I walked home after that, feeling more full than proud. A stiff wind had kicked up and I had to lean into it to keep from being blown off my feet. It didn’t help that my bags full of whatnots for the girls kept filling with air and pulling me backward like parachutes. I stopped and tied them closed with the handles. Then I leaned forward and pushed on toward home.
I was almost home when I got to thinking how silly I must look, all ninety-eight pounds of me, buckin’ a headwind. It just tickled me so much that I got to giggling. Inside at first, but then it just bubbled out the top and I was nearly crying with laughter by the time I hit my porch. I had been so focused on putting one foot in front of the other that I hadn’t looked up yet when I set my foot on the first step.
“’Bout time you got home,” a voice boomed from my porch. I looked up, choking back a giggle.
“Whatcha’ laughin’ at, Ora Lee?” The Honorable Harley T. Odell thundered from his seat in one of my rockers.
Harley Odell was as large as I was slight, with a bulging belly that stretched the hope of any wrinkle right out of his expensive western-cut shirt. He sat with one foot propped on the runner of the chair and his snakeskin boots gleamed shiny gray beneath the dark blue slacks he wore. His face was covered in a neatly-trimmed, but thick beard of more salt than pepper. A handlebar mustache, waxed and twisted in place just so, covered his top lip and provided a frame for his bulbous red nose. He looked like a cross between Santa and his lead reindeer with a little John Wayne thrown in for good measure.
I hiccupped through the last of my giggles, set my packages on the top step and stared at my visitor with both arms akimbo.
“Well, if it ain’t Poopsie, it’s the devil himself!”
“Afternoon, Ora Lee.”
Lord, but the man had a voice as smooth as silk, even if it was a few decibels above normal.
“I wasn’t expecting company or I’da been here to meet you.”
“I woulda called,” he drawled, “but I didn’t think of stopping here until I was coming through town.”
“How long you been waiting?”
“Oh, ‘bout thirty minutes or so. It’s nice on this porch. Warm for December, wind and all.”
“That’s a long time, nice porch or not. What brings you here, Poopsie?”
“A strong desire to lose that old nickname, for one,” he said with a wry smile.
“Aw, I always thought it suited you just fine. Would you like some tea?”
“You haven’t changed a whit since high school, Ora Lee. Still got that sharp tongue, tempered only by your earnest devotion to the social graces. Sweet, please.”
I gathered my packages without a word and was soon back with two glasses of sweet tea. I settled into my chair and sipped the icy brew.
“You didn’t finish answering my question. What can I do for you?”
“Glad you asked.” Harley Odell leaned forward as he spoke. “I got a problem over at the jail I was hoping you could help me with.”
“What kind of problem?”
“Got an old man there I’m pretty sure didn’t do what the sheriff says he did and I don’t know how to handle it.”
“Eldred Mims?”
“The one and only.”
“What gave it away?” I huffed. “I told you myself he couldn’t have killed anyone.”
“Yep, you did. And I’m inclined to believe you. Problem is, I’ve got to do something with the man between now and time for the trial. I’m thinking of letting him out on bail, but nobody’ll post it without him having an address, much less a home.”
“I can vouch for him, if that’s what you’re asking,” I said.
“Well, in a way, I am,” Harley squirmed in the rocker, “but there’s more to it than that.”
“Such as?”
“You visit him fairly often, don’t you?”
“Much as I can, yes.”
“I‘m just wondering why it is you do that.” Harley cocked his head sideways and peered at me curiously.
“’Cause of what you just said. I think Ralph Kornegay’s got the wrong man and I feel bad for him, being in jail like that. And I think the longer he stays there, the more likely it is he’ll be hurt worse than he was already hurt.”
“How bad do you want him out?” Harley asked, leaning forward again. “Or maybe I should rephrase that. How much are you willing to bet he didn’t do it?”
“How much is his bail?”
“I haven’t set it yet. Hearing’s Monday afternoon.”
I was getting tired of the game, but I decided to hang in a while longer. “How much are you thinking?”
“Normally, it’d have to be a hundred thousand or more, but I’d be willing to make a deal for less.”
“Get to the point, Poopsie.”
“Fifty thousand and you never call me Poopsie again.”
“Done,” I said, thinking I had gotten off quite easily.
Harley Odell reached down and snagged his hat from where it lay on the floor beside the chair. Then, rocking forward for momentum, he heaved his massive frame to a standing position and paused for a moment in front of me. He seemed to be considering something carefully.
“I’ll have my secretary call you Monday. She’ll have all the details on posting Mr. Mims’ bail.”
“That will be fine, Harley,” I said, “and I appreciate what you’re doing for the man.”
“Well, I’m not sure how much you gonna appreciate the rest of the deal, but I really have no choice.”
“The rest of the deal?”
“Get your guest room ready, Ora. He’ll be staying with you.”
I was too stunned to speak and ol’ Poopsie was apparently counting on that. He tipped his hat and strode off my porch with surprising agility for a man his size. He was in his car and backing down my driveway before I found my voice. There was no one there to hear me talking to myself.
“Well, my Lord, Ora. What have you gotten yourself into now?”
Seventeen
Clara Jean Munderson called me at 10:00 sharp on Monday morning. I was sitting at the kitchen table updating my Christmas list for next year when the phone rang.
“Mornin’, Mrs. Beckworth,” a soft, pleasant drawl greeted me. “This is Clara Munderson at Judge Odell’s office.”
“Yes, Clara Jean, I recognized your voice,” I responded affably.
Another of my Sunday School members, the only child of Clarice and Bill Munderson was the consummate professional. Never one to play noisily with the others in her class, Clara Jean was always amiable, always respectful, but not in the least a pushover. It was amazing how she had handled herself as a child and how that translated into the position she had held for the past twenty years. She was gentle and compassionate and a good listener, which led many of her friends to confide in her on a regular basis. And she’d have died before she ever broke a confidence.
I was on the Baptist Women’s Prayer Chain for many years before I got kicked off for telling them to stop using God as an excuse to gossip. I can assure you, if Clara Jean ever betrayed a word of what went on behind Harley Odell’s closed door, I’d have heard about it. And if the door was closed, it stayed closed. God Himself wouldn’t get through to the judge if He didn’t have special clearance or an appointment. Clara Jean never married, leading half the self-righteous old biddies on the chain to speculate that she was keeping far more than Poopsie’s professional business a secret. I knew better than to contemplate such a thing. The thought of ol’ Poopsie in the throes of passion was just more than I could stand.
“Judge Odell wanted me to give you some information about posting bail for Mr. Eldred Mims. You have something to write with?”
“Matter of fact, I do, Clara Jean. Go ahead.”
I took her instructions carefully, repeating them back to her to make sure I had them straight. I could hear Blanche go quiet at the kitchen sink. It’s funny how I did not notice the noise of dishes being washed and the low wordless tunes Blanche hummed
until both were abruptly stopped. As I finished my call and hung up, Blanche sat down at the table, drying her hands on the dish towel that hung from the waistband of her wide apron.
“What’s goin’ on with Mr. Mims?” Blanche could be downright blunt when she wanted to know something.
“Well, I was going to tell you about that this morning,” I replied, in no real hurry to do the telling. I braced myself for her reaction and dove right in.
“I’m posting bail for Eddie tomorrow morning.”
“You go'n do what?” Blanche exploded.
“I’m getting Eddie out of jail,” I repeated.
“I heard what you said,” Blanche replied. “What I want to know is what in the world you think you’re doing!”
“I’m helping a friend is what I’m doing,” I looked her dead in the eye and silently dared her to argue with that. Apparently dares didn’t worry Blanche one little bit.
“Eldred Mims ain’t no friend of yours, Miz Ora, and you know that plain and true. Now I want you to tell me what is goin’ on here.”
I stood then and pulled myself up to my full five feet plus three very short inches.
“I am posting bail for Mr. Mims tomorrow morning, after which he will be staying in Walter’s old room. If you have a problem with that, I’ll be happy to get the room ready myself. Otherwise, I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
I turned my back on Blanche then and left the room. I could still hear her muttering as I went upstairs to do some paperwork. Bravado aside, I planned to stay out of her way as much as I could that day.
The next morning I stopped by Citizen’s Family Bank and picked up a Cashier’s Check for $50,000, as Clara Jean had instructed. The head teller was Seeley Graves. She’d been at the bank for ten years and was the president of the Junior Woman’s Club. I knew her well enough to know she was a gossip of epic proportions. Seeley repeated the information I gave her with a quizzical arch of one perfectly plucked eyebrow.
“It’s none of your business, Seeley,” I said without humor. “Just cut the check and quit wondering.”
She sniffed disapprovingly, but presented me with the requested instrument in good time.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, Mrs. Beckworth?” Her sincerity was overwhelming.
“As a matter of fact, yes, there is.” I looked her straight in the eye. “You can remember the confidential nature of this transaction and keep it to yourself.”
I slipped the check into my pocketbook and snapped it shut. Then I smiled sweetly at her, but narrowed my eyes and said pointedly, “If I hear one word that even makes me think a mutual acquaintance knows my personal business, I’ll be on Steve Haskins’ doorstep so fast it’ll make your head spin.”
Walter had been on the board of directors at the bank and a frequent golfing partner of the bank president. Seeley knew it was no empty threat.
I knew I was being a bit touchy about the matter, but I felt no regret at my pre-emptive behavior. The older I get, the less I care what people think of me, but I care a great deal about people knowing my business.
I arrived at the Clerk’s office promptly at 10:00 a.m., paid the bail and signed the prerequisite documents. Then I took the stairs to Judge Owen’s office on the third floor of the courthouse. Clara Jean was at the coffee pot when I walked through the door. Either someone tipped her off as to my arrival or she simply counted on my punctuality, because she had an extra cup already poured and in her hand.
“Good morning, Mrs. Beckworth,” she smiled with genuine hospitality and grace. “Cream and sugar, right?”
I was impressed. “Thank you, Clara Jean.” I smiled and took the proffered mug.
“Judge Odell would like to speak with you personally,” she continued. “Do you have a few minutes?”
“I’m in no hurry,” I replied.
She returned to her desk and sat, moving a stack of files to the right, out of her way and out of my sight.
“You all ready for Christmas?” she asked pleasantly.
“Just about,” I answered. “I’m having some company this year.”
“Oh, I know,” she said quickly. “Judge Odell filled me in. I hope you don’t mind.”
“You mean Mr. Mims,” I said. “Yes, he’ll be staying with me, too, but I was referring to Blanche and her children. I’ve invited them to have Christmas with me.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize,” she blurted. “Why, that’s quite a houseful, isn’t it?”
She meant nothing by it, I knew, but the incident with Patrice had put me on alert for bigotry of any kind.
“My house has been empty for years. It will be nice to fill it with family,” I said, trying not to sound snippy, but not succeeding.
“Of course it will,” she smiled. “Mr. Beckworth hasn’t been gone that long. I know how hard it is to be alone sometimes.”
And she did know. I instantly regretted my wariness. Clara Jean came along late in her parents’ lives. Clarice died of breast cancer several years prior and her father had a stroke less than a year afterward. The last I had heard he was still languishing in a nursing home nearby. Sometimes I could just cut my tongue out.
“We would love to have you join us, Clara Jean,” I said gently. “We’ll be having a big dinner Christmas Eve.”
“Oh, thank you for asking, Mrs. Beckworth, but…”
“I understand completely,” I said.
“No, no…” she trailed off again. “It’s just that - I haven’t really told anyone yet.”
She looked over her shoulder at the closed door behind her. I braced myself for the confession of the century.
“I may have a date Christmas Eve.” I swear she giggled.
“A date!” I can be a little too loud when I’m caught off guard.
“Shhhh…” Clara Jean warned, nodding toward the closed door behind her. “He doesn’t know yet.”
“Why would he care?” Lord, I’m nosy.
She looked over her shoulder again and whispered loud enough for me to hear, “I don’t want him to worry.”
“Poopsie? Worried?”
“Mrs. Beckworth, I have strict orders to correct you every time you call him that.” Ever on guard, that girl is.
“You know about our deal then.” I shrugged. “Am I allowed to call him Harley?”
“You and you alone,” She said with an amused grin. “Judge Odell has been like a father to me. I don’t want him to know about my date until I see where it’s going.”
That little bit of information put to rest any of the rumors I had ever heard.
I got the feeling Clara Jean wanted to tell someone her news. I suddenly felt maternal. “Well, he won’t hear it from me. Anything else you want to share about this mystery man? I’m all ears and no mouth where you are concerned.”
“Well, I’ve known him all my life, but I hadn’t seen him in years. I ran into him when I took some papers over to the jail the other day. We got to talking about Christmas and how neither of us had plans, and I‘m not sure who even asked who, but suddenly we had a date for Christmas Eve!”
I reached out and put my hand on hers. “Clara Jean, I couldn’t be happier for you. I hope you have the merriest Christmas ever.”
Just then the door flew open and Harley Odell appeared, taking far more than his share of space in the room, as usual.
“Well, if it isn’t the ever-punctual Ora Lee,” the honorable judge boomed. “You ready to take care of this business?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I allowed with more than a hint of resignation.
“Well, come on in and we’ll go over a few details before I release Mr. Mims.”
I followed him into his office and sat in one of the huge leather wing chairs in front of his desk.
“I‘ll get right to the point,” Harley said, more quietly than I anticipated. “Is there anything else I should know about Eldred Mims before I place him in your care?”
“Can’t think of a thing,” I said calmly.<
br />
He leaned back then, his massive chair groaning loudly from the shifting weight. Folding his arms across his chest he eyed me curiously through his bifocals.
“Nary a thing, eh?” I swear he smirked then and I hated him for it.
“I don’t have time for games, Poopsie,” I snapped.
“Uh, uh, uh!” he half-grinned. “A deal’s a deal.”
“Old habits die hard,” I grumbled. “I have no idea what you want me to say, Judge Odell! He’s a harmless old man who more than likely was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Either release him to me or let me go get my check back to the bank before I lose a day’s interest on it.”
“Something’s not right here, Ora Lee, and I’d be willing to bet my life on that one. But, seeing as how you aren’t talking, I’ll have to just trust my gut and keep an eye out for trouble.”
“I don’t think there will be any trouble, Harley. He’s just an old man,” I repeated with just a hint more desperation than conviction.
“I’ll have Chip Smallwood bring him by your house this evening after dark. I don’t expect any trouble out of Ralph or his deputies; I’ve made sure they know who’s watching them at this point.”
I nodded once in reply.
“I doubt you’ll have any trouble from the townspeople, but I wouldn’t be advertising the fact that he’s staying there if I were you.”
“Hell, they didn’t like it when I was having him mow my yard. Dovey Kincaid will broadcast it the minute she figures it out, and I know that won’t take long.”
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Poopsie sounded concerned this time.
“I’m sure,” I said softly. “Besides, I still have Blanche to help me.”
“She’s a good woman, that maid of yours.”
“She’s my friend,” I said and then repeated, “my friend.”
“As am I,” Harley said, more gently than I’d ever heard him be.
Eddie arrived that afternoon. I watched Chip walk him up my front walk, one hand holding the old man’s elbow, the other carrying a paper sack which turned out to be the sum total of Eddie’s earthly possessions.
The Pecan Man Page 10
