by Ross, Ann B
Across the hall, Little Lloyd was dancing up and down, his arms flailing, as he screamed, “Call the sheriff! Call the sheriff!”
“Wait! Wait a minute,” I heard Hazel Marie say. “Calm down, Lloyd, honey, calm down. It’s all right.”
And suddenly I knew it was all right. I flipped the light switch and looked down the stairwell at a man curled up at the bottom of the stairs, pots and pans and metal trays and an ironing board piled up, on and around him.
“Oh, Jesus!” Lillian bellowed. “We done kilt him!”
“Who!” Little Lloyd screamed, as he finally freed himself from his mother and came running to us. “Is it Dixon? Is it Dixon?”
An arm of the man rose from the pile, swiping away several pans that clanged away across the floor. Mr. Pickens pulled himself to his feet, looking somewhat stunned and disheveled. “What the hell!”
“J.D.!” Hazel Marie screamed, running past us in a thin nightgown. “Are you hurt?”
I raised my eyes to heaven, both relieved and done in to see Mr. Pickens leaning against the wall, as pans clanked around his feet. “Well, Mr. Pickens,” I said. “I guess you’ve learned that your sins will find you out. What are you doing sneaking up my stairs in the middle of the night?”
“I was sneaking down the damned stairs,” he said, holding his head with the hand that wasn’t holding on to the wall. “What the hell did I run into?”
I stared at Lillian, then at Little Lloyd, both of them looking somewhat chastened. “We made a barricade,” Little Lloyd whispered to me. “So Dixon couldn’t get in.”
“Thay Lord,” I said, then turned to more important matters, as I watched Hazel Marie croon over Mr. Pickens, smoothing his hair and asking where he hurt. Her nightgown left little to the imagination, and I was tempted to either throw a sheet around her or turn off the lights.
“So,” I said, crossing my arms. “Tell me, Mr. Pickens, just what you were doing up here before you tried to go down?”
“Oh, Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie said. “I told him he could use Coleman’s room. That was all right, wasn’t it? You were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you. J.D. had to come in late and leave early on Binkie’s case, and I hated for him to have to drive back and forth from Asheville. He’d hardly’ve gotten any sleep at all. Oh, honey,” she said, running her hand over his face, “why didn’t you use the back stairs?”
“Wouldna done no good,” Lillian mumbled. “We got them barry-caded, too.”
Little Lloyd stood beside me and I could feel him trembling as he gazed down the stairs at what he and Lillian had wrought. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, half under his breath. “I’m sorry; I’m sorry.”
I put my arm around his shoulders. “It’s all right now. No harm’s been done.”
“Hell and damnation,” Mr. Pickens mumbled, but loud enough for me to cover Little Lloyd’s ears. “I was checking the house before I left, be sure everything was locked. And, by God, it nearly killed me.”
“Mr. Pickens,” I said, and right sharply, too. “I’d watch the way I talked, if I’d nearly met my end like you did.”
“Jesus, woman,” he said, flashing those dark eyes at me as he felt for sore places. “I did meet my end. Rolled ass over elbow all the way down.”
Chapter 15
There was no more sleeping after that frightful awakening, so some of us pitched in and helped pick up the pots and pans. Lillian and Little Lloyd had denuded the kitchen cabinets to put up their barricades, so it took a while to gather what we needed to prepare breakfast.
Mr. Pickens wasn’t a bit of help, nor was Hazel Marie, since she had to soothe and baby him. There he sat at the kitchen table, holding his head and moaning every once in a while, looking pitifully at her as she petted him. Then when he’d had enough of it, he got to his feet, fully recovered and ready to undertake whatever investigation he was conducting for Binkie. He gave Hazel Marie a quick kiss and took himself off, while she was still begging him to go to the hospital.
“Hazel Marie,” I said, shoving a Dutch oven in a cabinet, “don’t worry about him. The only thing hurt about that man is his pride.”
“But he hit on his head.” She wrung her hands worse than Lillian could do.
“Well, see? With as hard a head as he has, he couldn’t be hurt much.” And I started laughing at the thought of Mr. Pickens going head over teakettle down the stairs. Lillian held on to the sink as she laughed with me, and finally Hazel Marie joined in.
Little Lloyd came in, already dressed for school, and looked from one to the other of us as we wiped tears and doubled over with more spasms of laughter.
He gradually began to smile as we began to get our breath and tell him what we were laughing about. “I hope Mr. Pickens won’t be mad at me,” he said, worry overtaking any humor he was able to see in the situation.
“Of course, he won’t,” Hazel Marie said, straightening his collar. “In fact, he told me that you and Lillian had put up the best burglar alarm he’d ever run into.”
“He mortally run into it, didn’t he?” Lillian said, and that started us off again.
We hardly stopped the rest of the morning, although it seemed that all I did was make more lists. I left a loud, slow message on my yardman’s answering machine asking him to cut the grass first thing Friday morning. Raymond never answered his phone, since he couldn’t speak much English and I certainly didn’t speak Spanish. Then I double-checked with the rental place so that the chairs and piano would be delivered on time, and changed my order from a three-tiered to a four-tiered wedding cake.
“You think that’ll be big enough?” I asked Lillian as I hung up after talking with the caterer.
“Prob’bly so,” she said. “I’m gonna save two slices for the freezer, so it be ready for they first anniversary. Even if somebody don’t get any.”
Hazel Marie fixed sandwiches for our lunch, then went out into the backyard to get some sun so she wouldn’t look so naked in her bridesmaid’s dress. I doubted the efficacy of that kind of covering, but I kept it to myself.
After an hour or so, she came into the kitchen looking flushed and sweaty from all that baking.
“Miss Julia,” she said, “I’ve been trying to think of what to give Binkie and Coleman for a wedding gift. Have you thought what you’re going to give them?”
“You need something to drink, Hazel Marie,” I said, going to the refrigerator to pour her some lemonade. “And, yes, I’ve given it some thought. The groom’s parents, which I guess I’m the stand-in for, are supposed to give a silver service. But, I declare, I can’t see Binkie ever using one. She’s not the formal entertaining type.”
“No’m, she’s not.” Hazel Marie took the glass I handed her. “She might use a gas barbeque grill, though.”
“Well, I’m not going to give that. No, what I’ve decided to do is give them the silver pitcher my aunt gave me when I married. You know, that ornate one in there on the sideboard. It’s quite old and, since it’s sterling, which they hardly make anymore, very valuable. I know Binkie won’t use it as a serving piece, but she can put flowers in it and enjoy it that way. And they both can enjoy the check I plan to put in it, too. What’re you going to give them?”
“I don’t have anything as nice as your pitcher,” she said, sipping the lemonade and cooling off. “But I think I’m going to give them a set of sheets. I know they’ll need them, since Binkie said they’re going to buy a king-size bed and they don’t have any sheets to fit. In fact, I’d planned to get them two sets until I priced them. They’re awfully high, so I think I’d rather get them one really good set, instead of two ordinary ones.”
It pleased me that Hazel Marie had learned that quality was better than quantity. Now that Sam had made sure she had an income from Little Lloyd’s trust fund, Hazel Marie managed it with a pleasing amount of frugality, taking lessons from me.
“What about you, Lillian?” Hazel Marie asked. “Have you thought what you’re going to do?”
�
��Yessum, I have,” Lillian said. “I already started making up a bunch of things for they freezer, so they have something to eat for a while. Miss Binkie don’t do much cookin’, an’ Coleman, he a hungry man.”
We all laughed at that, and I told her that they’d probably appreciate her gift more than all the sheets and silver pitchers they might get.
* * *
Hazel Marie, still concerned about Dixon, drove to the school about two-thirty to pick up Little Lloyd. For myself, I didn’t have time to worry about Dixon Hightower. I figured he wouldn’t dare bother me again, and if he had to bother me in the first place, he couldn’t’ve taken anything I’d rather him have. Maybe Emma Sue’s tracts and bumper stickers would do him some good.
Hazel Marie and Little Lloyd came in the back door, and I thought to myself that the child looked more worried and bedraggled than usual. Still had Mr. Pickens’s stairway exit on his mind, I guessed.
“Hey,” he said, as he shrugged off his book bag.
“Hey, baby,” Lillian said, “come give me a hug. You hungry, sugar?” She headed for the refrigerator. “I got some lemonade an’ cookies jus’ waitin’ for you.”
He thanked Lillian, then sat down at the table. Then, nibbling at an oatmeal cookie, he said, “Wonder what Coleman’s doing parked around the corner?”
“Why, I don’t know,” I said, looking up from the guest list I was counting for the third time. “Was he in his patrol car?”
“Yessum, I saw him when we pulled into the driveway, just sitting there. He didn’t see us, but it looked like he was on duty so I didn’t bother him.”
“Parked around the corner?” I repeated. “Why, something must be going on. Maybe he’s on the lookout for Dixon, although that little runt better not be around here. Or another prisoner they’ve let escape. More likely, though, he’s waiting to lead a funeral procession. A good thing you didn’t interrupt him, Little Lloyd; that was thoughtful.
“Lillian,” I went on, “do you remember the time a prisoner escaped from the courthouse right before his trial began? They looked everywhere for him, got the dogs out and everything, and finally found him up in that big tree in front of the courthouse.”
“I ’member. An’ I ’member when some woman tried to go through a courthouse window an’ got stuck in the screen.”
As we laughed, we heard footsteps on the back porch and Coleman walked in. His face was so stiff and drawn, my first thought was that Dixon was on top of us. Then I saw a suitcase and a duffel bag in his hands.
“Coleman?” I asked, as we all stopped what we were doing and stared at him.
“Mind if I move back into my room, Miss Julia?” he asked, not meeting anybody’s eye, as he crossed the kitchen and headed for the back stairs. His shoulders were slumped even worse than Little Lloyd’s. “If it’s a bother, I’ll find an apartment as soon as I can.”
“No bother,” I mumbled, stunned at this sudden announcement. Then, standing to go after him, I called, “Coleman, what’s the matter?”
He didn’t stop, just continued up the stairs. “The wedding’s off, Miss Julia.”
“No, Jesus!” Lillian cried, smacking her hand against her chest.
“Oh!” Hazel Marie cried, then propped her elbows on the newspaper-covered table and covered her face with her hands.
I sunk back into my chair, rendered speechless by this turn of events. Little Lloyd stared, open-eyed and -mouthed, at me.
The sound of more footsteps on the back porch and the squeak of the screen door opening couldn’t shake us out of our shock.
“Here comes the Spode,” Sam sang out, to the tune of the wedding march, off-key and completely inappropriate in the present circumstances. “Where you want this box of china, Julia? Lillian told me to pick it up, and I always do what she tells me to.” He winked at her as she smiled weakly at his foolishness.
“Anywhere. Put it anywhere,” I mumbled. The placement of china was the last thing on my mind. “Sam,” I said, turning to him, “you’ve got to do something.”
“I’m here to help; just tell me what to do.” Then, looking at each of us in turn, taking note of the stricken looks on our faces, he put the box on the counter and said, “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Sam,” I wailed. “Coleman’s moving back in. He said the wedding’s off. You’ve got to talk to him, because he just can’t do this. If he’s left Binkie in the lurch, with our dresses bought, invitations out, the caterer and the florist ready to go, and Lieutenant Peavey practicing his solo, why, I . . . I don’t know what we’ll do. Talk to him, Sam. See what the matter is, and tell him he can’t do this to Binkie.”
“Called it off? Any idea why?”
“No! He didn’t say one word about why. That’s why I want you to talk to him.”
“I don’t know, Julia. He may not want to talk to anybody,” Sam said, touching my arm to calm me down. “These things happen, you know, what with the stress of the wedding. I expect they’ve just had a little tiff, and they’ll work it out themselves.”
“You didn’t see him, Sam. He looked like he had the whole world on his shoulders. Whatever’s happened, it’s not a little tiff. I tell you, we’ve got to do something before Binkie is shamed before the whole town. Oh, Lord,” I said, holding my head, “left at the altar. She’ll never live it down.”
“Why don’t you call her? Get an idea of what’s happened before I try to talk to Coleman.”
“Well!” I cried, throwing up my hands. “That’s the whole problem right there. I should’ve known it. Binkie’s too busy to straighten this out. Too busy with her cases to even take part in her own wedding. That’s it,” I went on, nodding my head as I felt sure I’d nailed down the problem. “Coleman can’t stand the competition of her job. Men! They choose smart, accomplished women to fall in love with, then when they marry them, they expect them to turn into happy little homemakers with nothing in their heads but what closet to clean or what floor to mop. I declare, you’d think if that’s what they want, they’d choose an airheaded blonde in the first place! Oh, sorry, Hazel Marie, that was not a reflection on you, just a figure of speech.”
I dropped back into my chair, just done in with the thought that the lovely wedding I’d planned was now in tatters. “Go talk to him, Sam. Please.”
Sam patted my shoulder. “Look, there’s no use speculating on who’s at fault. Maybe nobody is; maybe they’ve both decided that they aren’t right for each other.”
“My Lord, Sam, they’ve been right for each other for, lo, I don’t know how long! Now is a poor time to be thinking otherwise. Especially since I have everything planned down to the last sprig of baby’s breath. Go on upstairs, Sam, and find out what’s going on, so we’ll know what to do about it.”
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” Sam said, frowning, as he headed for the stairs. “But I’ll try.”
“That’s all I want,” I said, thinking that if everybody tried as hard as I did, there’d be a lot less heartache around this house.
Chapter 16
“No good, Julia,” Sam said as he came back downstairs, shaking his head. “He just says he can’t talk about it right now. We’ll just have to leave them alone and let them work it out themselves.”
“How can I do that?” I stormed. “Sam, you don’t seem to understand! Here it is just days before the wedding and the whole town’s set to see it take place.”
Sam gave my exaggeration a brief smile and said, “Let’s not worry about the town, Julia. Coleman’s the one we ought to be concerned about. And Binkie, if she’s in half the shape he’s in.”
Hazel Marie’s eyes began to overflow at the thought. “I just can’t stand it,” she sobbed. “Everybody’s breaking up and hurting each other and, oh, nobody, just nobody cares about anybody else.” And down went her head onto the table. She’d been listening to too many country music songs, in my opinion.
“Well,” I said, ready to throw up my hands. “I don’t know what to do. Should I start canceli
ng everything on Coleman’s say-so? I’ve ordered enough food to feed an army, so if there’s no wedding, who’s going to eat it? And my furniture’s gone and the silver’s polished. And wedding presents are coming in, stacking up like you wouldn’t believe.” I looked wild-eyed around the room, hoping an answer would be forthcoming from somewhere.
“Hazel Marie,” I said, my eyes lighting on her. “Stop crying and help me out here. Should we carry on and hope those two will mend their fences? Or should we start calling everything off?”
She raised her head and wiped her face with her hands. Little Lloyd handed her his napkin and patted her on the back. “I don’t know, Miss Julia,” she said. “It just hurts me so bad for this to happen. I don’t understand it. Here, they both wanted to marry and they’ve let some little thing come between them. While J.D. won’t even . . .” Down went her head again as the tears gushed out.
“It’s all right, Mama,” Little Lloyd said, patting her again. “Don’t cry.”
“Why don’t you call Binkie before you do anything?” Sam said, the voice of reason as always.
“I’ll do better than that,” I said, determined to get to the bottom of the problem. I’d thought it was Binkie who was being left at the altar, but now I realized I was the one left holding the bag. But over and above a houseful of guests and a mountain of food and a preacher and a soloist and a pianist on my hands, Binkie and Coleman ought to get married.
“She’ll just put me off if I call,” I said, turning to look for my purse. “I’m going to her office and I’m going to sit there until she tells me what’s going on.”
“Hold on, Julia,” Sam said. “You might ought to stay out of it.”
“I’m already in it, Sam! Besides, I can’t stand the thought of Coleman up there hurting and refusing to talk about it. Somebody owes me an explanation, and I’m going to get it. You want to go with me?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not my place to question their decision. She wouldn’t appreciate me sticking my nose in. But, you, yes, maybe she’ll talk to you since you’ve worked so hard on the wedding.”
