by Ann B. Ross
Etta Mae looked warily over her shoulder toward the hall, as if expecting that huge vehicle to come barreling in. “That gives me the shivers,” she said.
“Me, too. Especially after listing the sightings that way. It sounds so planned and deliberate, but we don’t know what they could want.”
“Maybe they think we got some of those hundred-dollar bills.”
“That’s what Latisha thinks, but you know we didn’t. And I made that plain when we spoke to them on the beach that day.”
“And you’re sure it’s the same Suburban that you keep seeing?”
“Well, no. And that leaves us questioning everything else. So we don’t know if we have an actual problem or if the Chevrolet company has flooded the market with a sale on Suburbans.” I stopped, bit my lip, then went on. “Actually, Etta Mae, I’m deathly afraid that they’re interested in Lloyd—you probably know that he and I share a sizable estate left by Mr. Springer, so he could be a person of interest to them. I’ve not mentioned that possibility to Lloyd, but that car shows up wherever he happens to be—they seem to be watching this house and Hazel Marie’s. It makes me sick to my stomach to think of what they might be planning. And both Mr. Pickens and Coleman are gone until the weekend.”
“Yet it doesn’t sound like they’ve actually done anything. I mean, so you could report them to the sheriff.”
“That’s it in a nutshell,” I said, marveling again at the quickness of her mind. “We can’t do anything until they make a move. Anyway,” I went on, standing up because I was too antsy to sit still, “I thought you needed to know so you can watch out for them.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Etta Mae said, jumping up. “I’ll be watching my back all the time, you can count on that. And you better believe I’ll let you know if I see them.” She shivered again and tightened the belt of her raincoat. “I have to go, Miss Julia. I’m picking up a prescription for one of my patients.”
“I thought you’d be off the rest of the week.” I smiled somewhat ruefully and added, “I mean, you’re still supposed to be on vacation at the beach.”
“I’d just as soon be working,” she said, heading toward the door, “and save my vacation days for better weather.”
After watching Etta Mae splash along my front walk to her car at the curb, I turned back to the living room and sat by myself for a moment or two. I hoped I hadn’t frightened her unnecessarily, but nothing is worse than for somebody who says nothing, then to say, “I knew it all along,” after something has happened.
Besides, I happened to know that Etta Mae had some strong connections to a few sheriff’s deputies—maybe one in particular. She wouldn’t hesitate to call on them—or him—if she needed to.
I momentarily considered whether I should tell LuAnne about the black car, but it wasn’t as if she was in any shape to handle another cause for concern. It was highly likely that adding another problem to the one she already had would throw her into a frenzy, and I wasn’t sure that she—or I—could handle any more agitation.
I stood there for a minute, turning Etta Mae’s small wooden frame around in my hands, smiling at the thought of her driving out of her way and in the midst of her busy day to bring it to Latisha. It didn’t surprise me, though, for Etta Mae would no more disappoint a child than she would ignore one of her ailing patients, even if she got soaked in the process.
Bestirring myself and putting aside my wandering thoughts, I went to the kitchen and presented the frame to Latisha. She was delighted to get it—at first. But after turning it over and around several times, she announced, “I thought it’d be bigger.”
“Five by seven is a good size, Latisha,” I said, “depending, I guess, on what you want it for. Are you planning to put shells on it?”
She looked up in surprise. “How did you know?”
“Oh, just a lucky guess.”
“Well, don’t tell anybody ’cause it’s gonna be a surprise.” She picked up a shell and examined it carefully, looking for flaws. “If I ever figure out how to do it.”
Chapter 36
Leaving her to it, I went to the desk in the library and began writing checks for the few household bills that had come in—anything to stay busy on such a dreary day. After putting stamps on the envelopes, I sat for a while, thinking of Sam and Lloyd and what they might be doing.
Totsie, I thought, and hoped to goodness that Sam would get a good look at her. What kind of woman would attract the attention of a man who had no interests other than the television schedule? And what kind of woman would be attracted, in turn, to such a dull and boring man? I’d known Leonard for forty years or so, and I couldn’t call to mind one decent conversation I’d ever had with him. He’d just always been around. Wherever LuAnne was, so was Leonard—quiet, retiring Leonard, who, unbeknownst to anyone, was finding solace in the Abbot County Inspections office.
But solace from what? As far as I could see, Leonard’s life was one long, unwavering line of dullness, unbroken by any effort on his part. Except he had broken it—if, that is, a twenty-year-long affair was any indication.
But to have found comfort with a woman called Totsie! Unbelievable.
“Miss Julia?” Lillian, breaking my reverie, stood in the doorway. “Is it all right if Latisha uses some of this?” She held up a tube of Elmer’s glue.
“Of course it is. I should’ve thought to give it to her. But, Lillian, I’m not sure it’ll stick to shells.”
“It don’t matter,” Lillian said, “’long as it keep her busy.”
—
Just as I was leaving the library to eat lunch, the phone rang.
“Julia? It’s me, LuAnne. I can’t talk long. I’m in the car on my cell—”
“Pull over, LuAnne. You shouldn’t be driving and calling at the same time.”
“I am pulled over! Don’t interrupt. I want to tell you what’s happening, but he may leave any minute and I’ll have to hang up.”
“Go ahead then.”
“Well, it’s like this,” she said, gasping a little as if she were out of breath, “I decided to dog every step he makes, and, Julia, do you know what?”
“Uh, no.”
“He doesn’t watch television all day! Not by a long shot. He’s in and out all day long. I’ve just been too busy with circle meetings and Garden Club meetings and Beautification Council meetings and grocery shopping and hair appointments and I-don’t-know-what-all that I didn’t know what he was doing. He would be watching television when I left, and he’d be watching when I got home, so I just assumed.” She stopped to take a rasping breath. “But not any longer. I am making it my business to know where he goes and what he does.”
“Well,” I said, hardly knowing what to say, “well, I guess that would be good to know.”
“Yes, but so far it’s been as boring as he is—haircut, cup of coffee at the Bluebird, an Asheville paper at the newsstand, a stop at the shoe repair shop, and now he’s in the basement of the courthouse.”
I almost gasped into the phone. “The courthouse?”
“Yes, and you’d think he’d have had enough of it after working there for forty years. But they say it’s hard for retirees to turn . . . Oh, Julia, he’s coming out! I have to go.” And she clicked off.
Oh, my word, I thought as I stood there with phone in hand. LuAnne had discovered Leonard’s source of solace, but so far at least, she didn’t know it.
By the time I got to the kitchen, I was so jittery with nerves that I doubted I could eat. Should I tell her? Or wait till she found out for herself? She was so close to the truth that if she just thought about it, she’d recognize that it’s usually a fellow worker—or in this case, a female worker—who is the guilty partner.
Lillian put a plate on the table, then stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at Latisha. “Would you jus’ look at that?”
I looked over
at Latisha, busy at her little newspaper-covered table in the corner. Shells were fairly neatly placed into two piles, the frame was flat on the table, and Latisha was carefully squeezing Elmer’s glue on a shell, the frame, and her fingers. Scraps of newspaper were stuck to her hands and arms. A streak of glue glistened on her cheek, as she carefully placed a shell on the frame, then pressed on it.
With a look of intense concentration on her face, she slowly lifted her hand. And the shell came with it. “Oh, dangnation!”
“Latisha,” Lillian cautioned.
“Well, these things won’t stick. This Elmer stuff don’t glue anything but my fingers, an’ I’m tired of messin’ with it.” And she wiggled her hand to show that several fingers were stuck together. Then, sliding off her chair, she mumbled, “I got to go to the bathroom.”
“Wash your hands good,” Lillian said as Latisha headed for the hall bathroom. “An’ get that glue off so you can eat something.”
I was halfway through my sandwich before she got back. By the time she picked up her own sandwich, a serene look was on her face as if she’d decided that shells that wouldn’t stick no longer presented a problem.
And, indeed, she was in no hurry to go back to her piles of shells. She sat and chatted with me, talking about what a good time she’d had at the beach—collecting shells, going in the ocean with Etta Mae, and on and on.
“An’ Miss Hazel Marie,” Latisha went on, “she say that big ole black-haired man she’s married to calls her a crafty woman.” She looked at me with guileless eyes. “That’s ’cause she makes things outta scraps an’ plastic flowers an’ such like.” Latisha sighed. “I sure wish I had something that’d make my shells stay on. Don’t do no good to have a frame if you can’t dress it up.”
“What about your sand dollars?” I asked. “Will you put them on your frame? They’d make a very pretty design.”
She looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “No, ma’am, that frame is a surprise for somebody, but them sand dollars is mine to keep. Lloyd said they’re my beach treasure, an’ that’s why I’m keepin’ ’em.”
“Oh, well, I would, too. I just asked because I didn’t see them with your shells.”
“No’m, I got ’em put up real good. An’ that reminds me,” she said, sitting straight up with a sudden thought, “I left my pocketbook at Lloyd’s mama’s house. I got to go get it.” And she started sliding off her chair.
“You not goin’ anywhere,” Lillian said, sliding her back on the chair. “That pocketbook be all right where it is. Eat your lunch.”
“Well,” Latisha mumbled, “I jus’ hope them babies don’t get into it. That’d be a ruination if there ever was one.”
As Lillian and I reassured her that Hazel Marie would take care of it, Sam and Lloyd came walking in, and we all scrambled around getting lunch for them.
“Miss Lillian,” Lloyd said, as he sat at the table, “you won’t believe what kind of car we got for you. You’ll love it!”
“Jus’ so it run. That’s all I want.”
“What kind?” Latisha demanded. “What kind is it, Lloyd?”
“Wel-l-l,” Lloyd said, a sparkle of delight in his eyes. “It’s the perfect car for you and Miss Lillian. It’s a red Mazda convertible. And it has a squirrel’s tail on the hood ornament and a pair of fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror. And, Miss Lillian, if you want racing stripes or flames of fire on it, Mr. Sam said he’d have ’em put on.”
“Oh, my sweet Jesus, don’t tell me nothin’ like that!” Lillian was aghast at the thought.
“You’ll love it,” Lloyd said as we all laughed. “They’re washing and waxing it for you right now. You’re gonna be queen of the road in it.”
“I hope to goodness,” Lillian said, frowning as she looked from Lloyd to Sam, “you got something a decent woman would be drivin’ ’round in.”
“We did, Lillian,” Sam said, smiling as he reassured her. “Lloyd is teasing you, but we were awfully tempted by that sporty little Mazda.”
“I don’t need nothin’ sporty, an’ nothin’ little, neither.”
“Aw, Miss Lillian,” Lloyd said, “don’t worry. We found you a really good car—it’s a nice blue minivan, and it’ll hold a ton of stuff. I can’t wait for you to see it. Mr. Sam says it drives like a dream.”
“That’d sure be a change,” Lillian said with some relief. “Thank you, Mr. Sam. Me an’ Latisha’ll take real good care of it.”
“You are most welcome,” Sam said. Then, turning to the rest of us, he went on. “Now, folks, here’s something else. On our way back, we stopped at Lloyd’s mother’s house to pick up a book he needed. When we left, as we walked out onto the porch, a black Suburban was passing by very slowly. Then, as if they saw us, they sped off—too quick to get the license number.”
“I think,” Lloyd said, “there was a nine at the end, but I’m not sure. It was raining again.”
“Oh, my goodness,” I said, uncertain, but fearful, of the purpose of the people in that roving car. “But at least you’ve seen it, Sam, so you know how strangely it acts.”
“Yes, but we don’t know if it’s the same people.” He stopped then, as we all thought of just who would be so interested in Lloyd’s whereabouts if not the beachcombers.
“Oh, Latisha,” Sam suddenly said, as he jumped up from the table. “I almost forgot. Hazel Marie sent you something.” He reached into a pocket of his raincoat and pulled out her little red pocketbook.
Latisha’s face lit up. “My pocketbook! Thank you, Mr. Sam. And you, too, Jesus.” She carefully hung the pocketbook by its strap on the back of the chair at her table, then spoke directly to it. “Now you stay right there. I don’t wanta forget you again.”
Reaching into another of his raincoat pockets, Sam handed her a fairly heavy sack. “That’s not all Hazel Marie sent.”
“Oh, boy!” Latisha said. “I been waitin’ for that thing!” She clutched the sack close and hurried to her little table in the corner.
“What is it?” Lillian said, eyeing the sack suspiciously.
“A hot-glue gun,” Sam said, raising his eyebrows. “Apparently Latisha called earlier and said that she sure could use it if Hazel Marie could get it to her. We came by at just the right time. Or maybe,” Sam said, casting a skeptical look at Latisha, who had lined up several waxy sticks on the table and was now unwinding an electrical cord from around a plastic gun, “at just the wrong time. I hope she knows how to use it.”
“Law, Mr. Sam, you not the onliest one!” Lillian threw up her hands, then rushed to the little table. “Latisha, don’t you plug that thing in!”
Chapter 37
Lillian snatched the glue gun out of Latisha’s hands, wrapped the electrical cord around it, and stuck it back in the sack. Then she reached up and put the sack on top of the refrigerator.
“It’s goin’ right back where it come from,” she said. Then, glaring at Latisha, she went on. “What you tell Miss Hazel Marie so she send you such a thing?”
Latisha’s face puckered up in a scowl as she wailed, “I know how to use it! She showed me real good, an’ she let me glue some flowers on her frame, so I can do it, Granny!”
“You better cut that out, little girl,” Lillian said, “an’ start behavin’ yourself. That thing burn you up, an’ no way in the world you gonna be playin’ with it.”
“Well,” Latisha said, sniffing loudly. “Well, can I use it if somebody helps me? I’m outta luck if you don’t, ’cause nothin’ else’ll make my shells stick.”
Lillian thought about it, then gave in. “Well, I reckon so, if it’s somebody knows what they doin’.”
Latisha’s face brightened as she glanced around. “Lloyd?”
“Uh-uh,” he said, backing away. “Don’t look at me. I don’t know how.”
Latisha pouted about that, then said, “Then I’ll jus’ h
ave to pack all this stuff up an’ go over to Miss Hazel Marie’s again. She the onliest one that knows anything.”
Lillian leaned over her and said, “Latisha, you ’bout to get too big for your britches, so you better find yourself something else to do. Now clean up the mess on this table ’fore you do anything.”
Sam had quietly taken himself out of the kitchen while this was going on, and I was just about to follow him. Latisha was usually amenable to whatever was suggested, but she was dead set on creating some kind of surprise for somebody with her shells. It was unlike her to pitch a fit when thwarted, but she slowly began to mind her great-grandmother, putting the shells in a bag and wadding up the Elmer’s glue–splotched newspaper.
“I guess,” Latisha said, heaving a mournful sigh, “I’ll jus’ have to go watch television, but it won’t do me no good like makin’ something would.”
Lillian just shook her head, murmuring, “Lord, give me strength,” as Latisha stomped off.
“Maybe,” I said to encourage Lillian, “when the rain stops, they’ll find something to do outside. And, think of this, Lillian, school starts next week.”
“Yes’m,” Lillian said, “an’ it can’t come soon enough.” Then she laughed. “That chile gonna be the death of me.”
“Better by her, I guess, than by that bunion you had. How’s your foot doing, anyway?”
“It doin’ good. The doctor, he say I got to crip along on this cask for a little while longer, then it be cured. I sure am gettin’ tired of it, though.”
I poured a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter to drink it. “What’s the latest on Thurlow Jones? Have you heard anything?”
