Do Unto Others (5 page)

“You’re being ridiculous. She had a key.
She
could have let her murderer in.”

“I don’t think so. And don’t fool yourself that knowing Junebug for so long will help you any. I’m watching you, Mr. Jordan Poteet. You’re my number one suspect. And I’m gonna nail your skinny ass to the wall.” For dramatic effect Billy Ray ran a hand through his rapidly thinning hair. It only took half a second. You think all the sun his head gets would help his brain grow, but his mind isn’t fertile ground.

I felt scared and mad at the same time. I didn’t want either emotion to show. “You’ve got my statement. You haven’t charged me with anything. May I go?”

Billy Ray smiled officiously and gestured toward the door. “Go on ahead. Be sure and let us know if you intend to leave town.”

I walked without hurry to the front door. I didn’t look back at Billy Ray. The sunshine was bright and cheery, but my skin was ice-cold. I hadn’t killed Beta Harcher, but at least one member of the local authorities considered me guilty as sin. Think about it. Think about being at the top of the list of suspects of bashing in a woman’s head, and see if you don’t have a bit of trouble swallowing.

Candace’s Mercedes was still in the parking lot; she hadn’t yet given her statement to Junebug. I considered waiting for her, then imagined her hanging around me like a stray cat behind a restaurant. I didn’t want
that
right now. I’d call her later.

First things first. I wanted to talk to Mama and to find me a Bible. I needed to know why Beta Harcher thought of me in connection with a verse from Isaiah.

IT WAS ABOUT ELEVEN-THIRTY WHEN I reached my house. Nothing seemed different from when I’d left, except that I could smell skunk on the late-morning air. Sometimes the critters wander in town looking for food, get scared, and let fly with their chemical defense. Then they scurry back to the woods. Just like Beta Harcher. Come in, raise a stink, get out of the picture, but leave an an noying reek behind. It was the meanest thought I’d ever had in my life. By the time I got inside, I was sullen with guilt over it.

Mama sat in the den, watching
All My Children
on a whispering TV. Since she’d gotten sick, she couldn’t stand loudness, although it never bothered her before. She’d sit for hours, simply watching actors move their lips. I couldn’t hear what trauma the pretty blonde on the soap was enduring. I had my own to fret about.

Sister was still in her robe, yawning and reading the Austin newspaper over coffee. She saw my face and bolted to her feet.

I told her quickly what happened. Sister of course was horrified. I spoke in low tones of having discovered the body, so Mama wouldn’t hear. I described the list that Junebug had found and produced my copy. I confessed to having forgotten Mama’s medicine and going
to the library at what now seemed like a mighty inopportune moment At the end, Sister sank into her chair.

“And so Billy Ray told me I’m the number one suspect. Me! Can you believe the nerve?”

Sister shook her head. “They can’t be serious. I mean, Junebug’s known you forever. He knows you wouldn’t kill a tick, much less Miz Harcher.” She stood. “We have to call Uncle Bid.”

“There’s no need. I haven’t been arrested for anything and I’m sure Junebug’ll find whoever did this.” Plus I didn’t want to have any unnecessary contact with Uncle Bid. I’ve always contended that Uncle Bid should be belled like a leper so you’d know when he’s coming. I don’t believe there’s a more unpleasant old fart of a lawyer in Texas.

I went into the den. Mama watched the TV screen intently as a very quiet argument raged. I switched off the set. Mama kept staring at the screen without changing one muscle in her face.

I knelt before her. “Mama? Look at me.”

She turned her face and gave me a shy, uncertain smile.

“How are you today?” I asked gently. I sensed Sister hovering nearby.

“Fine, thank you.” Etiquette was no longer a certainty with Mama, but today, at least, she hadn’t forgotten her manners.

“Mama, I want you to think. Do you know a lady named Beta Harcher?” I enunciated the name carefully, as though that would help Mama fight through the choking mass of abnormal nerve cells the disease spawned in her brain.

“Who?”

“Beta Harcher.”

Mama looked blank. I asked again; she looked blank again.

“Maybe she’ll remember later,” Sister offered.

“She probably won’t remember this conversation later,” I snapped. Sister looked wounded and I said, “Sorry. I’m stressed.”

I took a deep breath. Try association. “She was real active in the Baptist church, Mama. She’s short, dark hair, kind of frumpy. Sort of bossy?”

This complimentary description of Beta didn’t penetrate far. “I don’t know,” Mama said. She looked down into her lap. “I don’t know,” she repeated, her voice wavering.

“It’s okay, Mama. Don’t worry. You watch your show now.” I stood and switched the TV back on.

“Try again later,” Sister suggested.

I leaned down and kissed Mama’s cheek. Her hand came up to my head, unexpectedly, and her fingers tangled in my thick hair, so close to the strawberry-blonde color of her own. I held the embrace for a moment, then turned back to Sister.

“Her Bible still up in her room?”

“I think so,” Sister answered. “C’mon, Mama, let’s have a glass of iced tea.”

I left them in the kitchen and bounded up the stairs. In my room I got paper and pen, then walked down the hall. Mama’s room was quiet and comfortable, with Irish lace curtains and an antique oak bed that had been her aunt’s. Pictures of Sister and me as children, joined by the more recent photos of Mark, dotted the walls. I sat on the quilted bedspread and opened her Bible. It occurred to me that I didn’t know which translation of the Bible Beta had used to select these quotes; I could only hope that I got the gist of the meanings from the same verses in Mama’s Bible.

I smoothed out the folded list and considered it. Beta had written it, then hidden it. Why?

It was a diverse roster. Each person had a connection with the library, although some were more tenuous than others. I decided to treat it as a list of folks that Beta Harcher had a gripe with. I knew the people on the list weren’t her friends and she didn’t want us to be. Certain folks and certain verses. There had to be a reason.

Mama and me first. I looked again at the verse next to my name: Isaiah 5:20. I flipped through the Bible till I found it:
Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil.
I said the words aloud. Did the woman think I had my sensibilities reversed? Considering I kept books in the library that she considered objectionable, I suppose so.

I looked up the quote indicated by Mama’s name. Genesis 3:16:
In sorrow thou shalt bring forth children.
I didn’t retain much from the Sunday school classes that my parents made me attend, but I did recall that verse referred to Eve’s curse of blood and painful childbirth. Good God, what did that have to do with my mother? She’d had two children and plenty of pain in the process due to our large Poteet heads. But why would Beta Harcher write this down? Perhaps Beta considered bearing a heathen like me to be the utmost in maternal agony.

I copied my makeshift list into a notebook and then copied the verses. I started through the rest of the list, writing down each corresponding verse by each name. It made for interesting reading.

I sat back on the bed. The police would surely be talking to these people. Junebug and Billy Ray were probably conducting their own version of the Spanish Inquisition right now. Then I heard Billy Ray’s words:
I’m going to nail your skinny ass to the wall.
Maybe
their questioning of the others was going to center around me. I had access to the scene; access to the weapon; and I’d fought with the deceased. I shut my eyes, remembering how a libraryful of folks had overheard me say I could’ve killed Beta. God! Sometimes the police didn’t need to look beyond that, if the district attorney thought there was a case. My motive seemed slim to me, but I played devil’s advocate. Beta had threatened to close the library. What if the police postulated that I believed her and feared she’d cost me the only job I’d been able to land? Would someone kill for a job? Maybe not, but Junebug might surmise I’d kill for my mother. My position at the library allowed Sister and me to keep Mama at home. It was common knowledge that I’d returned to Mirabeau from a good-paying job up North to keep Mama out of an institution. How far would I go to maintain that arrangement?

I swallowed. I wondered that my self. I knew I wouldn’t resort to murder, but I would have fought tooth and nail to keep the library safe from Beta Harcher. I think folks in town, such as the chief of police, knew that too.

And Mama. Why was she on the list? Never mind the library—what if Beta had threatened my mother in some way? If Junebug assumed I could kill once to protect my job, protecting my mother might induce me to a tri-state slaying spree. I sounded paranoid, even to myself.

Mama wasn’t going to be much help, I thought. I scanned the names again. Perhaps one of them knew a perfectly logical reason for this list.

The library was closed, and Sister was here until eight tonight. I could ask some questions of my own and maybe find out why Beta Harcher had ended up on the wrong side of batting practice in the library.

The First Baptist Church of Mirabeau is one of the ugliest buildings that’s trying to be pretty that I’ve ever seen. It’s built of beige brick with purplish windows, smeared with white to give the windows a marbled effect. I’ve seen birdshit that exact color. Even God would call this church ugly. It sat on the corner of Alamo and Heydl Streets on the south side of Mayne.

Like most churches in town (and there aren’t many—the Baptists, Catholics, and Methodists have just about everyone covered), First Baptist has an announcement sign, with a black felt background with big white letters that stick into the felt. Each sermon here gets treated like a blockbuster summer movie, at least for its one week of fanfare.

Tamma Hufnagel knelt in front of the announcement board as I pulled up. A box of letters rested in her lap and she was posting the theme for next Sunday’s sermon.

I opened my notebook on my lap and reread Tamma’s verse, which was Numbers 32:23:
Be sure your sin will find you out.
Whoa! Sounded juicy. I wondered what sin mousy Tamma could have committed in Beta’s eyes. Dancing? Playing cards?

I only knew Tamma Hufnagel to say hello, but I did know her husband a sight better. Brother Adam Hufnagel’s preaching wasn’t exactly fire and brimstone; more like a light grilling. I’m surprised Beta tolerated such slackness on his part. My dealings with Brother Adam on the library board had been polite if distant. He’d been Beta’s biggest supporter in her censorship stances but had tried to get her to soften her hysterics. He hadn’t fought too hard when Beta got punted from the board; I think he knew it was a losing cause, and he didn’t want to put his own position in jeopardy. He was
a real smooth talker, who could make you feel like Jesus was just around the corner, so you better run the dustrag over the furniture to get it spiffy for Him.

I got out of the car and approached Tamma Hufnagel. She watched me as I walked toward her. For some reason I felt uneasy. Tamma’s pretty in a plain way: reddish brown hair, green eyes, with a slim, almost boyish figure. Her nose is snub-shaped and looks as though it belongs on another face. Her hair, which would have looked better let down, was pulled tightly back into a bun. She wore a plain white polo-style shirt and a denim skirt, long and modest. I guessed she was about my age but was trying to look twenty years older, maybe to catch up with her husband. The only softening of her face was the scattering of girlish freckles across her nose and cheeks. Those freckles were like a memory of summer. I remembered hearing she wasn’t a local girl; I’d been told she came from Giddings or one of the other predominantly German and Wendish communities in east-central Texas.

“Hello, Mrs. Hufnagel.”

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, as a schoolgirl might. “Hello.”

“I guess you’ve heard about Miz Harcher.”

She nodded and bit her thin lip for a moment. “Chief Moncrief phoned us. She was a prominent member here, you know. He wanted to know if we knew her next of kin. We gave him her niece’s name.”

I wasn’t expecting such a detailed explanation. “I’m sure you must be very upset.”

Her answer was a gesture toward the sermon board. It read
MAKING
PEA
. I was sure more letters were needed.

“You know that I found her in the library?” I wondered just how much Junebug was telling folks and I decided to start with the basics.

She nodded. “He said someone had”—here she swallowed deeply, her thin throat moving like a snake under water—“bashed her head with a baseball bat.”

“That’s true. You know, Mrs. Hufnagel, I didn’t agree with Beta as far as books went, but I’m sorry she’s dead. I didn’t wish that on her.”

“Of course you wouldn’t!”

“Who do you think might’ve killed her?” I asked, and Tamma Hufnagel stood abruptly, the box of plastic letters tumbling from her lap and spilling across the grass. I glanced down wondering if anything interesting was now spelled out on the lawn.

“I don’t know!” she gasped. “Why are you asking me?”

“Mrs. Hufnagel, please. I’m asking because you knew her and you knew the people that knew her. She was killed in the library, or at least her body was left there. There must be a reason. It was a terrible shock to me and I just want to know what happened. If she was killed there, it means she was there after hours with someone.”

I put my hands on Tamma Hufnagel’s arm and she froze. I stared into her face. “Listen to me, Mrs. Hufnagel. Beta had a key. Either she met someone there or someone lured her there. She hated that library and I’d already warned her to stay away. But somehow she got a key.” I paused. Tamma Hufnagel stared at the grass, shaking her head.