Miss Julia Renews Her Vows (18 page)

“What do you think, Lillian?” I asked.

“She jus’ smell like soap to me.”

“Binkie?”

“I think she’s fine. You have to get right up close to her hair to smell anything, and that just smells like apple shampoo.”

“That’s what I used,” Etta Mae said, looking more and more concerned as tears began to fill her eyes. “Didn’t I get clean enough?”

“Of course you did,” I said, patting her shoulder. “You’re always clean. The problem is, well, you tell her, Binkie. I don’t think I can go through it again.” I sank down into a chair, realizing that I’d about expended every ounce of energy I had. A couple of days in bed can sap you good.

So Binkie explained the problem to Etta Mae in a few concise words, like the lawyer she was. I was gratified to see some fire come back into Etta Mae’s eyes.

“You mean she said I smell bad? Why, I wear Shania Twain by Stetson! And no way does Shania smell like collards, I don’t care what that woman says. She’s crazy!” Etta Mae was outraged, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d stamped her booted foot on my kitchen floor. “So that’s what they were doing,” she went on, frowning in thought. “When they had me in there before, those deputies kept walking around behind me, leaning in and sticking their heads over my shoulders, asking their questions. They were
smelling
me!”

“Calm down, Etta Mae,” I said. “Now that we know what they were doing and why, all you have to do is stay away from any and all perfume. In fact, I recommend that you leave off all cologne, eau de toilette, talcum powder, and scented deodorant for the duration. I’d watch the shampoo, too.”

“Come on, Etta Mae,” Binkie said, snatching up her purse and car keys. “Lieutenant Peavey’s waiting for us, so let’s get it over with.”

“You think he’s going to put me in jail?” As quickly as Etta Mae’s outrage had flashed up, it died out as she faced the prospect of more questions by the lieutenant.

“He’d better not,” I said firmly. “You’re going to come out of there smelling like a rose. Well, maybe not a rose, but you know what I mean.”

After they left for Etta Mae’s second interview, I looked at Lillian, hoping for some reassurance. “What if they still think she did it? What if they believe Francie and don’t believe her?”

“You got to put yo’ trust in the Lord and Miss Binkie,” Lillian said. “Don’t do no good settin’ around worryin’. An’ if you ast me, that lady in the hospital don’t sound too verasible, jus’ like Miss Binkie say.” She put a pan on the stove and went on. “I got to start dinner, but what you want for lunch first? Or you got somewhere else for us to go?”

“No, I’ve done all I can do for today. Anything for lunch is fine. A sandwich, whatever. I can’t eat with worrying about Lieutenant Peavey sniffing around Etta Mae.”

The telephone rang then. I answered it and heard Mildred Allen’s voice.

“Julia,” she said, “I’m having a few people over tomorrow night, about seven-thirty, just for dessert, and I hope you can come. I know it’s last minute, but I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Well, I don’t know, Mildred. I’ve not been feeling well lately, and I’m not sure I should be out late.” I turned away from Lillian, who was frowning at my continuing reliance on a made-up illness. “I’ll have to check with Sam, anyway. He might have something planned.”

“That’s fine if he does,” Mildred said. “I’m just inviting the ladies for a change. Everybody’s buzzing about Francie Pitts and what happened to her, so I thought a nice little get-together would be fun and maybe instructive. We can discuss safety precautions for women. And I might have a surprise for everybody, too.”

I could read between the lines as well as anybody, and what Mildred was proposing was a nice little gossip session. I couldn’t resist that because who knows? I might pick up from LuAnne or Arley or somebody else a few tidbits that would be of help to Etta Mae, and Binkie’s defense of her. And who could resist a surprise? The image of a tanned and muscular self-defense instructor sprang to mind—just the sort of surprise that Mildred would love to spring on us.

“In that case, Mildred, I’m sure I’ll be able to make it.”

After lunch, I took the opportunity to put my feet up for a while, but I couldn’t turn my mind off. It was filled with images of Etta Mae, even then undergoing interrogation with sharp-nosed deputies just waiting for the least whiff of an odor—either foul or flowery, it didn’t seem to matter. By the time Lloyd came home from school, she and Binkie still had not returned, so I began to worry about Etta Mae being jailed on an assault and battery charge, or even an attempted murder charge. I could just picture her scared little face peering out from behind bars.

“Hey, Miss Julia,” Lloyd said as he came into the living room, where I was resting. “I’m gonna call Mama now—she said for me to. You want to talk to her?”

“I certainly do. I know she’s been calling you off and on, but I’d like to know how she’s getting along. Your new step-daddy, too.”

If I had let myself, I could’ve been hurt because Hazel Marie hadn’t called me, but I put it down to her unwillingness to admit she was enjoying her honeymoon. Every time I thought of her announcement that being married to Mr. Pickens was going to be in name only, I had to laugh. He’d put up with that for about two minutes, if I knew him. No, they’d spend their week, or however long it took, at the Grove Park Inn in Asheville making plans for their life together. At least I hoped they would, for I wasn’t all that convinced that Mr. Pickens would be able to stand a settled married state because he’d never managed to before. Of course, his current married state came with one inherited child and two more on the way, which should be enough to settle anybody down.

When Lloyd called down the stairs to tell me his mother was on the phone, I picked up and said, “Hazel Marie? How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m feeling fine,” she said, and it pleased me to hear the lightness in her voice. “We’re having such a good time, though J.D. won’t let me do too much. We took a walk around the grounds this morning, and we’re both going to the spa this afternoon. Did you know they have a spa here? It’s beautiful and so soothing. We got massages yesterday, and J.D. said it was the next best thing he’d ever had.”

“My word,” I mumbled, then said, “But how are
you
doing?”

“I’ve not had any trouble at all. In fact, I think the earlier problems I had were all in my mind. Well, not all of them, but you know what I mean. But I did want to tell you, Miss Julia, before we left, Dr. Hargrove recommended that I see an obstetrician over here, just in case, you know. So I went and J.D. went with me, and he got to see the sonogram and everything. And he’s just been so careful of me ever since. Isn’t that the sweetest thing?”

“Yes, it is,” I said, hoping that sweetness would last. Not that Mr. Pickens was ever
un
sweet to her; I don’t mean that. But he could get his mind set on other things, like his work, and take off without a backward glance. But maybe seeing two little beings that he’d created swimming around on a sonogram screen had straightened him out.

“When will you be home?” I asked.

“Maybe this weekend,” she said. “We have so much to do, getting settled and all, that we can’t stay away too long. But J.D. wants me to have a good long rest, so I’ll let you know when we’ll be there.”

“That’s fine, but consider this while you’re resting: what about my asking Etta Mae to help us when the babies come?”

“Oh, I’d love it! But I don’t see how she can. She already has a job.”

“Not anymore, she doesn’t. We’ll tell you all about it when you get home. But in the meantime, think how nice it’ll be to have her here around the clock while you recover and those babies are up half the night.” I smiled to myself at the thought. “You can tell Mr. Pickens that I have his welfare in mind.”

I hung up, thinking, So far, so good. It certainly sounded as if their marriage had started off well, and I could only hope that it would continue in the same manner. It is such a toss-up, you know, as to how two people will get along. You never know, when you marry somebody, just what you’re going to get. You might think you’re getting one thing and end up with something entirely different.

Etta Mae and Binkie came in a little later, both of them looking pleased with themselves. And, I was happy to note, Etta Mae in particular seemed to have gained a renewed sense of confidence that things were working out for her. It’s amazing what a good lawyer can do for you.

“I think I might be out of the woods, Miss Julia,” she said, bouncing as she sat on the sofa. “You should’ve seen Binkie. Almost every time Lieutenant Peavey asked me a question, she’d say, ‘Don’t answer that.’ But Binkie,” she said, turning to her attorney, “there were some I wanted to answer. I wanted to tell them exactly what happened.”

Binkie smiled. “It wouldn’t have helped. They’d just bounce more questions off whatever you said. We gave them your schedule and the time line you made out for everything you did last Thursday, and that’s all they need to know.” Then Binkie laughed. “Miss Julia, you should’ve seen what they did. The lieutenant sat across from us, but he had a young deputy standing behind Etta Mae, and he kept leaning over, sniffing around her. He must’ve been selected for his sense of smell, but he reminded me of a dog in heat. Oh,” she said, giggling, “sorry for the crudeness, but I almost laughed in their faces.”

“My goodness,” I said at the picture her words brought to mind. “Well, I guess we did a good thing by getting you descented, Etta Mae. And if I were you, I’d put Miss Shania Twain back in her box and keep her there until this mess is settled.”

“Oh, I will,” Etta Mae said. “It comes in a beautiful pink box. The bottle, I mean. Not the perfume.”

Sam came in then and Lloyd wandered downstairs, so we had to recount our day’s activities for them. Sam and Binkie had a quiet conference together, discussing legal angles for Etta Mae’s continued freedom of movement. Sam seemed pleased with the outcome of the latest interview she’d had, and so was I, because she wasn’t in jail.

Etta Mae had sat quietly while her case was being discussed, her head swiveling from one to the other of us as we spoke. Then, in a lull, she said, “I just thought of something. Miss Julia, didn’t you say that Mrs. Delacorte told you that she heard the person who attacked her rummaging around on her vanity table? I mean, while she was lying on the floor after being knocked out?”

“Yes, she did,” I said, nodding. “And went on to say that that’s when the woman—and she was sure it was a woman—was looking for her gold bracelet.”

“I thought that’s what she told you,” Etta Mae said, frowning, “and it doesn’t make sense. Because she was already complaining about her bracelet being gone when I was making her bed. And that was when I first got there.”

“You sure about that, Etta Mae?” Binkie asked.

“As sure as I’m sitting here. Mrs. Delacorte all but accused me of taking it, but I didn’t let it bother me. I just laughed it off, because she was forever misplacing things and accusing me or Evelyn—you know, her sitter—or the trashman or a neighbor of stealing them. Then in a few days, she’d find whatever she’d lost. She never apologized to any of us, though. So I figured the bracelet was just more of the same and didn’t give it much thought.” She sighed. “I sure wish I had now.”

I sat straight up, struck with a new possibility. “What about that, Binkie? Could we be dealing with
two
crimes and two separate perpetrators?”

“Either that,” Sam chimed in, “or we’re dealing with a confused victim who doesn’t remember what happened or when. She’s conflating two separate events that may have nothing to do with each other.”

“Binkie,” I said, “tell Lieutenant Peavey.”

She nodded. “Don’t worry, I will. And by the way, he confirmed that the attack did take place between the time Etta Mae said she left and the time that the sitter got there. It was the sitter who found her on the floor and called nine-one-one. The call was registered at twelve-fourteen p.m., and the first responders got there at twelve-twenty-six. They reported no signs of illegal entry or of a struggle. The dishwasher was running in the kitchen, along with a television that had the sound turned down. In other words, everything in the house seemed normal, except for the victim. They noted that she was conscious, but somewhat incoherent.”

“I think she’s still incoherent,” I said, “or more likely, knowing her, she’s told one story and can’t or won’t back down. But Binkie, that surely lets Etta Mae off the hook, doesn’t it? She got here for the luncheon that day about fifteen or twenty minutes past twelve. They ought to see that she couldn’t have attacked Francie and been here at the same time.”

“Well, the problem is,” Binkie said, glancing at Etta Mae, “we don’t know how long Mrs. Delacorte lay there alone. Etta Mae tells me that she left about eleven o’clock, so if the sitter didn’t get there until after twelve, that leaves a full hour that we can’t account for. And Etta Mae can’t prove she left at eleven.”