Miss Julia Lays Down the Law (20 page)

I dashed down the front staircase from the narthex to the basement, which housed the Fellowship Hall, the pastor’s office, the kitchen, and the robing room of the choir. Stopping briefly to rattle the locked door of the pastor’s office, I hurried on to the room where the choir members were divesting themselves.

“Have you seen the pastor?” I asked the first tenor I came to. “Did he come down with you?”

“Uh, well, I think so. You might ask one of the basses. They’re the last in the recessional, so they might’ve seen him.”

That made sense, for at the close of the services, Pastor Ledbetter always followed the choir down the center aisle of the sanctuary, hymnbook in hand and singing lustily, as the congregation stood, watching and feebly mouthing the words until the choir dispersed in the narthex. Then it was every member for him- or herself.

Dodging the swirls of maroon polyester as the choir quickly disrobed, I accosted the tallest bass. “Jim, did the pastor follow you down here?”

“Yes, he came down the stairs right behind me.”

“Where did he go? I really need to speak to him.”

“Marsha?” Jim said, turning to the lead soprano. “Did you see where Mr. Ledbetter went?”

“Straight out the back door. He handed me his robe to hang up for him. Said he had to get home to Emma Sue.”

I flew out of the choir room, pushed through the back door, and surveyed the parking lot. The preacher’s space was empty.

Foiled again! And not only that but I couldn’t even follow him—Roberta was waiting. I stood there, mortally tempted to abandon her and make my apologies later.

But turning aside, I sighed.
Maybe it isn’t meant to be today,
I thought, trying to take comfort in my Presbyterian predestinarian views. I drew my coat closed, huddled down against the cold, and proceeded across the parking lot toward my house. Church members were hurrying to their cars, doors opening and closing as motors roared to life and cars pulled out onto Polk Street. I waved to several as I went on my way, but no one, including me, was eager to stand around and talk. I was distraught to have missed the pastor again, angry that he was so obviously avoiding me, and finally resigned to my fate of watching television all afternoon. One good thing, though, I now knew where to find him, closed-up house or not.

As I crossed Polk Street, I tried to console myself by planning to take advantage of the captive afternoon to think through my next moves. Surely, the hours of boredom ahead could be put to good use. For one thing, I now knew that the fire lane—the access road—made the gatekeeper’s record of visitors of little value in narrowing down the list of suspects. Anybody could’ve gotten to Connie’s house with no one the wiser, as indeed Lamar and I had done until I learned the hard way that the house was wired from one end to the other.

But, and at that point I stopped on the steps of my front porch. Going over in my mind what we had done, I recalled why Lamar and I had ventured down the hillside and up to the side of the house in the first place—we had seen something strange going on inside the house. I pictured that eerie, bluish block of light glowing in the dark without illuminating anything in the back room. We had seen it come on and go out, then come on again—had it been a sleeping and waking up again computer screen like the one Lloyd had? I knew that his needed a tap on a key to rouse it from slumber, which meant that someone had been in the house doing the tapping. Which also meant that all the while that we were creeping closer and closer, someone had been watching us.

But, I thought again as I went up another step and stopped again, if someone had gotten into the house before us, why hadn’t that someone set off the alarms?

My breath caught in my throat—only one person would know how to set the alarms and how to turn them off, and only one person would know how to get out of the house and away while Lamar and I floundered on the bouncing cover of the swimming pool and scrambled back up the hillside—Connie’s husband, owner of the house and keeper of its keys.

“Roberta?” I called as I opened the front door and went inside. “It’s me.”

“Oh, there you are,” she said, coming into the hall from the library. “I just love your home, Julia. It’s so warm and comfortable, and you have some beautiful pieces. The Hepplewhite sideboard in the dining room is magnificent. Where did you get it?” Roberta had a tendency to ask inappropriate questions.

“Thank you, Roberta. It was Wesley Lloyd Springer’s mother’s sideboard, which at one time I thought of getting rid of. I’m glad I didn’t.” There was no need to share with Roberta my past fury toward my first husband. “Are you ready to go?”

“Oh, yes. I’m anxious to get started. You’re in for a treat, Julia.” She turned back to the library. “Let me get my coat. Oh, and, Julia, you have a message on your machine. The light’s blinking.”

I hurried to the kitchen, thinking,
Sam
. And it was. I listened carefully as his warm voice rolled off the tape.

“Julia, honey, I’m sorry, but I’m going to be later getting home than I thought. The governor has invited the committee to lunch so we can talk over some judicial appointments. It’s a real compliment to want our input, and I’d hate to miss it. But don’t worry. I’m planning to leave right after lunch, and I should be home around eight or so.” He paused, then went on. “And don’t worry about the weather. There’s a light rain here, but the temperature’s stuck in the midthirties. No freezing.” He chuckled. “At least not yet. Take care, sweetheart. I miss you and can’t wait to get home.”

“Huh,” I said, half smiling. “Can’t wait to get home? Doesn’t much sound like it.” I was disappointed, but at the same time pleased that Sam was being recognized and feted by the governor. Who knew where it would lead?

Leaving a note for him as to my whereabouts, I sighed. No escape from the afternoon. “Roberta? I’m ready to go.”

 • • • 

Roberta’s house was a partially remodeled summer cottage, meaning that at some point in its long life, a furnace had been installed. Her decor was what I thought might be called country chic—lots of ruffles, flounces, whitewashed walls, dried flowers and shells, peeling painted furniture, and several shades of pink in checks, plaids, and stripes everywhere you looked. It was not to my taste, but it was cozy and comfortable, especially when she turned on the lamps and lit the coal in the small grated fireplace.

I praised her decorating skill as I took a seat on the wicker sofa and sank into the multitude of pillows on it. The little house, every part of it decorated to within an inch of its life, was attractive in its way and perfectly in tune with Roberta’s romantic inclinations.

“I’ve made a quiche,” she said as she hung up our coats. “But it has to bake. Why don’t we go ahead and watch the first video, then we’ll eat.”

I agreed, although I wondered how I’d be able to wait another hour for lunch. But Roberta had thought of that, and she brought out cheese, crackers, and grapes to hold off starvation until the first video had run its course.

And I’ll have to say that by the time it was over, the story had taken me in. I was entranced with the four daughters—one sweet, one sensible, one scandalous, and one silly. The mother, as outrageous as she was, was the only one who recognized the urgency of getting her girls married. I mean, who would want four old maids on their hands? Excuse me, I mean four spinster ladies.

 • • • 

The afternoon wore on, but I barely noticed. Roberta turned on more lamps, added a few lumps of coal to the fire, and offered an afghan to ward off the chill. In the hours after lunch, she hastily served coffee and pound cake when a video had to be changed, both of us caught up in the antics of the Bennet family. She and I were transported to another century, so much so that, contrary to my fears, Roberta refrained from explaining every little word, nuance, or cocked eyebrow on the screen. She made up for it, though, during the few minutes it took to rewind and change videos, talking nonstop about the authentic costumes and the stately estates and the handsome, but haughty, Mr. Darcy.

At the end of the fourth video and the fourth hour of viewing, I desperately had to excuse myself to visit Roberta’s bathroom, where I found more flounces even on the toilet seat. On my return to the living room, I glanced out the window, then went closer for a better look.

“Roberta,” I called, noting the drooping tree limbs and power lines. “I think it’s icing up out there. Come look.”

She did. “Oh, no,” she wailed, “if we lose power we won’t be able to finish watching.”

“Not only that,” I said, somewhat wryly, “I won’t be able to get home.”
And neither will Sam,
I thought with a sinking heart as I hoped that he wasn’t already on the road. “We’ll have to finish another time, Roberta. I need to go on before it gets worse.”

“I guess so,” she conceded as she opened the closet to get my coat. “But I’m really disappointed. The story is so much better when you see it all at one sitting.”

“We should plan it better next time,” I said, hurriedly putting on my coat. “I didn’t realize how quickly the afternoon would pass. It’s been a real imposition on you to have a visitor stay so long.”

“Oh, not at all, Julia. I’ve loved having you. You’re perfect to watch
Pride and Prejudice
with. You don’t distract from the story by commenting on everything. Don’t you just hate it when people talk all the time?”

I nodded, then thanked her for a lovely afternoon and a lovely lunch, then reached for the doorknob.

“Julia!”
Roberta screeched, scaring me half to death.

“What?”

“Coleman’s out in all this! Oh, my goodness, I’d forgotten the danger he’s in. He could get frostbite and lose his fingers and toes. Oh, Julia, what are we to do?”

“Not one thing, Roberta. Coleman’s not a fool, and I expect he’s already home, lying on the sofa by the fire, watching a football game.”

“Oh, I hope so. But he’s such a moral person and he made a promise to stay on that sign until this evening and it would be just like him to stick it out and harm himself. Oh, I’ll never forgive myself if that happens. Here, I’ve been so wrapped up with Mr. Darcy that I’ve not given one thought to Coleman, who is being so heroic in braving this weather.” She jerked her coat off the hanger. “I’ve got to go see about him.”

“Roberta,” I said, holding the doorknob as I decided that a little law needed to be laid down. “Listen, my dear. Coleman does not need your help, nor does Binkie. You should stay home where you belong and not out driving on icy streets just to see about Coleman. First of all, it’s not your place, and second of all, how would it look to have your name in the paper if you had a wreck?”

“Well,” she said, as if the wind had been taken out of her sails, “not good, I guess. But I do worry so about him.”

“I know you do, but remember that he has a wife, who, I assure you, would not appreciate your help. And remember this, too. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had too much pride to go chasing after any man, no matter how heroic. Now you stay home and don’t go risking life and limb in pursuit of a married one.”

“Well, maybe I should. My tires are kind of slick, anyway. I’ll just have to try not to worry about him. But, Julia,” she said, her eyes lighting up, “when can we get together again? We have two more videos to go and the best is yet to come.”

“Just as soon as I can spare two more hours, Roberta. I’ll let you know.”

In spite of the ice-covered lines, limbs, leaves, and the questionable condition of the streets, I had little trouble getting home. I crept along at less than ten miles an hour to avoid slipping and sliding and got there in one piece.
Thank you, Mildred
, I thought, recalling how she’d insisted that I get a self-starting generator like the one she had. “You may need it only once a year, Julia,” she’d said, “but you’ll be glad you have it on that once.” So, congratulating myself for having listened to her, I had no worries about losing power.

But I did have worries about Sam, wondering if he was on the interstate—or off it in a ditch. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the message light blinking on the phone the minute I walked through the door.

It was Sam again. “Julia, where are you? I keep missing you. Call me, honey. I’m worried about you.”

Well, I was worried about him, so I immediately dialed his cell phone and was relieved when he immediately answered.

“Sam! I’m so glad to reach you. Where are you? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, honey. I’m still at the hotel because Raleigh is iced in. The temperature dropped below freezing while we were at lunch, and from the looks of it, there’s no telling when I’ll be able to get out. It’s coming down hard and fast.”

“Oh, my goodness, and I was so worried that you’d be caught on the road. Abbotsville is icing over, too, so please don’t try to get here until it melts.”

After several more minutes of catching up with each other and my promising that I would not spend an entire afternoon away from home without telling him where I’d be, we hung up. Then, still in my coat, I called Hazel Marie to tell her to bring her family to my house if she lost power.

Then, having brought some of Roberta’s concerns about Coleman home with me, I called Binkie.

“It’s me, Binkie,” I said when she answered. “I hope Coleman is not still out there icing over on that sign.”

She giggled. “No, I got him home about three, just as it started freezing. He wouldn’t leave till the Baptist ladies brought lunch. He’s stretched out now in the recliner with Gracie. They’re both sound asleep.”

After hanging up, thinking,
So far, so good,
as to the state of those I cared for, I dialed Lillian’s number to tell her to bring Latisha and come to my house if the power went out. “I was plannin’ to, anyway,” she said. “This ole house get mighty cold when the furnace quits.”

All messages having been given and received, I removed my coat, turned on lights throughout the house and the gas logs in the library. It was full dark outside and barely four-thirty in the afternoon.

I had nothing else to do but decide what I’d have for supper. And decide what I should do as soon as the ice melted and I could get out and around. Connie’s death still hung over me, and I had no idea where the investigation was or where it was going. No one had seen fit to inform me, which one would think would be a priority, seeing that my name seemed to be uppermost on their suspect list.

Maybe tomorrow,
I thought,
I’ll hear something.
Coleman would be going back on duty, so surely he’d learn something and be willing to pass it along to me. Although I conceded that I probably couldn’t count on that—he was, after all, sworn to uphold the law, and probably also sworn not to tell civilians anything.

I went to the kitchen and rummaged around in the freezer until I found one of Lillian’s individual chicken pot pies. I put it on a cookie sheet and stuck it in the oven. It would take a while to cook, being frozen and all, but it would taste all the better for the wait.

And being reminded by what I’d just done, I recalled taking two of the individual pies to the Ledbetters, and I began thinking again of the pastor and his wife. For the first time in several days, I knew exactly where Larry Ledbetter was—I just couldn’t get to him. But, then, he couldn’t get away, either. The Ledbetters were pretty much trapped in their own house by the weather, and I was pretty much trapped in mine. How ironic to know at last where he was, only to be stymied by the whims of the weather.

I turned on the lights in the backyard and was shocked at the amount of ice bearing down on the tree limbs. The grass was white with ice or snow or something. We were getting more than the sidelines of the storm, and that was confirmed for me as the lights flickered. I quickly turned off the yard lights and looked for a flashlight in case the generator I’d been counting on left me in the lurch.

Then I laughed. Laughed at the sudden urge I’d had to call the Ledbetters and invite them to come over if they lost power. After all his evasive actions, would the pastor accept? Maybe, I thought grimly, if it came to a choice between facing me and freezing.

Still, having thought of it, I couldn’t easily dismiss the idea. Emma Sue was ill and probably not making good decisions—how would she cope with no lights, no heat, and a rapidly cooling house?

The lights flickered again, so before I could think better of it, I dialed the Ledbetters’ number. Knowing that neither of them was likely to answer, I mentally prepared myself to speak into thin air.

And so I did. “Emma Sue?” I said when the taped voice invited me to leave a message. “You know I had a generator installed last year? And it looks as if it’s going to come in handy any minute now. So I just wanted you to know that you and the pastor are welcome to come over if you lose power. Just be careful on the streets. It’s bad out there, and, well, that’s all I wanted to say, so bye. Come on if you want to.”

There, I thought, if that wasn’t a Christian in action, I didn’t know what was. I didn’t expect the pastor to accept the invitation, but I had done what was right by extending it and that was all I could do. Of course, if we all got into dire straits—like several counties without power and not enough linemen to correct the problem for days on end—well, accepting my hospitality might appear the lesser evil to the pastor.

Too on edge to do much more than keep looking in the oven to see if my supper was ready—it wasn’t—I set a place at the table and fiddled around in the kitchen. Just as I’d found a plastic container of mixed fruit in the refrigerator and prepared a salad, the front doorbell rang.

Smiling at the thought of having company, but wondering who had ventured out on such an evening, I dried my hands and hurried to the door. It would probably be Lillian and Latisha, or maybe Hazel Marie and her children. Although, I thought with a frown, either of them would’ve used a cell phone to let me know they were coming.

I opened the door to see the last person I expected to see. He stood there looking cold and bedraggled, in spite of the long, padded, and quilted coat he was wearing—another prize from the mission bin, I assumed. His neck was scrooched down into the turned-up collar and his hands were deep inside his pockets.

“Lamar! What’re you doing out in this weather? Where did you come from?”

“Jail,” he said, shuffling his feet. “They come an’ got me at the mission, an’ they just let me out.”

“Well, come in before you freeze.” I held open the storm door, hearing, as I did so, the creaking of tree limbs from their burden of a coating of ice.

He followed me, sniffling as he went, as I led him to the kitchen.

“Have a seat at the table, Lamar,” I said, handing him a handful of Kleenex. “Are you hungry?”

He nodded. “I pro’bly could eat.”

I’d thought as much and took another frozen pot pie out of the freezer. Exchanging it for the one already nicely browned in the oven, I resigned myself to another hour of waiting for my own supper.

After putting on a pot of coffee, I dumped the pot pie onto a plate and took it and my salad to Lamar at the table, along with a glass of milk.

I sat down beside him, ready to hear the bad news. “Now tell me why the deputies came to get you. How did they know where you were? What did they want? They found your scarf, didn’t they?”

“This here hits the spot.” He was shoveling it in faster than he could chew.

“Thank you, but tell me, Lamar. What did they ask you, but even more important, what did you tell them?”

“Nothin’, I didn’t tell ’em nothin’. You got any white bread? It sure would go good.”

“Oh,” I said, rising, “yes, of course.” And I brought the whole loaf of bread and the butter dish to the table. Then, in spite of my rising anxiety, I resigned myself to wait until his hunger was assuaged before questioning him further.

And just as I settled down to wait out his feeding frenzy, the lights flickered and went out.