Etta Mae's Worst Bad-Luck Day Page 12

  So, bundling up my clothes from the backseat, I went into the moist heat of the Laundromat. Thank goodness, it wasn’t crowded, but it was hot as hell. I began to perspire again as I loaded a washing machine, purchased a package of Tide and one of fabric softener, and pushed quarters into the slot.

  When the machine started filling, I left to find a cool place to wait. I could feel my hair frizzing, but thanks to Kathie Lee, my dress was still wrinkle-free.

  As I started down the sidewalk toward Freeman’s Soda Shop for an icy cherry Coke, I found myself walking side by side with Mr. Ernest Sitton, Esquire.

  “Mr. Sitton,” I said, startled at finding him so available, even though it was on a public sidewalk. “I want to thank you again for rescuing me last night. I appreciate it more than I can say. And I paid my bill right on time this morning, like I said I would, although I have to tell you that your receptionist isn’t the friendliest person in the world, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  He kept walking as he looked at me over the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose, frowning as if I’d interrupted some serious concentration. “Do I know you, young lady?”

  “Yessir, you do. You kept me from being arrested last night, remember? I called you in the middle of the night, and you came right over to the jail and you put Deputy Maybry in his place, with no two ways about it. It was a pleasure to see you work, Mr. Sitton, sir.”

  “Ah, yes. Got me out of bed, too, didn’t you?” He stepped around the roots where one of the trees that lined Main Street had lifted the sidewalk. I glanced at him and saw just the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, and I knew I’d found his weak spot. Every man has one, and it’s usually the same one with all of them.

  “Yessir, and I’m sorry about that, but when you said you’d be right down, well, I just can’t tell you how my heart lifted up. Everybody in town, and I wouldn’t be surprised if everybody in the state, knows that you’re the best lawyer anywhere.”

  “Do they now?” Another twitch of his mouth. Could’ve been a tic that I hadn’t noticed the night before, but I was betting on a response to flattery. It works most every time.

  “Yessir, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard people say, ‘If you’re ever in trouble, call Mr. Ernest Sitton. He’s the one you want.’ Why, you’re known far and wide as the man to have, especially if you’re guilty. But I wasn’t and I’m not. Guilty, that is. But when I felt the long arm of the law after me, you were the first and only lawyer I thought of.”

  He gave me a quick glance, frowning now with no hint of a smile. “Tell me again who you are.”

  “Etta Mae Wiggins.”

  “Wiggins,” he said. “Hm-m-m, Wiggins. Daddy, name of Rufe?”

  “Well, I am guilty of that, but I hope you won’t hold it against me. He passed away some years ago. And I’m doing real good. Good enough, in fact, to be able to afford the best lawyer in town.”

  He frowned at me again, and I gave him my best, admiring smile. And that twitch of his mouth wasn’t a tic at all, for he smiled back. He had to wet his lips first, though, since it didn’t look as if he’d had much practice at it.

  As we neared Freeman’s, I said, mentally counting the change in my purse, “Mr. Sitton, it’d be a real honor if you’d care to join me in a cherry Coke. Or whatever you’d like as a refreshment. I’d like to show my appreciation for being my lawyer, and maybe discuss some future dealings we might have.”

  He stopped walking, seeming confused and at a loss for words. Maybe nobody’d ever offered to treat him before and he didn’t know how to act. “Ms. Wiggins,” he said, “the only appreciation I want from you or anybody is the timely payment of my bill.”

  “Done!” I said, giving him the benefit of another dazzling smile. “At nine-fifteen this morning, just like I said I would.”

  “And,” he said, as if the payment of my bill was an accepted fact, “as far as future dealings between you and me are concerned, all I can do is recommend that you stay out of trouble. Recidivists are not my favorite clients, and I very quickly refuse their business.”

  I didn’t know what he was talking about, so I figured it didn’t apply to me. It did bother me, though, that a man as smart as Lawyer Sitton used bad grammar. You’d think anybody with his education would know that between you and I is a more refined way of speaking than between you and me. But his mind was taken up with more important things.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t make myself clear,” I said. “I didn’t mean future dealings with the sheriff, especially Clyde Maybry, or any other kind of trouble. It’s just, well, I’ll soon be in a position to, ah, work closely with you, and I just wanted to be on good terms with you. And, also, to kind of prepare you for some, maybe, necessary changes in the matter of, well, a longtime client, which you already have.”

  “Well, I must say you’ve piqued my interest, young lady. However, I’m on a tight schedule, so I’m going to have to delay any discussion about this intriguing matter. I’m certainly interested in anything that concerns a client of mine. Make an appointment with Miss Willet and we’ll discuss it in the privacy of my office.”

  “Oh, thank you. I’ll be happy to, in fact, I’d prefer to do it in your office. But, Mr. Sitton, you need to speak to that redheaded witch you have out front and tell her you want me to have an appointment. She’s losing business for you. She told me to go to some other lawyer, that you couldn’t see me. She’s not good for your business, Mr. Sitton, and I’m just telling you this as a favor. You ought to have somebody in there who’d reflect the kind of man, and the kind of excellent lawyer, you are. Not some dried-up old prune who’s not doing you a bit of good.”

  He nodded, looked down the street, and twitched his mouth again. “Miss Willet has been with me a long time, and she knows where the bodies are buried,” he said, which didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. “But I’ll tell her to give you an appointment whenever you call.”

  “It may take me a week or so,” I said, beaming at him. I’d always gotten along with men better than women, and this was just another for instance. “I’m going to be awful busy in the next few days, but I need to see you, and you’re going to be real surprised. And pleased, I hope.”

  “I look forward to it,” he said, with a nod of his head almost like the bow of a gentleman.

  Feeling like I’d done a good thing, I watched as he walked away, then I went into the soda shop.

  • • •

  After going back to the Laundromat and putting my clothes in a dryer, I waited on a hard plastic chair and skimmed through a six-month-old People magazine. I hadn’t felt so good since before Lurline let the cat out of the bag to Junior. Things were looking up, even though time was running out. At least, to get everything on my list done in one day.

  See, even when you have to do something like a load of dirty clothes on your wedding day, it can all work for the best. If I hadn’t been at the Laundromat, I’d’ve never met Mr. Sitton on the street, and never known how nice a man he was. Much less have gotten past Miss High-and-Mighty Willet to make an appointment that he was looking forward to.

  I had even peaked his interest, and all because I’d been at the right place at the right time, even though the hours of the day were ticking away.

  Chapter 18

  By the time I got my clothes folded and stacked on the backseat, it was past time to get to Mr. Howard’s house. Even though striking off number 9 on my list gave me a sense of accomplishment, I was way off schedule, timewise. The three most important things were yet to do, with not much of the day left to do them in. I got so nervous just thinking about it that my hands were shaking.

  Pulling into Mr. Howard’s drive, I parked under the trees next to Emmett’s staircase on the side of the garage. Junior’s Cadillac Seville was nowhere to be seen, and for the first time, I wondered where it could be. He’d left in it while I was talking with Emmett t
he night before, and ended up unconscious on my couch, so where had he left it? I hoped the deputies had thought about his means of transportation before this and were looking for it, but it might not’ve entered Clyde’s head.

  Maybe I should call Bobby Lee.

  Maybe I shouldn’t. He’d want to know how I knew when and by what means Junior had left his daddy’s house last night.

  I walked to the side door of the house, tapped as I usually did, and went into the kitchen.

  “Hi, Emmett.”

  He looked up from the sink where he was rinsing dishes before stacking them in the dishwasher. “Miss Etta Mae,” he said, putting a salad plate carefully on the counter. “Miss Etta, what you doin’ here? I don’t need no trouble.”

  “I don’t either, Emmett. But don’t worry, I’ve been to see Junior over at the hospital and he knows I’m here.”

  He turned back to the sink and picked up the plate, relieved that he didn’t have to throw me out. “Mr. Junior doin’ all right?”

  “Seemed to be. He was talking, but I doubt he’s ready for a ten-mile race. Listen, Emmett, have any deputies questioned you about last night?”

  “They sho’ have. Two of ’em this morning, askin’ when Mr. Junior left, where he goin’, when I ’spectin’ him back, an’ I don’t know what all.”

  I drew in a breath between my teeth. “Did you tell them I was here when he left?”

  “They didn’t ax me nothin’ like that, an’ I didn’t offer nothin’ but coffee and sweet rolls.”

  “Good,” I said. “You and me both know I had nothing to do with Junior getting hurt.” He cut his eyes over at me like he wasn’t sure what he knew. “So,” I hurried on, “how’s Mr. Howard today?”

  “He settin’ in there waitin’ on you, an’ mad as a wet hen ’bout Mr. Junior takin’ him to Raleigh. Miss Etta Mae, I had to tell him why them deputies was here, but I didn’t tell him Mr. Junior be over to your trailer.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t, because the fact of the matter is I didn’t know he was over there till I got home and found him knocked out cold on my new couch.”

  Emmett kept his eyes on the dishes, not saying anything for several seconds, while I stood there knowing he still wasn’t happy about something.

  Finally, without looking up, he said, “You left here right after Mr. Junior pulled out. Some people might figure you followed him, an’ some people might figure you got in a fight with him ’bout Mr. Howard.”

  “Some people would be wrong, too. I’d parked my car down by the Skyway, so I had several blocks to walk to get back to it. And after that, I got something to eat, so I didn’t get home till around midnight.

  “Emmett, listen, I didn’t see Junior last night. I didn’t talk to him, and I certainly didn’t have a fight with him. Besides, he’d make about three of me, so no way could I’ve done anything to him. And another thing, since everybody’s doubting my story, the big question is what was Junior doing there in the first place? Do you realize he had to break the lock to get in? I mean, that’s a criminal offense! I’m not the one who ought to be worried around here.”

  “Mr. Junior did that?”

  “Well, I certainly didn’t break into my own trailer. I’ll tell you, Emmett, Junior doesn’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to me and Mr. Howard. Not now, he doesn’t. I could sue him from here to kingdom come, and ruin his reputation, too. And make that skinny witch he’s married to wish she’d never heard of me.”

  Emmett started smiling. He raised his head and looked out the window across the yard, and smiled some more. “Mr. Junior over the barrel now,” he said.

  “You got it. So some things are going to be changing around here, Emmett. And the first one is this: you’re not going anywhere and neither is Mr. Howard. Are you with me on this?”

  “Yessum, I sho’ is.” He let the water drain out of the sink, then said, “How you gonna manage all that?”

  “The same way the first Mrs. Howard Connard, Senior, did.”

  His eyes got big as he stared at me. “You mean . . . ?”

  “I sure do. Me and Mr. Howard have been talking about it for a long time, but I didn’t want anybody thinking I was taking advantage. But now, now with this threat to Mr. Howard’s well-being, I think it’s time I took a hand in what happens to him. Don’t you?”

  He stepped back from the sink, picked up a dishrag, and started drying his hands. “That need some thinkin’ about,” he said, carefully folding the dishrag and draping it over the faucet. “An’ I b’lieve I just done all the thinkin’ needin’ to be done. It’ll take some gettin’ used to, but seem to me it be good, ’cause Mr. Junior, he can’t do no more mischief ’round here.”

  Then a sudden thought stopped him. “When the happy day? You better move fast, Miss Etta, ’cause Junior be outta the hospital pretty soon, an’ even though he not able to make trouble, that Miss Valerie, she somethin’ else.”

  “Is she ever! I had the pleasure of meeting her at the hospital and, frankly, she’s the one I’m worried about now. She’s so cold, I don’t think it’d bother her if I had Junior arrested and locked up.”

  “She cold, all right. She done called to tell me to fix up one of the bedrooms upstairs. She gon’ spend the night here.”

  “Oh, Lord,” I said, my heart skipping a beat. “When’s she coming?”

  “She just say tonight, an’ to not fix no supper for her, she make a salat when she come in.”

  “Whew,” I said, fanning my face with my hand. “That’ll be enough time. I hope.”

  “Time for what? What you plannin’ for?”

  “A wedding, Emmett. I’m planning for a wedding in”—I looked at my watch—“about an hour and a half. If I can get everything done.”

  His eyes bugged out, and he said, “Do Mr. Howard know ’bout this?”

  “Not yet,” I said, laughing, “but he will in just a few minutes.”

  Chapter 19

  Leaving Emmett in the kitchen, I walked through the dining room, across the wide hall, and into the living room. It all looked like a picture in a magazine—damask sofas, cream-colored flocked wallpaper, silk drapes with fringe on them at the windows, dark oil paintings on the walls, Persian rugs on the hardwood floors, real flowers in Chinese-looking vases—it was enough to take your breath away, like it wasn’t meant to be lived in. Mr. Howard had told me about the furnishings, as he called all the pretty things in his house, and I’d tried to learn about them.

  I’d made him laugh when I’d said it didn’t look like a place to curl up in your jammies with a bowl of popcorn and a cold one.

  I thought the rooms were pretty, don’t get me wrong, but I’ll have to say, if I’d had the money the first Mrs. Howard Connard, Senior’d had, I’d’ve put more comfort and color into what I bought. I mean, there wasn’t even a TV in the living room. What she’d done was real elegant, and lots of her things were cute as they could be, but it wasn’t to my taste and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to feel at home with them. They just weren’t me.

  But I wouldn’t change a thing. Mr. Howard liked the decor the way it was, and I wouldn’t do anything to upset him. Maybe he’d let me do up our bedroom in my own style, you know, with a pretty white-and-gold French Provincial suite. Maybe with lavender drapes and bedspread. My stuffed animals would look so pretty against a pile of satin pillows, with maybe a glass-fronted whatnot for my Barbie collection. As I pictured it in my mind, I remembered the hospital bed Mr. Howard slept in, and wondered how that would blend in. I wasn’t sure that even I could make that work.

  I wandered through those front rooms, not touching anything until I got to the long dining room table. I couldn’t help but run my hand over its smooth, shiny top that Emmett kept polished to within an inch of its life. I jerked my hand back when I saw I’d made a handprint on it. Oh, Lord, reckon I’d ruined it? I took my dress tail and s
moothed it back the way it was. Time for me to get out of there before I messed something up good.

  I went down the hall and turned toward the downstairs bedroom that’d been fixed up for Mr. Howard after he could no longer manage the stairs. Tapping on the door, I stuck my head in. “Mr. Howard? Hey, you ole honey, it’s me.”

  He was sitting in a chair, all dressed and neat and clean, wearing a white shirt and tie and a cashmere sweater. His half-dead left hand lay in his lap, and a cotton blanket was over his knees. Old people have poor circulation, you know, and Mr. Howard suffered from it as much as anybody I’d ever seen.

  He turned his head, and his bleary old eyes lit up when he saw me. To see that made everything I was planning worthwhile. I’d never had anybody depend on me, and appreciate me, like Mr. Howard did. He’d told me one time that just knowing I was somewhere in this world made his heart lift up and fly. A man who’d say a thing like that, and mean it, was worth taking care of. At least, that was my thinking.

  I rolled a footstool beside his chair and sat down. Taking his good right hand in mine, I said, “You sure look handsome today, sweetie. Got some big plans?”

  He shook his head, that lopsided smile which was all he could manage on his face. “Yoo-o,” he said. When he said, or tried to say, “You,” I knew he meant he was looking good for me, and that his big plans for the day included a visit with me. When people have strong feelings for each other, they can say a lot in a few words. And a good thing, too, because the first thing a stroke does to you is affect the way you talk, and the last thing you recover as you get well, if you do get well, is control of your mouth and your tongue. I learned that at the Abbot County Technical College, along with a lot of other useful bits of information that I used in my everyday work with senior citizens.