Miss Julia Renews Her Vows (42 page)

According to what he heard, Evelyn had said, “If you had to live with that woman, you’d do worse than me. At least I didn’t kill her, though I thought about it many a time.” And all during her confession, she’d not expressed any remorse or even any concern as to what would happen to her. She was as calm and self-assured as she could be. In fact, Mr. Pickens said that all the deputies were just shaking their heads at how little the whole affair seemed to affect her.

At one point, when her court-appointed attorney told her how many years she could expect to be sentenced to serve, she’d said, “I’m tired of living with Francie anyway.”

She’s getting a psychological evaluation as we speak, and I just hope whoever’s doing it has better qualifications than Dr. Fred Fowler.

Francie, of course, was outraged when the truth came out, although she’d gotten a good idea of what the truth was from seeing that dented cookie sheet waved in front of her face. Arley Hopkins told us that Francie kept saying over and over to whoever at Mountain Villas would listen to her that Evelyn had bitten the hand that fed her. “I took her into my home, held her to my bosom, and she turned on me. Just
turned
on me. That’s gratitude for you, isn’t it? She didn’t have a nickel to her name, and I took her in because she was a relative, after all, and she
attacked
me in my own
home
, sent me to the hospital, and now she doesn’t even have the intestinal fortitude to face me and say she’s sorry. I hope they put her under the jail.”

We haven’t heard anything more about the Coral Gables police, but if I were Francie, I’d be careful about flinging the word
jail
around. Arley’s on the lookout, though, and she’ll let us know if some official cars from Florida show up.

But the next thing that Arley told us was that Francie had been keeping company with a certain gentleman at Mountain Villas who had suddenly gained a new lease on life. Arley said the residents out there are amazed because he’s dashing around in his scooter chair with a lecherous glint in his eyes. She said the women scatter like a flock of birds when they see him coming. And the word is out that he’s buried three wives to Francie’s five husbands, so if they marry, an enterprising resident plans to take wagers on which one will bury the other. My money would go on Francie if I were a gambling woman.

But things might change, because I just got a call from LuAnne, who’d just talked with Arley, who told her that Dr. Fowler had been seen at Mountain Villas yesterday looking into reserving a place for his mother. And what’s more, he’d visited Francie and had stayed long enough to have lunch with her. And what’s even more, Francie had played bridge later that afternoon sporting a new bracelet that she made sure everybody noticed. “A friend gave it to me,” she’d said with a coy titter, “as an indication of his honorable intentions.”

Arley said that a certain gentleman in the scooter chair was noticeably toned down at dinner last night, not even trying to pinch the ladies or look up anybody’s dress. So Francie must’ve cut him off after realizing she’d had a better offer. But can you imagine her and Dr. Fowler married to each other—she for the sixth time and he for the first? It boggles the mind to think about it, and I could almost work up some sympathy for him—if I didn’t know him so well.

And wouldn’t you know, Francie’s not said one word to or about Etta Mae. And talk about no remorse, Francie goes on her merry way with no thought of the damage she did or the anguish that young woman suffered from being a suspect. But Etta Mae’s doing all right now; she’s even gone back to wearing Shania Twain by Stetson, and every time I get a whiff of it I think of collard greens. I can’t help it; the connection, if not the smell, is just there, that’s all. And one time, Etta Mae confided that she did the same thing, but she had to use it up because she couldn’t afford to throw out a perfectly good bottle of perfume. “But as soon as I use it up,” she’d said, “I’m going to try Jessica Simpson’s Dessert.” No telling what that’ll smell like.

As soon as the newspaper reported that Evelyn had been arrested, the owner of the Handy Home Helpers was on the phone begging Etta Mae to come back to work. I told Etta Mae she should show some reluctance to work for someone who was so quick to fire her, and she did, but not much. But that little bit gained her a salary increase that emboldened Etta Mae enough to negotiate a six-week leave of absence when Hazel Marie has those babies. So we can count on her being back in the house when we need her most, and that suits me fine. The more I think about it, the less eager I am to be up half the night changing and feeding infants. The Lord knew what he was doing when he gave children to the young.

And Hazel Marie, bless her heart, is enjoying these months, sitting around and getting bigger by the day. Oh, she walks, or rather waddles, every day, but I don’t know how long that’s going to last. From the looks of her, she’s going to need a crane to get up and down before long. But happy? That woman
is
happy. No, a better word is
serene
. I’ve never seen a woman so completely satisfied with being married. Of course, it took her long enough to get that way. Every time I look at her there’s a blissful smile on her face, and in spite of my doubts as to his qualifications as husband material, I have to give the credit to Mr. Pickens. He’s as caring and attentive a husband as anyone could ask for, although that hasn’t stopped him from taking off for days at a time to pursue his investigative career.

Nor has it stopped him from teasing me. Every once in a while, he’ll look sidewise at me, shake his head and say, “Dysosmia. Who would’ve thought it?” Or something like, “Baked any cookies today?” I think he’s just put out that Lloyd and I showed up both him and the sheriff’s department.

So it looks as if everything’s been solved, and we’ve settled down to await the advent of whatever Hazel Marie’s carrying. Lillian says that at least one of them is a boy because she’s carrying it low, but the way she’s filling out looks to me like she’s carrying both high and low. Maybe that means something. The doctor thinks we’ll have New Year’s babies, maybe even for Christmas because twins tend to come early. Lloyd says he figures it’ll be a holiday regardless of when they come, so it doesn’t matter to him. He’s been busy making a list of names for his mother to choose from—some of them make Mr. Pickens laugh and my eyes roll.

And Sam? Why, Sam’s a happy man, I’m finally convinced of it. I’d just projected my own insecurities onto him and let myself get in a swivet because of them. See, I know a little psychology, too. Because Sam was never in doubt as to the state of our marriage, he’s just gone right on being his own darling self, while I, well, I’m positive that Hazel Marie was right. Renewing our vows was all it took—even if I did most of the renewing and did it not at an altar but in our bed, which, come to think of it, may be the best place for any kind of renewing, enriching or stoking of embers.

So I’m sitting back and letting life roll on, smiling to myself on occasion at how well things worked out. Hazel Marie got married, Etta Mae got out from under suspicion, Evelyn got arrested and Francie got Dr. Fowler, which means that he’ll get what’s coming to him.

Sam is feeling fully and completely enriched these days, and justifiably so, because I’m seeing to it myself.