Miss Julia Lays Down the Law (8 page)

After Binkie looked over my typed statement, questioned me about a few details, and gave me the okay to sign it, we left, collecting Sam on our way. He’d been waiting in the tiny reception area, pacing the whole time, from the looks of him.

“Julia,” he said, rushing up to me, “are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Sam. There was really nothing to it, so, Binkie, I’m sorry we bothered you on such a minor matter.”

Binkie and Sam looked at each other, then at me. “Not so minor, Julia,” Sam said. “A murder investigation—if that’s what it is—is extremely serious, and I hate that you’ve been caught up in it.”

“But I’m not caught up in it, and now they know I’m not.”

Binkie’s eyes rolled just a little. “Okay, but let me tell you right now that you are not to say one other word to anybody—friend, foe, or family. If they come back to you about anything, whether it’s to clarify something or to get more details, you are to call me before you say anything.” She shook her finger at me. “Understand?”

“Well, if you put it that way, of course I will. But, Binkie, we tried to call you before I left home and couldn’t get you.”

“I know,” she said, resignedly. “I took Gracie to watch the guys work on Coleman’s platform. Some of their children were there, and she was so excited about playing with them and watching her daddy hammer and saw that I left my cell phone in the car.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” I said. “I was hoping Coleman had gotten over his strange urge to climb a billboard.”

“Not a chance,” Binkie said with a wry laugh. “I think he’s going up later this week when old man Carver says we’ll have a few balmy days in the sixties. If you believe in black gum trees.”

By this time we’d left the sheriff’s office and gotten into Sam’s car. He had, indeed, gone to pick up Binkie when he’d been unable to reach her by phone and, luckily, got there just as they returned home from their carpentry workshop. Which I later learned had been in the garage of a K9 officer who made furniture as a hobby.

“Well,” Binkie said as she leaned up from the backseat, “that cell phone’s going to be glued to my body until this mess is cleared up. So don’t hesitate to call me day or night if you hear from anyone official. Be sure, both of you, that my number is in your contacts list.”

“But, Binkie,” I said, shivering as I turned the heat dial up, “I think it’s all over as far as I’m concerned. I’ve told them all I know, so now they’ll be looking for whoever actually attacked Connie. But I’ll tell you both,” I went on, reaching for Sam’s free hand, “it’s just really hitting me that someone I know has been a victim of something so awful. I mean, things like that just don’t happen in Abbotsville.”

Neither Sam nor Binkie replied, and I realized that in their line of work, they knew that such things did happen in Abbotsville.

“Binkie?” I asked, to clear my mind of images of blood and coffee and pink bloomers. “Will Coleman take enough food with him for four days? How’s he going to eat?”

“Oh, he’ll eat, all right. Probably better than at home. Some of the restaurants on the boulevard want to feed him—they’ve worked out a schedule. FATZ one day, KFC another, and Outback another—he’ll probably gain weight.”

“That’s only three days. Let us have a day—maybe Sunday? But how would we get it to him? Does he come down to eat?”

“Oh, no, he’ll have a pulley system. He’ll lower a box for food and a bucket when anybody stops to donate. And thanks, Miss Julia, but the First Baptist ladies already have Sunday.” Binkie laughed. “He says he can’t wait. Those Baptist ladies can
cook
!”

“Well, let’s don’t tell Lillian. I expect she’ll want to send him some snacks or a dessert or two.”

“He’ll love it. Listen, if you take him anything, just park right there on the side of the boulevard. There’s a little path from there to the foot of the sign. He’ll see you and lower the bucket or the box or whatever.” Binkie stopped, then went on. “Only thing is, you have to climb over the guardrail. It’s not high—couple of feet, maybe, so wear something suitable or, even better, send Lloyd.”

Sam said, “How’s he going to get his platform up there, Binkie? That sign’s pretty high off the ground.”

“They’ll use a ladder truck from the fire department,” Binkie said. “Coleman’s got his generator, TV, DVD player, some concert speakers, and a heater that they’ll set up at the same time.”

“My goodness,” I said, somewhat in awe at all the preparations.

“All the comforts of home,” Sam said.

“Not quite,” Binkie said, laughing. “He won’t have me.”

 • • • 

With profuse thanks and good wishes for Coleman’s survival if he stayed his course, we dropped Binkie off at her house, then proceeded home in silence. There was so much to talk about, yet neither Sam nor I seemed able to start a conversation. I was tired, for one thing. It was past my bedtime, and I was anxious to close my mind to the events of the last few hours and sleep.

But to tell the truth, the memory of finding Connie had receded to the point that it was almost as if I’d seen it on a television show. Come to think of it, I probably had. Not with Connie in it, of course, but a similar, yet made-up, crime scene.

What was much closer and more clear in my mind was having been in the clutches of the law. Did they really suspect me? I understood the need to eliminate all the possibilities until only one was left standing, but who could ever believe that could be me?

 • • • 

“Sam,” I said as we walked into the house, “I wish I’d pointed out to Detective Ellis the age and size differences between Connie and me. They couldn’t possibly think that I could—even if I’d wanted to, which I didn’t—do what was done to her. I’d be the one lying on the kitchen floor if that had happened. Not that I’m in the habit of fighting with anyone, especially to the death.” Then, without warning, tears filled my eyes, my nose began to drip, and I wanted to bawl my head off. Finding Connie had been bad enough, but to be suspected of causing great bodily harm to another human being was beyond my ability to handle.

“Sweetheart,” Sam said. He came over, put his hands on my shoulders, then drew me close. “They know that. But they have to consider all the possibilities from an accident to a home invasion to a domestic dispute to . . .”

“That could be it!” I jerked my head off Sam’s shoulder, aware now that there was another, more likely suspect. “Her husband! Where is he? Nobody around here has ever even seen him. Maybe they had an argument, maybe it escalated and he killed her. Listen, Sam, it stands to reason because the door was unlocked, meaning that somebody just opened it, or unlocked it with his own key, then went in, did what he did, and left. There was no break-in, because none of the windows were broken. None that I saw, I mean. Of course,” I said, slowing down, “I didn’t specifically
look
for a broken window. But I would’ve noticed if a pane in the door had been broken.”

“I’m sure you would’ve. But, Julia, why did you go out there, anyway? All I’ve heard this week has been Connie this and Connie that, and none of it good. What possessed you to call on her?”

“Well,” I said, temporizing as I realized how imperative it was that I be released from the promise made to Pastor Ledbetter. And he’d better release me, too, because this was getting sticky. Even Sam was questioning my motivation, and I did not like being less than open with him. To say nothing of withholding information from Detective Ellis.

“She asked me to,” I said. “I didn’t just show up and knock on her door without being invited. And I so wish I hadn’t accepted.”

“I’m a little surprised that you did,” Sam said as we walked into the library and sat together on the sofa. “You’ve been ambivalent about her all week—first deciding that you wanted nothing to do with her, then changing your mind by adding her to your party list just to demonstrate some local social customs.”

I nodded. He was right. “I guess that was part of my reason for going out there. I was feeling bad about all the negative feelings I’d had toward her—you know, after she’d criticized us so roundly. I thought a one-on-one conversation would help her fit in a little better. Sam,” I said, looking directly at him, “I promise you that I went out there with the best of intentions, hoping to be helpful to a newcomer and to, well, some others as well.”

There. I’d come as close as I could to revealing the real reason for visiting Connie. But, come morning, I was going to make another visit and Pastor Ledbetter had better be prepared.

“So,” I went on, hoping to change the subject, “I guess that brings up another question. Should I cancel my Christmas soiree? I mean, out of respect for Connie?”

“Soiree?” Sam said with a smile.

“Oh, I guess I haven’t told you. I decided to make this year’s tea special and invite a large group and have live music—that would be Sara O’Neill and her harp—and, you know, just go all out. Which, I remind you, was mostly for Connie’s benefit. So she’d learn something. Now I don’t know what to do.”

“When’re you having this wingding?”

“About a week before Christmas.”

“Honey,” Sam said, almost laughing at me, “it’s not even the middle of November, and it’s not as if Mrs. Clayborn were a close friend. I think you’d be perfectly correct to go ahead with your plans if you want to.”

“Well, I do and I don’t. But I may feel better about it after some time has passed. Of course, there’d be no question about canceling if it had been somebody close to me. Which I can’t even imagine.” But I could, for Emma Sue came immediately to mind. Not because I feared an attack on her but because now, with Connie unable to reassure her, she might simply shrivel up and fade away.

“Speaking of canceling plans,” Sam said, “I’ve decided not to go to Raleigh. With things so unsettled here, I’d feel better staying here with you.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t do that, Sam. It’ll be your first meeting and it’s only for a few days. Besides, the governor might regret appointing you if you don’t show up.”

Sam gave me a wry smile. “I doubt he’ll know, either way. But I’ll see how things go, then decide.”

I nodded, but I would encourage him to go. The sooner things got back to normal, the better I’d feel.

But just as I thought that I could begin to think of other matters—like Coleman’s climb and Sam’s trip to the capitol—the image of Connie’s broken body returned to mind in sharp relief. “Will they be able to tell what killed her?” I asked. “I mean, exactly how she died?”

“I expect they will,” Sam said, nodding. “They’ll do an autopsy, probably not here since foul play may be involved. They’ll send the body to Chapel Hill most likely, so it’ll be some days before they get a report back.” Then, as if his experience with criminals of all kinds from his years in the practice of law suddenly emerged, he calmly asked, “Was she shot or bludgeoned? Could you tell?”

“My word, Sam, I don’t know,” I said, drawing back from him. “I didn’t
examine
her! But I can say that most of the blood came from her head. I mean, that’s where the biggest puddle was. But from the way she was lying, I couldn’t see the wound.”

“Well, the autopsy will show what kind of weapon or object was used to strike her—if that’s what happened. The size and shape of it, that is. And if she was shot, they’ll probably be able to identify the type of firearm.”

“My goodness,” I murmured, trying to visualize what had been in Connie’s kitchen. “I didn’t see a firearm anywhere—I would’ve noticed that. And I don’t think I saw a thing that could’ve done that kind of damage. Certainly not a dust mop or any of the pots and pans on the floor—they all looked like the lightweight aluminum kind. Not like an iron skillet or anything like that, which could do some damage. Of course, I didn’t look around, so something could’ve been there.”

“Listen,” Sam said, clasping my hand, “the thing to do is try not to dwell on it. The experts will figure it out, and if it was a random attack, whoever it was probably took the weapon with him. Certainly would’ve if it had been planned in advance.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” I said, my hand going to my mouth. “She hadn’t been here long enough for anybody to dislike her enough to
plan
anything. Unless it
was
her husband—I guess he’d known her long enough. Actually, I don’t like thinking of either one—random or planned. None of us would be safe.”

“I know,” Sam said soothingly, “and we shouldn’t even be discussing it. In the meantime, though, at least until we know more, we should be careful to keep the doors locked, especially when you and Lillian are here alone during the day.”

“Don’t worry, we will. I’d hate for anybody to walk in and find what I found at Connie’s house.” Especially if it was Lillian or me they found on the floor.

“Sam?” I said. We were in bed, nestled close, and from his breathing I knew he was close to sleep while I stared wide-eyed at the ceiling.

“Hm-m?”

“You know what my problem is?”

“Julia,” he said with a muffled laugh as he raised his head from the pillow. “I wouldn’t touch that with a ten-foot pole.”

“Oh, you,” I said, giving him a nudge. “I’m serious, because I’ve just realized that I really don’t like change. I don’t like change in any way, shape, or form. That’s why I was so upset with Connie. She came in here telling us we should change everything—tear down and demolish, then refurbish, rehabilitate, or rebuild. And I didn’t like it one little bit. I mean, who gave her the authority to demand such a thing? Just thinking of such arrogance bothers me all over again. And now, right at this minute, she’s in a hearse on her way to an autopsy table. And I feel so bad, I don’t know what to do. It’s almost as if my anger at her had something to do with what happened, and when I think of how terrified she must’ve been when somebody—well, I wish I’d gotten there earlier and maybe protected her in some way. The whole thing just tears me up.”

“I know,” Sam said soothingly. “But I’m glad you didn’t get there earlier—you might’ve been hurt, too. Listen, Julia, we don’t know what happened, but I want you to stop going over and over it in your mind. We can’t change anything, we can only change our reaction to it. You had nothing to do with it, whether you were there to find her or whether you’d stayed home all afternoon. And certainly your feelings about her had nothing to do with it. Now let’s leave it to the investigators to figure out and to the Lord to give us peace of mind.”

Good advice, and I was almost asleep by the time he gave it. But come daylight, I intended to see my pastor and get out from under the rule of silence he’d imposed on me.

My eyes suddenly flew open—the
pastor
! Of all the people who’d expressed anger toward Connie—and I’d include Mildred, LuAnne, Emma Sue, and me as well in those who had—Pastor Ledbetter was the one who held the most against her.

No, impossible, I assured myself. But Pastor Ledbetter had considered the possibility that Connie was a tool of Satan. Could such a belief give him justification to harm her?

No, it was so incredible to ponder that I decided not to wake Sam again to run it past him. But now that it had occurred to me, I knew it would stay in the back of my mind until the actual cause and perpetrator of Connie’s death were determined. And it would certainly flit through my mind as I talked to the pastor on the morrow.

One can’t help but entertain a thought once it has popped into one’s mind. It’s a settled fact that it can’t be
un
thought, and my restless night was witness to that.

 • • • 

After breakfast the next morning, Sam went upstairs to his working office in the remodeled sunroom, giving me the opportunity to prepare myself to visit Pastor Ledbetter’s office at the church across the street. I hadn’t mentioned my intention to Sam, because then I would’ve had to tell him what I had promised not to tell, which was that I had been
sent
to Connie Clayborn’s house. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been within a mile of that crime scene, therefore it was up to the pastor to get me out of the messy situation in which I found myself and for which I was under constraint to give no explanation.

The pastor usually made a quick visit to any ailing Presbyterians in the hospital, then got to his office by nine or so. I kept watch through the front window for his car to enter the parking area behind the church, after which I intended to march over there and demand that he release me from the promise I had so rashly given him.

 • • • 

My intended march to the church was severely delayed by the telephone. A little before eight it started ringing, and as soon as I hung up from one call, another came in. LuAnne was the first.

“Julia!” she yelled, then began rattling off questions too quickly to be answered. “What is going on? I just heard about it. The paper didn’t have the details—happened too late to get in, I guess. But you were there?
Why?
What were you doing at Connie’s house, anyway? I can’t believe this, it’s too horrible. And to think you were the last person to see her alive!”

“No, LuAnne,
no
! I wasn’t the last one—whoever killed her was the last one to see her alive. Don’t be saying it was me—that’s wrong! I just found her
after
she was dead. Lord, LuAnne, don’t go around saying something like that. I’ll be in more trouble than I already am.”

“Oh,” she said, lowering her voice in expectation of hearing something new. “Do they think you did it?”

“Absolutely not, because I didn’t. How can you ask such a thing?”

“Well, I know you didn’t like her. Not,” she quickly added, “that anybody else did, either. But you were outspoken about it. You called her a menace to society.”

Well, that just flew all over me. How many of us like having our own words thrown back at us?

“No, I did not, LuAnne,” I said. “I may have said she was a menace, but not to society as a whole. And if we’re going to bring up private conversations between
friends,
I can recall some less than complimentary things
you
said about her.”

“
Well
,
” she huffed, “
I’m
not the one being questioned by the authorities. But I see you’re in a bad mood this morning, so I’ll let you go. Call me if I can be of any help.”

I hung up the phone, thinking,
Call her for help?
She’d have me under the jail before I turned around good.

 • • • 

With my hand still on the phone, it rang again. Without thinking, I answered it.

Mildred said, “Julia, what in the world is going on? There was just a brief paragraph in the paper about Connie being dead, which was shocking enough. But when it mentioned you, I couldn’t believe it. Are you all right?”

“I’m as well as can be expected under the circumstances,” I said wearily. “Oh, Mildred, it was awful. I just found her, that’s all. But what did the paper say? I haven’t seen it yet.”

“Nothing, really,” Mildred said. “Just one sentence saying you were being questioned.”

“Oh, my Lord,” I moaned, “that sounds as if I had something to do with it. Mildred,” I continued with renewed firmness, “I’m going to sue that paper. See if I don’t. The very idea! I just happened to drop by and just happened to find her.”

“But
why
? Why were you there at all? Everybody knows you didn’t want to have anything to do with her. You really raked her over the coals when we had lunch together, remember?”

You, too, Mildred?

“Yes, and I remember that you threatened to snatch her bald-headed, too. So if we’re all going to be held responsible for what we say, you’re in trouble along with me.”

“Oh, Julia,” Mildred said lightly, “don’t be so defensive. I can quote chapter and verse of what a number of other people have said about Connie, and, believe me, it wouldn’t be pretty.”

“That’s a good point, Mildred, and if that detective comes back at me, I’m going to tell him he ought to question every woman in town. We
all
had something against her, which does
not
mean we wanted her dead.”

Mildred chuckled. “Well, go ahead and give him my name. I’ll give him an earful. But, Julia, why
did
you go see her?”

“I can’t discuss it, Mildred—Binkie’s orders. Just trust me that I had a good reason for going, and it certainly wasn’t to kill her. How anybody could even think . . .”

“Well, Julia, of course I don’t. But you really ought to make the paper print a retraction or something. What they printed today certainly gives the wrong impression. It lets readers jump to the wrong conclusion, and if I were you, I’d go down there and snatch a few reporters and editors bald-headed.” She laughed, then said, “I’ll help you if you want.”

 • • • 

After hanging up, I looked out the window again just in time to see the pastor’s yellow car turn into the parking lot across the street. Taking up my coat for the walk over to the church, I was stopped by the ringing of the phone. Hesitating, I almost left it for Lillian to answer. I was glad I didn’t.

When I answered, Sergeant Coleman Bates said, “Miss Julia, I’m just calling to see how you are this morning. Anything you need? Anything I can do?”

“Oh, Coleman, how nice of you to call, but are you calling officially or out of the goodness of your heart? After last evening, I don’t know who to trust anymore.”

He gave a little laugh. “I hear you. But I’m calling to reassure you. I just looked over your statement, and if everything checks out, you’ll be all right.”

“Do you have all that evidence that Lieutenant Peavey mentioned? I mean, any evidence of who attacked Connie? Because, Coleman, it was not me.”

“I know that, Miss Julia,” he said, his voice warm with assurance. “But, no, it’ll take some time for the forensic evidence to be processed, get the autopsy report back, and for us to question everybody.”

“Who?” I demanded. “Who else is being questioned? Because somebody else
had
been there, and might still have been when I left.”

“You know I can’t discuss that, but I want you to know I’m here for you. And to tell you that I’m going up on the sign tomorrow. My weather guy says we’ll have a few mild days before a cold front comes in, so if he’s right, I’ll be up there till Sunday evening. But if you need anything, you let me know.”

I thanked him and hung up, wondering how he thought he could help me if he was going to be sitting up on an outdoor advertising sign. Still, I appreciated the thought.

“Lillian,” I called, putting on my coat. “I’m going over to the church. I shouldn’t be long.”

The phone rang again as I went out the door. I kept going.