Miss Julia Delivers the Goods

by Ann B. Ross

  We stopped on the sidewalk at the edge of Sam’s front yard, watching closely for any signs of life inside the house. Instinctively we both slid into the shadow of the huge hemlock at the end of the driveway.

  “Think we ought to knock on the door?” Lloyd asked.

  “Let’s wait a few minutes. They wouldn’t appreciate us interrupting when they might be at a critical juncture. In their conversation, I mean.” Unsure of whether to go or to stay, I bit my lip as we continued to watch the house. “Lloyd,” I finally said, “I think they’re all right. For a lot of people, this time of night isn’t late at all. And, for all we know, they’re out for a moonlight stroll. They could even be on their way home, while we’re standing here under this tree.”

  “Well,” Lloyd said, “I’d feel a lot better if the phone wasn’t out. I just don’t like the sound of that. There’s not even been a thunder-storm.”

  The boy was right. Even though I was beginning to feel just slightly ashamed of myself for essentially spying on Hazel Marie and Mr. Pickens, Sam’s out-of-order telephone was worrisome.

  Still, we couldn’t hang around under a tree all night, so just as I opened my mouth to suggest we go, Lloyd clamped a hand on my arm. “Miss Julia!” he hissed. “Somebody’s at the window.”

  “Where?” I whispered, scanning the lit windows. “Nobody’s looking out.”

  “No,” he croaked hoarsely, “somebody’s looking in.”

  Chapter 46

  Just as he said it, I saw the outline of a head rise up between one of Sam’s ancient boxwoods and the dimly lit side window of the living room. “Oh,” I gasped, “I see him!”

  I felt the boy tense beside me, preparing himself to dash toward the house. I grabbed his shoulder and held on. “Stay here. Don’t let him see you.”

  “I’m gonna yell for J.D. That’ll scare him off.”

  “No, sh-h-h,” I said, holding him close. “It may be a peeping Tom, and I don’t want you near him. Let’s wait and see if we can tell who it is.”

  “I think we ought to warn Mama and J.D.,” Lloyd whispered hoarsely.

  “We don’t even know if they’re in there. Let’s see what he’s going to do.”

  We were both trembling by this time, but actually the more I watched that head, the more I wondered if we were just seeing things. It didn’t seem to move, just stayed motionless as if staring intently through the window. What if it were only a shadow from inside the room? I blinked several times, trying to clear my vision.

  “He’s moving!” Lloyd hissed.

  My heart started pounding in my ears as, sure enough, the head disappeared from the window and a shadowy figure slipped past the boxwoods toward the porch.

  I leaned down to the boy and whispered in his ear. “Run, get Sam. Hurry! Tell him to call the sheriff.”

  “Let’s both go.”

  “No, I’ll stay here and see where he goes. Run, now,” I said, giving him a little push. “We don’t want him to get away.”

  Lloyd dashed off, his tennis shoes hardly making a sound as he ran back the way we’d come. I eased closer to the tree trunk, hiding as much as I could in the shadow of its long-needled branches, but keeping my eyes peeled on the house. I had told Lloyd it might be a peeping Tom who was creeping along the foundation plantings, but, given all that had happened, that wasn’t likely. It had to be the same breaking-and-entering sorry soul who’d done so much damage before and who’d been stirred up by my phone calls. One of the five, no, four since I hadn’t called Rafe Feldman, was even now bent on another criminal invasion of Sam’s house.

  Except now, Hazel Marie and Mr. Pickens were in it! Lord, I had to lean against the tree to keep myself upright. Maybe Lloyd had been right the first time. Maybe we should’ve both gone screaming bloody murder for Mr. Pickens. Maybe I should do it now.

  But what if Hazel Marie and Mr. Pickens weren’t in the house? What if they had gone for a walk or gone back home? What if I were here by myself? Alone with that dark figure which—Lord, it suddenly sprang up over the banister and blended without even an outline into the deep gloom of the porch. I clutched at the tree until my fingers dug into the bark, trying to stay hidden while peering as hard as I could at the front porch.

  The one thing I didn’t want to do was lose sight of that figure. He, whoever he was and I had a good idea of who, was up to no good, and the longer I stood there, trying to make him out, the madder I got. William Wooten, in spite of his wife’s defense, was going to get his comeuppance, if I had anything to do with it. And I didn’t care if his name got splashed all over the Abbotsville Times so that everybody in Abbot County would know he was a thief and a vandal and, because of it, his spiritual testimony got ruined forever. I say, Christian. William Wooten, I thought, I’m going to see that this little episode stays a blot on your name forever.

  If, I reminded myself, that’s who it was. But who else could it be? No one else had gotten so exercised at the thought of having the sins of the past published for all to see. No one else had been so belligerent. He was the only one with the nerve and the intensity of purpose, and the agility to leap over banisters, to come after Sam’s computer again.

  For one frightening second I thought I heard something behind me. I pressed myself against the tree and held my breath. Where was Sam? Where was Lloyd? Anybody? After a minute or so, I peeked out around the tree again. Everything at Sam’s house was quiet. Nothing moved. No shadows changed shape on the porch, and with a lurch of my heart I realized I’d lost sight of the creeping figure.

  Then, against the ambient light of a street lamp at the end of the block, I saw a dark shape crawl over the far banister and disappear behind the other side of the house. That’s where Sam’s study was and, behind that, his back bedroom, temporarily occupied by Mr. Pickens and, likely enough, currently occupied by Hazel Marie as well. And that was also the side of the house with the thickest bushes, where somebody could break a pane and open a window with the least fear of being seen.

  But Sam had put in a burglar alarm! That gave me an immediate sense of relief. I wouldn’t have to do a thing but stand here and wait for help to arrive. Yes, I thought, that would certainly be true if Mr. Pickens had had his mind on anything besides monkey business long enough to turn the thing on.

  I glanced over my shoulder to see if Sam and Lloyd were coming, but the sidewalk stretched out behind me empty. Nobody was coming from either direction, so I stood there, trying to decide what to do. Maybe I could slip up onto the porch and squat down in the shadows. I could reach up and keep my finger on the doorbell until Mr. Pickens came thundering to answer it.

  If he was there.

  Well, one thing was certain. Standing around under a tree while a crime was in progress wouldn’t solve anything.

  I moved away from the tree and, bending over, scooted as fast as I could to Mr. Pickens’s car. Crouching there, wishing he drove a bigger one, I waited to see if my movement had been noticed. Nothing stirred, no shadow flitted from one place to the next and no untoward sounds came from the house.

  Practically on my hands and knees and ignoring the ache in my back, I slid from the safety of the car to the foot of the huge, old boxwoods that lined the porch. I envied Sam those beautiful boxwoods, planted there when his house was built, long before mine had been.

  But even though boxwoods were important for curb appeal as well as for hiding among as I was doing in this case, I had to keep my mind on the business at hand until Lloyd could get back with Sam.

  Gritting my teeth to work up the courage, I scrambled across the brick walkway that led to the center of the porch to the boxwoods on the other side. Then I had to sit down on the grass for a minute to get my breath back. What in the world was I doing, sneaking around in the dark on the trail of a house breaker?

  Slowly I sat up and lifted my head above the bushes so I could scan the porch. As soundless as he was, he could’ve come back over the banister and be looking down at me. Trembling at the thought, I peered in
to the shadows and almost fell into the boxwoods.

  A tiny light suddenly flared in the window of Sam’s study. Not the overhead light, not a lamp, but a flame. Oh, Lord, fire! He was in the house, lighting a fire! I turned and scurried toward the far side of the house, intent on running to the back bedroom and getting Hazel Marie and Mr. Pickens out.

  Just as I turned the corner of the porch, my feet flew out from under me as something came out of the bushes, scratching my arm, hitting me on the head and putting me flat on the ground. Scrambling to untangle myself, I came as near to consigning James to eternal torment as I’d ever come. He’d left a long-tined rake leaning half-hidden on a boxwood, and I determined then and there to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget about putting things back where they belonged.

  On the other hand, I thought as I pulled myself together, when defenseless, one weapon is as good as another. Snatching up the rake with both hands, I clutched it, tines pointed forward and held high, running now past the porch toward the back bedroom. With fire in the house and in my eyes, I no longer cared about seeing or being seen. I had to get Hazel Marie and Mr. Pickens out of the house and, if it took breaking another window, why, I had just the implement for it.

  Just as I came abreast of the second side window of Sam’s study, two legs popped over the sill right beside me. Stopped in my tracks, I watched as more of the dark figure slid out of the window until it dangled by its hands from the sill.

  I didn’t hesitate. I slammed the rake against head, back, legs, whatever I could hit. The figure dropped from the window to the ground and curled up in a ball, trying to fend off the blows.

  “Mr. Pickens!” I shrieked, whacking at the scrambling figure as hard as a garden rake would let me. “Hazel Marie! Get up! Get out! Fire! Help! Help!”

  Screaming my head off, I aimed the rake at the face and head of the figure as it regained its feet. Using the rake to push and shove it against the house to hold it there until somebody came to help me, I was almost pulled off my feet. The figure had grabbed the handle and was using it to sling me back and forth. I tried to pull my weapon away, but the criminal held on tight, screaming as loud as I was.

  With a mighty effort, I whipped my end of the rake around and toppled the figure to the ground, loosening his grip on it. I pulled on the rake to cock it for another blow, but it wouldn’t come. It was stuck in something, and as the figure regained his feet, I frantically jerked and pulled, eliciting unearthly shrieks from my opponent. Then Mr. Pickens flashed by me, coming out of nowhere, and took him down. Then Sam was there, clasping his arms around me and pulling me from the fray. At the same time, headlights rounded the corner and tires squealed as squad cars and a fire engine pulled to the curb. A swarm of deputies spread out across the lawn and headed toward us.

  Sam held me back, while Mr. Pickens struggled with the squirming figure on the ground. Lloyd bounced up and down, yelling, “We’re here! We’re here! Don’t worry, Miss Julia, we’re here!”

  “Julia!” Sam cried. “What in the world?”

  “Fire, Sam!” I gasped, holding on to him. “Fire in the house. Get Hazel Marie.”

  “She’s out,” Mr. Pickens yelled, as he snatched the dark-clad figure upright, then clasped his arms tightly around him, while ducking under the rake that swung around from the figure’s head like it had a life of its own.

  Sam pulled me farther back and told me to stay put. Then he ran for the porch, yelling for the firemen as they uncoiled a hose. A deputy offered his arm as I leaned over, trying to stop the trembling that rippled through me from one end to the other. I could hear the firemen dousing the flames inside, as a little whiff of smoke eddied out the open window.

  “Miss Julia,” Mr. Pickens said, as he pushed the stumbling captive toward the front yard, “I have never in my life seen anybody captured with a leaf rake before. This thing is so tangled up in her hair, we might never get it out.”

  “Her?”

  “Yes, ma’am, it’s a her.”

  Chapter 47

  “Do you mean to tell me,” I said, as we all sat around the kitchen table a couple of hours later, still up long after our bedtime, “that you weren’t even in the house?”

  “No’m,” Hazel Marie said, looking somewhat confused from all that had happened, which she was only just hearing about. “We walked around for a good while, just talking, then J.D. walked me home. We’d just gotten here when Lloyd came running in, all out of breath and yelling about somebody breaking into Sam’s house. I didn’t know what to think.”

  Lloyd grinned. “You shoulda seen Mr. Sam come out of that bed when I woke him up. And J.D., why, we couldn’t keep up with him.”

  “What I don’t understand,” I said, looking from one to the other, “is why didn’t we meet you on our way over?”

  Mr. Pickens leaned toward Hazel Marie and gave her an intimate smile. “We took the long way.”

  She flounced her head away from him and stuck her nose up in the air. “Lot of good that did.”

  “Oh, I think it worked out okay,” he said, sliding an arm across the back of her chair. She immediately sat upright so she wouldn’t touch him, and my heart sank. What was she thinking? If she was still holding him off, what in the world would it take to bring her to her senses?

  I looked from one to the other, trying to determine just what they’d concluded. Mr. Pickens seemed quite pleased with himself, and if he were the only one I had to go on, I’d have rested easy, convinced that all was well between them. Hazel Marie, on the other hand, was still acting standoffish, refusing to meet his eyes or mine, and giving every indication that she was not happy with whatever had been decided. If anything.

  “Pickens,” Sam said, as he offered the coffeepot, “tell us again what the deputies got out of Roberta Baine. It’s still hard to believe.”

  “Well, as you know,” Mr. Pickens started, holding out his cup to Sam, “I went to the station with them. For one thing, to manage the rake that was still tangled in her hair.” He laughed. “We almost couldn’t get her in the squad car, finally had to roll down the window and let the handle stick out. Anyway,” he went on with a disbelieving head shake, “seems that what she was doing was protecting her father. That’s about all they could get out of her. Sam, she thinks you’re bent on ruining Judge Baine’s reputation and good name, and all she had in her head was destroying everything about him in your house and at the courthouse.”

  We frowned at each other, wondering how she’d come up with such an idea. Anybody who knew Sam would know that he would never knowingly damage anybody. He’d just let the facts speak for themselves. But maybe that was exactly what Roberta Baine was afraid of.

  Lloyd suddenly threw back his head and laughed. “No, J.D. That wasn’t all she had in her head. She still had that rake in it.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re right. They finally had to call in a matron to cut it out of her hair.”

  “She sounds crazy,” Hazel Marie said.

  “Not too crazy, though, Mama,” Lloyd said. “One of the firemen told me that what she’d done was pile Mr. Sam’s papers on his desk and light a candle in the middle of them. And she had one of the drapes stuck under the papers so it would catch fire, too. That way, she’d have plenty of time to get away before the candle burned down. I think that shows she was pretty smart.”

  “Yep,” Mr. Pickens agreed. “It does. But the big question is still motivation.”

  “What’s going to become of her?” I asked.

  “They have her at the hospital now, up on the psychiatric ward. I expect she’ll get a full workup later today. We may learn more by then.”

  “It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever heard,” I said, still dissatisfied by what we’d learned so far. “Why would she go to such extremes as breaking into a house, destroying records wherever she went, and then trying to set Sam’s house on fire? I don’t understand it. What was she trying to keep secret?”

  “We may never know, Julia,” Sam said, putting his
hand on mine.

  But we did come to know, for it was Cassie Wooten who came ringing my doorbell later in the morning. Since we’d been up way into the wee hours and our nerves were so frayed by the night’s activities, we’d all slept late, and on a Sunday morning, too. But missing church once in a blue moon probably wouldn’t be held against us in the circumstances. Besides, I might’ve slept through the sermon if we’d made the effort. As it was, I hadn’t even had a chance to question Hazel Marie about her future since she was still in bed, and now here I was, having to entertain a visitor.

  I answered the door, surprised to see a distraught Cassie on my doorstep. “Why, Cassie, do come in.”

  “I can’t,” she said, even as she walked in. “I’m sorry to bother you again, but I had to know if it’s true what I’ve heard. Has Roberta Baine been arrested?”

  “Yes, she was caught trying to burn down Sam’s house last night.”

  “Oh-h-h,” Cassie moaned, wringing her hands. “That’s so awful. It’s just terrible, and I don’t know what to do.”

  “Why, you don’t have to do anything. She’s under the care of a psychiatrist even as we speak, and frankly, as far as I’m concerned, that’s the best place for her.”

  “You don’t understand,” Cassie said, half under her breath, although there was no one else around to hear her. “I have to do something, even though William will have a fit.”

  I certainly didn’t understand, but just then Sam walked out, unaware that we had a guest.

  “Why, Mrs. Wooten,” he said, welcoming her with a smile. “Nice to see you again. Come in and have a seat.”

  “Oh, Mr. Murdoch,” she said, burying her face in her hands and beginning to sob. “I’m so sorry for everything. So very sorry. I didn’t know she’d go this far. Somebody could’ve been hurt or even killed. It’s just awful.”