by Jeff Abbott
The last time I helped Mama up to bed and got her settled for the night. Her medicine had relaxed her and she didn’t argue as I got her into her nightdress. She lay back on her pillows. Her eyes looked dull and listless compared with the highly intelligent eyes that I’d stared into during dinner. “You were gone. Did you have a nice time?” Mama asked. It was unusual for her to notice that someone was around or not. Maybe this was a sharper moment for her. “Yes, Mama, I did have a nice time. Thank you for asking.” “That’s good.” She patted my hand.
Might as well try. “Mama, do you remember Beta Harcher? She was a lady at the Baptist church. And she did work for the library.” Worked against the library, but that was too many details for Mama. Mama didn’t like questions; they frustrated her. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” “It’s okay. I just thought you might remember her.” “Ask your father,” she said sleepily. That advice wasn’t particularly helpful. I counted my blessings anyway; many Alzheimer’s patients spend their nights keeping their caretakers awake. Mama embraced sleep tonight. I kissed her cheek, turned out the lights, and went down to retrieve the cup of decaf I’d left when Mama asked me to take her upstairs. The television fell silent as I came down the stairs. Mark crouched on the couch, staring at his beloved high-top sneakers instead of me. I ignored him and picked up my cooling mug of coffee. “Sorry about before,” he muttered. I’m sure it’s the same kind of apology his daddy never bothered to give my sister. “Apology accepted.” I sat down next to him and lifted his chin so his eyes met mine. God, he was growing up quick. It’d only seemed like yesterday he’d been a baby that gurgled and cooed happily at his uncle Jordy. “Look, Mark. I’m not mad at you. It’s just that you have to understand the situation we’re all in. As you pointed out to me yesterday, your Mamaw is not getting better. She is never going to get better. I shouldn’t have kidded you that she’s ever going to improve. And we all have to do what we can to hold together as a family. We’re all making sacrifices. Your mother’s working ungodly hours. I gave up a good job and moved back here, where I have practically no career opportunities. So you have to help do your share, too. And sitting with your Mamaw when we need you to is not too much to ask.” “And how long till you get tired of it, Uncle Jordy?” Mark asked acidly. “I’m sorry I snapped at you before. But this noble act isn’t flying with me. Everyone’s saying how great you are for coming back here and helping with Mamaw. Well, big fucking deal.” He waited to see if the language shocked me. I stayed as still as stone. He continued, his words spilling out: “You’ll get tired of it sooner or later and you’ll haul butt back to Boston or wherever you damn well please. You’re not going to find any job in Mirabeau to make you happy. Living here’s going to wear thin and you’ll take your nobleness, say thanks to me and Mom, and you’ll be gone.” His thin face paled and those young, dark eyes dampened with angry tears. “Is that what you think, Mark?” “That’s what happens. It always happens.”
He got up and started up the stairs. “I’m not your daddy, you know.
I’m not going anywhere.” I would’ve called louder but I didn’t want to wake Mama. Mark’s steps paused for one brief moment on the stairs, then resumed their pounding. I heard his door shut. Maybe that explained the anger and the snotty comments. He was thirteen, starting that terribly awkward age, and he’d never known a man who stuck around. His father cut out when he realized Mark and Sister meant responsibility. My and Sister’s dad had inconsiderately died. Sister’s subsequent few boyfriends didn’t seem much taken with the idea of an ill mother-in-law and another man’s child. Why should this faraway uncle suddenly appear as the silvered knight of trust? I leaned back on the couch. I understood his worry. God knows I’d been tempted to leave. Sister still tended to treat me like a pesky little brother who foiled her plans. Mama could drive you crazy with her repetitive behavior, her restless nights, her lack of being the woman who raised me. Mark’s mouth outdid mine at his age. And Mirabeau didn’t offer much in the way of employment in my field. I’d gotten calls from friends at Brooks-Jellicoe, the publisher I’d worked for in Boston.
Seeing if I’d changed my mind. Seeing how Mama was doing and inquiring if I was considering coming back. They wouldn’t keep calling forever.
And what would I do after Mama passed away? That could be next week or in twenty years. I wouldn’t have a career left. That’s what being a caretaker did to you; stripped you of yourself and replaced it with a distorted mirror image of the sick person you sacrificed your life for. I’d look in the mirror someday and see Mama instead of myself. I groaned; I was turning into Norman Bates from Psycho. I warmed my coffee and went back upstairs. I’d nearly finished my notes. I turned off the stereo then read over what I’d written: QUESTIONS ABOUT BETA 1. Why did she make that list of names connected to the library, and why was she carrying it around with her? 2. Why was she dressed all in black? Not her usual attire. 3. Why was mud caked on her shoes? Had not rained in the past couple of days. 4. Why was she at the library at night? 5. How did she get a key? Tamma Hufnagel says Beta swiped Adam’s key. 6. Why did the killer use the bat in my office? Because it was handy or to implicate me? Handiness indicates that the killer came into my office; bat was behind my desk. 7. Where did that $35,000 in her account come from? Who benefits under her will? (Maybe this has nothing to do with the library after all.)
BETA’S LIST
1. Tamma Hufnagel-minister’s wife. Her quote is Numbers 32:23.
“Be sure your sin will find you out.” What sin had Tamma committed that Beta knew about? Something that could ruin her, or just something that Beta used to irritate her?
2. Hally Schneider-my third cousin, 17, son of library board member Janice Schneider, works part-time for Eula Mae. Claims he was on a date with a girl named Chelsea Hart last night at time of murder. Mirabeau native. His quote is Proverbs 14:9.
“Fools make a mock at sin.” Another quote related to sin. Did Beta think that Hally had done something sinful then hadn’t worried about it? Or joked about it? Hard to see how quote pertains to him. 3. Jordan Poteet-I can say categorically that I did not kill Beta Harcher! My quote is Isaiah 5:20. “Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil.” Beta’s death has brought me woe all right. Have no interpretation for her quote for me, unless it’s that I considered books she called evil to be good and worth keeping on the shelves.
4. Eula Mae Quiff-successful romance writer, known professionally as Jocelyn Lushe. Her quote is Job 31:35. “My desire is, that the Almighty would answer me, and that mine adversary had written a book.”
Beta objected to Eula Mae’s passionate little paperbacks, called them smut. Did she bruise Eula Mae’s considerable ego one time too many?
Why was Eula Mae meeting Beta late at night and why didn’t she mention it to me?
5. Matt Blalock-Vietnam vets activist, contract computer programmer for software companies in Austin. His quote is Matthew 26:21. “Verily I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me.” What betrayal had Matt committed in Beta’s eyes? Of God, Mother, or Country? Beta called Matt seditious for his vets activities that challenge the lightness of the war (she was so old-fashioned). This is the best interpretation I know so far. 6. Ruth Wills-nurse at Mirabeau Hospital. Claims to have witnessed a violent argument between Beta and Bob Don last Saturday. Her quote is 2 Kings 4:40. “There is death in the pot.” Guess is that it refers to Ruth’s alleged attempt to poison Beta. 7. Bob Don Goertz-local car and pickup truck czar.
His quote is Judges 5:30. “Have they not divided the prey; to every man a damsel or two?” Sounds like Bob Don had either reaped a windfall of women; or that he possibly had a mistress on the side? Could it have been Beta herself, if not now then in the past? Knew her since she was young and claimed she was wild then. 8. Anne Schneider Poteet-my mother. For whatever reason, her quote is Genesis 3:16. “In sorrow thou shalt bring forth children.” I have no idea what this means in connection with my mother. Probably the sorrow was to be that I (someone Beta loathed) was he
r child.
I closed my eyes as I finished reading my notes. Mama. This of all made the least sense. My mother hadn’t hurt a fly in her whole life.
She was caring, forgiving, loving. Yet she’d made it onto this list of Beta Harcher’s sinners. Perhaps Ruth was right; crazy people didn’t need motives. Putting my mother on that list was proof
enough. I paused, then realized I’d left something out. I scribbled again: BOARD MEMBERS NOT ON LIST
• Reverend Adam Hufnagel-preacher at First Baptist Church of Mirabeau (for past five years). I haven’t spoken with him regarding Beta’s death-must do soon. Why is his wife on Beta’s list? Why isn’t he? • Janice Schneider-homemaker, my cousin-by-marriage (married to my second cousin Harold Schneider). Mother of Hally and Josh. Perky, Stepford-wife, greeting card type. Had Beta baby-sit her son Josh on occasion-apparently tried to make up with Beta after library incidents. Why is her son Hally on Beta’s list? Why isn’t she?
I drummed my pen against the paper. Those ending questions were both damned good ones. Perhaps there was no reason to it; after all, Mama was on the list. Maybe Tamma and Hally were there as well to strike against imagined betrayers Adam and Janice. Janice had voted against Beta and Adam hadn’t argued hard when the board voted to remove her. That assumed this list was some sort of weapon Beta could’ve used against those she hated. Or maybe Hally and Tamma had been doing their own wrongs against Beta. I decided talking to Brother Adam and cousin Janice was a priority. There was one more addition to the notebook: BETA HARCHER Mid 40s. Never married, as far as I know.
Mirabeau native. Did not work; lived off trust left to her by family.
No close relatives in town; has a niece in Houston, according to Tamma Hufnagel. Do not know of anyone that she considered a close friend or confidante. Extremely religious; a zealot. According to Bob Don, got religion in her early 20s; previously had a reputation for being wild (whatever that means). Had served on library board less than six months when she began attempts to ban books she considered unwholesome. Ejected from library board by other members. Acted as though she operated by divine guidance; even stated as much when she assaulted me in the library. Deposited large, unexplained amount of cash recently in her savings account. Apparently argued with Bob Don Goertz (if Ruth is to be believed) and was having a late night meeting with longtime enemy Eula Mae Quiff in the week before she died. Eula Mae and Bob Don. A well-to-do writer and a prosperous car dealer. And $35,000 in Beta’s savings account. I wondered if for all her moralizing, Beta Harcher considered blackmail a sin. I switched out the light and considering the length and stress of the day I’d had, collapsed quickly into a deep sleep. Beta Harcher kindly stayed out of my dreams.
8
The next morning started off as most mornings did, except I kept wondering whether or not I could open the library and whether Junebug still considered me a prime suspect. I fixed breakfast for Mama and Mark and checked on Sister; she snored in her room, worn from an evening of cooking up homestyle food for wayfarers. I’m not nearly as good a cook as Sister, but Mama and Mark didn’t complain. Course it’s hard to mess up toaster waffles and Rice Krispies, but I do pride myself on my ability to coordinate every part of the meal so it reaches the table simultaneously. Junebug didn’t disappoint. He showed up about eight-thirty and I was glad to see that Billy Ray wasn’t in tow. “Hey, Jordy. Good morning,” Junebug held his Stetson in his hands, as if sparking Sister rather than grilling me. “Good morning, Chief Moncrief.” I kept my tone formal. He frowned. “I’d like to speak with you for a minute, Jordy.” “Don’t you need a backup, Chief? After all, I’m a dangerous suspect.” “Come on, Jordy,” he sounded like the Junebug of old, asking for his baseball back when we’d disagreed about a hit being foul. “Quit being pissy about this. I got a job to do. I’m not here to arrest you.” I relented. “I just made some coffee. Come on in.” He came awkwardly into the kitchen, watching Mama. “Good morning, Miz Poteet, Mark. How y’all doing?” Mama stared at Junebug, as if she feared he might be here to escort her to a nursing home. She smiled cautiously in his direction. Mark once again put himself first. “I already told you what I know, Chief,” he said, sounding like a prepubescent version of a Bogart-movie thug. Junebug regarded Mark critically. “Yes, son, I know. Thanks again for your cooperation. I’m here to see your uncle, though. Would y’all mind giving us some privacy?” “Mark, please take Mama upstairs. Then go outside and play,”
I said. Do thirteen-year-olds still play? Mark’s eyes widened like drops of ink in water. “Are you going to arrest him?” “No, son. Good to see you again, Miz Poteet.” Junebug nodded politely at Mama as Mark escorted her out of the kitchen. I poured Junebug black coffee and set it before him. I decided to act like what I was, just a bystander to all these nasty little events. “So when can I reopen the library?”
“Not today,” he said in his slow voice, sipping the brew. His blue eyes flicked at me. “You make good coffee.” I sipped my own in response. “Is that what you came by to tell me, that the library has to stay closed? You could have phoned.” He set the mug down. “Jordy, I think Beta might’ve been in the library to burn it down.” I felt the heat of the mug in my hands, but it paled next to the heat in my face.
Burn the library? Bum my library? Junebug read my expression. “I didn’t get into this with you before, because we didn’t know. Her fingers smelled of gasoline, and the coroner found traces of gasoline on her clothes. And there was a pack of matches in her skirt pocket.”
“Did you find gas cans?” My voice sounded stunned. “In her car. It was parked down the street from the library. Found it there yesterday.”
“Not enough that she tried to ban books. Not enough that she threatened to shut the library down. No, if she couldn’t have her way, she’d just torch it. Even the many books she didn’t object to, just to get rid of the few.” I jumped up from my chair and paced the kitchen madly. “She didn’t threaten to burn the place down to you?” Junebug asked in his relaxed drawl. “Never.” I stopped. “You know I would have reported any such threat to you. I’d have had you and the volunteer fire department on twenty-four-hour alert. And I’d have had Billy Ray throw a book she couldn’t burn at her skinny butt.” “Unless you decided to stop her yourself.” He said it as casually as if he were reading a high-school football score from the paper. I felt my lips tighten. “You know I wouldn’t kill her. There’d be no reason for me to. You’re the law. I would have come to you.” “I think you would have, too,” Junebug said. “But that’s not how Billy Ray sees it. He figures-” “Billy Ray couldn’t figure if you gave him both sides of the flash card,” I interrupted. “-that if you knew she might try something like that; but you didn’t have solid proof, you might just take it into your head to guard the library. Maybe keep a bat handy. A bat that has only your prints on it.” Only my prints. I gulped, but pressed on. “Does that sound as stupid to you as it does to me? Tell Billy Ray to unknot his lariat from around his ankles and try throwing again. Instead of dreaming up little scenarios between me and Beta, why doesn’t he get busy finding out about that money in her account?
Or why Bob Don had such a fight with her last week? Or why she accused Ruth Wills of trying to poison her? Or why Eula Mae was meeting her late at night last week? Or why she bothered to make that list in the first place?” I stopped. “Or why only my prints are on that bat? If some kid just left it in the lot, it’d have to have his prints on it, too. Right?” Junebug’s jaw wavered. “How the hell-” Open mouth, do not insert foot because of torrent of words that pour out in temper. I sat down quickly. A model schoolboy. “I guess you’ve been checking up on folks,” he said sternly. A model principal. “That’s my job, Jordy.
Mine and Billy Ray’s.” “Well, do your job, Hewett.” He’s not real crazy about being called by that name. How inconsiderate of me. “You know in your heart that I didn’t murder anybody. You know I couldn’t.
Get that schnauzer of a lawyer off of me.” The front do
or creaked and it wasn’t a schnauzer of a lawyer that came in. It was a chihuahua of a lawyer, little and hairless. Bidwell J. Poteet, attorney-at-law. My beloved uncle Bid. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, resplendent in his small-town lawyer’s light gray suit, smoking an obnoxious cigarillo. It fit him. He was short, like my father had been, and he’d lost most of his hair. What little remained was scraggly and white. A soul less charitable than myself would’ve said it looked like cat mange. His eyes were a deep lake blue, but icy and cool. The stub of that cigarillo popped out of his thin lips and his raspy drawl pervaded the room like the nauseating smell of the smoke. “I hope you’re not trying to intimidate my client, Chief,” Uncle Bid wheedled.
“He ought to have my representation if you’re trying to coax a confession out of him.” Junebug frowned. “This isn’t an interrogation, Mr. Poteet. Jordy and I are just talking.” “I’ll be the judge of that, sir.” Uncle Bid sat in the chair. He blinked at me, like a troll at a billy goat gruff. “Aren’t you going to be hospitable and offer your poor old uncle some coffee?” Soon as I find the rat poison for it, I thought, getting up and slopping coffee into a cup. “Your sister-in-law is doing fine, thank you for asking,” I announced. Bid made a hoarse reply that lacked concern. He’d done nothing to try to help Mama, the wife of his older brother. He’d dropped by only once before since I’d moved home, just to explain what an idiot I was to return to Mirabeau-and grieve that Daddy was spinning from his grave all the way to China on account of my giving up my career. Feel the love? “Mr. Poteet, let me assure you that I wasn’t questioning Jordy.
We were simply discussing when he could reopen the library. It is a crime scene, you know, and we can’t run the risk of tampering there,”
Junebug said. Bid sucked down boiling-hot coffee as if it was ice water. Those cigarillos must build up the scar tissue fast. “Well, then, if you two have concluded your business, I’d like to speak privately with my nephew.” Junebug arched an eyebrow, but didn’t argue. “Yes, we are finished, I believe. Jordy, I’ll let you know when you can reopen.” I nodded mutely and escorted Junebug to the door. He paused on the porch as he adjusted his hat and blinked into the morning sunshine. “It’s a nice day. Why don’t you spend it with your mother? Take her out to the park or out to lunch?” “I have other plans, Junebug.” “Remember, Jordy, I’m the law. I’ll handle the investigating around here. And one thing I might have to investigate is how you knew about that money in Beta Harcher’s account.” I didn’t want to get Candace in trouble for sneaking around bank-record confidentiality. But I didn’t want to lie to a police officer either.
