by Ann B. Ross
“Which is most important, Sam,” I asked, “the files you copied from the courthouse or the interviews?”
“The files, by far,” he said. “They’re copies of official records, while the interviews, well, they were what people wanted me to hear. Lots of excuses, omissions, and forgetfulness. I only did them hoping somebody would let something slip.” He smiled ruefully. “Nobody did.”
Lloyd, who’d been listening intently, said, “Why don’t you let J.D. interview them? They might talk to him because they’d know he’s not writing a book. I mean, he could say that he’s protecting their privacy in case whoever stole your notes and things decides to do something with them—like write their own book.”
Sam ran his fingers across his mouth, studying the boy’s suggestion. “We’ve been talking about doing just that, Lloyd. If I stay out of it, and he approaches them—there’re only four, not counting Rafe Feldman—with, say, a concern for their interests, he might get somewhere. That’s a good idea, Lloyd, but you better watch out. Pickens might offer you a job with that kind of thinking.”
Lloyd grinned, delighted to have helped, then excused himself to get ready for bed.
I reached across the table and laid my hand on Sam’s. “If we lose that boy, Sam, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“Time, Julia,” he said, laying his other hand on top of mine. “Give it a little more time and see if Hazel Marie and Pickens can work it out themselves. They’ve both got to save face, I expect. Just remember, if they’re still this far apart by the time Pickens is ready to leave—or Hazel Marie is—why, then maybe we’ll think about forcing the matter.”
I bowed my head in relief. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. I have held off and held off, but there’s no way I can let them go their separate ways with Mr. Pickens no more aware of what she’s going through than he is now.” I looked up at him and smiled. “When I think of how obstinate that man is, I could just throttle him.”
“Well,” Sam said, smiling, “hold off on that for a while. He’s got a bee in his bonnet about what those five people have in common. He spent the day in the Register of Deeds office at the courthouse, looking up every one of them. He’s convinced that some sort of underhanded dealing went on, either among them or because of them. Follow the money, he says, and the Records room is a good place to start.”
“Why, Sam, if those people paid their way out of trouble, I can’t imagine they’d have it recorded somewhere.”
He laughed. “No, of course they wouldn’t. But he thinks it’ll be helpful to know what was going on in the county during the sixties. He’s just doing some screening to eliminate the possibilities.”
“I just hope he doesn’t overlook the obvious like Hazel Marie’s doctor did when he started screening the possibilities. I couldn’t take another surprise like the one we got.”
Chapter 20
It wasn’t two days later, right after breakfast, that Hazel Marie announced a monumental change of heart—a mood swing that took me by surprise and my breath away, as well. She’d come down that morning fully dressed in a frilly summer dress and high-heeled sandals. To complement her attire, she’d put on her full amount of makeup, with maybe a tad more blush on her cheeks than usual.
“Miss Julia,” she declared as soon as Lloyd and Sam left for the day. “I have had my fill of crying and being depressed over what I’ve brought on myself. Like you said, nothing’s going to change things, so I’m going to pull myself together and deal with it.”
“Well,” I said, a little hesitantly, “that’s good news, Hazel Marie. How do you plan to do that?”
She twisted her mouth, thinking, then said, “First thing I’m going to do is stay out of that bed. I love my room, but I’m about sick of it now. And then I’m going to open all the curtains and let whoever wants to come in and visit.”
“Are you sure about that?” I could just see her sitting around chatting with Emma Sue or LuAnne, as if nothing were amiss. Hazel Marie just didn’t have it in her to dissemble enough to fool anybody. She’d be struck dumb at the first probing question.
“Well, look at it this way,” she said. “It’s a settled fact that I have to move somewhere. No, now, Miss Julia, I am not going to put you and Mr. Sam through what would happen if I stayed around. I have to leave, that’s all there is to it. Now, I could hide away for a little while longer, then sneak out of town after dark. But that would leave you to make all the explanations. You’d have to come up with some kind of story and I don’t want to do that to you. I know it would just kill you to have to lie to your friends.”
Bless her heart, she had a better opinion of me than I had of myself, because I knew I could do it and keep doing it, if it meant that she and Lloyd would come back to us. With the baby, of course. Though, Lord knows what kind of story I could come up with to explain that little presence.
“Well,” I said, “let’s not cross that bridge till we have to. You don’t have to hurry off anywhere.”
“That’s just what I mean,” she said, pleased that I seemed to understand her plan. “I’m the one who has to come up with a story and take that burden off of you. See, Miss Julia, what I’ll do is get my strength back, see a few visitors, and begin telling people that I’ve been offered a job in, say, maybe Miami.”
“Palm Beach,” I said, recalling a certain trip I’d made not so long before.
“Okay, Palm Beach,” she agreed, “which would make sense since you’ve been there. Maybe you met somebody who’s offered me a job.”
“What kind of job, Hazel Marie?”
“Well, I haven’t got that far. I’ll think of something. Anyway,” she said, with a determined air, “the thing is, I’m facing this head on from now on. No more hiding away until I go into hiding for good. That’s the only way I see to keep you and Mr. Sam from suffering because of my mistakes.”
“Hazel Marie,” I began, pleading.
“No, my mind’s made up. This is the best way to handle it.” She stopped, looked away for a minute, then went on. “The only thing I ask is that you help me out when somebody asks me something I can’t answer. You know how tongue-tied I get when I’m put on the spot, and Emma Sue has a way of putting me there.”
“You and everybody else,” I said. “And of course I will. I won’t leave you alone with any of them. But, Hazel Marie, I am heartsick at the thought of you being gone. And Lloyd, too. I could just sit down and cry.”
“Well,” she said airily, “don’t do that just yet. I still have a lot of plans to make, and I haven’t decided about Lloyd.” Her eyes filled up with the thought of him. Then she shook her head fiercely. “I am not going to start crying again, I’m just not. It doesn’t help a thing.”
“No, honey, it doesn’t. But it sure relieves the stress.”
We were just pulling out chairs at the table on the third night that Mr. Pickens came to dinner, when Hazel Marie made good on her decision to face things head on. She walked into the dining room, her head held high, looking neither to the right nor to the left.
“Evening, everybody,” she said, breezing right past Mr. Pickens without a glance.
As he almost stumbled in his haste to rise from his chair, she passed right on by and came around the table to sit beside me. Then she reached out and slid the centerpiece off center so it would block her view of Mr. Pickens and his of her.
“Oh, Hazel Marie,” I said, getting up. “Let me get a place mat and some silver. We weren’t expecting you, but we’re so glad you’ve come down.”
After setting her place, I took my seat beside her and, for encouragement, patted her hand under the table. Then my eyes met Sam’s and I knew he was thinking the same as I: This was the first step, and Hazel Marie had made it. I smiled with satisfaction.
Lillian backed into the dining room, bearing a large casserole of chicken and rice. She almost dropped it when she saw Hazel Marie at the table.
“Well, law, I was ’bout to carry you up something,” she said to her.
“You sure you feel like settin’ at the table? You can’t be too careful when you been sick as you been. Ain’t that right, Mr. Pickens?”
As I cringed in fear that Lillian would let something slip, Hazel Marie answered the question calmly. “I’m feeling fine, Lillian, thank you. Since company has just dropped in, I thought I should make the effort.”
As Lillian returned to the kitchen, Mr. Pickens angled his head to look past the centerpiece. “I’m sorry to hear you’ve been sick,” he said. “I hope it was nothing serious.”
Lloyd chimed in. “Oh, it was serious, all right. It took days for that doctor to find out what was wrong with her, and I liked to died with all the worryin’ I did.”
“Well, she looks fine now, doesn’t she?” Mr. Pickens said, wanting, I assumed, some warmth on that side of the table. “Better than fine, in fact.”
And she did. She had changed into off-white pants and a matching silk blouse with, I think, every piece of gold jewelry she owned.
“Looks can be deceiving,” Hazel Marie said coolly, taking the plate that Sam had filled for her. “I’ve often been surprised at what little character can be found behind them.”
“Have some green beans, Lloyd,” I quickly said. “Mr. Pickens, you need more tea. Sam, ring for Lillian, will you, please?” Lord, was Hazel Marie going to pick a fight right here at the table?
Mr. Pickens smiled to himself, then said, “You know, I’ve had just the opposite experience. The more beautiful someone is, the sweeter she is underneath.”
Hazel Marie delicately sniffed, then applied herself to her dinner. Lillian came in to refill our water and tea glasses, and Mr. Pickens and Sam raved to her about the casserole. It was good, but I was too tense to properly enjoy it.
Especially when Lillian leaned over Mr. Pickens and said, “Don’t she look good for somebody in her condition?”
My roll fell onto my lap and then to the floor. Lloyd jumped up and ducked under the table. “I’ll get it, Miss Julia. We don’t want anybody stepping on it.”
“Here, Julia,” Sam said, his mouth twitching, as he passed the basket of rolls to me. “Have another one, sweetheart. Lillian, we probably need a few more.”
She took the basket and left the room, for which I was mortally grateful.
“Sam,” I said, trying desperately for a change of subject, “Have you made any progress at the courthouse?”
“No, and it’s the strangest thing. Those files have to be there somewhere, but I’ve not found a one.”
I thought Mr. Pickens would take up where Sam left off and steer the conversation into safer channels—maybe tell us what, if anything, he’d found at the courthouse. Instead, he was too busy trying to catch Hazel Marie’s eye over or between stems of late summer roses and baby’s breath. Hazel Marie kept her eyes on her plate or on Lloyd or on Sam or me. As far as she was concerned, there was an empty place where Mr. Pickens sat.
“J.D.?” Lloyd said. “You remember saying you’d like to go to Boy Scout camp with me sometime? Well, my troop’s going to Camp Daniel Boone in a few weeks, just for the weekend, and I hope you can go. I think I can get maybe three or four badges in just a couple of days, first aid’s one of them and canoeing, too. Daniel Boone’s got a lake and everything. ’Course we’ll have to sleep in a tent, but you said you like camping out.”
Mr. Pickens trained those black eyes on Hazel Marie, who totally ignored the plea I saw aimed her way. Then he said, “I’d like to go with you, Lloyd, but you know how things come up. I might still be on Sam’s job, or somebody else will be needing help. And, uh, your mother may have different plans for you.”
“Oh,” Lloyd said, plainly disappointed.
“We’ll talk about it, Lloyd,” Hazel Marie said. Then continuing to ignore Mr. Pickens, she went on. “Some people make promises they can’t, or won’t, keep. The only thing you can do is just go on without them and do the best you can.”
Sam cleared his throat. “I think Lillian can bring dessert in now.”
“Yes,” I said, pushing back from the table, “and to move things along, I’ll pick up in here.” Anything, I thought, as I took Sam’s plate, to get out of the frosty air.
As Mr. Pickens prepared to eat and run, which is usually considered impolite but for which I was grateful that evening, he tried to corner Hazel Marie as she left the table. She was having none of it. She brushed past him as if he hadn’t practically knocked his chair over getting to his feet.
“Early day tomorrow, Lloyd,” she said. “Say good night to your guest and come on upstairs.” And out she went.
Looking, I thought, somewhat wistfully after her, Mr. Pickens shook Sam’s hand, thanked me for dinner and went out to the kitchen to praise Lillian. I followed him, listened for a minute to the foolishness he carried on with her, then walked out onto the back stoop as he took his leave.
“Mr. Pickens,” I said, “tell me the truth. Is there any hope of discovering who disrupted Sam’s book? He’s had his heart set on that for ever so long, and he’s worked so hard on it. I hate to think that it’s all been for nothing. So tell me, are you any closer to a solution than you were when you started?”
Mr. Pickens stopped, considered for a minute, then said, “I’ll find ’em. Might take a few days, but I’ve got a plan of action, now that I understand just what’s missing. It’s a matter of finding out why the information on those papers is so important, and who it’s important to.”
Well, that had been my thought all along, but I only said, “I just wanted you to know that Sam considers that unwritten book his life’s work. His retired life’s work, that is.”
“I know it,” he said, and started toward his car. Then he turned back. “I guess she’s really mad at me.”
“Why, Mr. Pickens,” I said with a smile, pleased that he was showing some concern. “How ever did you come to that conclusion?”
He grinned a bit weakly. “I don’t know why she should be. All I’ve done was what she said she wanted.”
I just shook my head at his thickness. “I would think, at your age and with your experience, you’d know better than to believe everything you hear. Follow your heart, Mr. Pickens. It might lead you to something quite surprising.”
At his nod, which I wasn’t sure indicated agreement, he turned away, thanking me again for dinner.
“But,” I called after him, “I wouldn’t leave it too long. In fact, if I were you, I’d get cracking. Things around here are in flux, Mr. Pickens. Here one day and gone the next.”
He waved without turning around and I went back inside, wondering if I’d had my last chance.
Chapter 21
But I hadn’t, as I was about to get a few more, thanks to Sam. He came home during the following morning to ask if I would accompany Mr. Pickens as he attempted to interview the key people who would no longer speak to Sam.
“Of course I will,” I told him. “But why me?”
“Because if I go, they’ll clam up. And Pickens doesn’t know the county. He’d be spending half his time looking for those folks when you could lead him right to them. You could save us a lot of time.”
“Well, I can try, but I’m not sure I know the back roads all that well. Do any of them live in town?”
Sam shook his head. “Not a one. They’re spread out all over the place. I could draw him a map, but a couple of them came to my house for their interviews. I’m not all that sure I’d know how to find them.”
“It’s the strangest thing, Sam. They were willing enough to talk to you then, weren’t they?”
“Yep, seemed to enjoy it, too. But, not now. I wish the newspaper hadn’t gotten hold of the break-in. Now, not a one I interviewed will have anything to do with me.”
“Well, I expect between Mr. Pickens and me, we can get something out of them. Don’t worry, Sam,” I said, secretly pleased to be wanted, “people like to talk, especially about themselves. We’ll manage fine.”
Sam handed me a list of the people whose interviews
had been on the missing cassettes. “There’re five of them, but these two, Ted and Bob Tillman, are brothers, well, half-brothers, I think. There’re no records on Bob, but I got the feeling that whatever Ted did, Bob was involved. They live together, so you’ll be making only four visits. I listed Rafe Feldman, too, in the Morningside Rest Home, but you can forget about him. He’s out of it. But this one,” he went on, tapping the paper with his finger, “I know lives somewhere off the Delmont Highway.”
“I know that area fairly well,” I said, glancing down the list. “This won’t be so difficult. But, Sam, how will we know what to ask? We don’t know what you got out of them to begin with.”
“I’ve talked it over with Pickens and here’s what we decided. He’ll interview them, but not about their legal problems. See, all of them were involved in arrests, arraignments, and court appearances of some kind back in the sixties, which was what my interviews were about.”
As a name I knew jumped off the paper at me, I said, “Cassie Wooten?” I was shocked.
“She wasn’t a Wooten then,” Sam said, smiling. “Anyway, the reason you and Pickens will be talking to them is to see if they know who might’ve stolen the cassettes. You need to stay away from anything in their past, although it will certainly be on their minds. I want you to approach them like you’re concerned that the thief, whoever it is, will use the information in ways they wouldn’t like.”
“You mean, blackmail?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite that way, but you can imply it. But leave that to Pickens. All you need to do is direct him to where they live. And, we also think that you showing up with him will keep them from slamming the door in his face. Everybody knows who you are, Julia, so it’ll seem more like a social visit.”
“Well, I don’t know, because everybody also knows I’m married to you. I’m not sure how much help I’ll be, but I’m willing to try.”
“Just get Pickens inside, that’s all you have to do,” Sam said. “He’ll handle the rest.”
