Miss Julia Knows a Thing or Two

by Ann B. Ross

  “Lillian, you drive,” I called, running for the passenger side of her car. “It’d take too long to get mine out.”

  Latisha got into the back seat as Lillian slid behind the wheel and rammed the key in the ignition. “Put your seat belts on,” she said. “Latisha, you hear me?”

  “Yes’m, but I’m about to freeze.”

  “Wrap that quilt around you, an’ be glad we don’t have leather seats.” Lillian looked over her shoulder and stepped on the gas. The car spurted out backward onto Polk Street where she whipped it around to head toward Main.

  Holding on to the armrest, I leaned forward to urge the car on. “Step on it, Lillian. Nobody’s going to be handing out speeding tickets this time of night. They’re all busy searching, anyway.”

  She turned onto Sixth Street, saw a green light at the next intersection, and floored it. The car went airborne over a bump in the street, lifting us from our seats in spite of being strapped in.

  “Whoa,” Latisha said.

  “I just thought of something,” I said as my stomach settled back in place and Lillian, approaching the interstate, zoomed down the ramp and merged without slowing. Swallowing hard as a Roadway tractor trailer pulled alongside, I went on. “Does McDonald’s stay open this late?”

  “This one does,” Latisha said, “’cause of the airport, I guess. I saw a sign when you took us there.”

  Lillian hadn’t said a word. She was hunched over the wheel and maintaining a steady sixty-five, except when she edged it up a little. We were making good time on the almost empty interstate as dark, bare fields flitted past on each side, until the vast glow of airport lights off to our left lit up the sky.

  Then Lillian said, “Maybe we shoulda called somebody. The deputies coulda got here before us. Police cars might already be real close.”

  “I’m thinking that, too,” I said, having had a few second thoughts along the way. “If we just miss them, we’ll regret not calling. But I didn’t want to scare them, especially Horace, who’s been known to run. If he saw a bunch of cop cars headed his way, he’s likely to speed off and wreck the car.” I strained to see ahead. “It’s the next exit, Lillian.”

  “I jus’ hope they’re there,” she mumbled, flicking on the right-turn indicator.

  “I bet they are,” Latisha said. “Penelope said the PlayPlace is her favorite place in the world.”

  Lillian drove up the exit ramp and turned right onto a four-lane highway lined with stores, shops, gas stations, Mexican restaurants, and a McDonald’s, all blazing with lights and fairly busy in spite of the early morning hour.

  “There’s the entrance,” I said, pointing to a yellow arrow. “Go real slow, Lillian, so we can check the parked cars.”

  From the back seat, Latisha sang out, “But don’t get in the drive-through lane, Great-Granny. We’d be goin’ round and around a dozen times.”

  Lillian grunted in response and eased into a bare crawl while we scanned every car in the lot for a flash of red. As we neared the back of the restaurant, I saw the giant playpen enclosed by a partial wall and an exceedingly tall wire mesh fence. It was filled with huge tubes, tunnels, slides, and a pool of plastic balls. The place was still and quiet, almost as if it were closed for the night.

  Lillian steered the car around the curve behind the PlayPlace, and there in the employees’ dark parking area, wedged between a pickup and an SUV, was the little red Boxster.

  “They’re here!” I said, almost whispering in wonder. Then I cleared my throat and said, “At least the car is. Pull up in front of it, Lillian, so they can’t leave.”

  “Them others can’t, either,” she said, even as she parked broadside to the front of the Boxster and turned off the ignition.

  “We won’t be that long.” I opened my door, finding that Lillian had parked so close to the Boxster’s grille that I had to slide out sideways. “Come on, let’s go find them.”

  Getting out on her side, Lillian said, “Lock these doors, Latisha, and stay right here till we get back.”

  “But I wanta go, too!”

  “In jammies and a quilt? No, ma’am, you lock the doors an’ stay here.”

  “Well,” Latisha conceded, slumping back in the seat, “tell that girl I’m waitin’ on her.”

  Lillian and I hurried to the side door of McDonald’s, fearing, or at least I was, that Horace and Penelope had gone somewhere else either by foot or by way of another ride. And that thought made me sick to my stomach. We’d never find them if they’d hitched a ride with someone else.

  We approached the counter and clasped it, waiting for the tired-looking, hairnetted woman to take our orders.

  “Have you seen a man and a little girl?” I asked, almost demanded.

  She looked at me with heavy-lidded eyes, then thumbed behind her toward the PlayPlace. “In there, an’ we can’t get ’em out. I’m about to call the cops.”

  “Oh, don’t do that,” I said, as Lillian headed for the interior door to the play area. “We’ll get them. They, I mean, he isn’t well. Thank you for looking after them.”

  I caught up with Lillian as she stepped inside the seemingly empty area. We stopped and looked around—there were no children running or climbing, no shrill screams or yells, and not one adult—Horace or otherwise. The place was deadly quiet and only dimly lit.

  Grabbing my arm, Lillian said, “Look over yonder, Miss Julia.” She squinched up her eyes and pointed through a forest of bars and tubes and rungs to a little yellow stationary play car, about a third the size of a Boxster. The only moveable part on it was the steering wheel, and Horace, head nodding on his chest, had both hands on it at the correct ten and two position as he sat in the driver’s seat with his knees up beside his ears.

  “Oh, my word,” I said, an immense load of concern lifting at having one down and only one to go, “but where is Penelope?”

  “She wouldn’t go off without him,” Lillian said, “so she’s here somewhere. Let’s look in them tunnels.”

  And that’s where we found her—curled up just inside the gaping mouth of a blue plastic tube, sound asleep, the little Steiff bear beside her, and her pink fur-lined boots tucked up close. Lillian gathered her up, holding both child and bear in her arms, and started for the door.

  “Can you get Mr. Horace?” she asked.

  “One way or the other,” I said and hurried toward Horace, telling myself to stay calm and be kind because he wasn’t responsible for endangering a child as well as himself, and scaring us all half to death. But I still had to restrain myself from lacing into him good.

  I shook his shoulder. His head jerked up, and he turned to me with a smile and a vacant look. “Mildred?” he asked.

  “Not by a long shot. Come on, Horace, it’s time to go.”

  “Okay,” he said, and shakily climbed out of the car.

  He teetered on his feet, so I took his arm and followed Lillian with her armful through the restaurant to the exterior door, drawing mindless stares from a few sleepy diners hunched over Big Macs and Quarter Pounders with Cheese.

  As we walked out into the frigid air, heading for the cars, Penelope nestled closer in Lillian’s arms and mumbled, “Can I have some fries?”

  While Lillian stowed Penelope in the back seat with Latisha, spreading the quilt to cover them both, I leaned over and asked, “Which car do you want to drive?”

  “Lord goodness, Miss Julia,” she said, closing the back door of her car. “I don’t wanta drive Mr. Horace’s car, ’specially with him in it.”

  I didn’t especially want to either, but I was afraid that Horace would pitch a fit if we left his beloved car. Not to mention the possibility of theft if we left it.

  “Give me the keys, Horace,” I said, hoping that a commanding tone would get results.

  “Where are they?” he asked, looking around as if they’d be hanging in t
he dark.

  “Hold still a minute,” I said and rammed my hand in his pants pocket, “and overlook the body search. I’m interested only in the keys so we can get your car home.”

  I pulled out a key attached to a certain key ring that had lately been wrapped in a Christmas bag.

  “I want to go home,” Horace said a little peevishly.

  “Good,” I said, “because that’s where we’re going.” Lillian and I walked him to the passenger side of the Boxster, guided him backward into the seat, whacking his knee right smartly as we did, and strapped him in.

  I locked and closed the door, thought for a minute, then said to Lillian, “We need to let somebody know so they can call off the search.”

  “Yes’m, they’s a lot of daddies that need to get home for Santy Claus. Chil’ren’ll be gettin’ up in a little while ’cause it’s already Christmas mornin’. Who you think we oughta call?”

  “Sam,” I said, taking my phone from my pocket. “I’ll text him, then call Mildred, who’ll take forever to answer.”

  So I sent Sam a text: BOTH FOUND SAFE. CALL OFF SEARCH. MEET YOU AT M’S. Then, dialing Mildred’s number, I waited an interminable time for her to rouse from her sedated sleep and mumble, “What?”

  “Mildred! Wake up!” I said, speaking loudly to penetrate the fog of whatever the EMTs had given her. “Are you awake? It’s Julia. Listen, we’ve found them. They’re all right and we’re on the way home. Do you understand? Don’t go back to sleep. We’re bringing them home.”

  “Penelope?” Mildred asked with a catch in her voice. “Is she . . . ?”

  “She’s all right.” Unless, I thought, she’d caught pneumonia in a blue plastic tube in the dead of winter.

  “Thank you,” Mildred whispered, “thank you, Lord.”

  I hung up since she was no longer speaking to me and started toward the driver’s side of the Porsche.

  “You know how to drive this thing?” Lillian asked, giving the sleek little car a worried glance.

  “No, but how hard can it be?”

  Harder than I’d thought as it turned out, for I was not proficient in managing manual transmissions. Having cautioned Lillian not to leave us behind in case of trouble, I think I drove the whole way home in the wrong gear—if a peculiar whining sound from the engine was any indication.

  Chapter 55

  I followed Lillian up Mildred’s drive and stopped behind her car, which had stopped behind an Abbot County Sheriff’s Department car. Relieved to be home in one piece, I clumsily crawled out of the low-slung, much-envied car, hoping that I’d never have to get in it again.

  Lillian was already out and opening the back door of her car. Just as Penelope, fully awake by now, slid slowly out of the car, Mildred ran out onto the porch.

  “Penelope!” she cried, her arms outspread as her silk negligee billowed behind her. “My baby, my little girl! Are you all right? Oh, my darling, I’ve been so worried about you!” And with tears running down her face, Mildred engulfed Penelope in her arms, lifted her up, and carried her inside.

  “Julia!” she called through the open door where she bent down to kneel beside Penelope. “Thank you, thank you, and Lillian, how can I ever thank you enough! Where were they? How did you know where to look . . . oh, come in, come in, and tell me everything.”

  Ignoring the invitation, I checked my cell phone and found an almost unreadable text from Sam: PTL! ALL CALLED TO S’S OFFICE. HOME SOON, which being interpreted read: “Praise the Lord! I’ll be home after a meeting with the sheriff.”

  I walked around to Horace’s side of the car where he waited, still strapped in. He’d opened his door, but sat now with his hands in his lap, content to wait, I supposed, until somebody told him to get out.

  “We’re home, Horace,” I said, unlatching his seat belt. “You want to go in?”

  “No,” he said, lumbering out of the car, “but I will. I forgot my suitcase.”

  Uh-oh, if that wasn’t a warning sign, I didn’t know what was. Mildred, however, was paying no attention to the status of her wandering husband. Maybe she was immune to his exit-seeking by this time, but not to Penelope’s for she kept the child close to her side as she gave orders to the lone officer deputized to the house. He was already radioing the All Clear signal, calling in the searchers from all points in the county.

  I walked Horace up the steps to the porch and aimed him toward the open door.

  Mildred turned and saw him coming. “Ida Lee!” she called. “Take Mr. Allen upstairs and put him to bed. And lock his door so he can’t pull this stunt again. Penelope, sweetheart,” she went on, embracing her again, “I know you’re tired, but let me get things straightened out here, and we’ll go upstairs. You can sleep as long as you want and when you get up it’ll be Christmas.”

  Mildred looked over and met my eyes with a sudden hollow recognition that Santa had long before passed over the Allen house. Tears streamed down her face, but I took no pleasure in her silent acknowledgment that I’d been right.

  I walked into the foyer and leaned down to Penelope. “Honey,” I said, “the most unusual thing has happened. Mr. Sam called to tell us that he’d just seen a miniature sleigh lift off from our house and zoom away across the sky. He thinks that Santa may have gotten the wrong information. Why don’t you come over as soon as you wake up and see if he thought you were spending the night with us?”

  Her wan little face brightened as she looked for permission from her grandmother. “That’s it!” Mildred said. “And it’s my fault because we didn’t have a Christmas tree to guide him in. Well! That won’t happen again. Now, run up and hop in my bed. When we wake up, we’ll go see what Santa brought.”

  Still looking somewhat bewildered, Penelope did as she was told, but with a backward glance at Lillian, who called out, “We’ll be waitin’ for you.”

  Mildred reached for me with outstretched arms. Too tired to linger, I sidled aside, preparing to leave.

  “Julia,” she said, as humbly as Mildred had ever sounded, “how can I thank you? The lost has been found, and you did it.”

  “No, it was Lillian. I mean, Latisha. Latisha told us where to look.”

  “Whoever,” Mildred said with a wave of her hand. “I’m eternally grateful to you all. Oh, Julia, I thought she was gone forever. You don’t know all the horrors I imagined, and it brought me to my knees. Literally, I’m talking about, to my knees. If we hadn’t already lost so much sleep, I’d be in church this morning.”

  “Hold that thought, Mildred, there’ll be other mornings. Here,” I said, handing over the key to the Porsche. “It needs a better hiding place, but come on over any time today. We may not be up, but I don’t think Penelope will mind.”

  * * *

  —

  “Let’s go home, Miss Julia,” Lillian said. “We already done all we can do.” She took my arm and walked with me to her car, where I got into the passenger seat again.

  Glancing in the back, I saw Latisha, stretched out on the seat, still wrapped in her quilt, and sound asleep. Bored with the homecoming, I thought, and smiled.

  Lillian started the car and eased behind the deputy’s car as it went down the curved driveway. On Polk Street, she drove the few feet to the curb in front of my house.

  “Don’t look like Mr. Sam’s back,” she said. “Same ole lights still on.”

  “Yes, but why don’t you pull in and just stay the night? You’ll barely get home before it’s time to get up.”

  “No’m,” she said with a quick look in the back seat. “Latisha make out like she don’t b’lieve in Santy Claus, but she’ll be looking for him anyway.”

  “Oh, of course, I should’ve thought of that. Too tired to think, I guess. Anyway,” I went on, reluctant to leave all the questions up in the air, “I wonder if Mildred will get any answers from Penelope. I’d sure like to know what she and Horace
were thinking when they took off.”

  “Well,” Lillian said, resetting the heat as the car rumbled in park, “Latisha and Honey, they got to talkin’ on the way back, an’ I heard Latisha say, ‘Why’d you go off like that? Weren’t you scared?’ An’ Honey, she say ‘Uh-uh, my grandmother said not to let him go off by his self, so I went with him.’ An’ Latisha, she say, ‘You coulda woke her up, couldn’t you?’ An’ Honey say back, ‘She was mad at me.’ Then that Latisha, she say, ‘Oh, shoo, girl, my great-granny gets mad at me all the time. What you have to do is . . .’ an’ they went to whisperin’ an’ gigglin’, an’ I didn’t hear no more.” Lillian shrugged her shoulders. “No tellin’ what Latisha meant by that, but I sure wish I’d heard it.”

  I did, too, but at least we had a general idea of why Penelope had left home—she was obeying her grandmother and looking after Horace. As for why he left, who, including him, knew?

  * * *

  —

  Lillian got a few hours of sleep before coming back to put the turkey in the oven. She brought an alarm clock with her in case she dozed off and missed putting the dressing in an hour or so later. I don’t think I turned over at all once I hit the bed, and it was all I could do to get up again for breakfast at the Pickens’ house.

  I had no idea when Mildred would bestir herself enough to bring Penelope over for the gifts waiting under our tree. I hated to miss seeing Penelope’s awe when she realized that Santa had not forgotten her, but Hazel Marie was expecting us, so we went. It would not have been Christmas for me to have missed being with her and Lloyd and the little twin girls. And J. D. Pickens, P.I., as well, since he was always where they were.

  Suffice it to say that as the clock neared two o’clock we were home welcoming our guests for Christmas dinner. Some of us were giddy from lack of sleep, but the turkey, dressing, several casseroles, congealed salad, and even the dessert with its whipped cream on top were ready and waiting to be served. Mildred and Penelope had gotten there before Sam and I were back, but I had told Lillian that all the unwrapped gifts were what Santa had left for Penelope. The wrapped ones were to await the arrival of all our guests.