Miss Julia To The Rescue Part 18

Stricken by the troubled tone in his voice, I began to feel bad about my strident behavior. "I'm not worried about what you charge, Adam. I'm worried about you. Is anything wrong?"

"No, ma'am, everything's fine." He got up from the box he was sitting on and adjusted his tool belt. "I just find that my work goes better if I study the Word off and on throughout the day."

"Well," I said, at a loss for a response. "Well, good. I'll leave you to it." And I left, feeling chastened even as a rather sharp observation flitted through my mind: better to have been studying my plans, considering the state of that room. Then felt worse for having thought it.

Chapter 36.

Adam was true to his word about bringing in help. Before the hour was past, another pickup drove in and a younger brother, Josh, as he introduced himself, hopped out to help finish the sunroom. He was about twice the size of Adam, a blond giant of a man, with an open and pleasant expression on his face. Up and down the stairs the two of them went, carrying out the table saw and odds and ends of leftover lumber, then bringing in the rest of the cabinets. With both of them working, we had a double dose of hammering, which I bore stoically because it meant that things were moving along. They gave me a full day's work with no stopping except for lunch, which had been brought from home, even though Lillian invited them to our table.

"Mr. Adam say thank you all the same," Lillian said as she came back downstairs, "but his mama fix meat loaf san'wiches an' they jus' stick with that."

"Well, we tried," I said, sitting down to a fruit salad. Just as I finished, the telephone rang.

I answered it and heard Hazel Marie say without taking a breath, "The sheriff's coming, Miss Julia! The sheriff's coming!"

"I know, Hazel Marie, you told me yesterday."

"No, I mean we know when he's coming and it's Friday, day after tomorrow, at nine o'clock, and I won't even be dressed!" She had to stop to catch her breath, then with a little more control, she said, "Coleman just called and told us. And J.D. said that means it'll be an official interview, because Sheriff McAfee has gone through our sheriff to set it up. It won't be just a drop-in-and-visit kind of thing. Oh, Miss Julia, I am so worried I don't know what to do."

I had to think a minute, half ashamed of myself for feeling relief that no one had officially notified me or Etta Mae. Maybe that meant we weren't wanted and wouldn't have our pictures tacked up on post office walls.

"Well, Hazel Marie," I said, "maybe it's better to know than to have it hanging over our heads. What does Mr. Pickens say?"

"Oh, you know him. He's not a bit worried or at least that's what he's telling me. But I am. He's not at all well, though he puts up a good front. They just can't make him go back up there. It could ruin him for life!"

"Surely it won't come to that. He seems better every time I see him."

"But you haven't seen his scars. I was finally able to look and he's got four of them on his ... you-know."

"But just think, Hazel Marie, how fortunate he is to have them there. You're the only one who'll ever see them."

"Oh, I hope."

After giving her a few more encouraging words, I hung up without asking what I wanted to know. And that was, had Etta Mae and I been included in the official interview that Sheriff McAfee had set up. I a.s.sured myself that she would have told me if we had been or if she had known. Or else Coleman would've called me.

Maybe he still would. Maybe he hadn't gotten around to it. And maybe I should've been more concerned about Mr. Pickens's predicament than about my own.

The day after tomorrow, I thought, and was finally able to draw some ease of mind from that. Only a few days afterward, Sam would be home and Sheriff McAfee would've been and gone by then.

Surely he was not coming to arrest Mr. Pickens-that was unthinkable. For one thing, if that'd been his intent, he would've had our sheriff do the honors. Wouldn't he? Hazel Marie had said interview, not intervene or interrogate or intercept. He only wants to talk, I a.s.sured myself.

And, I went on, thinking up one possibility after another, we were told he had other business to take care of on this trip-which could mean that he wasn't after Mr. Pickens specifically. Maybe he wanted to visit that niece of his and just tacked Mr. Pickens on to make the trip official and have his expenses reimbursed. I wouldn't put it past him.

But whatever his intentions were, I intended to warn Etta Mae as soon as she got home from work. Just to be on the safe side.

"Etta Mae?" I said, my call catching her, she told me, just as she walked in the door of her single-wide after a long day of caring for the sick and ailing. "I hate to tell you this, but Hazel Marie called to say that Sheriff McAfee will be in town the day after tomorrow. He's set up an interview with Mr. Pickens, but I don't know if that's all he's planning. He may have a few other interviews in mind."

"Yes, ma'am," she said in a slightly subdued tone, "I know."

"You know? Did Hazel Marie call you, too?"

"No'm. He did."

"He, who? Coleman? Mr. Pickens?"

"No, that sheriff."

"Sheriff McAfee? Why, Etta Mae, why would he do that? He hasn't called me, and if anybody's at fault with what we did in his jurisdiction, I am. Besides, how did he find you?"

"I don't know. Maybe Coleman told him. He called on my cell right in the middle of me clipping Mr. Avery's toenails. Made me so nervous, I almost nipped his little toe. Anyway, I don't think he wants to interview me. At least, not the way he'll interview J.D."

"Well, I don't understand why he'd want to talk to you and not to me. I was the instigator and I take full responsibility for everything we did. You're completely in the clear, Etta Mae, I want you to rest easy about that. So unless he wants to turn you against me, I can't see why he'd come after you."

"I don't think that's what he has in mind," she said. Then, as if unburdening herself, she went on in a rush. "Actually, I think he's just interested in dinner and dancin'."

That stopped me. "A date? He asked you for a date?"

"That's pretty much what I figured. I hope you don't mind that I said yes."

"Oh, well, of course not. It's entirely up to you who you see, but, Etta Mae, be careful. That man is sneaky. Remember how he sent us to that church, so he may have something more up his sleeve than dinner and dancing. And if it's a snake-I mean if he's a snake handler-you don't want to be involved with him."

"Ugh, don't worry," Etta Mae said. "That's the first thing I'm going to ask him, and if he is, I'm not going anywhere with him. I would've asked him on the phone but I was so surprised to hear from him, I didn't think of it."

"I think I'm surprised to hear he's a dancing man. Maybe that speaks well of him, because, I grant you, those snake handlers did a lot of prancing and dancing around, but they did it by themselves, not with each other. Where will you go? There's no place to dance around here unless you belong to the Cotillion."

"Well, I don't belong to that," she said with a laugh. "Whatever it is. No, there's a steak house out on Highway 64 with a dance hall next to it. Ardis said he likes steak and he likes to line dance, so that'll be the best place to go."

Ardis? One phone call had certainly gotten them off on a fast track. And steak and line dancing? She'd found out a lot about him even in the midst of cutting toenails, but she hadn't found out the most important thing: namely, his church affliation. That would've been my first question, but then, I hadn't been asked to dance.

"That sounds nice," I said, which is about like saying an ugly baby looks interesting. "Well, Etta Mae, I know he'll be in town Friday because that's when he'll interview Mr. Pickens. But do you have any idea when he'll actually get here? You know, so I'll know not to answer the phone."

"Yes, ma'am, he's already here."

"He is? You mean he's there?" I could just picture that tall denim-and-boot-clad vibrating man in Etta Mae's tiny single-wide. They wouldn't be able to move without touching each other.

Etta Mae laughed. "Our date is tomorrow night, but he got in today. He's visiting that niece of his. So, no, he's not here yet."

Thank goodness for that, I thought, then thought of something else. For several days I'd been wondering how to bring up the subject, and the only way I could come up with was just to jump in and do it.

"Well, I hope you have a good time, but, Etta Mae, even though I know it's none of my business, I have to ask you about something else." I paused, hesitating to pry into her affairs or to criticize her in any way. But I cared about her, and knowing how easily led she was-just witness the numerous times I'd talked her into one escapade after another-I simply had to warn her. And as reluctant as I always am to interfere in the lives of others, a mental picture of those little stars running up the rim of her right ear gave me the impetus to press on. "Have you ever met a woman named Agnes Whitman?"

"I don't think so. Why?"

"No reason," I said, attempting to back off. But Etta Mae was naive in many ways-again, witness her willingness to go out with a man who'd already proved to be tricky and underhanded. So, deciding to issue a warning whether or not it was heeded, I went on. "Well, yes, there is, and your mention of Sheriff McAfee's niece reminded me. Remember he told us she lives in Fairfields? Well, so does this woman and she is somebody to stay away from in case you're ever invited to her church. Don't go, Etta Mae, because if you think handling snakes is bad, you won't believe what those people do."

"Worse than snakes?"

"Well, when you get right down to it, I don't know if it's worse, but it's certainly just as bad. Etta Mae, they cut, pierce and tattoo themselves from one end to the other. And it's all in the name of getting the body in touch with the soul. Or something of the sort."

"Phoo, Miss Julia, I wouldn't get mixed up in something like that. I'm Baptist to the bone."

"Good," I said, relieved. "But I don't want you to think I'm singling you out, Etta Mae. I'm warning everybody I know to stay away from those people. They seem nice enough, but they might run a metal rod through your nose before you turned around good." I didn't mention puncturing a line of holes up the side of an ear because I didn't want to get personal. He who has ears to hear, as they say, let him hear.

I was rea.s.sured, though, that she'd had no contact with the Church of Body Modification, which meant that all those little stars were purely for decorative, not religious, purposes, which is a matter of taste, not faith.

As soon as I'd hung up, Adam and his brother made their last trip downstairs, both of them smiling and looking pleased with themselves. The odor of fresh paint followed them down.

"All through, Mrs. Murdoch," Adam said. "Me and Josh got it finished."

"Wonderful," I said, heading for my checkbook. "It just goes to show what can be done when you keep your mind on what you're doing. I can't thank you enough."

Adam handed me a stapled stack of receipts, along with his bill. "You didn't tell me what you wanted done about the floor, so we just swept and mopped it."

"That's fine. The carpet people are supposed to be here tomorrow, which was another reason for wanting the room finished. Now, Adam," I said as I handed him a check, "that bedroom upstairs needs the woodwork painted. I hope to have the paperhangers in here soon, so we need to get that done right away. Here's the name and number of the paint you'll need."

His face fell as he hesitantly accepted the paint sample. "Well, I sorta promised another lady I'd give her a couple of days."

"That's fine," I said again. "Give her a couple of days when you finish here. You knew I had two rooms to be done, and it won't take long to paint the crown molding and baseboards. You can send Josh to her while you do that."

"Oh, no, ma'am," he said, his eyes widening in alarm. "Josh can't go out there. He, well, he's just learning. I can't send him by hisself. But don't worry, I'll put her off and get that room done tomorrow. Josh'll work here with me."

I glanced at Josh, who grinned and blushed, apparently unaware of his brother's concern. But I knew of it, or thought I did. Adam had just made it apparent that he wouldn't send his brother to Agnes Whitman's house alone-and I was sure that she was the lady he'd promised to help. Was he afraid that Josh would be influenced by those strange body manipulators? And it suddenly followed, it seemed to me, that Adam's troubled mind was because he himself had come under their influence.

Something ought to be done about that, but I didn't know what. I did, however, intend to give it some thought.

I was on edge the rest of the evening, disturbed by my sudden realization of the source of the spiritual crisis Adam seemed to be undergoing, wondering what could be done to help him and wondering also if Sheriff McAfee had checked into a local motel or was staying with his niece, if he'd called Mr. Pickens to confirm their meeting, if he'd called Etta Mae again and, most especially, if he intended to apprehend and arrest anybody.

I knew that was unlikely, given the fact that as far as I knew, Mr. Pickens wasn't worried about being shanghaied back to West Virginia. Actually, I figured Mr. Pickens was fairly safe, at least until Sheriff McAfee had squired Etta Mae around a bit. But when you're anxious about something, your mind flies off in all directions and almost anything seems possible.

Twice I went to the phone to call Hazel Marie to rea.s.sure myself, but thought better of it both times. No need to add to her anxiety just to relieve mine. Once, I picked up the phone to call Etta Mae, then put it down again. What was there to say? I wished for Sam, then was glad he wasn't involved. I dreaded having to tell him what I'd done in rescuing Mr. Pickens and, by doing so, putting the man in jeopardy with Sheriff McAfee.

Then I had another disquieting thought. If it came right down to it, Mr. Pickens had a reasonable defense if he needed one. He could disclaim any responsibility for his precipitous exit from the Mill Run hospital. He had not been mentally competent at the time and had therefore been incapable of formulating such a plan, much less carrying it out. n.o.body knew that better than Etta Mae and me after what we'd gone through to get him out of there.

But Mr. Pickens wouldn't s.h.i.+ft responsibility. Would he? No, certainly not. He thought too much of himself to admit to any loss of his faculties. And he was too much of a gentleman to lay the blame at the feet of two women.

At least that's what I told myself, for I also knew that you could never tell what Mr. Pickens was capable of doing.

Finally, as I took myself to bed, I was comforted by the thought that if we could get Sheriff McAfee in and out of town within the next few days without arresting anybody, Sam would be home and he'd know what to do about Adam and the strange hold that Agnes Whitman seemed to have on him.

Chapter 37.

Early the next morning, I had another reason to want to leave town: too much was happening at one time. Tucker Caldwell showed up at seven o'clock, along with two crews of workmen-one for the exterior and one for the interior. Right behind them came a huge flatbed truck with some sort of crane on it that unloaded pallet after pallet of bricks that would eventually be my Williamsburg chimney.

And when the pallets had been unloaded and stacked in my yard, I realized my next call would be to a landscaper to resod and replant.

Tucker led his interior crew inside and straight back to the future library, which I, barely dressed, had barely vacated before they tromped in.

"Mrs. Murdoch," Tucker said, "we have to get this furniture out of here. Where do you want it?"

"Oh, my word," I said, pus.h.i.+ng back my hair in agitation. "I haven't thought that far ahead. Let me see, maybe out here in the hall? The mattress can go in the dining room against the table, and everything else, well, anywhere you can find s.p.a.ce."

When he pursed his mouth at my lack of preparation, I added, "I a.s.sumed you'd let me know ahead of time when you were coming."

He ignored that, walked into the bedroom, and said, "The closets have to be emptied. They're coming out first."

Lillian, who'd just walked in, said, "We can do that, Miss Julia. Where you want all them clothes?"

"I don't know," I responded, feeling frazzled and it hardly seven-thirty in the morning. "Upstairs, I guess. In Hazel Marie's closet."

Then to add to the commotion, Adam Waites pushed through the front door with a ladder, along with Josh, laden with paint cans and brushes, right behind him. Adam nodded to me, but one glance at Tucker sent him scurrying up the stairs.

Which reminded me, so I followed Tucker down the hall. "Mr. Caldwell? Tucker? What about Adam? I thought you were going to have him do the library."

"Just the finis.h.i.+ng work," he replied. "He's booked solid for a while, and I figured you wouldn't want to put this off until he's free."

"You figured right, because I don't. But we did have an agreement with him, and I'm inclined to hold him to it. Besides, I don't want to hurt his feelings by using someone else."

"I've already spoken to him," Tucker said, somewhat shortly. "And he's fine with it. Besides, the men I brought are true craftsmen. You'll just have to trust me on that because I know what I'm doing. Now the best thing you can do is get those closets emptied so we can get on with it." Then, das.h.i.+ng over to two men who were lifting a chest to move it out, he yelled, "Wait a minute, wait a minute! Be careful with that. It's eighteenth century."

Well, I wasn't sure it was, but it had come from Wesley Lloyd's grandmother so it might've been. I was gratified, nonetheless, that Tucker was looking after my belongings.

Lillian was already going in and out with armfuls of clothes, both mine and Sam's, taking them upstairs, and I began to do the same. By the time we were finished carrying out hanging clothes as well as plastic bags full of shoes and shoe boxes, weaving around and between the workmen who were moving out furniture, all I wanted to do was sit down and rest.

The kitchen, in fact, was the only undisturbed and restful room in the house. Well, Lloyd's room stayed the same-I'd put it off-limits. But the rest of the house began to look as if a wrecking crew had been at it. Adam and Josh were painting in Hazel Marie's room; her walk-in closet was filled with extra clothes; the sunroom was finished but not furnished; Sam's boxes that had been moved from his house crowded the upstairs hall; and bedside tables, bed frame, lamps, chests of drawers, easy chairs, mattress and boxspring were taking up s.p.a.ce in the living room, the dining room and the downstairs hall. Twice I'd tripped and almost fallen on the Oriental, rolled up and left in the hall.

"Why did I ever think of remodeling?" I asked Lillian as we collapsed at the kitchen table. We were just having our first cups of coffee that morning, which was another reason I was feeling tired and washed out.

"Don't ast me," she said, pus.h.i.+ng the cream toward me. "But here's something you better think about: where you gonna sleep tonight?"

"That is a question, isn't it? And the answer is I'll sleep in your room." There was a small guest room behind Lloyd's bedroom that I kept for her and Latisha on those nights when the weather was too bad for her to drive home. It had also come in handy after Hazel Marie's twins had been born and we needed all the help in the house we could get-day and night.

"You gonna have a time gettin' in there," Lillian said. " 'cause Mr. Sam's desk an' swivel chair an' his big leather chair an' some lamps already in it."