by Jeff Abbott
Gregg would have gone farther, but a hundred yards beyond Beta’s backyard the land tumbled down to the Colorado. I drove slowly past the house, deciding to look like any gawker. A TV van from one of the Austin stations was parked by the curb. An immaculately groomed blonde with a microphone chatted with a heavy, elderly woman who’d put on her Sunday best for the cameras. In olden days, vultures attended sudden death; today we have the media. On impulse, I U-turned and headed to the library. There were a couple of official-looking cars there, but no cameras or lollygaggers. I steered homeward, hoping that there wouldn’t be cars I didn’t want to see. I wasn’t entirely lucky.
Candace’s Mercedes was perched in the driveway. I sighed, parked, and went in. Mama was animated, telling a politely nodding Candace about her marriage. Nuptial bliss wasn’t Candace’s favorite topic of conversation, at least in public. Candace had changed clothes, wearing a stylish Banana Republic T-shirt, faded (and nicely snug) jeans, and a fancy belt studded with silver conchos. She looked gorgeous and I reminded myself again that she was a co-worker. As I walked in, she jumped to her full if diminutive height. “And where the hell have you been? Excuse my language, Mrs. Poteet, but I’m mad at your son.” Mama assured herself I was her son with a glance and seemed satisfied.
“Uh-Out,” I answered. What was I supposed to say? Sleuthing?
Interrogating suspects? “Well, I want you to know what I’ve had to go through to protect your good name,” Candace said archly. I raised a hand to fend off the oncoming torrent. “Where are Sister and Mark?”
“They’ve run to the grocery store,” she paused. “The police called Mark to confirm you were here last night. I came here ’cause I got tired of hunting you down and-I needed to see you, after this morning’s shock.” I swallowed. She needed me? I deflected a blush by asking a question. “What happened at the station?” “You’ll be delighted to know I wasn’t body-searched,” Candace huffed, “although I wouldn’t put it past Billy Ray. Honestly. I told them what little I knew, and that nasty Billy Ray kept trying to hint that you’d killed Miss Harcher. I repeatedly-mind you, repeatedly-told him that was utterly ridiculous, but he didn’t get the hint. What a moron! Wouldn’t surprise me a bit if his family tree didn’t fork.” “He’s still trying to implicate me?” I wanted details. Candace threw her hands up in the air. “Tried, but I set him straight. I gave him a piece of my mind and then some.” “Thanks, Candace,” I said, happy that she was on my side.
She smiled then and I felt a bit awkward. I didn’t want to encourage her. After all, she’s my assistant and we have to keep our relationship professional, not personal. “I don’t understand any of this,” Mama said, looking to Candace. Candace heaved air, horrified at what she’d said in front of my mother. “Now, Mrs. Poteet, don’t you worry about Jordy, I’m going to take care of everything. The police are just misguided. It’ll all get settled.” She patted Mama’s hand.
“Would you like some lunch?” Mama shook her head. “No. I want a nap.”
Candace volunteered to take Mama upstairs and get her settled, so I made turkey sandwiches, with lots of mayonnaise, tomato, and lettuce on wheat bread. I dumped a small bag of corn chips on each plate and popped two cold cans of Dr Pepper. I put the plates on the table and sat down with my lunch and my ruminations. Holding true to the rule that I get little peace in my home, Candace rejoined me before I was half through. “Now, Jordy,” she said, pulling up a chair, “I want the truth. Where have you been?” She dug into her sandwich and, after the first bite, smiled. I guess I’m not a bad cook for a bachelor. I told her about my interviews with Tamma Hufnagel, Bob Don Goertz, and Matt Blalock. Candace was quite prepared to be my Watson. “Aha! That Tamma Hufnagel. Probably a crazed killer. You always have to look out for the quiet ones,” she asserted. “She acts timid, but I think there’s a toughness underneath. Maybe she’s too quiet.” “My point exactly. Or there’s Bob Don. I’d never buy a car from that crook.” “You’d never buy American, Candace, and he doesn’t sell imports.” “Well, if I get the sudden urge for a Chrysler, I’m going to Honest Ed’s in Bavary,”
Candace announced. “He seemed to have a secret, but he also seemed inclined to help me.” I finished my sandwich. “Of course.” Candace slapped her forehead. “He wants to find out how much you know ’cause he’s the killer. Makes perfect sense. Stay away from him, Jordy.” “Bob Don didn’t get nearly as upset as Matt Blalock.” “Warped by his wartime experiences,” Candace intoned. “Poor guy. Beta made him snap and he saw her as a Vietcong. Probably called her Charlie right before he whacked her.” The phone rang and I reached for it, grateful for the interruption. Candace grabbed it away. “Reporters,” she hissed, as though there were lepers on the line. She spoke guardedly into the receiver: “Poteet residence.” A moment’s silence, then a “May I ask who’s calling?” Was it suddenly cooler in here or was it just me? “Let me see if he’s available.” The cold front swept through, as swift and sure as one from Canada. “Ruth Wills for you.” I took the receiver, hoping the frostbite would be minimal. “Thanks, Candace.” She made no move to give me privacy. Ruth sounded amused. “I see you have an answering service these days, Jordy.” “Um, yes. Just for today.” “I’m not surprised you’re screening calls. I hear you discovered the late Beta Harcher this morning. Are you okay?” The amusement left her voice to be replaced by husky softness, a murmur to be heard on the next-door pillow. Not a voice you’d expect to hear inquiring about your emotional well-being. “Fine, thank you. Did you hear that from Junebug?” “Yes, I did. He stopped by the hospital this morning to talk with me.” She paused again. “I need to speak to you. In person. Could we have dinner tonight?” I was a little taken aback. Finding Beta dead and Ruth Wills asking me out? Fortune’s wheel was spinning every which way today. “I don’t know-” “Please say yes, Jordy. Look, I’m still on duty. I wanted to see you sooner, and not under these circumstances, but please, please meet me tonight.” The voice had me, like a pipe enchanting a snake. “Okay. When?” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Candace stiffen. “Seven? Meet me at Rosita’s?” That was a nice Mexican restaurant in Bavary. “Fine,” I said. “Thanks.” She hung up without a goodbye, and I replaced the phone in its cradle. “What did Ruth want?”
Candace examined the last of her corn chips with profound absorption.
“She wanted to discuss some… library business with me. Maybe regarding Beta.” I shrugged. “No big deal.” Candace measured me on some internal scale. She tented her cheek with her tongue and looked at me again. I felt awkward. Why did she always do that to me? It was damped annoying. Suddenly I wanted her gone. “I have some other matters to attend to today,” I said, but Candace didn’t let me finish.
“You go and do that. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on your mom.”
“That’s not necessary, Candace. Really. I’ll wait for Sister to come home.” “I don’t mind. I’ll watch TV. Arlene should be back soon. Go talk with Ruth or whatever it is you have to do.” I decided not to mention that Ruth invited me to dinner. Best to beat a diplomatic retreat out of my own house. Leaving, I shook my head at my own cowardice. A tall, bronzed teenager who was my third cousin tended the dense flower beds that made up most of Eula Mae Quiff’s lawn. He was almost hidden in the wild explosions of rhododendrons, roses, daisies, and every other odd mixture of flower that Eula Mae favored.
Her garden had as much order and as much color as her novels. Hally Schneider, his tan face damp with sweat, looked up and favored me with a friendly smile. “Hey there, Jordy. You lookin’ for Miz Quiff?”
“Yeah.” “She’s inside getting me a drink. She oughta be right back.”
Like a stage cue, Eula Mae appeared on her porch with a glass of iced tea. She came down the stairs, her baggy dress hanging about her bony, fortyish body and fluttering in the breeze. Her hair was its usual explosion of red curls, pulled into a semblance of order with a paisley scarf. She wore large earrings that looked like they were handmade in Afric
a. Her hands were elegantly bejeweled and her nails were long and lacquered; I wonder how she typed on her keyboard. I’d known Eula Mae a long time; her daddy and my daddy had been friends.
Since she was a little over ten years older than me, we hadn’t been close when I was a kid. But when I moved back to town, she’d been my staunchest supporter in the library wars with Beta. She handed Hally the drink and favored me with a sly eye. “Here you go, Hally, dear.
Drink up.” “Thanks, Miz Quiff,” Hally said, gulping down the tea. I saw Eula Mae ogling him, her avid eyes locked on where his thick neck met his broad shoulders. I coughed. “I’m sorry to interrupt your labors, Eula Mae, but I need to speak with you.” “Of course, Jordy.
Where are my manners? Come sit on the porch with me and have some tea.” I turned to Hally. “You going to be here for a while?” He nodded. “Still got a fair amount of weeding to do.” “Okay. I’d like to talk with you when I’m done visiting with Eula Mae.” If Hally seemed surprised, he didn’t show it. He just nodded and knelt back to his gardening. Eula Mae and I walked up the long path to her gracious home. It reminded me of a shrunken antebellum mansion, one you might find on a Hollywood lot. She’d lived there alone since her terminally shy sister Patty died ten years ago. I’d always wondered if Patty simply succumbed to Eula Mae’s ego. She gestured languidly toward a porch chair and went inside. Loose pages, lying on a wicker table, caught the breeze at their corners and gently turned up. Printing and red marks covered the paper. Eula Mae’s latest. I leaned forward to peek, and one of Eula Mae’s multitude of cats yowled at me from a white whicker chair. I stuck my tongue out and the cat raised its head snidely. My hostess returned with another glass of tea and handed it to me. Absently, she shoved the cat out of the chair. The cat mewled in protest at the declining social standards on the porch while Eula Mae kept an eye on her gardener. “Jesus, Eula Mae. Why don’t you just go out there and undress the poor kid?” She looked at me with reproach. “Simply because I find your cousin aesthetically pleasing doesn’t mean I want my way with him. Please. I’m doing research.”
“Research?” The displaced cat growled again, and Eula Mae scooped him into her lap. She stroked his fur contritely, and he allowed her to place her cheek on him while she spoke. “Yes, Jordy. That boy is going to be the hero of my next work. Well, someone very like him in form.”
“What about in mind?” Hally was a good kid and a great athlete, but not a straight-A student. “My hero will have a bit more on the ball than Hally, but nothing more in terms of physical endowment,” Eula Mae answered. “We must always look for inspiration and never turn it away.
He’d look divine painted on the cover of my next novel.” “I think you could find all sorts of inspiration round here if you were writing a murder mystery,” I observed dryly. “I was working up to that,” Eula Mae answered, “but I didn’t know your mental state. You over your shock, sugar pie?” She patted my knee in a friendly way. The cat glared balefully at me. “The shock of finding her body? Yes, for the time being. The shock of being suspected of killing her? Not quite yet.” Eula Mae played dreamily with one of her errant curls. “Yes, the police have already been here asking me about you and our beloved Beta.” She saw me tense and shook her head. “Junebug can’t possibly think you killed her. You know he’s really a sweet boy underneath all that bluster. Billy Ray’s a different story, though, and Junebug gets pressure from him.” She paused, giving me a speculative stare. “So what was your quote?” I told her. She shook her head, the ringlets dancing around her face. “Makes as much sense as mine. Job 31:35: My desire is, that the Almighty would answer me, and that mine adversary had written a book. Well, I’ve written several award-winning books and I was her adversary. Big whoop. What’s the damn point of it all?” “I take it Junebug shared the list with you.” “Just my part. He wouldn’t divulge who else was on it.” I did. She sat and listened thoughtfully, harrumping at Tamma Hufnagel and Bob Don Goertz’s names. At my mother and Hally Schneider’s names, she frowned. “Don’t understand that at all. How could she hate or want to hurt someone with Alzheimer’s and”-she gestured in the direction of her gardener-“someone as sweet as Hally?” I shrugged. “Mama can’t remember any connection with her.
And I don’t know about Hally. Maybe it’s some sick way of striking at me or Janice Schneider.” “My Lord,” Eula Mae said, but not to me. Her eyes were back in the garden. Hally had removed his shirt and his bunched muscles moved smoothly as he worked. Eula Mae sighed like a dieter in front of a candy store. “Youth is wasted on the young, Jordy. Remember that.” With Hally out of reach, she appraised me. “You and Hally do favor each other, you know. You both got those fine Schneider looks. Shame you’re still just an infant compared to me. But of course Candace is a different story-” I rolled my eyes. “Look, Eula Mae, let’s concentrate. You know damn well that I didn’t kill Beta and I’m willing to give you the same benefit of doubt-” “Are you so sure?” she interrupted, her voice as sweet and fake as sno-cone syrup. I stopped dead. “I’m kidding!” she exclaimed, but her eyes showed merriment at my discomfort. I ran a tongue over dry lips. “So when was the last time you saw her?” I asked. “Oh, that nastiness in the library. When she slapped the tar out of you.” “Not since?” “No, Jordy. Lord, what do you want, an accounting of my movements? All right, Perry Mason, I’ll be delighted to oblige. Murder’s one of the few crimes I’m still innocent of and I want to keep my unstained reputation. After that little scene at the library, I came back here, did some work on the newest book-it features Charity Keepwell, who I am sure you’ll remember from my very well-received Lily of the Alamo two books back. Then I had my dinner, watched some television, did a little editing, and went to bed.” “What time was that?” “Around ten.
And alone.” She seemed to have spotted something interesting on her nail. The cat batted her sleeve, wanting attention. “I see. And you don’t know of anyone who had a motive to kill Beta?” “Lord, sure I did. That crazy Matt Blalock for one. And I suppose even you. ” I tried not to look menacing. “I hope you didn’t make any such statement to the police.” Eula Mae leaned close to me and I could smell the slightly sour odor of old perfume. “No, sugar pie, I didn’t. Motive, yes; but you’re not stupid enough to commit murder. But someone like Matt Blalock is, or that Ruth Wills.” “Ruth?” My dinner date? That possibility didn’t promote good digestion-and it might make conversation just a tad strained. “Surely you could tell there’s no love lost between Ruth and Beta.” “I knew they didn’t get along, but-”
“Are you keeping your ears in a jar? Beta tried to get Ruth fired.”
Eula Mae leaned back, delighted in the miniature drama she’d caused. A beringed hand ran through her curly mane to heighten the effect. “What for?” “I don’t know all the details. I just heard about it from my friend Joan. She’s a secretary over at the hospital and a very ardent fan of mine. Of course sheer numbers preclude my having a real relationship with most of my fans, but I’ve made an exception for Joan. Such a perceptive reader and an extremely reliable source. Joan said Beta claimed Ruth tried to poison her when she was in the hospital last January.” “What?” This was news to me. “Oh, the hospital shut it up because it was groundless,” Eula Mae sniffed. “Just Beta getting a visitation from Satan and blaming it on Ruth. No one filed charges or anything; I think the D.A. over in Bavary talked Beta out of it ’cause it was so blasted silly.” “So what happened between them?” Eula Mae waved her hand, dismissing the need for details. “I don’t know. Apparently Beta was in the hospital-she’d had some chest pains and they were keeping her for observation-and she said Ruth entered her room and tried to give her an injection, when she’d just been given some medication by another nurse. According to Beta, Ruth told her she was going to get hers -and Ruth tried to stick the needle in her. Beta screamed bloody murder-you know what a set of lungs the old witch had-and some other nurses rushed in. Of course Ruth denied the whole crazy thing and there was no eviden
ce to support Beta’s charge.” “I don’t get it. Even if it were true, why would Ruth want to kill Beta?” “Back then, who knows? Community service, perhaps? It’s a lot of bullcrap if you ask me. But now”-Eula Mae slid her glance slyly over her shoulder-“who knows? I mean, Beta did try to ruin her career.” “But she failed. Ruth didn’t lose her job. They didn’t even file charges. Why kill Beta now?” This made little sense to me. “I don’t know what else might have transpired between them. Ruth supported you in the censorship fight. Maybe there’s some other dark secret between them.” Eula Mae’s eyes glowed with creativity, as though she were plotting her next potboiler. “Was Ruth on that list?
What was her quote?” Ruth’s was easy to remember, especially in light of this revelation. It was 2 Kings 4:40-to wit: There is death in the pot. When I read it earlier, I had no story such as this to relate it to. Now it sounded like Beta considered Ruth as Mirabeau’s own Lucrezia Borgia. I repeated the quote to Eula Mae and enjoyed the momentary silence. “Well, my Lord. Sounds like Beta still held a grudge.” “Great. I have a dinner date with Ruth tonight.” My enthusiasm waned. “Mind your cocktail, sweetie.” Eula Mae laughed.
Then her merry face darkened and grew serious. “Well, what if it’s not bullcrap and Beta was right? Maybe you shouldn’t go.” “For God’s sake, even if it was true, she’d have no reason to poison me.” I stood and watched Hally fill a trash bag with pulled weeds. “Hey, maybe Hally’s pulled up a toxic plant I can take with me for defense.” “Don’t joke, Jordy.” I turned and looked at her. The pretend drama was out of her face. “Someone killed Beta. Maybe someone on that list, maybe not. But it’s for the police to handle. Let them.” “Ruth called me. She can’t think that I’m snooping into her life.” I brightened. “Maybe because of Beta’s earlier accusation, the police’ll think of Ruth as a bigger suspect.” “Now you sound guilty,” Eula Mae reproved. “No one looks more culpable than the fellow who goes around trying to prove his innocence.” I stood and rested my forehead against the porch pillar.
