Miss Julia's Marvelous Makeover

by Ann B. Ross

  “Yes,” I said, laying it on thick, “I just saw her this morning and could hardly believe the transformation. And to think that she’s only just begun. There’s no telling what she’ll be like when she’s through. The telephone has already started ringing.” That much was true.

  “Well, I, uh,” Rodney stumbled, “I’m glad to hear it.” Then he pulled himself together, sat up straight, and plunged into business. “Miss Julia, I’m sorry that Trixie and I didn’t work out, but I’ve come to make you an offer on some undeveloped land that’s giving you hardly any return. If you’ll hear me out, I think you’ll be glad for such an opportunity, not only to be rid of it but to make a profit on it.” He leaned forward as if to impart a secret. “I understand that county taxes are going up next year, and what you’re making on it now will barely cover the increase.”

  “Hm-m, well, Rodney, I own several parcels around the county. Just which one are you referring to?”

  “The one on Springer Road, which is mostly unused and a drain, I’m sure, on your finances.”

  I didn’t care to discuss my finances with him, so I continued to pretend I didn’t know what he wanted. “You mean where the Hillandale Trailer Park is? The income on that is quite satisfactory. But of course you must mean the remainder of the property—I’d guess some twenty or so acres?”

  “No, oh no,” Rodney said, shaking his head, “I mean all of it. Those trailers can be moved—trailer parks are a blight on the landscape anyway, don’t you think?” When he saw my expression, he quickly corrected himself. “Well, not that one, of course. It’s well kept, but I’m sure it’s a constant battle with the types of people who come and go out there—you must get all kinds. I could take that worry off your hands.”

  Types of people stung me—I thought of Etta Mae and wanted to smack him. Before I could respond, he launched into his spiel.

  “Here’s the thing,” he said, hunching forward. “I have a partner who, at his request, shall remain nameless for the time being. He owns the farm to the north of the trailer park, and he’ll give me a long-term lease—and I mean a long-term—on one condition. I can’t ever dig a grave and bury a body on it. You know why, don’t you?”

  I shook my head, although I knew a little about it.

  “Once you have a grave on a site, no matter how old or even if no family is left or anything, the state gets involved. You wouldn’t believe what it takes to get permission to exhume bodies and rebury them. I mean, for all intents and purposes, the site is just about ruined for anything else unless you got the money and the time to fiddle with all the legal maneuvering you have to do. So,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I’ll use his land for my public buildings—the mortuary itself, the garage for the hearses, parking areas for people who come for visitations, and so on. And I’ll clear your thirty acres, which is just the perfect size for the cemetery itself. It’s mostly level and slightly rolling, and I’ve already marked some fine trees that I’m planning to leave. A lot of people want their loved ones to lie in the shade, although . . .” He stopped momentarily, frowning. “Although roots can be a problem. Anyway, when it’s all planted with grass—that’ll make it what’s called a lawn cemetery—well, you won’t find a finer cemetery anywhere. You’ll be proud of it.”

  “No doubt, but of course it’s not quite thirty acres, which, I understand, is the minimum requirement.”

  I wasn’t sure, but I thought Rodney winced just a little. “Oh,” he said, visibly recovering, “you have an old plat that was done years ago, don’t you? I’ve seen it, too, and it’s not accurate. The property’s just over thirty acres—the perfect size.”

  “You’ve surveyed it? Without permission?”

  “Oh, no, I wouldn’t do that. Just kinda eyeballed it, and got a professional guesstimate—it’s a good bit over thirty acres. I’m sure of that, else I wouldn’t be interested. Have to have the state’s thirty acres, you know.” And he laughed as if we were in it together against the bureaucrats. “Now, Miss Julia, here’s the thing. I’ll give you a good price—how does three thousand an acre sound?”

  “Like it wouldn’t buy half of it.”

  “What?” Rodney leaned back, mock surprise on his face. “But, Miss Julia, you won’t get a better price than that.”

  “Rodney,” I said, leaning toward him, “you must think I’m ill-informed. First of all, that property is not for sale, and second of all, it’s worth triple what you’ve offered, and third of all, it still wouldn’t be for sale if you did triple it.”

  That stopped him, but only for a moment. He quickly recovered, smiled a knowing smile, and said, “I should’ve known that an intelligent woman like yourself would know what it’s worth. But,” he went on with a shrug of his shoulders, “you can’t blame me for trying. Okay, let’s say eight thousand an acre, which is the going price for undeveloped land in that location. That’ll make you a nice chunk of change.”

  “I don’t think you understand me. The property is not for sale.”

  “But, but why? It’s not doing you any good, and I really need it. I tell you what, let me talk to my partner and we might be able to go a little higher. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds as if you’re not hearing me, Rodney. The property is not for sale.”

  He leaned back in his chair, studying me, unable apparently to understand why I’d turn down a good offer on something I wasn’t using. I let him sit and study.

  Finally he said, “I get it now. You’re upset with me because of Trixie. Right? That’s it, isn’t it?”

  I laughed. “Oh, Rodney, you’re so far off, it isn’t even funny. I simply have no intention of selling, and I’d feel that way if Trixie had never left Georgia.” I made a move to rise, indicating that his visit was over, but he sat where he was. “Believe me, Trixie has nothing to do with this. My suggestion to you is to look for another location for your cemetery. Mine is unavailable and will not be available.”

  Until pigs fly, I wanted to add, recalling some medieval story Sam had told me. I got to my feet, looked down at him, and went on. “I know you’re disappointed, but I could’ve saved you a lot of futile planning and unauthorized metal detecting if you’d come to me earlier. It’s never been for sale and won’t be in the future.”

  He finally bestirred himself and walked to the door, his face working as if he were grinding his teeth. I could feel the frustration steaming off him.

  At the door, he turned and said, “I’m going to make you an offer you can’t refuse. That property is ideal for what I want, and I’m not giving up on it.”

  “Rodney,” I said, controlling a little frustration myself, “if it’ll make you feel any better, you can have it resurveyed. When you learn that it’s less than thirty acres, perhaps you’ll thank me for not taking your money for an unusable tract of land.”

  His face lit up. “You’ll go fifty-fifty on the surveying?”

  “Absolutely not. You’re the one who’s interested in the size. You can pay for it.”

  He turned to leave, then stopped and said, “I saw the NO TRESPASSING signs that nosy manager out there put up. She threatened to call the cops on me, so maybe you better tell her it’s okay.”

  “Yes, I’ll tell her you have my permission. Just go on and survey to your heart’s content. She won’t bother you.”

  “And if it’s thirty acres or more, you’ll sell?”

  “I’ve already told you: the property is not for sale under any circumstances. All I’m interested in is putting your mind at rest.” So you’ll go bother somebody else, I wanted to add, but I opened the door and said instead, “Good day, Rodney.”

  Chapter 36

  “Sam,” I said as he drove us home that evening from a League of Women Voters meeting where he and Jimmy Ray had stated their platforms and answered questions. “You have any idea who Rodney’s silent partner is?”

  “Hm-m? Oh, n
o telling,” he said, and I knew he still had the meeting on his mind. He’d done well, as he always did, answering every question thrown at him, even the follow-ups that demanded more detailed information—the League members were a knowledgeable group.

  “Well, I wish I knew,” I said. “I don’t like the idea of dealing with someone behind the scenes.”

  Sam moved his hand from the steering wheel and laid it on my knee. “But you’re not dealing with him or with Rodney, so it doesn’t matter. It could even be McCrory’s that’s pulling his strings. Maybe they want another location and Rodney’s just the front man.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. But, no, I don’t think so. Rodney speaks too strongly about his cemetery and his mortuary and his plans. I think if he were just a front man, he’d have let something slip before this. Besides, he referred to his silent partner like it was an individual, not a family group like McCrory’s or even a bank. Whoever it is owns that farm a little before you get to the trailer park, so we can find out easily enough. I think I’ll ask Binkie to look it up at the county clerk’s office and see who it is.”

  “If I have time tomorrow, I’ll go to the courthouse and do it for you.”

  “Oh, no, Sam, don’t do that. You’re much too busy. You’re speaking to the Lions Club tomorrow, aren’t you? And before I forget it, I was so proud of you tonight. Jimmy Ray got befuddled trying to answer some of the questions, but they didn’t stump you at all. Of course, Jimmy Ray had to defend himself on some of his votes.”

  Sam laughed. “That’s always a problem when you’re the incumbent. Anyway, I think I may have swayed a few.”

  “More than a few,” I said, putting my hand on his. “I could tell from the looks on their faces that they were impressed with you. But, I declare, I don’t know how you can eat something wherever you go. If it’s not lunch, it’s dinner and usually chicken of some sort, or else it’s doughnuts or desserts spread out on a table. It’s a wonder every candidate doesn’t gain ten pounds a campaign.”

  “We just about do,” Sam said, smiling in the dark of the car. “I’ve learned to just pick up a doughnut or whatever and nibble on it. And, usually, at a meal, I can start a conversation at the table, take a bite or two, and string it out until it’s time for me to speak.”

  I laughed. “Take a tip from Lloyd. Remember how he used to stir things around on his plate so it’d look as if he’d eaten something? And remember when Lillian found some dried-up peas in a drawer in the kitchen table? He’d raked them in when nobody was looking.”

  “I do remember,” Sam said as we smiled at each other, “and now we can’t fill him up. He eats everything in sight.”

  “He wants to build muscles,” I murmured, but my mind was still on something else. “Whoever it is has to be somebody with enough money to invest in everything Rodney wants to do. Why, it’ll take millions to do what he’s talking about. Who has that kind of wealth, or that kind of interest in a mortuary, of all things?”

  “Well, think about it. Who do we know that would fill the bill?”

  “Well, Mildred for one. She certainly has the means, but I don’t know how she’d feel about owning grave sites with people buried in them. She can be squeamish about things like that. I think it has to be somebody who’s just off enough to think a cemetery on my property would be a grand . . .” I stopped, jerked upright, and said, “Thurlow! That’s who it is, it has to be! And, listen, Sam,” I said, grasping his arm, “everything Rodney told me points to him. He’s not selling that farm, he’s leasing it. Long-term, but still. And that means that Thurlow will not only retain ownership of the farm, he’ll own everything Rodney builds on it. So if Rodney’s business fails, Thurlow will not only get his property back, but all the improvements, too. Doesn’t that sound just like something he’d do?”

  “You may be right,” Sam said. “He’s a crafty one, that’s for sure.”

  “I could almost feel sorry for Rodney, getting mixed up with him. But, Sam, Rodney has never mentioned the property to the south of my place, which would be as natural an extension as the farm on the north. I wonder who owns it.”

  “I don’t know, but I seem to recall some sort of problem with it,” Sam said. “But now you’ve got me intrigued. I’ll make time to go to the courthouse tomorrow, then we’ll know about both.”

  “Only if you have time.” We rode along for a while, me thinking of my Springer Road property and him, well, I didn’t know what he was thinking. “By the way,” I said, “I didn’t know a railroad runs through that tract on the south. Etta Mae said it’s been there forever, but she’s never seen a train on it.”

  “That’s it!” Sam said. “I knew there was something that put that land out of reach. If Rodney has his eye on it, he won’t get far, let me tell you. The railroad never sells anything, doesn’t matter whether they’re using it or not.”

  “But aren’t some of those old rail beds used as walking trails?”

  “Yep, but I think the railroad just permits the use of them. They don’t sell.”

  “Wonder if Rodney knows that.”

  Sam smiled. “I would guess he does, and it’s probably why he’s pushing you so hard. You thinking of warning him about Thurlow?”

  I thought about it for a few minutes. “No, it wouldn’t do any good, and those two probably deserve each other. Besides, I’m not selling, so their plans aren’t going anywhere, anyway.”

  —

  When we walked into the house, the first thing I saw was the blinking message light on the telephone. As Sam went on into the hall, turning on lights as he went, I stopped by the counter, punched the Play button, and listened.

  “Miss Julia? It’s Hazel Marie. If you get home before ten tonight, will you give me a call? Something wonderful just happened. So, bye. No, wait, if you’re later than that, call me first thing in the morning. Okay?” Then there was silence as if she were waiting for me to answer. “Well, okay, bye. Call me.”

  Checking the time, which was nine-thirty, I punched in the Pickenses’ number and got him.

  “Mr. Pickens, it’s Julia Murdoch,” I said after his abrupt answer. “I hope it’s not too late to call, but I had a message from Hazel Marie . . .”

  “Hold on,” he said. “I’ll get her. Big doings around here. She’s beside herself, waiting for you to call.”

  As I waited, a number of possibilities ran through my mind. Lord, I hoped she wasn’t expecting again. No, it couldn’t be that—at least I didn’t think so. Maybe one of the little girls did something outstanding. Hazel Marie was known to report every remarkable event—first tooth, first step, first word, first sentence, and I mean, since there were two of them, there were double the number of reports.

  “Oh, Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie said as she picked up the phone. “I’m so glad you called. I’d be too excited to sleep if I had to wait till morning to tell you.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. Hazel Marie’s excitement was infectious. “Well, tell me. I can’t wait to hear.”

  “Guess who called tonight.”

  “I don’t know, Hazel Marie. Who?”

  “Rodney, that’s who!”

  Rodney didn’t exactly excite me, but I asked, “What did he want?”

  “Trixie! He wanted Trixie. He asked her out, and they’re going to dinner and a movie tomorrow night. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “Well, my goodness, I guess it is. How does Trixie feel about it?”

  “Oh, she’s walking on air, just thrilled, and we’ve been planning what she’ll wear and practicing with a knife and fork . . . Oh, I didn’t tell you. He’s taking her to the Grove Park Inn to their fancy restaurant where each table has its own server and that’s all he does, just waits on that one table. Oh, it’s grand, Miss Julia. J.D. took me there on our first date after the babies were born. They treat you like royalty. Trixie’s so excited she can hardly stand it.”
<
br />   “I hope she’s not so excited that she forgets all you’ve taught her.”

  “I just wish I’d done what I’ve been thinking of doing before this happened,” Hazel Marie said worriedly. “She really needs more practice before going public, and I’ve thought of having a luncheon—just a few friends so Trixie can learn by example. Do you think I should go ahead and have one, even though it’ll have to be after her date?”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea. But, Hazel Marie, if I were you, I’d limit the guest list to our most tolerant and noncritical friends.”

  “Then let’s do it Monday before everybody is wiped out from Fourth of July celebrations. You’re invited, of course, and I think Etta Mae—she’s a lot of fun and I think Trixie will enjoy her company. And Mildred Allen, who’s always so kind to those of us who’ve never been to New York. And LuAnne, ’cause I kinda owe her. Let’s see, counting me, you, and Trixie, that makes six. If I invite Mrs. Ledbetter, I’ll have to think of somebody else to even up the table.”

  I’d already frowned at the mention of LuAnne, who never let a breach of etiquette pass without commenting on it and continuing to comment for days afterward. Emma Sue Ledbetter wouldn’t do that, but she’d take every evangelistic opportunity that presented itself in the company of an unchurched person. Which Trixie, who couldn’t be roused on Sunday mornings, assuredly would be in her eyes.

  “I think six is the ideal number, Hazel Marie,” I said. “You wouldn’t want to overwhelm her with too many people she doesn’t know.”

  “That’s settled then. Let’s say about noon Monday. I’ll call the others this afternoon and apologize for being last-minute. But I think I’d better strike while the iron’s hot, which will be right after her date. I mean, by then Trixie will surely understand the importance of being comfortable—because of knowing what to do—in any social situation, don’t you think?”

  “I do, indeed, and, Hazel Marie, you can pat yourself on the back. You’re doing wonders with her and for her, and I hope she remembers to thank you.”