Miss Julia Hits the Road (16 page)

Before he could clasp her in his arms, she wound up her arm like a softball pitcher. Then she hauled off and socked him across the chin as hard as she could. He was so surprised that he had to take a step back to keep his balance.

Then she turned on her heel and, without a word, stomped back into the house, passing Lillian and me on her way.

Mr. Pickens blinked a couple of times and worked his jaw back and forth. “What brought that on?” he asked, somewhat pitifully, I thought.

“She just had a visitor,” I told him. “One of the ex-Mrs. Pickenses. And she’s not in the best of moods.”

“Man,” he said, rubbing his chin. “I guess she’s not.”

“I declare, Mr. Pickens,” I said, “you need to get your personal business straightened out. Hazel Marie’s mad as thunder, and you’re not doing a thing to help matters by huddling up all over town with another woman.”

“She’s pretty upset, huh?”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “If you didn’t get the message when she up and moved out on you, then I have nothing but pity for you.”

“Well, she never gives me a chance to explain,” he said, feeling sorry for himself. “Tammi still owns half of my house and she wants me to buy her out. That’s all that’s going on.”

“Oh, no, it’s not,” I said, and right strongly too. “Tammi came here not ten minutes ago and told Hazel Marie that the two of you were getting back together. And Hazel Marie’s supposed to bow out gracefully, so she and Tammi can be friends. Do you understand now, Mr. Pickens, the gall of that woman and why Hazel Marie’s so upset?”

He held his head in his hand and moaned. Then I learned where Hazel Marie’d picked up her store of ugly words, for he said one under his breath. “What am I going to do?” he said, but I don’t really think he was asking me.

I answered him anyway. “Get rid of Tammi, for starters. Then you’d better do some heavy-duty courting, and if I have to tell you how to do that, you’re not the man I thought you were.”

He grinned then, that same white flash under his mustache that captivated women, young and old. “Think she’d talk to me now?”

“No, and I wouldn’t recommend trying. I’d stay out of her way, if I were you. You’re invited to dinner tonight, though, so we can discuss ways of raising money for the Willow Lane folks. I’ll tell her that we need your help, and she has to at least be courteous to you. The rest is up to you.”

“Think I’ll be safe?” And he laughed outright, shaking his head at the thought of it.

“Maybe she’ll be calmed down by then,” I said, turning to go inside. Then I stopped and looked back at him. “Far be it from me, Mr. Pickens, to comment unfavorably on a person’s clothing. But, if I were you, I’d change trousers before parading around in public. The location of that stain might well give pause to whoever sees it.”

That evening, we all—except for Binkie and Coleman, who decided to stay home with a stopwatch—sat around the table trying to get ourselves and the fund drive organized. I told them about my meeting with Clarence Gibbs that afternoon, and the sky-high price he’d put on Willow Lane, leaving out his proposition concerning my house. That amount of money put a sudden damper on the conversation, as we all considered what we faced.

I sat there, my nerves getting more and more strung out, knowing that I had the solution at hand if I could bring myself to put my home at risk.

All I wanted was for someone, Binkie or Sam in particular, to tell me it was a good idea. But I held my peace, knowing that they’d tell me I was foolish and rash and lacking any business sense whatsoever.

Nobody was saying anything, just sitting there playing with the silverware and turning coffee cups in their saucers.

“All right,” I said, breaking the silence. “So I shouldn’t have let him know we were interested. It’s all your fault, Sam, for not being home when I needed you. And Binkie’s, too, for being practically out of commission.” Then I leaned my head on my arm, which was propped on the dining room table. “No, the plain truth is that it’s my fault. I jumped the gun and just pushed too hard.”

I looked around at Sam, Mr. Pickens, Hazel Marie, Little Lloyd, and Lillian, hoping that one of them would disagree with me.

“He’s a hard man to deal with,” Sam said, “and I doubt anybody else could’ve done any better.”

I wasn’t sure of that, but I appreciated Sam’s support.

“I better clear off this table,” Lillian said, reaching for my plate. I’d insisted she join us while we ate all the desserts she’d spent the day making. She’d made so many, in fact, that she’d forgotten to cook a meal. The table was cluttered with the remains of take-out pizza, my least favorite attempt at a meal in the world, and the remnants of seven-layer cake and the last sliver of apple pie, which Mr. Pickens had been eyeing. And I kept eyeing him, his various marital escapades tumbling about in my mind. He and Hazel Marie had had a long talk in the living room before we ate, but from Hazel Marie’s stony silence I guessed he’d not made much headway.

“Sit down, Miss Lillian,” Mr. Pickens said, “and let those dishes alone. We need to come up with something here.”

Lillian eased back into her chair and left the dishes alone. It surprised me that she hadn’t taken a leaf from Hazel Marie’s book and stopped talking or listening to Mr. Pickens after the way he’d gaped at her when he first came in that evening. He’d stood in the middle of the kitchen, his eyes wide and his mouth open, staring at her swishing nylon getup and huge running shoes, while she grinned at his foolishness.

“Lillian,” he’d said, after making a thorough fool of himself, “that outfit was made for you. I’ve never seen anything like it.” And of course he hadn’t. Nor had anybody else, for that matter. I could’ve smacked him for bringing up what the rest of us had been trying to ignore, but Mr. Pickens wasn’t known for his tactful ways. What surprised me, though, was that Lillian had taken no offense; she had just been tickled to death with his attention. Which just goes to show what a man who has a way with women can get away with.

Little Lloyd suddenly sat up. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars? Why, that’s more than twenty-five thousand an acre, which is what those view lots up on the mountain’re going for.”

Lillian groaned at the thought, knowing as we all did that there were no views on Willow Lane.

“How can Mr. Gibbs do that?” Little Lloyd asked.

“He knows what he’s doing,” Sam said, frowning as he considered the matter. “Although that water-bottling notion of his beats all I’ve ever heard of. I wouldn’t put it past him to have something else up his sleeve.”

Yes, he did, and I knew it was my house, but I wasn’t about to mention it.

Mr. Pickens turned to Sam and said, “You know Gibbs better than any of us. You think he’d listen to a counter-offer?”

“We could make one,” Sam said, “but he won’t take it. He’s known for setting a price and sticking to it.”

Sam looked across the table at me and smiled. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, Julia. I’ve got a feeling he doesn’t want to sell at all. He’s set an unrealistic price on it to discourage us, while at the same time appearing to cooperate with a community effort. He’s never much cared what the town thought of him but, in this case, he might.”

“I’d hate to tell you what
I
think of him,” I declared. “It’s not like he’d just want to sit on empty land when there’s money to be made. And how in the world he can think he’ll make money on bottled water, I don’t know.”

Sam shook his head. “It doesn’t make good sense, does it? What’s likely is that he’s had an offer for less than he quoted you, and he’s trying to jack us up to get a better one.”

“Well,” Hazel Marie chimed in, “why don’t we meet his price? I don’t see why we can’t raise two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and besides, we wouldn’t have to have that much up front, would we? I mean, we could get a bank loan to make up the rest.”

“Somebody’s got to be good for the rest of it, sweetheart,” Mr. Pickens said. Hazel Marie bit her lip and looked away.

“But she’s right,” I said, coming to her defense. “Why couldn’t the property itself be collateral for the major portion of the loan?”

“Ordinarily it would be,” Sam said. “Except it’s not worth that much. Look at the condition of those houses, for one thing. And anything in that section of town wouldn’t be highly valued by any bank. They’d know it’s way overpriced.”

“Well, what’re we going to do?” I asked, just about at my wit’s end with every idea being shot down.

“Raise the money,” Little Lloyd piped up. “And we can do it if everybody pitches in. We’re going to have our first car wash this weekend, and the Scouts’re going to rake leaves and donate what we make.”

“Bless your little heart,” Lillian said, reaching across his chair and hugging him.

“And remember the house tour,” Hazel Marie said. “That’ll bring in a good bit.”

“Not nearly enough, though,” I said. But fearing that I was throwing cold water on their optimism, I went on. “But every little bit will help.”

“What we need,” Sam said, “is some big money-raising events, something that’ll get the whole town involved, maybe even bring in people from out of town.”

Hazel Marie’s eyes widened as a thought came to her. “Maybe something like a basketball game between the doctors and the lawyers,” she said. “Or a talent show with a big-name performer. Or a music festival! Oh, I know, maybe some country-western star like Alan Jackson would come and perform for us. That’d be a sell-out like you wouldn’t believe.”

Mr. Pickens smiled at her in the way I occasionally did at Little Lloyd when he had some high-flown idea. “That’d be great, sugar, but I doubt Alan Jackson would come to Abbotsville, regardless of how worthy the cause.”

“Well, he might.” Hazel Marie couldn’t help but pout, but at least she’d spoken to him.

“A charity golf event might work,” Sam offered. “Maybe get a few professionals to play with us amateurs—if, that is, the weather will cooperate.”

“We may have to schedule that for spring,” Mr. Pickens said. “Or we’ll be shoveling snow to find the cups.”

Little Lloyd giggled at the thought.

“One thing we can do starting right away is call some of the movers and shakers in town,” Sam said. “Both individuals and businesses. First thing tomorrow, I’ll start on a list of the folks who’re well-heeled enough to make sizeable donations. That ought to prime the pump for the rest of the town.”

“That’s good, Sam,” Mr. Pickens agreed. “That’ll be where the big money is. But we need to get as many people involved as we can. I mean, have things that appeal to different interests, if you follow me.”

“Like what?” I asked, beginning to feel some hope that we really could raise that money. And if we could do it within three weeks, there’d be no risk in putting up my house to hold off Clarence Gibbs. My heart began to thud at the possibility, both of making it happen and of losing it all.

“Well, like a Poker Run, for instance; that’ll bring out a whole ’nother segment of the population.” Mr. Pickens grinned in that devilish way he had. Hazel Marie cut her eyes at him, unable to resist, and Sam perked up considerably.

I was afraid to ask, but I did. “What in the world is a Poker Run?”

“Oh,” he said airily, waving his hand as if it wasn’t important. But the way those black eyes of his glinted in the light of the chandelier put me on my guard. “It’s just a way for us motorcycle types to raise money for charity.”

Lillian frowned at the word
charity,
while I frowned at the word
motorcycle.
She mumbled something under her breath, but I spoke right up.

“Sam,” I said, “whatever he’s got in mind, I want you to stay out of it. I’ve seen how you drive that machine, and you don’t need to be playing cards at the same time.” I stopped as they stared at me, then went on. “Besides, we Presbyterians don’t believe in gambling, and you know it.”

Mr. Pickens’s shoulders began shaking as he leaned his head practically on the table. Sam was trying not to laugh, but was having a hard time holding it down. Little Lloyd had a little smile on his face, but was too polite to laugh out loud.

“Well, what’s so funny?” I demanded.

“Oh, Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie said, ignoring Mr. Pickens and his antics. “You don’t play cards while you’re riding. It’s more complicated than that. It’s like, well, you ride to different places and draw a card at each stop. Then at the end of the run, you see who has the best hand, and that’s the winner.”

“I never heard of such,” I said, still mortified at being laughed at. “How in the world does that raise money? Sounds more like just an excuse to ride around on those things to me.”

“There’s some truth in that,” Sam agreed, his face now composed into a kindly smile. “But we could get sponsors beforehand, and the riders could make bets based on the cards they draw at each stop. Then, of course, all the players have to ante up, so with a good cause like we have, there’ll be a lot of money to start with. And whoever wins the hand will donate whatever’s in the pot.”