Biggie and the Quincy Ghost

by Nancy Bell

  “Well,” Hen sniffed, “I still don’t see why …”

  Biggie walked over to the bar and poured herself a glass of white wine. “Would you like to explain why you were giving Annabeth money?” She looked hard at Hen.

  “What? I shall not! That’s nobody’s business but mine.”

  “Would you prefer to go down to the jail and explain to the sheriff and his deputy?”

  Hen looked at the officers, and looked away quickly. “No, of course not. I’ll tell if I must. But it has absolutely nothing to do with that unfortunate girl’s death. Nothing!”

  “Why don’t you just tell us, Miz Lester,” the sheriff said softly.

  “Oh, all right.” Hen switched angrily in her chair and took a breath. “It was because of something that happened long ago, when I was just a girl, before I married Franklin.” She looked at Lucas, who had sat up straight in his chair and was glaring at her. She stiffened her back and went on. “Last summer, Annabeth helped me out at home, just light housekeeping is all. I had Honeysuckle coming in once a week to do the heavy stuff. Annabeth just made the beds, loaded the dishwasher, and prepared a light lunch for me and Franklin.” She looked at Biggie. “That’s my husband. She would go home by one usually.”

  Miss Mary Ann nodded. “It was because of Hen that I hired Annabeth to come help me here at the hotel.”

  “Go on,” Biggie said.

  “Well, one day,” Hen went on, “I sent the girl into my bedroom to straighten out my cedar chest where I keep Mama’s good linens, old pictures, mementos, that sort of thing. I wanted her to air the linens and re-press them.”

  “Could you get on with it?” Alice LaRue drained her glass and headed for the bar for a refill.

  Hen barely glanced at her. “I went in to get some hand lotion and what should I see but that young snoop reading my diary—the one I kept when I was a girl. She looked at me with those big blue eyes of hers and began babbling about how beautifully I expressed my feelings for a certain man that I happened to be in love with at one time. The nerve!”

  “And for that, you gave her money?” Lew Masters was dumfounded.

  “No, of course not. It was who the man was that was a problem.” Hen’s hand shook as she raised her coffee cup to her mouth. “Oh, I just can’t go on. It’s too humiliating!”

  Biggie went to the sofa and sat beside Hen. “It can’t be all that bad, honey. Everyone has something in their past that they’re not proud of. Now, go on.”

  Hen looked trapped, but continued. “You see, he was … he was married. Oh, my face burns with shame to this day, even though I was only a girl at the time. I wasn’t married yet. I hadn’t even met Franklin at that time. Why, I must have been—what? Seventeen? Yes, that’s it. I’d just graduated from high school and had taken my very first job. I was so proud—to be out in the world, earning my own money.”

  “That was a long time ago,” the sheriff said. “Ancient history. Why would you care if it got out today?”

  “Why?” Hen’s voice rose. “Because Franklin never knew, you fool. What would you know about propriety, about virtue?” She burst into tears. “F-Franklin thought I was pure when he married me. I never wanted him to know otherwise.” She stood up and pointed at Lucas. “It was him! That’s the villain who stole my innocence.”

  “This is rubbish. Stop it, right now.” Lucas pounded the arm of his chair.

  “I have to tell.” Hen looked daggers at him. “If I don’t, they’ll take me down to that nasty jail. It’s all your fault, anyway.” She turned to Biggie. “I was working for Lucas in his law office. Of course, he was much older than I, and so good-looking. I had a terrible crush on him, and he knew it. The rogue took advantage of me.” She paused.

  “Go on,” Biggie urged.

  “Well, one evening, he asked me to stay after hours and help with a case he was working on … .”

  Biggie put her out of her misery. “I think we can guess the rest. Was she blackmailing you? Annabeth, I mean.”

  “Oh, no. She just kept talking about how sweet it was. I told her she must never tell a soul and if she kept quiet, I’d give her money from time to time—just to help out because they were so poor and all. She assured me that that wasn’t necessary, but I just felt that the money might ensure her silence. That’s all there was to it. I only gave her the money to keep her from talking about me all over town.”

  “You’d be surprised to know how dull the affairs of the older generation are to the young,” Biggie said. “She probably never gave it another thought.”

  Lucas stood up and started for the door. “I don’t have to stay here and listen to this.”

  “That’s right, you old fool. Run away. Run away the way you always do when things get sticky.” Hen turned to Biggie. “I wasn’t the only one. After me, it was Bitsy Weems down at the drugstore, then that little Murphy girl. You thought nobody knew, didn’t you Lucas. Well, everybody in town knew about your little peccadilloes, how you liked them young and tender. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out you’d been after Annabeth. Maybe you killed her.”

  Lucas was shaking so much, I thought he’d have a stroke. He sank back into his chair. “You harridan … you witch! I’m leaving!”

  The sheriff spoke from the back of the room. He didn’t stand up. “Before you go, Lawyer Fitzgerald, maybe you’d like to tell us what you were doing prowling around the hotel the night the young lady was killed.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I was getting some warm milk.”

  Now, the sheriff got up and stood beside Biggie. “Miss Mary Ann, could you possibly remember whether there was any evidence that anyone had fixed warm milk when you came down to fix breakfast? A dirty pan? Anything like that?”

  Miss Mary Ann shook her head. “In fact, we were out of milk.” She looked at Lucas. “The milkman always comes at seven. I remember, I’d had Annabeth leave a note for the milkman after supper.”

  “All right, I’ll tell you even though it’s nobody’s business. I heard him,” he pointed to Lew Masters, “coming out of his room. Oh, I knew what he was up to. He was going to sneak down to Mary Ann’s room.”

  “Mind me asking what kind of a stake you had in that?” the sheriff asked.

  “He’s an outsider, a coffin salesman, for God’s sake. Mary Ann married into one of the oldest and most distinguished families in this town, the Quincys. My family has looked after the Quincy family affairs for generations. I, well, I feel responsible for her.”

  “Well, I swear!” Mary Ann said.

  Alice LaRue got up and poured herself another brandy. She turned and faced the room, swaying a little on her feet. “What is this, a goddamn fishing expedition? If you know anything, Biggie, spit it out. Otherwise, we’ll keep our dirty laundry to ourselves, thank you very much. And as for you, Sheriff, I can have you fired in a blue-eyed minute!”

  Emily stood up. “Mama, sit down and shut up!”

  I like to dropped my teeth when the old lady, meek as can be, went back to her chair and sat down. Brian looked at Emily with a half-smile on his face.

  “You’re right, Alice,” Biggie said. “I will get to the point. As most of you know, I went out to Caddo Lake yesterday morning to visit with the Baughs. That visit was largely unproductive aside for the fact that I was able to rescue an innocent child who was being badly abused. However, by chance, we happened to stop by the home of a Mr. Hance Johnson, who was able to shed some light on the situation. His family has lived as close neighbors to the Baughs for several generations. Mr. Johnson, himself, is near ninety. He told me that, many years ago, Mrs. Baugh, that would have been Mule Baugh’s grandmother, gave birth to a stillborn child. He remembers as a small boy hearing his parents talk about how they buried the child under a cottonwood tree. Days later, his parents said, another infant appeared in the Baugh household, a beautiful golden-haired child who grew up to be Annabeth’s grandmother.”

  “The crazy one,” Hen mused.

  “That’s right,” Biggie s
aid. “The crazy one. Only, she was more retarded than crazy. I did some checking at the courthouse and found that on June 2,1906, two babies were born in this county, one a stillborn child born to Coralee Baugh, wife of Augustus Baugh. The other born to Rachel Quincy, a girl, Marcella. No father’s name is mentioned in the records, and we could find no further reference to anyone named Marcella in the Quincy family after that, no death, no marriage, no probate. It’s as if she ceased to exist after her birth.”

  “Rubbish!” Lucas barked.

  Biggie took the little brown book out of her purse and handed it to Lucas. “Your father made payments to Augustus Baugh for eighteen years, Lucas.”

  “My father had numerous business interests all over the county,” Lucas said. “That doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “Maybe so,” Biggie said, “but Mr. Johnson said it was common knowledge around there that your father made those payments to the Baughs to keep them quiet about exactly who fathered Rachel Quincy’s baby. I wonder if that was why you have always tried to make people believe that crazy Marcella Baugh was the child of Diamond Lucy. Was it to distract them from thinking about her real origins?”

  Lucas shut his mouth with a snap and wouldn’t say another word. Miss Mary Ann turned white as a sheet, and her voice trembled as she spoke. “It’s over, Lucas,” she said. “I’ve got to tell the truth.” She looked at Biggie. “Marcella was the child of incest between brother and sister. That’s why she was the way she was. It was the shame of the Quincy family. I wasn’t supposed to know, but old Grandma Quincy told me about it before she died. Oh, honey.” She looked at Brian. “That’s why I had to … I couldn’t …”

  “You hated the idea of Brian marrying Annabeth. You were terrified of it,” Biggie said.

  “Mom!” Brian looked stricken. “You killed Annabeth?”

  “Honey, no.” She got up and walked over to Brian, pleading with him. “You’ve got to understand …”

  “It was the blood, wasn’t it?” Biggie asked.

  Mary Ann hung her head and nodded.

  “Miss Biggie,” Brian begged, “will you please tell us what this is all about?”

  “I’m trying,” Biggie said. “It’s complicated. Your mother was afraid because Annabeth’s grandmother was, in fact, your great aunt. That wouldn’t have been so awful except for the fact that she was the child of a brother and sister, both related to you. And somehow, out of this union, came some sort of defective gene, which has caused at least one case of mental retardation in every generation since poor old Marcella Baugh.”

  “But, how …?”

  Biggie spoke patiently. “Years ago, your Grandfather Quincy fathered a baby by his sister, your great-aunt Rachel. We don’t know any details, and those who could provide them are dead. All I know is, Lucas’s father, old Judge Fitzgerald, in order to avert a scandal, arranged for the baby to be given away—to the Baughs. He arranged payments to be made to the family until the child reached eighteen. That baby was Annabeth’s grandmother, who was well known in town as being strange, to say the least.”

  “Crazy as a bat,” Alice mumbled. “I remember once …”

  “Then, there was Annabeth’s uncle, Counce,” Biggie went on. “Mr. Johnson told me that he lived in the swamp. Never wore any clothes. It seems the Baughs just turned him out of the house when he was a child. He died of exposure before he was twelve.”

  “Dreadful.” Hen Lester bit her lip.

  “They thought this generation would escape the taint until young Lucy was born. She had it, too. It’s too bad they live in isolation and ignorance. Today, these children can learn to live happy and productive lives. Anyway, as I said, Mary Ann, you couldn’t let Brian and Annabeth marry.”

  “But I never hurt her. I swear.”

  “I know you never,” Biggie said. “On the night Annabeth died, J.R. thought he heard a ghost in the next room. A man’s voice, then a woman crying. At first, I suspected Brian. Maybe they had a tryst in the empty room, then had a quarrel and he killed her. Now, I know who the person was who followed her through the abolitionist’s tunnel and killed her with a butcher knife and moved her body to the fountain.”

  “For God’s sake, woman! Tell us who!” Lucas said.

  “I’m getting to that,” Biggie said. She reached into her big black purse and pulled out Annabeth’s little white one and, reaching her hand in, took out the note and passed it to Mary Ann. “Perhaps you would read this aloud for us.”

  Miss Mary Ann’s voice trembled as she read, Go back where you came from if you know what’s good for you. The Angel of Death. Oh, my!”

  “You do recognize the handwriting, don’t you?” Biggie said.

  Miss Mary Ann nodded.

  Biggie went back to her purse and took out her address book, holding it up for the others to see. “If you remember, I asked each of you to sign your names and addresses in my book. I’ve compared each of your handwriting to that in the letter.” She paused and looked around the room, then back at Mary Ann. “J.R. heard voices in the room next door just two nights ago.”

  “That was Lew and me,” Miss Mary Ann said. “We quarreled.”

  “Why didn’t you go out through the door?” I asked. “Instead of the tunnel?”

  “I was distraught. I don’t know why I did it. He followed me. I just wanted to get away from him.” Miss Mary Ann burst into tears. “Brian, honey, you’ve got to believe me, I never meant for this to happen.”

  Brian looked away.

  Biggie continued to talk to Mary Ann. “You know who wrote that note, don’t you?”

  Mary Ann nodded.

  “You knew that Lew would do anything to make you happy—even murder.”

  “I—I never asked him to.”

  “But you couldn’t let Brian marry a Baugh.”

  Mr. Masters never said a word, just sat looking from Biggie to Miss Mary Ann. The sheriff walked over and stood in front of him, then read him his rights, just like they do on television. Mr. Masters looked pleadingly at Miss Mary Ann, who turned her face away, then stuck out his hands for the handcuffs.

  18

  Home at last! When Rosebud pulled the car into the driveway, I saw my cat, Booger, sitting on the front porch rail, dozing with one eye open. When he heard the car door slam, he sat up and started licking himself like he didn’t even notice us. But when I walked over and started petting him, he commenced purring real loud and jumped up on his hind legs so he could rub his face next to mine. After I finished saying hello to Booger, I ran around back and opened the gate to the picket fence that divides our yard from Mrs. Moody’s. Sure enough, there was my puppy, Bingo, wiggling all over and peeing on himself because he was so glad to see me. I scooped him up and took him home, ignoring Prissy Moody, who was yapping her head off trying to get all the attention for herself.

  That night, after supper, we all sat on the front porch until bedtime.

  “There’s no place like home,” Biggie said. “I’m going to sleep like a baby in my own bed tonight.”

  I was sitting in the wicker swing. “Me, too,” I said. “I want to forget all about that old town.”

  “Oh, you’ll get over it.” Biggie watched Booger as he somersaulted across the yard trying to catch a moth. “It’s really a charming little town. Anyway, you can’t forget just yet. I’ve invited the Thripps and Butch to dinner tomorrow night. They’ll want to know what happened.”

  I jumped off the swing. “I’m going to call Monica. She’ll flip when I tell her about the ghost.”

  “What ghost?” Rosebud said. “They wasn’t no ghost.”

  I grinned. “She doesn’t have to know that.”

  Rosebud grinned back, showing his gold teeth.

  The next night, the Thripps and Butch got there around six for dinner. Miss Julia Lockhart, who writes a column for the paper, had dropped so many hints that Biggie said she could come, too. Willie Mae made pork chops with gravy, fried green tomatoes, purple hull peas, garlic cheese grits, and biscuits.r />
  “I knew all along it was that coffin salesman,” Mr. Thripp said. “He had a shifty look in his eye.”

  “Isn’t that just typical of you, Norman?” Miss Mattie spooned gravy on a biscuit. “Always trying to show off. You wouldn’t know a clue if it came up and hit you upside the head. Personally, I suspected that Hen Lester, going around like she was Mrs. God, or something.”

  “Well, come on, Biggie. Tell.” Butch squirmed in his chair. “Don’t leave out one single thing.”

  Biggie sipped her tea. “Well, J.R. here provided the first real clue when he found the notebook that had belonged to old Judge Fitzgerald. Why would he be making payments to the Baughs? They were dirt-poor and couldn’t possibly have anything he would want. It just didn’t make sense until Hance Johnson told me that he had heard all his life about how “Crazy Ella” Baugh was the child of rich town folks. He knew about the incest, too. It seemed that the Baughs didn’t have any better sense than to brag about it and lord it over the neighbors because they had that little bit of money coming in.”

  “I know people like that,” Butch said. “Ruby Muckleroy, for one.”

  “But how did you find out for sure?” Miss Julia was writing in her little notebook. “Don’t seem to me that little book would be enough.”

  “It wasn’t,” Biggie said. “I went to the County Clerk’s office and looked up the birth records. Frankly, I was afraid the old judge might have pulled strings to keep the birth from being recorded, but there it was, plain as day: a girl baby born to Rachel Quincy, June 2, 1882, father unknown.”

  “But still, Biggie. How did you know Mary Ann didn’t do it? After all, she was the one with the motive. Butch, push those pork chops over this way.” Mr. Thripp had already eaten three.

  “Well, naturally, she was the perfect suspect.” Biggie pushed her plate away and rang the little bell for Willie Mae to come clear the table. “But I just couldn’t picture her doing it that way. Poison, maybe, but not stabbing. So I went to see Dr. Littlejohn. He’s the only doctor in town and the coroner as well. He told me that it took him and his nurse together to pull the knife out. It had been driven in so hard, it had lodged in a vertebra. Mary Ann would never have had the strength to do that. Then I began to suspect Brian.”