Murder Carries a Torch (7 page)

I rubbed my forehead; my head was beginning to ache.

“And no sign of Virginia?”

“No.”

Again there was that hesitancy in his voice, but I knew.

“Monk was killed, wasn’t he? Murdered?”

Virgil Stuckey cleared his throat. “Like I said, Mrs. Hollowell, we don’t know the details, but the Pulaski police think that he was. Yes.”

In Virginia’s car.

“What I was thinking,” he continued, “was that Mrs. Nelson’s family should be told what’s happened, too.”

I couldn’t argue with that. Virginia had run off with a man who had turned out to be a snake-handling preacher, a young woman had been murdered in his church, Luke had possibly been attacked in that same church, and now the preacher had been found dead, murdered. In Virginia’s car.

“I’ll call her son,” I said. “He’s in Washington. He’s the representative from Columbus, Mississippi. His father should have called him when this first happened.”

“And Mr. Nelson?”

“I’m going to Oneonta. They’re supposed to release him this afternoon. I’ll tell him.”

“If we learn anything else in the meantime, I’ll call you.”

After I thanked him and hung up the phone, I went into the den, found my address book and took it into the
kitchen where the sun was shining brightly through the bay window and where Muffin was sitting on the kitchen table, grooming herself. When I put on my reading glasses, I could see cat hair like motes floating in the sunlight. And I’m the one who has always complained about Mary Alice’s old cat, Bubba, who sleeps on a heating pad on her kitchen counter.

I sat down at the table and opened my address book. It’s the same one that half the women in the United States own, the one from the Metropolitan Museum of Art with the painting by Mary Cassatt on the cover of a woman licking an envelope. I’m convinced that if I lost it, my whole social life, such as it is, would fall apart.

I opened it to the
N
s. There was Luke and Virginia’s address and phone number in Columbus. But no address or phone number for Richard. If I knew how to use the Internet well enough, I could have found him in a minute. But the class I’d signed up for at UAB didn’t start for a couple of weeks. Well, I thought, it shouldn’t be too hard to find someone in the House of Representatives.

But what on God’s earth was I going to tell him?

I propped my elbows on the table and put my face in my hands. Muffin came to rub against my hair.

I’d never been very fond of Virginia, granted, but it was sad and frightening to think of what might have happened to her. Whatever her problems had been with Luke, however depressed and desperate she might have been, she had jumped from the frying pan into the fire.

I raised my head. Muffin’s eyes looked right into mine. I pulled her against me and buried my face in her fur. She smelled like sweet, healthy cat; she began to purr. Lord, was I going to be able to let Haley take her back?

There was a light knock on the back door. I got up
and let Mitzi Phizer in. My neighbor and friend for almost forty years, she knows me too well.

“Lord, Patricia Anne. What’s wrong?”

She’s also a wonderful listener. Except for a few “I declares” and “Have mercies,” she didn’t interrupt my story about all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

When I finally wound down, she said, “You think Virginia’s dead, too, don’t you?”

“I think it’s a good possibility, and it makes me so sad. I can’t imagine how she must have felt when she found out what she had gotten into, can you?”

Mitzi shook her head no.

“And it’s more than the snakes. There’s something going on up there that two people have been murdered over.” I paused. “Surely there’s some connection between the two deaths.”

“I would think so.”

“And now I’ve got to call Richard and tell him what’s happened, and I dread it. To start with, it’s not going to make any sense to him. He’s going to think I’ve lost my mind when I tell him his mother ran off with a snake-handling preacher.”

“Why don’t you get Mary Alice to call him?”

I looked up and Mitzi was smiling at me.

“I’ll take Woofer for his walk. You go tell her what’s happened. Tell her the sheriff suggested the call.”

I thought of the sheriff not wanting to disturb Miss Purple Boots’s beauty sleep.

I smiled back. “That’s a great idea.”

Mary Alice lives in a house on top of Red Mountain, a huge house that her first husband Will Alec Sullivan’s
family built with the millions they made off of steel. Her other two wealthy husbands had been happy to live with her there; each, like his predecessor, had impregnated her once there, and had widowed her there. They would have been crazy not to have lived there. It’s one of the most beautiful houses I’ve ever seen, overlooking the whole city. From Sister’s sunroom, you can see planes landing and taking off from the airport. You can see thunderstorms roaring down the valley, and spectacular sunsets.

This morning as I pulled into the driveway, Tiffany the Magic Maid was sweeping the front porch. She is a cute young blonde. The Magic Maids is the name of the company that she works for though, best I can tell, she spends most of her time at Mary Alice’s.

She looked up and waved. It was all of thirty-five degrees but she had on khaki shorts and a blue denim shirt. Her arms and legs were as tan as if it were July.

“Morning, Mrs. Hollowell,” she called.

“Morning, Tiffany. Did you see the snow last night?”

“Sure did. Wasn’t it pretty?”

“And cold.”

She giggled. “I’m just going to stay out here a minute. Mrs. Crane’s in the sunroom eating breakfast.”

I let myself into the house and walked back to the sunroom where Mary Alice was reading the paper and drinking coffee.

“Hey,” she said, pointing toward a white carafe. “You want a cup? There’s some toast left, too.”

“Nope.” I sat down in one of the white wicker chairs that’s covered in a bright floral print. Next to my kitchen this is my favorite room in the whole world.

Sister folded the paper and put it on the coffee table.

“What’s up? You’re out early. Is Luke okay?”

“I guess so. I haven’t heard. Virgil Stuckey called, though.”

Sister came to attention. Preened, actually. “Really?” She smoothed the silky yellow caftan she was wearing. “What did he want?”

I told her. It didn’t take as long as it had taken me to tell Mitzi because it was just the part about the car in Pulaski, Monk Crawford’s body, and our need to call Richard. I did get a “Well, I do declare,” out of her, though.

“And there’s no sign of Virginia?”

“Well, Luke said he saw her in the church, remember.”

“I don’t think he did. I’ll bet she’s dead.”

Sister got up, brushing toast crumbs from the yellow silk.

“Say Virgil thought we ought to call Richard?”

I nodded.

“Do you know his number?”

“No.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

She went into the kitchen and came back with a phone and a phone book.

“I’ll just call our representative’s office here. They’ll have a directory of all the congressmen.”

And they did. Sister wrote down Richard’s number and dialed it. Apparently his secretary answered and asked if she wanted Richard’s voice mail when Sister identified herself.

When Richard got back to his office he was greeted with a message that went like this:

“Okay,” Sister said, putting the phone down. “That ought to do it.”

“Do what?”

Eight-and-a-half-months pregnant, Debbie Lamont was standing in the doorway, filling the doorway. I’ve never understood this glow that pregnant women are supposed to have. I know I never had it. Maybe they’re talking about those few hormonal days when you feel flushed, the days between the green of nausea and the gray of weariness. Debbie was definitely at the gray stage.

“Come sit down, sweetheart,” her mother said. “You wouldn’t believe all that’s happened.”

Debbie gave her mother a kiss, blew me one, and eased herself down sideways on the sofa.

“Morning, Aunt Pat. Henry made Uncle Fred that beef-tip-and-rice casserole he likes so much. I took it by
your house and saw Mrs. Phizer walking Woofer. She said you were here.”

“Thank you, darling. And thank Henry. Fred will think he’s died and gone to heaven.”

“I put it in the refrigerator.” Debbie looked over at her mother. “What ought to do it?”

“What?”

“You said ‘That ought to do it.’”

“It’s a long story. Your Aunt Pat will tell you. You want some coffee?”

“Decaf?”

“Sure.” Sister started toward the kitchen. “Tell her what’s happened, Mouse.”

So for the third time that morning I had to relate the saga of Luke, Virginia, and Holden Crawford. The late Holden Crawford. Debbie was by far the best audience I had had.

She clutched her chest. “Oh, my Lord, Aunt Pat. That’s awful. Poor Virginia. Poor Luke.”

“Well, it’s not all awful.” Sister handed Debbie her coffee. “Tell her about the sheriff, Mouse.”

“His name is Virgil Stuckey. He liked your mother’s purple boots.”

“He looks like Cary Grant, Debbie.”

I am a kind person. I wasn’t about to mention the fact that he was a dead ringer for Willard Scott and General Schwarzkopf.

“Well, what does this Virgil Stuckey say about what’s going on?”

“He said he thought it was time to alert Richard in Washington,” I explained. “Which your mother just did. She left him a message.”

“Just told him about the bodies and his mother being missing and his daddy hurt.”

Debbie smiled. “You’re right. That ought to do it, Mama.”

She sipped her coffee and tried to get comfortable. “I don’t think this baby is going to wait two more weeks. Can y’all see the way he’s knotted up on the side?”

That reminded me. I reached in my purse and handed Debbie the velvet bag that I had planned to take by her house the day before.

“A present from Philip.”

She put her coffee down and grinned. “Jewelry?”

“The family jewels.”

The look on her face was priceless when she pulled the neutercal from the bag.

“Oooh, what is this?” She held the prosthetic testicle in her hand. “It squishes and there’s something hard in it.”

“Let me see that.” Sister took the neutercal from Debbie. “Hey, this is a really great fake nut.”

“It’s called a neutercal,” I explained to Debbie. “You squeeze it when you’re in labor. Philip says the doctors in Warsaw swear it cuts labor time in half.”

“Give it here, Mama.” Debbie snatched the neutercal back, gave it a good squeeze, and laughed. “This is wonderful.” She squeezed again. “Oh, my, yes. I can see how this would work wonders.”

“Let me try it,” Sister said.

Debbie handed it over reluctantly. We were giggling when Tiffany came in. She had to have a squeeze, too, declaring it was just a fancy stress ball like Alabama midwives used all the time.

“Nowadays?” Debbie asked.

“I’m sure they do, cause they work. My grandmama was a midwife. She’d get everybody to save those little cotton tobacco pouches with the drawstring tops for her. You know, the ones for people who rolled their own cigarettes? She’d fill them up with grits. Put a marble in them.” Tiffany handed the neutercal back to Debbie. “Said it worked wonders.”

“I never heard of them,” Sister said.

Tiffany shrugged, a “city folks don’t know much” shrug.

She was right. There was a lot we city folks didn’t know. About snake handling, for instance.

“Where did you grow up, Tiffany?” I asked.

“Tuscaloosa. My daddy teaches chemistry at the university. But my grandmama who was the midwife lived near Sterrett. She and my grandpa had a farm, raised peaches mostly. Why?”

“I don’t suppose they ever ran into any snake handlers.”

“What?”

This time it was Sister who told the story. When she finished, Tiffany declared, “I can’t believe that. Poor soul.”

I wasn’t sure whether she meant the redheaded girl, Monk Crawford, or Virginia. I guess it didn’t matter.

“Somebody help me up,” Debbie said. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“She got that ball just in time,” Tiffany said watching Debbie waddle through the door. Then, “What are y’all going to do? Wait for the sheriff to call or go on up to Oneonta?”

“I think we should go on up there and tell Luke,” Sister said. “I’ll put the phone on call forwarding in case
Richard calls. And we can stop by the sheriff’s office and see if he’s heard anything.”

“Wear your purple boots,” I suggested.

Sister giggled.

Luke looked worse than he had the night before. Both eyes were black and he groaned when he saw us.

“I’m seeing two of you.”

“There are two of us,” Mary Alice said.

“No. I mean I’m seeing four of you. Two each.”

“Is that normal when you have a concussion?”

Luke looked at the two Mary Alices and said, “Hell, no, it’s not normal. I think my eyes got jarred out of their sockets.”

Sister sat down in the only chair and examined Luke’s eyes. “They look like they’re fitting okay. Not a good color, but straight.”

“What did the doctor say?” Luke’s appearance was alarming. I wondered if the double vision was a sign of the swelling they had warned us about.

“They’re going to do a CAT scan or an MRI or something in a little while. One of those alphabet things where they stick you in a tube.”

“They’ll just stick your head in,” Mary Alice assured him. “The rest of you is working, isn’t it?”

“I reckon. All I’ve had to eat is a banana popsicle.”

“I love banana popsicles. Don’t you, Mouse?”

I agreed that I did.

“And lime and grape.” Sister leaned forward. “Luke, there’s something we have to tell you.”

Something he was in no condition to hear. But Sister surprised me.

“After they do the CAT scan and let you go, we’re going to take you to my house. In my Jaguar.”

Luke smiled and clasped Mary Alice’s hand. Just at that moment the door opened and two orderlies came in with a gurney.

“Gotta take you down to radiology, Mr. Nelson.”

He was still smiling when he was wheeled out.

“That was nice,” I told Sister.

“Well, did you get a good look at him? There’s no way on God’s earth they’re going to let that man out today. Come on. Let’s go down to Joe’s and get some lunch.”

Which is where both Richard and Virgil Stuckey located us. Virgil first, fortunately. We had just sat down when he came walking into the restaurant. This did not surprise me. Nor Sister. She smiled and waved.

My back was to the door. “Cary Grant?” I ventured.

“You got it.”

“I was hoping I would catch you here,” the sheriff said.

Mary Alice motioned toward a chair. He pulled it out quickly and sat down.

“You ladies okay?”

We assured him that we were.

“Fixing to order lunch,” Sister said. “Why don’t you join us?”

As if he weren’t already sitting down.

“Fine. Thanks. How’s your cousin?”

“Seeing double. They’re doing some more tests.” Sister handed him a menu that was stuck between the salt and pepper and a bottle of pepper sauce. “Have you found out anything else?”

“We’ve identified the woman in the church. Monk
Crawford’s daughter-in-law named Susan. Married to his son Ethan who died last year from a rattlesnake he was handling. They say it hung on and wouldn’t let go, emptied so much venom in him they couldn’t save him. His arm swelled up big as an elephant’s leg. Turned black.”

A waitress came up to take our order. The vegetable plate had looked good a few minutes before. Now I decided iced tea was all I wanted. Surprisingly, it was all Sister ordered, too. I glanced over at her. Definitely pale.

“What’s the matter?” Virgil asked. “I didn’t take your appetite away, did I?”

“A little bit,” Sister confessed, surprising me again.

“Well, I’m so sorry.” And to the waitress, “I’ll just have iced tea, too.”

“No, you go on and eat,” Sister said. “It’s fine.”

“You’re sure?’

We nodded.

He ordered practically everything on the menu. “I’ve got to head out for Pulaski in a little while, and I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to eat again.”

“Tell us about Susan Crawford,” I said.

He looked at Mary Alice for permission. She nodded.

“She was a handler, too. Big time. She and her husband used to go all over the mountains up here and even Georgia and Tennessee holding meetings, testifying, and handling.”

“Was she still doing it?” I asked.

“Far as I can tell. She had a couple of kids, though, little ones, so I guess after her husband died she didn’t have as much opportunity.”

And now those children were orphaned. Their father and mother were dead and so was their grandfather.

“Where are the children now?” Sister asked.

“We’re not sure.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” I said. And I didn’t. I couldn’t imagine the religious fervor, the letting go of one’s self that would allow someone to handle serpents to prove his faith.

“They claim they’re in a state of ecstasy while they’re handling and talking in tongues,” Virgil said.

No, I couldn’t understand it. But neither could I judge it. The passion that had twisted Susan Crawford’s neck all the way around, however, was a different matter.

“Do you know yet what happened to Monk Crawford?” I asked.

“Nope.” He was lying; his ears turned red.

“Oh, that must be Richard.” Sister reached in her purse and handed me a vibrating phone. “Answer it, Patricia Anne.”

“How?”

She mashed a button. “Just say hello.”

“Hello?”

“Mary Alice?”

“Just a minute.” I handed the phone back to Sister. “He wants to talk to you.”

Virgil Stuckey was looking from one of us to the other.

Sister gave in. “I’d better take this in the bathroom.” As she got up she narrowly missed colliding with the waitress who was bringing Virgil’s lunch. “Sorry.”

Virgil watched her walk away from the table. She might not be wearing the purple boots today, but she was still creating a gleam in his eye.

The waitress put the food down and Virgil sprinkled pepper sauce on his turnip greens.

“What happened to Monk Crawford’s wife?” I asked him.

“Something normal, I understand. Something like pneumonia.” He buttered a piece of cornbread. “Tell me about Virginia Nelson, other than she played golf and belonged to the country club.”

I admitted that I really didn’t know her that well. “She must have been desperately unhappy, though, to leave like she did.”

“She and her husband get along?”

“We thought they did. We just see them at weddings and things, though.” I hesitated. “They tend to drink a little too much on those occasions. I don’t know what it’s like at home, the alcohol.” I paused and watched Virgil inhale a whole new potato. “I do know that Luke was truly devastated when he got to my house. I think it’s the last thing in the world he thought would happen.”

“They just have the one child?”

I nodded. “Richard. The representative.”

I sipped my tea and wondered how Richard was taking the news that Mary Alice was passing along. I wondered how much she was telling him.

The restaurant was filling up with the lunch crowd. Several people spoke to the sheriff as they walked by. He called most of them by name, I noticed. I remarked on this.

“I used to know just about everybody in this county and my county, too,” he said. “Then half the folks from Birmingham decided to move out here.” He inhaled another potato. “I can’t say I blame them. It’s beautiful out here. Getting sort of crowded though. I worry about the animals, the deer and the foxes.”

A man after my own heart.

“Even the Chandler Mountain booger?”

He grinned. “Especially the booger.”

Sister sat back down. “Richard’s getting the first flight that he can. He’ll probably be in early this evening. He said not to meet him, that he’d rent a car.”

Neither of us asked how he had taken the news.