Do Unto Others jp-1

by Jeff Abbott

  “Thanks for the catch-22. Look, if you saw how Billy Ray guns for me-”

  “You were panicked this morning, sug.” Eula Mae rested her knobby hand on my arm. “You found the dead body of someone you know in your workplace. That’s a profound shock. I think you’ve borne it quite well. But you’ve got to quit thinking that you’re going to be arrested in the next ten seconds unless you find the killer. It’s not healthy to worry so.” I hated to admit it, but she made sense. Junebug surely wouldn’t arrest me-or anyone else-without hard evidence. He was a professional, after all. I kept picturing him as the boy I’d grown up with and not as the responsible police chief he was. He’d done a good job for Mirabeau. Billy Ray was another story. “Thanks, Eula Mae. I appreciate that.” “Yeah, yeah, right.” She wagged crimson fingernails at me. “Just give me first rights to be your biographer from the hoosegow.” “Deal.” I nodded toward her scattered pages and then toward Hally, who was drying the sweat from his firm body with his shirt.

  “I’ll let our beloved Jocelyn Lushe get back to work.” “Have a good dinner. Don’t let Candace know. She might poison you even if Ruth doesn’t.” You could always count on Eula Mae for moral support. I headed back down the walk, watching Hally toss open another trash bag for the mound of weeds he’d pulled. I suppose Eula Mae was right. Even distantly related as third cousins (still considered kin in this part of the country), there was a family resemblance. We both stood tall with thick blondish hair and green eyes, and we had the distinctive stubborn Schneider cheekbones that could freeze into refusal and mulishness at a moment’s notice. But where I was lanky from running and idle reading, Hally was thickly-built from years of football and work. I’d been a much gawkier kid. Hally was a senior at Mirabeau High and was probably years ahead sexually of where I’d been at that age. I just hoped he wasn’t ahead of where I was now. I shook his hand, ignoring the dirt on his palms. “Hey, Jordy. How’s Cousin Anne doing?” he asked. I admit surprise; the Schneiders live no more than three houses down from us but they’ve only shown a passing interest in Mama’s decline. Hally’s annoyingly peppy mother Janice boasted a better attendance record at library board meetings than she did in checking up on her neighboring kinfolk. “She’s about the same, Hally.”

  He shook his head. “Damn shame. I know Mom keeps meaning to come over and see you and Arlene and Anne. I see Mark in the neighborhood, but I get the feeling that he doesn’t care to discuss his grandmother.” I suspected that Hally didn’t do much to curry a friendship with Mark.

  Hally was a senior, a popular athlete from a perfect family; Mark was a moody freshman loner stuck with a mouthy mother, a mouthier uncle, and a diminishing grandmother. I sighed. I halfway felt like telling Hally that the Schneiders had been crappy kinfolk, but I decided it wasn’t the time or place. “It’s hard. Listen, Hally, I wanted to see you about something else.” He looked bemusedly at the porch. “Hope it’s not about Miz Quiff. I assure you my intentions are honorable.” I laughed. “No, not about Eula Mae.” Curiosity couldn’t resist though.

  “She hasn’t acted, uh, inappropriately toward you, has she?” It was his turn to laugh. “Not at all, although I’m sure she thinks I never see her looking at me. I kind of like older women, but Eula Mae’s not my type.” “No, I need to discuss a different topic with you. I guess you heard about Beta Harcher.” Hally’s smile faded. “Yeah, I heard.

  Mom told me about it. You found her in the library?” “Yeah.” And why didn’t you ask me about that straightaway? I wondered. Not every day someone you encounter has stumbled across a corpse, and you’d think the topic would debut damn early in the conversation. “Did you know her?” Hally blinked. “Why are you asking?” I figured a football player like Hally appreciated bluntness. I told him about the list. Shock spilled across his face. “Honest to God, Jordy, I don’t know why that woman would have my name there.” Hally wiped a sweaty lip with the back of his garden-gloved hand. “There was a Bible quote by each name.

  Yours was Proverbs 14:9. Fools make a mock at sin. ” Hally’s tongue darted out to his lips and back again, nervously. “Why would she write something like that about me?” “I thought you’d know. You been doing any sinnin’ lately?” I said it as nicely as I could, but I’ve never believed in treating errant family members with kid gloves. Or garden gloves, in this case. Hally looked spooked. He took a step backward and fell over the bag of weeds. Dirt and twigs stuck to his sweaty back and he jumped up quickly, brushing them off his jeans and mumbling about being clumsy in the off-season. I’d seen that boy play football with the grace of a dancer, so I crossed my arms and frowned at him. “What’s got the chigger in your pants?” “It’s a little unnerving, you know, to hear some dead person was writing shit-I mean stuff-about you.” Good thing sweet cousin Janice wasn’t there to hear her little boy cuss. Janice would smile big as day while she scrubbed your mouth with lye soap. “So how did Beta know you, Hally? She must’ve, to write what she did.” The words came quickly. “She knew Mom from the library and the church. I knew her from Sunday school; I’m president of the youth group there. And she babysat for us sometimes, when I had a date or something for school and Mom and Dad went out.”

  Hally had been an only, extra-adored child until his little brother Josh arrived five years ago, much to Janice’s embarrassment. She was the kind of woman who’d prefer no one know she was still getting sex at forty. “So you knew her socially.” “I saw her at church. She had some definite opinions about how the youth group should be run.” I remembered what Tamma Hufnagel said in the same vein. Beta’s need for control was an equal-opportunity annoyance. Hally continued: “And I saw her about a week ago when she baby-sat Josh. After going to the movies in Bavary, I got home before Mom and Dad did, so I relieved her. Put Josh in the car and took her home.” I sighed. Hally seemed shook by all this, and I couldn’t blame him. I was shook, too. But I didn’t like that he wasn’t able to meet my eyes for more than a second or two. What was he hiding? “How did she act when you saw her?” I asked. Hally shrugged and pulled his T-shirt back on. “Same mean old bat as always, I suppose. She was still mad at Mom for siding with you about banning books. Mom told her that didn’t mean they couldn’t still get along, even if they disagreed. So I think that’s why Mom asked her to baby-sit Josh, maybe to patch up. Miz Harcher really seemed to like Josh; she’d play games with him, read him Mother Goose and Pooh Bear stories. I kind of thought she’d wished for a grandkid of her own.”

  Beta Harcher? Being nice to a child? I imagined Beta’s baby-sitting activities to include recanting of cartoons, a delicious serving of cold gruel (with a side order of guilt), a spirited game of Name That Heretic, and basics of book incineration. Kindness and stories that didn’t involve retribution for sins hadn’t occurred to me. Maybe there’d been a heart under that stony skin. “And nothing unusual happened when you took her home?” I pressed. Hally looked nervous again, running his tongue tip over his chapped lips. His jaw worked.

  “Well, yeah. But I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything. It was probably library business or something.” He glanced nervously toward the house.

  “I don’t want to get in trouble and I don’t want her in trouble.” I followed his eyes to the empty porch. Eula Mae had vanished into her inner sanctum to be Jocelyn Lushe and chronicle the escapades of her latest pair of star-crossed lovers. “Eula Mae?” I asked. “What do you mean?” “She was sitting on Beta’s porch when we pulled up. Waiting for her. Miz Harcher had left her porch light on and I could see Miz Quiff sitting up there. Miz Quiff looked madder’n hell. She was sitting in a porch chair, and she got up real slow from it when Miz Harcher got out of my car.” Hally paused. “Real slow. You know, like someone who’s so mad that they’ve got to move like molasses to keep from knocking the tar out of someone?” “I know what you mean. So what happened then?”

  Hally scooped weeds from the ground and stuffed them in a bag.

  “Nothing. Miz Harcher said something like ‘Finally,�
� kissed Josh goodnight, and told me to get on home. So I did.” Hally tied off the lawn bag with a green piece of wire. “But I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything.” He still didn’t look at me. If he’d been making a mock at sin, as Beta suggested, he wasn’t going to look me in the eye and fess up. “You don’t mind me asking, do you, Hally, where you were last night?” He did meet my eyes. “No, I don’t mind. I was out with a girl.

  Chelsea Hart. Didn’t get home until after midnight.” He smiled, and added, “Even with a later curfew for spring break, I missed it. Mom was mad.” “I see. Well, listen, I got to go. Tell your mother I’ll stop by soon.” Relief moved across his face like a shadow. “Okay, Jordy. You take care.” I walked away from my cousin, and away from my friend’s house, feeling as if even the people I knew and trusted weren’t being up front with me. Eula Mae hadn’t mentioned her little late night excursion to see Beta last week. Hally behaved as if he’d done worse than miss curfew. Knowing he was on that list shook him up.

  And I wondered why Hally, rather than his library-board mother, had made Beta’s mysterious catalog.

  6

  “Excuse me, but a dinner with Ruth Wills?” Sister demanded. The bathroom door didn’t do a lot to mute her. “You can’t go out on some date. Who’s gonna stay here with Mama?” “Mark can stay. He’s old enough to take care of her.” I made a face at the door. The shaving cream made me look rabid. I already felt it. “I think an adult should be here. God have mercy, you just found a body this morning and the police think you might’ve killed her. Decent folks’d stay home.” “Then I guess I’m indecent.” I ignored her reply and finished shaving. “I’ll call Dorcas Witherspoon and see if she can come over.” I splashed water on my face and turned to the shower. “Maybe I can just call Candace,” Sister offered. I couldn’t immediately tell if she was teasing but I had my suspicions. “I’m sure she’d be delighted to baby-sit Mama while you’ve got a hot date. Bet she wouldn’t mind at all.” “Give it a rest.” I turned the taps and drowned out her babble.

  I stepped into the shower and let the water sluice over me. I had found when I returned to Mirabeau that the bathroom was a simple haven from Mama, Sister, and Mark. No wonder many middle-aged men spend so much time there. Worry nagged at me more than Sister did. In a small town, gossip runs rife. Beta’s charges against Ruth had certainly been effectively muffled. And it seemed doubly interesting that Beta, who was never stingy with accusations, never mentioned her feud with Ruth at the library board meetings. The hospital, Ruth, or someone else had managed to keep Beta from hellfire-’n’-brimstoning against Ruth as Mirabeau’s resident poisoner. That bothered me no end. Sister had returned downstairs when I snuck from the steamy bathroom down the hall to my old bedroom. There’s nothing quite like growing up in a house, leaving it for years, then coming back and living in your own room again. I’d expected to hate the arrangement, but with the stress of Mama’s disease it comforted me. It’s like putting on a very old and comfortable pair of jeans and finding they’ve stretched a little to match your longer legs. The bed I’d slept in as a teenager-the one I’d lost my virginity in one thunderous spring afternoon when Mama, Daddy, and Sister had gone to visit friends in Bastrop-was still there. My legs still stuck out a tad over the edge during sleep. I’d taken down the dusty academic awards and the track trophies from Mirabeau High and replaced them with art that’d hung in my condo in Boston. The Mark Rothko prints and the Ansel Adams photographs looked out of place with the antique furniture, but I didn’t care. I needed some link to my middle life, the one I’d sandwiched between childhood and unexpected adulthood in Mirabeau. I slipped a CD into my portable stereo I’d put on my old study desk and got dressed while Miles Davis made his trumpet sing a sketch of Spain. I picked khakis, brown loafers, and a nicely tailored chambray shirt. Rosita’s wasn’t fancy by Boston standards, but I wanted to look presentable for Ruth. I thought about a tie, decided I’d look like a doofus wearing a tie if I wasn’t going to church, and tossed it back on the bed. I didn’t get away scot-free.

  The phone rang and I scooped it up. “Get your business wrapped up with Ruth Wills?” Candace asked archly. “No, Candace.” I didn’t feel like fibbing. Maybe Sister really had called her? “Just about to, though.”

  “So where are you meeting her?” She must’ve smelled my cologne through the receiver. Some women can do that. There was no getting past this, and I got a little hot. Candace was my friend and co-worker, but nothing more. No matter how cute and caring she could be, she could also be damned aggravating. I didn’t owe her an explanation. “Look, Candace, she asked me out to dinner. She wants to discuss Beta. And I’ve found out some other information that makes me want to talk to Ruth even more.” “Well, I want to discuss Beta, too.” “Candace-” I began but didn’t finish. Didn’t have a prayer. “I’ll tell you this, but if my mother finds out I’m in deep mud. Beta banked at Mother’s bank here in town. And she deposited $35,000 cash into her savings account a week ago.” “Good Lord! Where-” “-did she get that kind of money?” Candace finished my sentence with a vexatious amount of smugness. “Damn good question.” “God, Candace, how’d you find that out? That’s supposed to be confidential.” “Mother better not find out.

  I got one of the tellers to help me. She told me the police were already looking into Beta’s accounts.” “Well, that’s interesting, Candace. I assume that Miz Harcher didn’t generally deposit that kind of money in her account.” Candace snorted. “Nope. Hardly ever had a balance over five thousand, and most of that from the trust her daddy left her. She wasn’t poor, but she wasn’t wealthy either.” I recalled the conversations I’d had today, and how that money might fit in. I glanced at my watch; I was going to be late getting over to Bavary. “I got to go, Candace. I’ll phone you later tonight.” That placated her.

  “Okay. Don’t have any fun with that witch.” I hung up and my male pride roared at me. Why on earth did I promise to call Candace after seeing Ruth? I didn’t owe Candace an up-to-the-minute activity report.

  As I descended the stairs, Sister lectured a sullen Mark about taking care of Mama. Mark turned hostile eyes on me. “I had plans tonight, you know. You ain’t the only one with a social life.” “Sorry, Mark.

  I’ll make it up to you.” Maybe if I bought him a Playboy, he’d warm up to me. Only problem was if Sister found out, she’d warm up even faster. As in nuclear meltdown. “Well, just make sure you come home tonight,” Mark said. “Don’t worry, I’m not out to score.” “I don’t mean that, Uncle Jordy. Just don’t get arrested.” Rosita’s screamed with color. The walls were a riotous lime green (to accompany the riotous behavior the margaritas could cause), adorned with oversized and vibrant paintings of red parrots, rainbow-beaked toucans, and black sombreros. Tinny Latino music chirped from mounted speakers.

  There was a patio that faced a side street in Bavary, but it overflowed with customers who were slurping down drinks, stuffing nachos in their faces, and all talking simultaneously. I wanted quiet for my tete-a-tete with Ruth. I went in and was heartened that most patrons were taking advantage of the nice, clear night outdoors. The dining room wasn’t too crowded. A beautiful young woman with ebony eyes and luxurious black hair approached me with a smile. “I’m meeting someone-” I began but she didn’t let me finish. “You Mr. Poteet?”

  “Yes.” “This way, please.” I followed her to a dim corner booth, where Ruth Wills sat as comfortable as a cat curled up on a pillow. Her brown hair swept up in a flattering way, and her eyes were dark in the pale light. She looked a little more urbane than the typical customer, in a black mock turtleneck and tailored gray slacks. A simple diamond pendant hung about her neck. I tried not to stare at the diamond, since it reposed on her shapely breasts. I didn’t want her to mistake why I was here. Her physical attractiveness hadn’t lured me here, I reminded myself-I wanted answers. But suddenly I found myself swallowing when a simple hello would have done nicely. “Jordy,” she said, offering me her hand. I took it, w
ondering for a moment if kissing it was out of the question. Her customary attire was a baggy sweatshirt and jeans; she looked lovely that way, but now she was positively gorgeous. And had she changed her voice? She spoke as smoothly as the curve of her hip. “Ruth. Nice to see you.” You could tell I was making my small talk extra-suave and elegant. I coughed for refuge and sat. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering a pitcher of margaritas,” she murmured. “I hope you don’t mind.” “That’s fine.” I tried to get seated comfortably without making the vinyl squeak. “I wanted us to get together socially. I’m sorry that I waited until such sad circumstances.” She placed a hand near her pendant, as though taking a pledge. “Granted that Miss Harcher was not the most beloved person in town, but as a nurse I find it hard to wish anyone ill.”

  This girl couldn’t have poisoned a rabid rat, I thought, then pulled on the mental reins. Keep actions related to mind, I told myself. I’m a weak man in some regards and Ruth sapped my strength. “Let’s not talk about that right now.” I made my voice purr as best I could. “How about an appetizer?” We made it through the meal without mentioning any bodies I’d recently discovered. The conversation stayed safely within limits: the hopes for next season’s Mirabeau Bees high-school football team, Ruth’s life in the coastal city of Corpus Christi before she’d come to Mirabeau, my life in Boston amidst all those Yankees. It was a nice dinner: quesadillas stuffed with jalapenos and cheese, chicken flautas for her, beef enchiladas smothered in cheese and chili con carne for me, Spanish rice and refried beans for both, and margaritas served in blue-rimmed glasses that could have doubled as goldfish bowls. I finished one, feeling tip top, and hardly noticed when Ruth poured me another. Beta didn’t rear up from the grave until we were filling our powdered, sugary sopapillas with honey. “It must have been”-Ruth finished loading the hollow pastry with honey-“horrendous, finding her body. Terrible shock for you and poor, dear Candace.” “More for me, I guess. Candace was a rock.” “Yes, I would think so,” Ruth bit into the bottom of her sopapilla, pulled it away from her mouth, and let the honey drip onto her tongue. And yes, I watched. It was downright fascinating. She swallowed the honey, then sipped at her margarita. “Candace seems to be quite strong where you’re concerned.” I felt a need to explain. “Candace is my friend and my assistant. We have a professional relationship.” “Really? I think if you were a library book she’d have you checked out constantly.” I smiled thinly. “Let’s not talk about Candace.” She gave a quick cut of her hand over her glass. “Fine. It’s a dull subject anyway.” I didn’t let that pass. “You brought her up. Why do you care if she’s interested in me?” I normally wasn’t so forward, but I didn’t like her picking on Candace. And the margarita felt like liquid bravery. “What makes you think I care?” she asked. “You invited me to dinner, Ruth.