Miss Julia Weathers the Storm

by Ann B. Ross

  “But, why . . . ?” Hazel Marie was stunned, fearful, and outraged—her face changing as each emotion reached it. She jumped up, ran to the door, and locked it. Returning to the living room, she demanded, “Why Lloyd, Miss Julia? Why’re they after him? Did he do anything to them? Say anything? I don’t understand it.”

  “I don’t, either, but keep in mind that we don’t know who they are, or if they’re the same people we saw on the beach, or even if it’s Lloyd that they’re actually interested in. It’s incomprehensible to me. But I thought you should know, so if any strange person comes to the door—”

  She whirled around. “I’m calling J.D. He needs to come home, and come home right now.” Then she whirled back to me. “He’s at the tennis courts? I’m going to get him.”

  “No, wait, Hazel Marie. He’s perfectly safe there—he’s with a dozen people who know him, and he’s under strict orders to wait for me to pick him up. See, I thought it best for him to be busy over there, rather than sitting around at home worrying. Actually, I didn’t want to alarm him by showing my concern. I mean, he’s aware of the car—obviously. He’s the only one who’s seen it. The fact of the matter is, though, we don’t know if it’s the same car.”

  “Well,” she said, sitting on the edge of a chair, “J.D. will be home in a couple of days, so I guess we can just be real careful until then. But, Miss Julia, I think Lloyd ought to stay with you till then, if that’s all right. I mean, you’ll have a man in the house, and all I’ll have is Granny Wiggins.” Granny Wiggins was Etta Mae’s grandmother who helped with the twins and occasionally wielded a dust cloth around the house.

  Hazel Marie smiled, although somewhat wanly, and went on. “Well, James, too, but nobody’d want to tangle with Granny.”

  James, who had worked for Sam before we married, lived in the apartment over the Pickenses’ garage. He was a wonderful cook, but, being afraid of his own shadow, couldn’t be depended on for much of anything else.

  —

  Instead of going home, I backed out of Hazel Marie’s driveway and headed back to the tennis courts. No need sitting at home, worrying about Lloyd’s safety, when I could sit over there and know he was safe.

  By the time I parked and went into the air-conditioned tennis house, the sky seemed to have become hazy and low hanging. Heat bore down as heavy and sultry as it had when we’d been parked on Interstate 26. Marty, according to the Weather Channel, had calmed considerably after barreling inland, but was still wreaking minor havoc to the east and north of us.

  But, I declare, the muggy air felt as if Marty were making a U-turn and heading toward us again. Actually, though, the forecast, according to Lillian, had predicted a storm front coming up from the Gulf, bringing torrents of rain, local flooding, downed trees, and power outages. I sighed, thinking that if it wasn’t one thing, it was another. But that’s the dog days of August for you.

  I sat in the cool tennis house, glancing occasionally out the window at Lloyd and his three friends playing a ferocious game, while children in shorts, women in shorts, and men in shorts came and went in and through the little building. When Lloyd and his friends finished and came inside, they were all drenched with perspiration. Red faced and panting from the strenuous game, the boys downed cold drinks, spoke pleasantly but casually to me, and made plans to play again the following day—if it didn’t rain.

  Lots of luck with that, I thought, hearing a low rumble of thunder as Lloyd and I headed for the car.

  “Lloyd,” I said, turning the ignition, “you’re certainly capable of getting home by yourself, as your friends are doing. So I hope I didn’t embarrass you by waiting for you.”

  “Shoot, no,” he said. “I was glad to see you already here. I didn’t have to wait around—the tennis pro would’ve put me to work picking up balls if he’d seen me.”

  “Well, good. Now, listen, your mother and I have decided that it would be best if you stay with us until your father gets back. Is that all right with you?”

  “Sure, I guess so. But what about Mama? I might ought to stay with her. I mean, if that car really is staking out our house.”

  “She thinks it’s better for you to be with Sam—you know, to have a man around. Besides, she’ll have Granny Wiggins.”

  “In that case,” Lloyd said with a grin, “no need to worry, is there?”

  By the time we got home, rain was coming down in buckets. We ran for the house, sped on by flashes of lightning and cracks of thunder. Latisha was setting the table for dinner as we came running in, while Lillian stirred something on the stove.

  “We gettin’ us another storm,” Latisha said, as if we hadn’t noticed. “We pro’bly have to spend the night again.”

  “Oh, no, we won’t,” Lillian said. “I gotta get home an’ see ’bout that ole house. We be settin’ out pans all over the place if it start leakin’. Now, you folks,” she said, turning to Lloyd and me, “better get dried off quick, ’cause this ’bout to go on the table.”

  “Well,” Latisha said, mumbling to avoid seeming to talk back. “I don’t know how we gonna get home, seein’ our ole car on its last legs. It jus’ grind away ’fore it ever get started, then it go buckety-buck all down the street.”

  “Well,” Lillian said right back at her, “you can walk if you want to.” Which put an end to that.

  —

  While waiting dinner for Sam, I mentally took up another subject mainly to get my mind off the stormy conditions outside. I’m never at ease when the elements are acting up, but Latisha had brought to mind the need for Lillian to have a dependable car.

  At that point, a bright idea lit me up. Better that Sam be wandering around used car lots than slogging all over creation looking at far-flung mountain property. One stone for two birds was the way to solve two problems—finding a new used car for Lillian and keeping Sam, with Lloyd in tow, close to home until our in-house deputy and private detective could take over.

  Chapter 34

  After dinner that evening, as Lillian was preparing to leave, I was still going back and forth about sharing my concerns with everybody around the table. I’d been hesitant about overreacting, thereby worrying everybody needlessly, but then again, forewarned is forearmed. Latisha was sitting right there, listening to everything. Although I’d heretofore refrained from saying anything within her hearing, I finally decided that we all needed to know what was going on—maybe, especially, she did. She’d seen those people up close and personal on the beach, so she’d recognize them as quickly as Lloyd and I would. And if they were here in town and if she did see them, without knowing any better, it would be just like her to walk right up to them and start a conversation. And who knew where that would lead, especially if they were here on sneaky business.

  So, getting their attention in spite of Lillian’s apple pie, I reported what was happening and, with Lloyd’s help, recounted each sighting of the black Suburban. Or suspected sighting, as the case might’ve been. I did, however, downplay the apparent focus on Lloyd, putting it as more of an interest in all of us who’d rented the big yellow house at the beach.

  “But,” Latisha broke in, “they didn’t know we come from that house. We went back on the sidewalk, ’member?”

  “But,” Lloyd countered, “they could’ve seen us come over the dunes on our way to the beach—at least seen our footprints. There was nobody on the beach except us. And them.”

  I nodded. “That’s true.”

  Sam frowned throughout the telling, then said, “Well, it all sounds unusual, I’ll give you that. And it was odd that somebody went through the Pickenses’ car at the beach, but, even if it’s the same trio who’s showing up here, they could be on legitimate business. A lot of Floridians are looking for mountain property, you know.”

  I know, I thought, and so are certain Abbotsvillans. I smiled and patted his knee. Sam had mountain property on the brain.

&nbs
p; “Yes, sir,” Lillian said, nodding, “you right about that. Lotsa people want to move here. But I don’t see no FOR SALE sign on this house or on Miss Hazel Marie’s, either. So what they doin’ drivin’ ’round lookin’ at them an’ nobody else’s?”

  Nobody had an answer, until Latisha’s face lit up with a sudden inspiration and, in that shrill, piercing voice of hers, announced, “I know why they here, and I know what they want. They think we got us a pile of hunderd-dollar bills on the beach, an’ they want some. But all we got to do is put a big sign on both houses that say WE DON’T GOT ANY, an’ they go back where they come from.”

  —

  If only it were that easy. After going to bed, Sam and I continued to talk far into the night—maybe for a full hour before falling asleep.

  “One thing, Julia,” Sam said for about the third time, “if you see that car again, I do not want you approaching it for any reason whatsoever. Get the tag number if you can so Coleman can run it, but get it only from a distance. Otherwise, let it go. When he and Pickens get back, they’ll handle it. There’s no need for you to be doing anything.” After a few minutes of silence, he pulled me closer and said, “Are you listening to me?”

  “Yes, of course I am. I’m just thinking, wondering what they could want. I mean, Latisha was right—undoubtedly, they think we came away with enough money to choke a horse or, anyway, to be worth stealing or scamming from us, but I can’t figure out why they’d come to such a conclusion. I’ve gone over that brief meeting on the beach a dozen times, Sam, and there’s no way we gave even an inkling that we’d found any of that washed-up money.” I sighed and turned over. “I just don’t understand it.”

  “I’ll stay close tomorrow in case they show up again,” he said.

  “Thank you, but here’s another thing,” I said, flipping onto my back. “Lillian needs a new car, and from the sound of it, a new roof, as well. You and Lloyd can do something about both tomorrow, and you can leave that Suburban alone, too.”

  “I’m a little ahead of you,” Sam said, seriously enough, “I’ve been thinking about a car for Lillian, but I didn’t know her roof was leaking.”

  “I didn’t, either. But she never complains—just think about that bunion of hers. I had no idea it was bad enough to need surgery. And if we hadn’t gone to the beach, I’m not sure she’d have had it removed at all.” I let the silence stretch out for a few seconds. “Which makes me appear to take her for granted, and that makes me feel bad.”

  “We’ll make it up to her, honey.” Sam turned and put his arm around me. “Lloyd can go with me, and we’ll get on both, first thing tomorrow. Today, I mean.”

  As rain thundered against the roof, and the room lit up with a flash of lightning, I hoped that Lillian’s house was withstanding the storm. I couldn’t help but picture her setting pans around the rooms to catch rainwater. I nestled against Sam and determined that we would make sure that she and Latisha were as safe and dry as we were. And that they’d have a decent car that wouldn’t go buckety-buck down the street. It was the least I could do for the most faithful—except for Sam—friend that I had. Besides, I would sleep better, too.

  “Sam?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Tomorrow—well, today, I guess—after you call a roofing contractor, and after you find a car for Lillian, I think you should have some business to conduct at the County Inspections office. Then come straight home and tell me what that Totsie woman looks like.”

  “Julia?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Go to sleep, honey.”

  —

  Sam was up and gone before I could drag myself out of bed the next morning, and by the time I was dressed and downstairs, Lillian and Latisha had come flying in, drenched from the heavy rain and loaded down with sacks and suitcases.

  “We ’bout got drownded last night, Miss Lady!” Latisha yelled. “Mr. Sam, he come an’ tell us to get outta that house fast as we can. And here we are, an’ I got my shells with me, too. An’,” she went on, “Great-Granny let me stop at Miss Hazel Marie’s on our way home last night, an’ she showed me a surefire way to stick my shells on, but I’m gonna do it my way first ’cause I think I got it licked.”

  “Law, Miss Julia,” Lillian said, ignoring Latisha as she wheezed from her run to the house, “you shoulda seen it. That ole roof jus’ give way and rain come pourin’ in.” She grabbed a roll of Bounty towels and commenced to dry off Latisha, then herself. “If Mr. Sam hadn’t showed up ’bout that time, I don’t know what we woulda done.”

  “You’d have come here,” I said. “Just as you have. But what happened to the roof?”

  “It jus’ ole, I guess. It been leakin’ a long time, but nothin’ like it done last night. Not even my big cannin’ pot would hold it. I jus’ thank my Jesus for Mr. Sam. He take one look, an’ next thing I know he got a roofin’ man out there. That man say he can’t do a thing, though, till it stop rainin’, ’cept put some tarpaper over the holes, an’ Mr. Sam say for us to come over here. I hope that’s all right, Miss Julia.”

  “And I hope to goodness,” I said somewhat sharply, “that you know you and Latisha are welcome at any time, but most especially when you’ve been washed out of your own home.”

  —

  Rain continued off and on for the rest of the day, sometimes in dribbles and other times in torrents, along with gusts of wind, lightning, and thunder. It was no time for man or beast to be outside, but Sam deemed it perfect for kicking tires and checking odometers.

  With Sam and Lloyd heading to the used car lots, Latisha, relegated to entertaining herself, stood with her hands on her hips as she studied the card table that Lloyd had brought up from the basement for her. With a sigh, she spread out the contents of two plastic bags of shells and began to pick out the broken and chipped ones to throw away.

  Then she looked up and said, “I’m thinkin’ this card table might be too little. How ’bout I pour ’em out on the big table?”

  “No, ma’am, you’re not,” Lillian said. “That’s where ever’body eat, an’ nobody want to eat with shells strewed all around.”

  “Well, I would, but, okay, I’ll use this little dinky table.” With intense concentration, she continued to move shells from one pile to another until she had them arranged to her satisfaction. Then she slid off the chair, announcing, “Now I got to go to the bathroom.” And off she went.

  I smiled as Lillian shook her head with a slight roll of her eyes. “That chile,” she said.

  “At least she’s entertaining herself,” I said, “and on a day like this, that’s a big plus. In fact, I think I’ll try to find something to do myself.”

  Chapter 35

  An hour or so later, with the rain seeming to have set in for a long stay, the front doorbell rang. Hurrying to answer it before Lillian tried to hobble from the kitchen, I opened the door.

  “Etta Mae! How nice to see you,” I said, unable to hide my surprise at her visit. “What in the world are you doing out on a day like this? Come in, come in.”

  “I can’t stay,” she said, her raincoat dripping on the hall floor. “I’m on my way to the drugstore. But I wanted to drop this off for Latisha.” She held out a small wooden frame—no picture, no glass, just a plain wooden frame.

  “For Latisha? Why?”

  “I told her at the beach that I had an old one she could have. She called a little while ago and said she sure could use it, so here it is.”

  “Well, for goodness’ sakes,” I said, thinking to myself, as Lillian had said out loud, “That child.”

  Then, as Etta Mae turned to leave, the fortuity of her visit struck me. “Wait, Etta Mae. I’ve been meaning to call you, so your timing is perfect. Let’s go in here. I won’t keep you long.”

  Looking a little apprehensive, she followed me into the living room. “Is anything wrong? How’s Mrs. Conover?”

&
nbsp; “She’s all right—still talking about doing something, but never actually doing anything. And as far as something being wrong, we just don’t know. That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  Her face dropped. “Oh, Miss Julia, I’m so sorry. What have I done?”

  My heart dropped as well as she so quickly assumed that she was in the wrong.

  “Not one thing, Etta Mae,” I said firmly and, I hope, convincingly. “No, I just wanted to ask if you’ve seen a black Suburban—that’s one of those big trucklike vehicles, only the beds are closed in with nicely appointed interiors. It could’ve been parked somewhere or maybe looking as if it’s following you on your patient rounds.”

  She frowned. “A Suburban?”

  “Yes, and the one I’m talking about has its windows blacked out so you can’t see who’s in it.”

  “Yes’m, I know what they’re like, but I don’t think I’ve noticed one. But then, I haven’t been looking. Why?”

  “I think you would’ve noticed, Etta Mae, if it had been after you.”

  “After me?”

  “Yes. Come sit down. I need to tell you about it.”

  “Maybe I’d better,” she said, easing onto the edge of my Victorian sofa. “What’s going on, Miss Julia?”

  “Well,” I said, sitting across from her and preparing to report on the sightings, “it started at the beach. At least, we think it did.”

  And I went on to describe how Lloyd, Latisha, and I had met that money-hunting trio on the beach, and how I’d dismissed them but Lloyd hadn’t, and the fact that that very night somebody had searched Hazel Marie’s car. Which was strange in itself because there was nothing in it worth stealing.

  “The next sighting was when we were parked on the interstate,” I went on. “Lloyd saw them—or at least, he saw the woman—practically face-to-face, and her reaction to seeing him was as guilty looking as it could be. Then Lloyd saw the Suburban parked on his mother’s street near her house. And after that, he saw it driving very slowly past this house. Now, if that’s not suspicious, I don’t know what is.”