Miss Julia Rocks the Cradle Read online

  “Sorry, Hazel Marie,” I whispered. “Just covering you up. Go on back to sleep.”

  “I wasn’t asleep,” she said, yawning. “Just resting my eyes.” She smiled and put her head back down.

  “Are you feeling all right?”

  “I think so. A few little contractions now and then, but the doctor said that’s normal at this stage and not to worry about them unless they started coming regularlike.”

  Immediately concerned, I asked, “Well, are they?”

  “No, just every now and then, enough to make me not want to do anything but lie around.” She laughed. “So that’s what I’m doing.”

  “Good. You need all the rest you can get. There’ll be none for the weary when those little ones get here. You think you could eat some lunch? It’s getting so late, I’m surprised Lillian hasn’t brought you any.”

  “I guess so, though I’m not really hungry.” She laughed again and held out her hand. “If you’ll help me out of this chair, I’ll try to get up. I need to move around a little.”

  When we got to the kitchen, Lillian looked up and said, “’Bout time you ready to eat. I looked in on you a while ago, but I jus’ let sleepin’ dogs lie. Set on down now an’ I’ll put something on the table.”

  We did and she did, and it was almost like old times, although the times weren’t that old. But not so long ago there had been no Sam or Mr. Pickens in the house, and with Lloyd in school most of the day, there had been only the three of us.

  Lillian sat down with us, propped her arms on the table, and looked squint eyed at Hazel Marie, then turned to me. “I don’t want to worry y’all none, but the radio say we might be in for snow tonight.”

  “Oh my,” I said, dropping my fork. “Hazel Marie, maybe you should go on to the hospital.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not anywhere close to needing to do that. They’d just send me right back home again. Besides, even if it does snow, it’ll likely be melted by tomorrow.”

  “That’s true,” I said, recalling the numerous snows we’d had in the past that did little more than cause a run on bread and milk at the grocery stores.

  As if reading my mind, Lillian heaved herself out of her chair, saying, “I better get to the grocery store sometime today. Everything be gone if I don’t.”

  Feeling some anxiety in case the Ingles manager accosted her again, I said, “Why, Lillian, you just went yesterday, didn’t you?”

  “Yes’m, I did, but no tellin’ when I get to go again. Y’all think of anything we need?”

  “Some of those seedless green grapes would be nice,” Hazel Marie said. “I’ve had them on my mind all day.”

  “I get some then. Miss Julia, anything you want?”

  “I can’t think of anything right offhand,” I said. “Well, maybe something we can eat cold if the power goes off.” Then, at the thought of cold food and a cold house, I had to get up and walk around, spouting emergency plans as I walked. “Hazel Marie, are you sure you’ll be all right if the power goes out? I better get Lloyd to put some more wood on the back porch. We can all sleep in the living room by the fireplace if we have to. Why in the world didn’t I get a generator before this? By now, every generator in the county will be sold. Lillian, why don’t you and Latisha spend the night? ”

  “Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie said, laughing. “It’s not going to get that bad. It’ll just be a flurry or two—if we get that much.”

  Lillian nodded in agreement. “That’s what the weatherman say. He say we dodging the bullet, ’cause they’s a big storm gonna pass us by. But I’m gonna go on to the store when it time to pick up Latisha, jus’ in case he get it wrong, which everybody know wouldn’t be the first time.”

  As Lillian cleared the table, Hazel Marie declared herself ready to change positions. “If I sit too long in one place,” she said as she managed to get to her feet, “my back starts aching.”

  And no wonder, I thought, the poor woman was so front heavy that she’d become swaybacked to counterbalance the load.

  So with one busy and the other lying down, I went to the living room, lit the fire that was already laid, and sat down to enjoy the warmth and the look of the flames as I continued to worry about the weather. Getting up now and then to look out the window, I saw no snowflakes as yet and hoped that they would indeed pass us by. Even though the sky was overcast, it seemed no more threatening than the usual January day. The wind, however, was picking up and I saw trees whipping back and forth and power lines swaying in the gusts.

  I declare, the weight of decision making—when or if Hazel Marie should go to the hospital—hung over me, and I wished to my soul that Sam hadn’t gone halfway across the state. Even Mr. Pickens would do in his place—anyone who would relieve me of the responsibility for Hazel Marie’s departure time.

  When the phone rang, I nearly jumped out of my chair, the noise was so loud in the silent house. Hurrying to answer it before it disturbed Hazel Marie, I was so surprised at who was on the line that I had to sit down again.

  “Madam Murdoch, this is Thurlow Jones. Remember me?” he asked, as if I could ever forget. I had immediately recognized his voice, although his usual taunting and mocking tone was missing. “Can you talk?”

  “Of course I can talk. What can I do for you?”

  “I wanta know what you’ve heard about that body they found.”

  “Why, I haven’t heard any more than what everybody seems to know: it was an unidentified man dressed in nice but soiled clothing. Somebody from the water department found it and called the sheriff. The body’s been sent to Winston-Salem for autopsy, according to the paper, and that’s the extent of my knowledge. Why are you asking me?”

  “Because you’re close to that Sergeant Bates and because a private investigator lives in your house. At least he did the last I heard. That’s why.”

  “I doubt that either of them knows any more than the rest of us, and they wouldn’t share it with me if they did. In fact, Thurlow, everybody thinks you know more than anybody, seeing that it happened practically in your yard.”

  “Well, they’re wrong,” he snapped, sounding more like himself. “I figured you’d know what’s being said, whether it’s true or not. And most likely it wouldn’t be, the way you women like to gossip.”

  “I’ll have you know that I do not gossip, and I resent the implication.”

  “Oh, don’t get on your high horse, Madam. I didn’t mean you’d pass it on, just that you might’ve heard something.”

  “Yes, and you figured I’d pass it along to you, didn’t you? Then you’d have every right to call me a gossip.”

  He sighed dramatically. “You are the most contentious woman I know. I can’t ask a simple question without you getting your back up. I’m just concerned about Laverne Petty and what folks’re saying about her. She’s my neighbor, you know.”

  “Well,” I said, calming down at this indication that he had some normal feelings. “I’m concerned about her too. She’s one of Lloyd’s teachers and he was in her class when the deputies came to get her. That seems to prove she didn’t know anything about it, much less have anything to do with it. But you’re so near, Thurlow, did you hear or see anything that night?”

  “Nope, not a thing. I sleep upstairs at the front of the house. But I don’t want people spreading rumors about Laverne. She’s a nice lady who goes about her business without bothering anybody, and if it so happens that she has a few visitors now and then, well, it’s her business and nobody else’s.”

  “Visitors? ”

  “See, now there you go jumping to conclusions. Typical woman is all I can say.”

  Talk about contentious, I couldn’t believe him. “This conversation is over, Thurlow. Call the sheriff ’s department if you want to know anything else. I’m hanging up.” And I did, fuming so much I could hardly see straight.

  I couldn’t sit still after that, for the more I thought of Thurlow’s sly insinuation about Miss Petty�
�s morals, the more outraged I got. Why, if whispers like that got around, the woman could lose her job. The school board would have her out before she turned around good. Something had to be done to nip this in the bud.

  Sticking my head into the kitchen where Lillian was, I said, “I’m going over to Mildred’s for a few minutes.”

  “You better bundle up then,” she said.

  After buttoning my coat and placing a screen in front of the fire, I sailed out the front door, intent on enlisting Mildred’s aid in curtailing Thurlow. I almost ran right into two deputies, one of whom had a finger pointed to ring the doorbell.

  “Why, good afternoon,” I said, quickly regaining my composure as I looked up at the two markedly similiar deputies. Both were big men, made even more so by the padded jackets they wore. Both had blond crewcuts and both wore solemn expressions on their wind-reddened faces. “What can I do for you? Is anything wrong?”

  “Julia S. Murdoch?” one of them asked.

  “Yes.” I nodded, then with a gasp asked, “Has there been an accident?” Visions of Sam lying broken on the side of a highway flashed through my mind. “Or Lloyd? Has something happened to him?”

  The taller by maybe an inch edged forward and with a stern look said, “We have no information on any accidents, ma’am. We’re here to escort you to the station.”

  He took my arm as politely as Sam would’ve done and urged me down the steps. It was then that I saw the patrol car parked at the curb, with doors open and motor running, wasting gas as they wasted my time.

  “Well, wait,” I protested, as I was gently propelled to the car. “What’s this about? Why do I have to go to the station? I need to call my husband, my lawyer, somebody. Just wait a minute now.”

  “Ma’am, we’d like you to come down for questioning. You can make a call when we get there.”

  “Questioning? What about?” I almost stumbled and would have without his firm hand on my arm. Looking over my shoulder at the house, I tried to call Lillian, but could only manage to pitifully whisper her name.

  Stunned and confused, I quickly found myself in the backseat of an official car that had a reinforced mesh screen between me and my abductors and no handles on any of the doors.

  Reviving somewhat as the driver made a screeching U-turn on Polk Street, I leaned up and knocked on the screen. “Young man,” I called, “I can answer your questions in the privacy of my home, so stop this car this instant. I want you to call Sergeant Coleman Bates right now. Or Lieutenant Peavey, either one. They’ll tell you you’re making a mistake.”

  I could’ve been talking to the wind for all the notice they took. They didn’t even have the courtesy to give me a glance, which proved how ill bred and poorly raised they’d been. Defeated, I slumped back in the corner of the seat, which was rank with sweat and other unsavory odors, hoping with all my heart that no one would see me being taken in like a common criminal.

  Chapter 9

  I stormed back into the house and stomped through the rooms until I found Lillian cleaning the downstairs powder room. Fuming and outraged, I recounted to her an experience that no person of my standing should ever have to endure.

  “And would you believe,” I ranted, torn between shame and mind-ripping anger, “they questioned me about checks I didn’t write, showed me what appeared to be my signature but wasn’t, and wouldn’t listen to a word I said. And they fingerprinted me! Then they took my picture, Lillian, and I’ll probably be tacked up on every post office wall in the country. Oh,” I said, my knees wobbling as I leaned against the vanity cabinet, “I have never in my life been so humiliated. It was that bank that turned me in, and believe me, they’re going to be sorry.”

  “Now jus’ calm yo’self down,” Lillian said, taking my arm and guiding me out of the powder room. “Jus’ wait till Miss Binkie get ahold of ’em. They know not to mess with you then.”

  “Binkie’s in court,” I said, wringing my hands and trying not to cry. “And Sam’s gone and Coleman was unavailable, whatever that means. They took me to detention, Lillian, as if I were in grammar school! They made me stand in front of a magistrate and I knew him. I could’ve gone through the floor, because he just looked at me over his glasses and shook his head.” I stopped and pressed a Kleenex to my nose. “And he made me promise to appear in court next month, but, Lillian, I had my fingers crossed.” I looked up at her as the anger surged through me again. “Because I am not going to court! I’m not the one who committed check fraud. Somebody else is committing it on me. But nobody would listen to me, and now I have a criminal record, and I’m probably going to jail, and I’ll never in my life live it down.”

  “Come on,” Lillian said, urging me along. “I’m gonna set you by the fire and bring you some spiced tea and let you calm yo’self down. Nobody gonna be puttin’ you in jail—I don’t care what kinda record you got.” With an arm around my shoulders, Lillian walked me to the living room. “How you get outta there, anyway, without Mr. Sam or Miss Binkie?”

  “If it hadn’t been for Lieutenant Peavey, I’d probably still be there, rotting away in a cell somewhere.” I collapsed in the wing chair beside the fireplace, so overcome with misery that I wanted to curl up in a closet somewhere. “He spoke up for me, and, Lillian, it just humbled me because I don’t even like him.”

  “Yessum, he something, that man. Now I got to get on to the store and pick up Latisha, so you jus’ put yo’ head back and rest awhile. This get straightened out—see if it don’t.” She put a throw over my lap and left me to come to terms with my new criminal status. I immediately went to sleep, which as I later learned from Mr. Pickens, was a sure sign of a guilty conscience.

  “Miss Julia! Miss Julia!” Lloyd’s voice resounded throughout the house as the back door slammed closed with a crash. “Guess what I heard!”

  Determined to keep my legal problems to myself, I sprang from my chair to quiet him, meeting him as he burst through the swinging door into the dining room. “Shh, Lloyd. Your mother’s resting.”

  He hunched his shoulders and squinched up his face in an attempt to undo his boisterous entrance. “Oh, sorry,” he whispered, as he slipped off his heavy coat. Static electricity crackled through his hair as he pulled off his knit cap.

  “Come on in by the fire,” I said. “You’re about half frozen.”

  He tiptoed behind me to the chairs beside the fire, but didn’t take a seat. He hung on my chair, his eyes big with the latest news.

  “Now what did you hear?” I asked, smiling at him.

  “You’ll never guess,” he said, leaning forward and trying to hold his voice down, “but that body they found was somebody who used to live here. It’s all over school, but nobody knows who it was.”

  “Somebody who used to live here?” I repeated. “That could cover a lot of ground, Lloyd. People come and go all the time. I’m not sure that’s much help.”

  “Yes’m, but everybody’s saying it was somebody who was real rich. That oughta narrow it down. I bet we could figure it out if we give it a little thought.” He pulled a footstool closer and sat beside me. “You probably even knew him, Miss Julia. It could be anybody who had a lot of money and used to live here but doesn’t anymore. I can’t come up with a soul, but I bet you could if you put your mind to it.”

  I gazed down at the avid look on his face and, still stung by Thurlow’s accusation, recognized the danger the boy was in. And recognized, also, the part that I, all unwittingly, may have played in whetting his interest in rumors, hearsay, and—I admit it—gossip.

  “Lloyd,” I said, wondering how I could best phrase my warning, “it’s perfectly natural—and commendable—to be interested in the things that happen in our neighborhood. We all are, but we mustn’t let ourselves get carried away. We have to put this unfortunate occurrence in the proper perspective. Moderation is what we should aim for.”

  “Yes’m, I understand and I’m moderating as best I can. But, Miss Julia, it’s not every day that a dead body turns up in
your own teacher’s backyard. I can’t help but wonder who it was and how it got there.”

  “Well, yes, I suppose so. But you do have to be careful how you express that wonder. You can be interested but not obsessed, and it’s all right to listen but it’s not all right to pass along what you hear.”

  “Oh,” he said, frowning and leaning back. “You mean I can’t tell you or Mama or Lillian or Mr. Sam, or even J.D., what I hear?”

  “No, no. I wouldn’t go that far. Of course it’s perfectly all right to tell us anything you want to. I’m just saying that we all have to be careful about becoming known as gossips. As long as we keep it in the family, we’re all right.”

  “That’s what I’m doing, ’cause I haven’t told another living soul, not even at school.”

  “Well, good,” I said, pleased that the boy was able to take correction with such ease.

  “Yes’m,” he went on earnestly, “and I wasn’t even going to say anything to Miss Petty because I thought it might upset her, even if I just said, ‘I’m sorry for your troubles.’ But I didn’t get the chance to not say anything because she wasn’t there. We had a substitute like I thought we would.”

  “Oh dear,” I said, thinking of that lonely woman who was now the focus of so much talk. “I hope she has friends to help her through this time. It must be so unsettling for her. I take it she lives alone, but she must have friends among the other teachers. Most likely they’ll gather around for support. I expect she has a special friend, maybe one from school, don’t you think?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Beats me. I just see her during fourth period and sometimes at lunch, but that’s all I know. Why? You think she has a boyfriend or something?”

  “Goodness, I don’t know. I’m just concerned about her well-being, living alone as she does and all this happening so close by. Your mother, though, speaks quite highly of her after their meeting at Parents’ Night.”

  “I can try to find out if you want me to. I bet Joyce McIntyre would know. She hears everything when she gets sent to the principal’s office.”