A BRILLIANTLY SPLITTING HEADACHE HIT ME after my confrontation with Matt. As I drove back into town from the Blalock farm, I massaged my temples and reviewed my predicament.
I’d always rather liked Matt, although I didn’t know him very well. He had a reputation in the town for being a smart aleck and a loudmouth, but I’d seen him face down Beta’s abuse without ever sinking to her level. What surprised me was the depth of his venom; he abhorred Beta Harcher as much as she did him. I’d thought he’d be above that, with his concern for baby seals and whatnot. I wondered what the autopsy on her body would show; could the blow have come from someone seated? If so, Matt made a prime candidate.
I turned from the farm road onto Mayne, still a bit outside the city limits. I wasn’t making too spectacular a debut as an investigator. I had some possibly meaningless Bible verses and a list of suspects: a Baptist minister’s wife who seemed too mousy to say boo (but maybe wasn’t); a used-car salesman who wanted to protect me (but maybe didn’t); and a bitter, antagonistic activist (no doubt there). I didn’t place any of them above suspicion. Unfortunately no one was understudying my unwanted role of prime suspect.
I hadn’t eaten lunch, so I swung toward home. I took the long way around; instead of going right onto Lee Street for the straight shot I turned early, driving down Gregg Street. Beta Harcher’s house sat at the end of the road. Gregg would have gone farther, but a hundred yards beyond Beta’s backyard the land tumbled down to the Colorado. I drove slowly past the house, deciding to look like any gawker. A TV van from one of the Austin stations was parked by the curb. An immaculately groomed blonde with a microphone chatted with a heavy, elderly woman who’d put on her Sunday best for the cameras. In olden days, vultures attended sudden death; today we have the media.
On impulse, I U-turned and headed to the library. There were a couple of official-looking cars there, but no cameras or lollygaggers. I steered homeward, hoping that there wouldn’t be cars I didn’t want to see.
I wasn’t entirely lucky. Candace’s Mercedes was perched in the driveway. I sighed, parked, and went in.
Mama was animated, telling a politely nodding Candace about her marriage. Nuptial bliss wasn’t Candace’s favorite topic of conversation, at least in public. Candace had changed clothes, wearing a stylish Banana Republic T-shirt, faded (and nicely snug) jeans, and a fancy belt studded with silver conchos. She looked gorgeous and I reminded myself again that she was a co-worker. As I walked in, she jumped to her full if diminutive height.
“And where the hell have you been? Excuse my language, Mrs. Poteet, but I’m mad at your son.”
Mama assured herself I was her son with a glance and seemed satisfied.
“Uh—Out,” I answered. What was I supposed to say? Sleuthing? Interrogating suspects?
“Well, I want you to know what I’ve had to go through to protect your good name,” Candace said archly.
I raised a hand to fend off the oncoming torrent. “Where are Sister and Mark?”
“They’ve run to the grocery store,” she paused. “The police called Mark to confirm you were here last night. I came here ’cause I got tired of hunting you down and—I needed to see you, after this morning’s shock.”
I swallowed. She needed me? I deflected a blush by asking a question. “What happened at the station?”
“You’ll be delighted to know I wasn’t body-searched,” Candace huffed, “although I wouldn’t put it past Billy Ray. Honestly. I told them what little I knew, and that nasty Billy Ray kept trying to hint that you’d killed Miss Harcher. I repeatedly—mind you, repeatedly—told him that was utterly ridiculous, but he didn’t get the hint. What a moron! Wouldn’t surprise me a bit if his family tree didn’t fork.”
“He’s still trying to implicate me?” I wanted details.
Candace threw her hands up in the air. “Tried, but I set him straight. I gave him a piece of my mind and then some.”
“Thanks, Candace,” I said, happy that she was on my side. She smiled then and I felt a bit awkward. I didn’t want to encourage her. After all, she’s my assistant and we have to keep our relationship professional, not personal.
“I don’t understand any of this,” Mama said, looking to Candace.
Candace heaved air, horrified at what she’d said in front of my mother. “Now, Mrs. Poteet, don’t you worry about Jordy, I’m going to take care of everything. The police are just misguided. It’ll all get settled.” She patted Mama’s hand. “Would you like some lunch?”
Mama shook her head. “No. I want a nap.”
Candace volunteered to take Mama upstairs and get her settled, so I made turkey sandwiches, with lots of mayonnaise, tomato, and lettuce on wheat bread. I dumped a small bag of corn chips on each plate and popped two cold cans of Dr Pepper. I put the plates on the table and sat down with my lunch and my ruminations.
Holding true to the rule that I get little peace in my home, Candace rejoined me before I was half through. “Now, Jordy,” she said, pulling up a chair, “I want the truth. Where have you been?” She dug into her sandwich and, after the first bite, smiled. I guess I’m not a bad cook for a bachelor.
I told her about my interviews with Tamma Hufnagel, Bob Don Goertz, and Matt Blalock. Candace was quite prepared to be my Watson.
“Aha! That Tamma Hufnagel. Probably a crazed killer. You always have to look out for the quiet ones,” she asserted.
“She acts timid, but I think there’s a toughness underneath. Maybe she’s too quiet.”
“My point exactly. Or there’s Bob Don. I’d never buy a car from that crook.”
“You’d never buy American, Candace, and he doesn’t sell imports.”
“Well, if I get the sudden urge for a Chrysler, I’m going to Honest Ed’s in Bavary,” Candace announced.
“He seemed to have a secret, but he also seemed inclined to help me.” I finished my sandwich.
“Of course.” Candace slapped her forehead. “He wants to find out how much you know ’cause he’s the killer. Makes perfect sense. Stay away from him, Jordy.”
“Bob Don didn’t get nearly as upset as Matt Blalock.”
“Warped by his wartime experiences,” Candace intoned. “Poor guy. Beta made him snap and he saw her as a Vietcong. Probably called her Charlie right before he whacked her.”
The phone rang and I reached for it, grateful for the interruption.
Candace grabbed it away. “Reporters,” she hissed, as though there were lepers on the line. She spoke guardedly into the receiver: “Poteet residence.”
A moment’s silence, then a “May I ask who’s calling?” Was it suddenly cooler in here or was it just me?
“Let me see if he’s available.” The cold front swept through, as swift and sure as one from Canada. “Ruth Wills for you.”
I took the receiver, hoping the frostbite would be minimal. “Thanks, Candace.” She made no move to give me privacy.
Ruth sounded amused. “I see you have an answering service these days, Jordy.”
“Um, yes. Just for today.”
“I’m not surprised you’re screening calls. I hear you discovered the late Beta Harcher this morning. Are you okay?” The amusement left her voice to be replaced by husky softness, a murmur to be heard on the next-door pillow. Not a voice you’d expect to hear inquiring about your emotional well-being.
“Fine, thank you. Did you hear that from Junebug?”
“Yes, I did. He stopped by the hospital this morning to talk with me.” She paused again. “I need to speak to you. In person. Could we have dinner tonight?”
I was a little taken aback. Finding Beta dead and Ruth Wills asking me out? Fortune’s wheel was spinning every which way today. “I don’t know—”
“Please say yes, Jordy. Look, I’m still on duty. I wanted to see you sooner, and not under these circumstances, but please, please meet me tonight.” The voice had me, like a pipe enchanting a snake.
“Okay. When?” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Candace stiffen.
“Seven? Meet me at Rosita’s?” That was a nice Mexican restaurant in Bavary.
“Fine,” I said. “Thanks.” She hung up without a goodbye, and I replaced the phone in its cradle.
“What did Ruth want?” Candace examined the last of her corn chips with profound absorption.
“She wanted to discuss some … library business with me. Maybe regarding Beta.” I shrugged. “No big deal.”
Candace measured me on some internal scale. She tented her cheek with her tongue and looked at me again. I felt awkward. Why did she always do that to me? It was damped annoying. Suddenly I wanted her gone.
“I have some other matters to attend to today,” I said, but Candace didn’t let me finish.
“You go and do that. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on your mom.”
“That’s not necessary, Candace. Really. I’ll wait for Sister to come home.”
“I don’t mind. I’ll watch TV. Arlene should be back soon. Go talk with Ruth or whatever it is you have to do.”
I decided not to mention that Ruth invited me to dinner. Best to beat a diplomatic retreat out of my own house. Leaving, I shook my head at my own cowardice.
A tall, bronzed teenager who was my third cousin tended the dense flower beds that made up most of Eula Mae Quiff’s lawn. He was almost hidden in the wild explosions of rhododendrons, roses, daisies, and every other odd mixture of flower that Eula Mae favored. Her garden had as much order and as much color as her novels.
Hally Schneider, his tan face damp with sweat, looked up and favored me with a friendly smile. “Hey there, Jordy. You lookin’ for Miz Quiff?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s inside getting me a drink. She oughta be right back.”
Like a stage cue, Eula Mae appeared on her porch with a glass of iced tea. She came down the stairs, her baggy dress hanging about her bony, fortyish body and fluttering in the breeze. Her hair was its usual explosion of red curls, pulled into a semblance of order with a paisley scarf. She wore large earrings that looked like they were handmade in Africa. Her hands were elegantly bejeweled and her nails were long and lacquered; I wonder how she typed on her keyboard.
I’d known Eula Mae a long time; her daddy and my daddy had been friends. Since she was a little over ten years older than me, we hadn’t been close when I was a kid. But when I moved back to town, she’d been my staunchest supporter in the library wars with Beta. She handed Hally the drink and favored me with a sly eye.
“Here you go, Hally, dear. Drink up.”
“Thanks, Miz Quiff,” Hally said, gulping down the tea. I saw Eula Mae ogling him, her avid eyes locked on where his thick neck met his broad shoulders.
I coughed. “I’m sorry to interrupt your labors, Eula Mae, but I need to speak with you.”
“Of course, Jordy. Where are my manners? Come sit on the porch with me and have some tea.”
I turned to Hally. “You going to be here for a while?”
He nodded. “Still got a fair amount of weeding to do.”
“Okay. I’d like to talk with you when I’m done visiting with Eula Mae.”
If Hally seemed surprised, he didn’t show it. He just nodded and knelt back to his gardening.
Eula Mae and I walked up the long path to her gracious home. It reminded me of a shrunken antebellum mansion, one you might find on a Hollywood lot. She’d lived there alone since her terminally shy sister Patty died ten years ago. I’d always wondered if Patty simply succumbed to Eula Mae’s ego.
She gestured languidly toward a porch chair and went inside. Loose pages, lying on a wicker table, caught the breeze at their corners and gently turned up. Printing and red marks covered the paper. Eula Mae’s latest. I leaned forward to peek, and one of Eula Mae’s multitude of cats yowled at me from a white whicker chair. I stuck my tongue out and the cat raised its head snidely.
My hostess returned with another glass of tea and handed it to me. Absently, she shoved the cat out of the chair. The cat mewled in protest at the declining social standards on the porch while Eula Mae kept an eye on her gardener.
“Jesus, Eula Mae. Why don’t you just go out there and undress the poor kid?”
She looked at me with reproach. “Simply because I find your cousin aesthetically pleasing doesn’t mean I want my way with him. Please. I’m doing research.”
“Research?”
The displaced cat growled again, and Eula Mae scooped him into her lap. She stroked his fur contritely, and he allowed her to place her cheek on him while she spoke. “Yes, Jordy. That boy is going to be the hero of my next work. Well, someone very like him in form.”
“What about in mind?” Hally was a good kid and a great athlete, but not a straight-A student.
“My hero will have a bit more on the ball than Hally, but nothing more in terms of physical endowment,” Eula Mae answered. “We must always look for inspiration and never turn it away. He’d look divine painted on the cover of my next novel.”
“I think you could find all sorts of inspiration round here if you were writing a murder mystery,” I observed dryly.
“I was working up to that,” Eula Mae answered, “but I didn’t know your mental state. You over your shock, sugar pie?” She patted my knee in a friendly way. The cat glared balefully at me.
“The shock of finding her body? Yes, for the time being. The shock of being suspected of killing her? Not quite yet.”
Eula Mae played dreamily with one of her errant curls. “Yes, the police have already been here asking me about you and our beloved Beta.” She saw me tense and shook her head. “Junebug can’t possibly think you killed her. You know he’s really a sweet boy underneath all that bluster. Billy Ray’s a different story, though, and Junebug gets pressure from him.” She paused, giving me a speculative stare. “So what was your quote?”
I told her. She shook her head, the ringlets dancing around her face. “Makes as much sense as mine. Job 31:35: My desire is, that the Almighty would answer me, and that mine adversary had written a book. Well, I’ve written several award-winning books and I was her adversary. Big whoop. What’s the damn point of it all?”
“I take it Junebug shared the list with you.”
“Just my part. He wouldn’t divulge who else was on it.”
I did. She sat and listened thoughtfully, harrumping at Tamma Hufnagel and Bob Don Goertz’s names. At my mother and Hally Schneider’s names, she frowned.
“Don’t understand that at all. How could she hate or want to hurt someone with Alzheimer’s and”—she gestured in the direction of her gardener—“someone as sweet as Hally?”
I shrugged. “Mama can’t remember any connection with her. And I don’t know about Hally. Maybe it’s some sick way of striking at me or Janice Schneider.”
“My Lord,” Eula Mae said, but not to me. Her eyes were back in the garden. Hally had removed his shirt and his bunched muscles moved smoothly as he worked. Eula Mae sighed like a dieter in front of a candy store.
“Youth is wasted on the young, Jordy. Remember that.” With Hally out of reach, she appraised me. “You and Hally do favor each other, you know. You both got those fine Schneider looks. Shame you’re still just an infant compared to me. But of course Candace is a different story—”
I rolled my eyes. “Look, Eula Mae, let’s concentrate. You know damn well that I didn’t kill Beta and I’m willing to give you the same benefit of doubt—”
“Are you so sure?” she interrupted, her voice as sweet and fake as sno-cone syrup. I stopped dead.
“I’m kidding!” she exclaimed, but her eyes showed merriment at my discomfort. I ran a tongue over dry lips.
“So when was the last time you saw her?” I asked.
“Oh, that nastiness in the library. When she slapped the tar out of you.”
“Not since?”
“No, Jordy. Lord, what do you want, an accounting of my movements? All right, Perry Mason, I’ll be delighted to oblige. Murder’s one of the few crimes I’m still innocent of and I want to keep my unstained reputation. After that little scene at the library, I came back here, did some work on the newest book—it features Charity Keepwell, who I am sure you’ll remember from my very well-received Lily of the Alamo two books back. Then I had my dinner, watched some television, did a little editing, and went to bed.”
“What time was that?”
“Around ten. And alone.” She seemed to have spotted something interesting on her nail. The cat batted her sleeve, wanting attention.
“I see. And you don’t know of anyone who had a motive to kill Beta?”
“Lord, sure I did. That crazy Matt Blalock for one. And I suppose even you.”
I tried not to look menacing. “I hope you didn’t make any such statement to the police.”
Eula Mae leaned close to me and I could smell the slightly sour odor of old perfume. “No, sugar pie, I didn’t. Motive, yes; but you’re not stupid enough to commit murder. But someone like Matt Blalock is, or that Ruth Wills.”
“Ruth?” My dinner date? That possibility didn’t promote good digestion—and it might make conversation just a tad strained.
“Surely you could tell there’s no love lost between Ruth and Beta.”
“I knew they didn’t get along, but—”
“Are you keeping your ears in a jar? Beta tried to get Ruth fired.” Eula Mae leaned back, delighted in the miniature drama she’d caused. A beringed hand ran through her curly mane to heighten the effect.
“What for?”
“I don’t know all the details. I just heard about it from my friend Joan. She’s a secretary over at the hospital and a very ardent fan of mine. Of course sheer numbers preclude my having a real relationship with most of my fans, but I’ve made an exception for Joan. Such a perceptive reader and an extremely reliable source. Joan said Beta claimed Ruth tried to poison her when she was in the hospital last January.”
“What?” This was news to me.
“Oh, the hospital shut it up because it was groundless,” Eula Mae sniffed. “Just Beta getting a visitation from Satan and blaming it on Ruth. No one filed charges or anything; I think the D.A. over in Bavary talked Beta out of it ’cause it was so blasted silly.”
“So what happened between them?”
Eula Mae waved her hand, dismissing the need for details. “I don’t know. Apparently Beta was in the hospital—she’d had some chest pains and they were keeping her for observation—and she said Ruth entered her room and tried to give her an injection, when she’d just been given some medication by another nurse. According to Beta, Ruth told her she was going to get hers—and Ruth tried to stick the needle in her. Beta screamed bloody murder—you know what a set of lungs the old witch had—and some other nurses rushed in. Of course Ruth denied the whole crazy thing and there was no evidence to support Beta’s charge.”
“I don’t get it. Even if it were true, why would Ruth want to kill Beta?”
“Back then, who knows? Community service, perhaps? It’s a lot of bullcrap if you ask me. But now”—Eula Mae slid her glance slyly over her shoulder—“who knows? I mean, Beta did try to ruin her career.”
“But she failed. Ruth didn’t lose her job. They didn’t even file charges. Why kill Beta now?” This made little sense to me.
“I don’t know what else might have transpired between them. Ruth supported you in the censorship fight. Maybe there’s some other dark secret between them.” Eula Mae’s eyes glowed with creativity, as though she were plotting her next potboiler. “Was Ruth on that list? What was her quote?”
Ruth’s was easy to remember, especially in light of this revelation. It was 2 Kings 4:40—to wit: There is death in the pot. When I read it earlier, I had no story such as this to relate it to. Now it sounded like Beta considered Ruth as Mirabeau’s own Lucrezia Borgia.
I repeated the quote to Eula Mae and enjoyed the momentary silence. “Well, my Lord. Sounds like Beta still held a grudge.”
“Great. I have a dinner date with Ruth tonight.” My enthusiasm waned.
“Mind your cocktail, sweetie.” Eula Mae laughed. Then her merry face darkened and grew serious. “Well, what if it’s not bullcrap and Beta was right? Maybe you shouldn’t go.”
“For God’s sake, even if it was true, she’d have no reason to poison me.” I stood and watched Hally fill a trash bag with pulled weeds. “Hey, maybe Hally’s pulled up a toxic plant I can take with me for defense.”
“Don’t joke, Jordy.” I turned and looked at her. The pretend drama was out of her face. “Someone killed Beta. Maybe someone on that list, maybe not. But it’s for the police to handle. Let them.”
“Ruth called me. She can’t think that I’m snooping into her life.” I brightened. “Maybe because of Beta’s earlier accusation, the police’ll think of Ruth as a bigger suspect.”
“Now you sound guilty,” Eula Mae reproved. “No one looks more culpable than the fellow who goes around trying to prove his innocence.”
I stood and rested my forehead against the porch pillar. “Thanks for the catch-22. Look, if you saw how Billy Ray guns for me—”
“You were panicked this morning, sug.” Eula Mae rested her knobby hand on my arm. “You found the dead body of someone you know in your workplace. That’s a profound shock. I think you’ve borne it quite well. But you’ve got to quit thinking that you’re going to be arrested in the next ten seconds unless you find the killer. It’s not healthy to worry so.”
I hated to admit it, but she made sense. Junebug surely wouldn’t arrest me—or anyone else—without hard evidence. He was a professional, after all. I kept picturing him as the boy I’d grown up with and not as the responsible police chief he was. He’d done a good job for Mirabeau. Billy Ray was another story.
“Thanks, Eula Mae. I appreciate that.”
“Yeah, yeah, right.” She wagged crimson fingernails at me. “Just give me first rights to be your biographer from the hoosegow.”
“Deal.” I nodded toward her scattered pages and then toward Hally, who was drying the sweat from his firm body with his shirt. “I’ll let our beloved Jocelyn Lushe get back to work.”
“Have a good dinner. Don’t let Candace know. She might poison you even if Ruth doesn’t.”
You could always count on Eula Mae for moral support.
I headed back down the walk, watching Hally toss open another trash bag for the mound of weeds he’d pulled. I suppose Eula Mae was right. Even distantly related as third cousins (still considered kin in this part of the country), there was a family resemblance. We both stood tall with thick blondish hair and green eyes, and we had the distinctive stubborn Schneider cheekbones that could freeze into refusal and mulishness at a moment’s notice. But where I was lanky from running and idle reading, Hally was thickly-built from years of football and work. I’d been a much gawkier kid. Hally was a senior at Mirabeau High and was probably years ahead sexually of where I’d been at that age. I just hoped he wasn’t ahead of where I was now.
I shook his hand, ignoring the dirt on his palms.
“Hey, Jordy. How’s Cousin Anne doing?” he asked.
I admit surprise; the Schneiders live no more than three houses down from us but they’ve only shown a passing interest in Mama’s decline. Hally’s annoyingly peppy mother Janice boasted a better attendance record at library board meetings than she did in checking up on her neighboring kinfolk.
“She’s about the same, Hally.”
He shook his head. “Damn shame. I know Mom keeps meaning to come over and see you and Arlene and Anne. I see Mark in the neighborhood, but I get the feeling that he doesn’t care to discuss his grandmother.”
I suspected that Hally didn’t do much to curry a friendship with Mark. Hally was a senior, a popular athlete from a perfect family; Mark was a moody freshman loner stuck with a mouthy mother, a mouthier uncle, and a diminishing grandmother.
I sighed. I halfway felt like telling Hally that the Schneiders had been crappy kinfolk, but I decided it wasn’t the time or place. “It’s hard. Listen, Hally, I wanted to see you about something else.”
He looked bemusedly at the porch. “Hope it’s not about Miz Quiff. I assure you my intentions are honorable.”
I laughed. “No, not about Eula Mae.” Curiosity couldn’t resist though. “She hasn’t acted, uh, inappropriately toward you, has she?”
It was his turn to laugh. “Not at all, although I’m sure she thinks I never see her looking at me. I kind of like older women, but Eula Mae’s not my type.”
“No, I need to discuss a different topic with you. I guess you heard about Beta Harcher.”
Hally’s smile faded. “Yeah, I heard. Mom told me about it. You found her in the library?”
“Yeah.” And why didn’t you ask me about that straightaway? I wondered. Not every day someone you encounter has stumbled across a corpse, and you’d think the topic would debut damn early in the conversation. “Did you know her?”
Hally blinked. “Why are you asking?”
I figured a football player like Hally appreciated bluntness. I told him about the list. Shock spilled across his face.
“Honest to God, Jordy, I don’t know why that woman would have my name there.” Hally wiped a sweaty lip with the back of his garden-gloved hand.
“There was a Bible quote by each name. Yours was Proverbs 14:9. Fools make a mock at sin.”
Hally’s tongue darted out to his lips and back again, nervously. “Why would she write something like that about me?”
“I thought you’d know. You been doing any sinnin’ lately?” I said it as nicely as I could, but I’ve never believed in treating errant family members with kid gloves. Or garden gloves, in this case.
Hally looked spooked. He took a step backward and fell over the bag of weeds. Dirt and twigs stuck to his sweaty back and he jumped up quickly, brushing them off his jeans and mumbling about being clumsy in the off-season.
I’d seen that boy play football with the grace of a dancer, so I crossed my arms and frowned at him. “What’s got the chigger in your pants?”
“It’s a little unnerving, you know, to hear some dead person was writing shit—I mean stuff—about you.” Good thing sweet cousin Janice wasn’t there to hear her little boy cuss. Janice would smile big as day while she scrubbed your mouth with lye soap.
“So how did Beta know you, Hally? She must’ve, to write what she did.”
The words came quickly. “She knew Mom from the library and the church. I knew her from Sunday school; I’m president of the youth group there. And she babysat for us sometimes, when I had a date or something for school and Mom and Dad went out.” Hally had been an only, extra-adored child until his little brother Josh arrived five years ago, much to Janice’s embarrassment. She was the kind of woman who’d prefer no one know she was still getting sex at forty.
“So you knew her socially.”
“I saw her at church. She had some definite opinions about how the youth group should be run.” I remembered what Tamma Hufnagel said in the same vein. Beta’s need for control was an equal-opportunity annoyance. Hally continued: “And I saw her about a week ago when she baby-sat Josh. After going to the movies in Bavary, I got home before Mom and Dad did, so I relieved her. Put Josh in the car and took her home.”
I sighed. Hally seemed shook by all this, and I couldn’t blame him. I was shook, too. But I didn’t like that he wasn’t able to meet my eyes for more than a second or two. What was he hiding?
“How did she act when you saw her?” I asked.
Hally shrugged and pulled his T-shirt back on. “Same mean old bat as always, I suppose. She was still mad at Mom for siding with you about banning books. Mom told her that didn’t mean they couldn’t still get along, even if they disagreed. So I think that’s why Mom asked her to baby-sit Josh, maybe to patch up. Miz Harcher really seemed to like Josh; she’d play games with him, read him Mother Goose and Pooh Bear stories. I kind of thought she’d wished for a grandkid of her own.”
Beta Harcher? Being nice to a child? I imagined Beta’s baby-sitting activities to include recanting of cartoons, a delicious serving of cold gruel (with a side order of guilt), a spirited game of Name That Heretic, and basics of book incineration. Kindness and stories that didn’t involve retribution for sins hadn’t occurred to me. Maybe there’d been a heart under that stony skin.
“And nothing unusual happened when you took her home?” I pressed.
Hally looked nervous again, running his tongue tip over his chapped lips. His jaw worked. “Well, yeah. But I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything. It was probably library business or something.” He glanced nervously toward the house. “I don’t want to get in trouble and I don’t want her in trouble.”
I followed his eyes to the empty porch. Eula Mae had vanished into her inner sanctum to be Jocelyn Lushe and chronicle the escapades of her latest pair of star-crossed lovers.
“Eula Mae?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“She was sitting on Beta’s porch when we pulled up. Waiting for her. Miz Harcher had left her porch light on and I could see Miz Quiff sitting up there. Miz Quiff looked madder’n hell. She was sitting in a porch chair, and she got up real slow from it when Miz Harcher got out of my car.” Hally paused. “Real slow. You know, like someone who’s so mad that they’ve got to move like molasses to keep from knocking the tar out of someone?”
“I know what you mean. So what happened then?”
Hally scooped weeds from the ground and stuffed them in a bag. “Nothing. Miz Harcher said something like ‘Finally,’ kissed Josh goodnight, and told me to get on home. So I did.” Hally tied off the lawn bag with a green piece of wire. “But I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything.” He still didn’t look at me. If he’d been making a mock at sin, as Beta suggested, he wasn’t going to look me in the eye and fess up.
“You don’t mind me asking, do you, Hally, where you were last night?”
He did meet my eyes. “No, I don’t mind. I was out with a girl. Chelsea Hart. Didn’t get home until after midnight.” He smiled, and added, “Even with a later curfew for spring break, I missed it. Mom was mad.”
“I see. Well, listen, I got to go. Tell your mother I’ll stop by soon.”
Relief moved across his face like a shadow. “Okay, Jordy. You take care.”
I walked away from my cousin, and away from my friend’s house, feeling as if even the people I knew and trusted weren’t being up front with me. Eula Mae hadn’t mentioned her little late night excursion to see Beta last week. Hally behaved as if he’d done worse than miss curfew. Knowing he was on that list shook him up. And I wondered why Hally, rather than his library-board mother, had made Beta’s mysterious catalog.