Miss Julia Delivers the Goods

by Ann B. Ross

  Chapter 24

  “My word, Mr. Pickens,” I said as he backed the car out of the driveway and headed toward Delmont. “That was the most down-trodden, repressed woman I’ve ever seen. I felt like smacking William Wooten out of that Barcalounger.”

  Mr. Pickens nodded. “Too bad we didn’t catch her alone like Sam did.”

  “That’s true. But don’t you know she’s suffered because of it.” After a few minutes, I went on. “You know what I think? I think William Wooten could be our thief. He certainly wasn’t pleased that Cassie had talked to Sam, and I wouldn’t put it past him to make sure her records never saw the light of day.”

  “I had the same thought,” Mr. Pickens said, surprising me that the two of us could agree on anything. “But without any evidence . . .” He shrugged. “Anyway, I slipped my card under a coaster, so maybe she’ll find it and call.”

  “Maybe, but I doubt it. But I’ll tell you something else we can do. Or I can do. I’ll try to get Cassie off by herself—invite her to lunch or something, and get her talking again. The woman is starved for a little kindness. I mean, Mr. Pickens, you should’ve heard her at that Church Women United meeting. I couldn’t shut her up. Not that I wanted to, but still.” I stopped, thinking of how needy Cassie Wooten had seemed that day. “And you know something else? I think I recall hearing Emma Sue Ledbetter talking about some kind of women’s ecumenical counsel she helped form. That’s my preacher’s wife, you know. Anyway, she happened to mention that Cassie Wooten was on it, too, representing her church. I remember being surprised, not about Cassie but about Emma Sue, since Pastor Ledbetter is not at all ecumenically inclined.”

  Mr. Pickens didn’t seem interested in anybody’s church activities, ecumenical or not. He just kept driving, but I thought that, if the opportunity presented itself, I’d ask Emma Sue in a roundabout way what she thought of Cassie.

  Unable to stand the silence, I tried another tack. “I really don’t want to pry into private matters, but did Sam tell you what Cassie did? She just doesn’t seem the type to get in trouble with the law.”

  “Look in my briefcase,” Mr. Pickens said. “Sam wrote out what he could remember from the records.” He smiled, a little grimly, I thought. “You might be surprised.”

  I reached back for the briefcase, unlatched it on my lap and drew out several sheets of paper filled with Sam’s scribbled recollections of the information he’d gathered on each of the people we were to visit.

  “Let’s see,” I said, flipping through the pages. “Here’s Cassie’s. Oh, my word. Cassie? Cassie Wooten? Mr. Pickens, I can’t believe this. Sam’s got down here that she was accused by a neighbor—this was in 1966—of harrassment. Making threatening phone calls and splashing paint on the house, and, oh, my goodness, she was arrested for being drunk and disorderly and being a public nuisance, too. Not once, but three times, and resisting arrest every time. This is unbelievable. Oh, wait a minute.” I read through Sam’s notes again, comparing one page to another. “Did you notice this? Ted Tillman had the same prosecutor and the same judge as Cassie. You reckon that means anything? Well, I guess not. They had different defense attorneys. Not that they needed defending since none of the cases went anywhere.” I blew out my breath, just done in by what I’d learned about Cassie Wooten’s run-ins with the law. “This is just so hard to take in. I can’t imagine her, or any woman I know, being drunk and disorderly, and a public nuisance, too. It’s so . . . unladylike. Of course, all of us have some regrets about what we’ve done in the past.” I gave Mr. Pickens a hard look that he didn’t notice. “How reassuring, though, that some of us can redeem those errors before it’s too late. All it might take is saying you’re sorry and that you’ll try to do better.”

  I waited for a response and didn’t get one. So I tried again, since it’s incumbent upon any well-behaved person to make conversation when in polite company, and to carry the conversation when in impolite company. “Well, anyway,” I said, making the effort since he seemed bound and determined not to, “maybe it was the sheriff’s fault that none of these people were convicted of anything. Have you thought of that? Maybe his deputies lost evidence or something.”

  “Could be,” Mr. Pickens agreed, making this a most unusual day to have a comment of mine approved twice in a row. “Sam’s thinking along those lines, too. But he knew the sheriff back then and finds that hard to believe. He told me he can’t find any connection between the sheriff and these few people that would warrant the special treatment they got.”

  “As far as I can see,” I said, shuffling through the pages again, “there’s no connection among the people themselves. Let’s see, there’s four, no, five people counting Rafe Feldman, but we can’t count him, and we’ve seen two out of the four, Ted Tillman and Cassie Wooten. As unlikely a pair as you could imagine. What would they have in common, except a lot of arrests and no convictions?”

  “That’s what Sam wants to know, and what, apparently, somebody doesn’t want him to find out.” Mr. Pickens turned onto the Delmont Highway and aimed the car back toward Abbotsville. “You hungry?”

  “I could eat,” I said, looking at my watch. “And no wonder. It’s almost one o’clock. Lillian will have something ready if she hasn’t given up on us.” With a sidelong glance at him, I casually went on. “You’re welcome to have lunch with us. Sam has his Rotary Club meeting today, so it’ll just be Lillian and Hazel Marie. And me, of course.”

  Mr. Pickens’s mouth twisted just a tiny little bit, then he said, “I better get on. James said he’d have sandwiches ready, and I need to make some notes on our visits this morning.”

  “Well, that certainly won’t take long. All we got from the Tillmans and the Wootens was essentially ‘No comment.’ ” Then, recognizing a captive audience when I saw one, I said, “Now I know it’s none of my business, but I declare, Mr. Pickens, if you and Hazel Marie keep avoiding each other, nothing’s ever going to be resolved. Couples break up every day of the week, and if they all avoided each other nobody would ever speak to anybody again. It seems to me that the two of you ought to be able to get along. You were certainly able to long enough in the past to know how it’s done.”

  He just grunted, offering nothing else in response. I supposed I was to take that as a rebuke for meddling in his business. But he wasn’t alone in that business, although he didn’t yet know what was at stake.

  I sighed, bemoaning the silent treatment he was giving me every time Hazel Marie’s name was mentioned. If he would ever open up and talk about their differences, I could perhaps guide him as I was doing with her. But if there was ever a stong, silent type, it was Mr. J.D. Pickens, P.I. Keeping one’s own counsel can be commendable, but not when somebody is right at hand, just waiting to help.

  He steered the car to a stop at the curb in front of my house. “I’ll let you out here, if that’s all right.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “Do you want to go back out this afternoon? We could see at least one more person today.”

  “After this morning, I’m not sure what good we’re doing, but we ought to see them all. About two-thirty suit you?”

  “That’ll be fine, but won’t you come in?” I asked as I gathered my pocketbook and prepared to step out. “Lillian would love to see you even if no one else would.”

  He turned the full voltage of those black eyes on me as a little smile played around his mouth, acknowledging my attempt to get him inside. He just shook his head. Lord, but the man was attractive. No wonder Hazel Marie hadn’t been able to resist him. As for myself, I got out of the car while I still could.

  I went in the front door and on into the kitchen. “Lillian? I’m home. Where is everybody?”

  “Oh, Law, Miss Julia,” she said, coming to meet me in the middle of the kitchen. “I thought you never get here. Miss Hazel Marie upstairs packin’ her suit satchel.”

  “Oh, no, don’t tell me that.” I sagged against the counter. “What does she say? Is she planning to leave right away?
”

  “No’m, I don’t think so. ’Least it don’t look like it. She got clothes strung out all over the place, sayin’ she can’t decide what to take and what not to.”

  “Well,” I said, straightening up with an effort, “I better go see about her.”

  “No’m, you set yo’self down and eat something. I already got a salat made, an’ she won’t be goin’ nowhere anytime soon. Now set down.”

  “I think I will,” I said, as I pulled a chair out from the table. “I’m about to cave in, and I’m not sure I have the strength to face another hard-headed person. I declare, Lillian, I am completely dismayed. What are we going to do with her?”

  “What you need is something in yo’ stomick, then you able to go at it again.” She took a covered bowl from the refrigerator and began preparing a plate for me. “Here,” she said, setting the plate before me. “This a good tuna salat I jus’ made with a little fruit on the side. I’m heatin’ up some rolls. You want coffee or tea?”

  “Coffee, I guess. I don’t really care, whatever’s made. Oh, Lillian, we can’t let her go off. What has she said about Lloyd? What’s she going to tell him?”

  “I don’t know, Miss Julia. She don’t tell me nothin’, ’cept she got to do something even if it wrong.”

  “Well,” I said, eating hurriedly, “that’s exactly what I don’t want her to do. She’s not thinking straight. How could she, with all she has on her mind?” I buttered a roll, as one question after another rolled through my mind. Had Hazel Marie decided where she would go? Had she made plans as to where she would live when she got there? And, again and again, what would she do about Lloyd?

  I had to force myself to eat, knowing I needed it, but there was hardly any taste to it. Lillian kept giving me the eye as she worked around the kitchen, and at one point when she refilled my cup, she put a comforting hand on my shoulder. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I almost choked on a piece of cantaloupe. I didn’t often give up once I’d set my mind to something, but this situation with Hazel Marie had about defeated me.

  I looked up as the door from the dining room was pushed open and Hazel Marie walked in. I tried to smile but was stopped in my tracks at the expression on her face.

  “Miss Julia,” she said, grasping the back of a chair, her face white and drawn. “I think I need to go to the doctor.”

  I sprang from my chair. “What is it? Are you throwing up again?”

  “No’m, it’s something else—bad. Worse, even. Please, would you take me? I don’t think I ought to drive.”

  Lillian ran to her and put an arm around her. “Lord, lord, honey. Set yo’self down and don’t be movin’ too much. Miss Julia, we better get her on ’fore she lose that baby.”

  “Oh, my goodness, yes.” I grabbed my pocketbook and looked frantically for the car keys. “Help her out to the car, Lillian, and let’s go.”

  Lillian practically carried Hazel Marie to the car, even though she protested that she felt well enough to walk by herself. But Lillian got her settled in the front seat, then climbed into the back. “I’m goin’, too,” she said, and I was glad to have her.

  Little was said on our way to the doctor’s office, so intent was everybody to get there. At one point I mentioned the fact that Dr. Hargrove should be back by now and saw tears streaming down Hazel Marie’s face.

  “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to see him,” she whispered.

  “And I was hoping you would,” I said. “He will be nothing but professional. And kind, Hazel Marie. You will be in good hands.”

  There was no question of waiting our turn when we got there and told the receptionist the problem. Hazel Marie was immediately taken to an examining room, and Dr. Hargrove himself came out and ushered Lillian and me to his office.

  “Wait in here, Miss Julia,” he said. “You’ll be more comfortable and I’ll see you after I’ve looked her over.”

  If I hadn’t been so worried I’d have been pleased. This was how a physician should treat a long-time patient, dinner companion, and fellow church member.

  “Lillian,” I murmured as we waited, and after I’d looked at the bookshelves, the family pictures on the desk, and the diplomas on the wall. “I hate to say this, but if Hazel Marie’s in no danger, this could really solve all our problems.”

  “No’m, Miss Julia, don’t say that. We don’t wanta lose that little baby. Miss Hazel Marie might think she don’t want it, but she do. If she lose it, she be worse upset than if she don’t. When the Lord send a baby, he send the wantin’, too.”

  I nodded, deciding to stop praying for either outcome and leave that to the one in charge, but my poor pocketbook got kneaded to death as we waited.

  After a good half hour, the door swung open and Dr. Hargrove, still with that beard I couldn’t understand why he’d grown or kept, walked in and took his seat behind the desk.

  “Lillian,” he said, “she’s getting dressed and might need some help. She’s in the second room across the hall.”

  Lillian jumped up, eager to be of help, and left.

  “How is she, Doctor?” I asked, leaning toward him.

  “She’s fine for now. These things happen, Miss Julia, sometimes as a warning of worse to come and other times for no reason at all. There can be ups and downs in any pregnancy, as you know. Well, perhaps you don’t. But right now, all we can do is wait and see.” He propped his large arms on the desk and looked directly at me. “Now, I assume that Hazel Marie’s condition has created some problems for all of you, and anytime you want to talk about it, I’ll be glad to listen. But for now, my concern is for Hazel Marie. What I want you to do is take her home and put her to bed. I want her flat on her back for several days until we see what’s going to happen. She can get up to go to the bathroom, but no going up and down stairs and no strenuous activity. If at any time she gets worse, get her to the hospital and call me.”

  I was nodding all the way through these instructions, yet when he stopped I hardly knew what to ask. “But she’s all right for now?”

  “She is,” he confirmed, and I was reassured by his confidence. That’s what a patient wants from a doctor, not any of this hemming and hawing and possible this and possible that. “Now, while I had her here, I went ahead and did a sonogram, but I’ll let her tell you about that.”

  The last time a doctor said similar words to me, I got a shock I still hadn’t recovered from. But I nodded agreeably, thinking that modern science was remarkable for being able to predict the gender of an unborn child a little more accurately than dangling a pencil on a string. So Hazel Marie perhaps knew whether we were to have a little Pickens or a little Puckett when the time came to have it. Not that it mattered, since I still didn’t know what we’d do with either one.

  Chapter 25

  “Two!” My foot slipped off the brake onto the gas pedal as I backed out of the parking slot. The car jolted to a stop with a shattering crunch, snapping my head forward. Metal scraped against metal, and Lillian ended up hung over the front seat, screeching her head off.

  “Oh, sweet Jesus!” Lillian shrieked. “You done hit something.” She had her arms wrapped around Hazel Marie, holding on tight. “You all right? Are you all right?”

  “Oh, Lord!” I cried, thinking I’d ruined Hazel Marie as well as my car. I flung open the door and sprang out to see what the damage was. I knew what I’d hit. I’d seen it big as life before I started backing out. I mean, who wouldn’t have seen something as big as a Dempster Dumpster?

  Walking to the rear of the brand new car I’d purchased for my trip to Palm Beach only a few months before, I surveyed the result of a foot slippage. There was a huge dent in the trunk and the bumper was caved in with one end dangling on the pavement. The corner of the Dumpster where I’d hit it had only a little chrome and black paint on it, which would wash off in the first rain and nobody’d ever be the wiser.

  I got back in the car, reassured myself as to Hazel Marie’s welfare, and moved the gear shift into drive. Then I proceeded o
ut of the parking lot, looking straight ahead as if nothing had happened, while one end of the bumper bounced up and down, scraping against the pavement with sparks flying everywhere.

  “Hazel Marie,” I said, “I will never forgive myself if you got jolted too much. How’re you feeling? Are you all right? Lillian, is she all right?”

  “I’m fine, Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie said. “Really I am. It wasn’t much of a jolt.”

  “It big enough to th’ow me over yo’ head,” Lillian said as she sat back and searched for the seat belt, which she should’ve had on to start with. “I better strap myself in good, what with people runnin’ into Dipsy Dumpsters an’ messin’ up they cars.”

  “Don’t worry about the car,” I said grimly. “I’m worried about Hazel Marie. Besides, they don’t make cars like they used to.”

  What was a repair bill, even of monumental proportions, in the face of not just one, but two, illegitimate babies? There’d be no way to explain away twins as Hazel Marie’s sudden impulse to adopt a needy child, no way to let her go off by herself and deal with two plus Lloyd. All I could think of as the grinding, clattering bumper scraped along behind us was that Mr. Pickens had an awful lot to answer for. Twins! What had the man been thinking?

  After I’d pulled into the driveway, Lillian and Hazel Marie walked behind the car to behold the wreckage.

  “Law, Miss Julia,” Lillian said, “that gonna cost you a mint to get fixed.”

  Hazel Marie moaned and began to tear up again. “It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry, Miss Julia.”

  “It’s nobody’s fault,” I said, not wanting to talk about it. “I got distracted, that’s all. Now, stop worrying about it. I still have my little car, so I’ll be driving it for a while. Oh, look, Hazel Marie,” I went on as we got to the back door. “Here’s Mr. Pickens’s card. I guess he came by like he said he would.”