice met me dressed in a terry-cloth robe. "Y
ou're late," she said. "Francine had to go."
"That's okay. I can't stay long, anyway. I just needed to run something by you."
"What? Come on back to the kitchen. I haven't had supper yet."
I followed her and sat on the stool by Bubba Cat's
heating pad. I laid the manila folder I had brought from home beside him, and he looked up and yawned a greeting. "I think," I said, "that I know who has Meg's computer and briefcase."
"Who?" Sister opened the refrigerator door and looked in. "I guess I need to eat this chicken tetraz-zini. They made enough for an army. Does that Pri-tikin food come already fixed, or is it recipes you fix yourself?"
"Damn it, Mary Alice. Did you hear what I said?"
She looked up, startled. "I asked 'who.' "
"But you aren't paying any attention, and this is important."
"Can I put this casserole in the microwave, or should I stand at attention?"
"Stand at attention, damn it. Cassie Murphy has the briefcase, and I'm sure the computer was in it."
"How do you know?" She slid the casserole into the microwave.
I explained about being in The Family Tree office looking for some information on Heidi Williams, and Cassie walking in. "I handed her the briefcase," I said, "and you could feel the little computer in it. And right on the flap were the initials MMB."
Sister took the casserole from the microwave, came to the counter, and sat on a stool, which groaned in protest. "I have got to lose some weight," she said.
No way would I touch that.
"You're sure it was Meg's?" she asked.
"I'm positive. Now how did Castine Murphy get it and why?"
"Hmm." Sister took a bite of casserole, rolled it around her tongue, and grabbed a glass of water. "Too hot."
"Anyway, I think she's messed up in whatever's
going on, and I think"—I pushed the manila envelope of letters toward Sister—"that the answer is in here."
"I thought you said you'd read them."
"I started to, and they kept putting me to sleep. I need you to help me."
"But what are we looking for?"
"I don't know. I stuck a couple of them aside that looked like they might be questionable. They're on top." I got up and got a Coke out of the refrigerator. "But you know what I found on Meg's computer disk?"
Sister shook her head.
"Family trees that have been doctored." I came back to the counter. "You remember Camille Atchi-son, who called Meg a bitch at the wedding?"
"I found out she's Buddy's daughter," Mary Alice said.
"Your Buddy Johnson's daughter?"
"I'm afraid so."
"You've got to be kidding." But then I remembered that the files were listed as Camille Johnson Atchison.
"No, I wish I were. What about her?"
"Well, apparently she wanted to get into the UDC, so she went to Meg to have her lineage authenticated, or whatever they call it. Anyway, Meg found out that the principal ancestor Camille had in the Civil War was General Sherman."
Sister put her fork down and stared at me. "General Sherman? Buddy's kin to General Sherman?"
"I don't know. There was another lineage chart that had another Sherman on it in place of the general. A farmer in Georgia who fought for the Confederacy."
"I'll bet that's the right one." Sister looked happier. .
"That's not the point," I said. "It's the fact that someone has changed the records."
"Can they get away with that?"
"As long as they do away with supporting evidence." I told Sister about my trip to the courthouse and the missing papers for Clovis and Elizabeth Johnson.
"But wait a minute," Mary Alice waved a fork at me. "This could work both ways, couldn't it? Say you were an unethical genealogist and you truly found General Sherman or Adolph Hitler on somebody's family tree. You could have the client pay you to clean it up. But you could also stick General Sherman's name in where it really didn't belong. Blackmail them that way. Wow."
"Sure they could. I think that's what Meg was talking about when she said it was a 'dog-eat-dog' business."
"You think she was involved in changing the charts?"
"I don't know." I sipped my Coke. "I think she thought Bobby Haskins was and was trying to protect him."
"Why?"
"Why was she trying to protect him? He was her first love. You remember Odell Martin in a special way, don't you?"
"Who?"
"Let's read the letters," I said.
An hour later, we had come up with nothing. Mary Alice put her last letter on the stack and said, "I'm about to fall out, I'm so sleepy."
I yawned, too, and stretched. "I didn't tell you about going by Heidi Williams's apartment this afternoon," I said. "You know the one Georgiana Peach
keeps asking about? She wasn't there, and she'd left her dog locked up for several days. Bo Mitchell came and let the dog out."
"Hmm," Sister said, "was she all right?"
"The dog? Thirsty and hungry. A neighbor's got her. But I forgot to tell you the most important thing. Bo also told me Georgiana Peach's gun was the one that killed Judge Haskins, that they found it in the swimming pool next door."
"Really? Why would you shoot somebody and throw the gun in the next door pool, where it would be found in a minute?"
"I have no idea," I admitted.
"Unless you wanted it to look like somebody was setting you up. Is Georgiana that devious?"
"I don't know Georgiana well enough to say."
"I'll bet she is. And she's making it so obvious that nobody will believe she's guilty."
"I don't know," I said. "I just don't know."
"But it's possible."
I shrugged. I didn't want it to be. I liked Georgiana Peach.
"Okay," Sister said, "back to business. Mouse, did you find any letters to the American Genealogical Society?"
I looked up. "No. Why?"
"This last one is to a Mrs. Winona Grafton at the American Genealogical Society, thanking her for being so prompt in her reply and saying she is looking forward to their meeting in Atlanta March twenty-sixth. That's next week."
"Let me see," I said. "When was it dated?"
"The thirteenth. That would have been the day before Meg came up here for the wedding."
I took the letter and read it. "This could be about anything," I said.
"Maybe it wasn't the judge, but the women from The Family Tree who were changing records and stealing stuff from the library."
"It's a possibility," I admitted. "I'm sure that national genealogical organization polices itself. Meg could have been reporting them."
"Another possibility is that Heidi Williams and Meg are both dead."
"I thought of that, too." I shivered.
Mary Alice got up and walked to the window that looked over the city. "They're in the caves under Vulcan, Mouse."
I knew that was ridiculous, but I shivered. I walked to the window, stood beside Sister, and looked at the iron statue on the mountain. He looked larger at night, lighted against the dark. Beyond him, in the east, Venus dipped to the horizon, bright and beautiful.
"Did you know Venus was Vulcan's wife?" I asked.
' 'I think I missed out on that crucial bit of knowledge."
"Well, she was. And he adored her. All her love affairs maddened him."
"Maddened him, huh?"
"He forged magic weapons against her lovers/'
Sister turned and looked at me. "We have got to get you on Jeopardy."
"No. But listen, it's an interesting story. He's crippled because his jealous stepmother, Hera, threw him off Mount Olympus because he was Zeus's illegitimate son."
"Are you trying to tell me that dysfunctional families are nothing new?"
I thought about that for a moment. "You know what's wrong with us, Sister?"
"You're going to tell me, aren't you?"
"I don't think our family was dysfunctional enough. Just think about it.
Mama and Daddy loved us both and never mistreated us. And we didn't have much money, but we didn't know the difference because nobody else had any, either. We weren't prepared for the harsh, real world."
"You've really had a harsh real world with Fred. 'Yes, Patricia Anne. Whatever you say, darling.' Besides," Sister dodged my elbow, "we were dysfunctional enough for you to steal my Shirley Temple doll."
"I never stole anything but a fork from Loveman's Tea Room, which Mama made me take back and apologize for." I was looking at Sister, but a flash of light at the corner of my eye made me look back at the window. To our right, well down the mountain, a light flashed intermittently.
"What's that light?" I asked. "I didn't think there was anything down there."
"There are some paths. Probably someone with a flashlight looking for a lost dog or something."
"They can't climb up here, can they?"
"Not unless they want to break their necks."
"But it could be done."
"No, Patricia Anne. It could not be done. And even if it could, that's why I have the burglar alarm."
"The alarm somebody knows the combination for, or Cassie Murphy wouldn't have Meg's briefcase."
"Quit worrying. Sit down and I'll get us some ice cream."
An hour later, as I was going to my car, I heard Sister say, "Mouse?" I looked back to see her silhouetted in the door. "You really are adopted, you know."
I hoped she could see my middle finger pointed heavenward.
Seventeen
Fred was asleep on the sofa when I got home. I covered him with an afghan and went to take a shower, hoping the warm water would relax me. It didn't. I put on my robe and went to the kitchen for some milk. Fred didn't move. I took the milk back into the bedroom and called Georgiana's number.
For once, I didn't get the recording. "Hello," Trinity said.
"It's Patricia Anne. How's Georgiana?"
"They're terribly worried about her. The infection isn't responding to the antibiotics like they had hoped. I saw her at nine o'clock, but I'm not sure she knew who I was. The doctor told me to come on home, they would call me if there were any changes." Trinity's voice broke. "I don't think she's going to make it, Patricia Anne."
