Miss Julia Stirs Up Trouble: A Novel (29 page)

He looked and sounded so pathetic that I was moved. It was a well-known fact that I didn’t care for Hazel Marie’s uncle and I would’ve been unperturbed if he’d been hustled into a squad car, too, but, clearly, he was out of whatever loop there was.

Mr. Pickens, his hands on his hips again, stood looking down at him. Well, looking as well as he could, for that eye was still swelling. Then he shook his head, gave a half-laugh, and said, “Yeah, Puckett, they were working for the love of mankind, all right. They had a prostitution ring right above your head. I don’t wonder they worked for nothing during the day—they were making plenty at night.”

Brother Vern’s mouth gaped open. “Pros . . . no, oh no, that’s not possible. Why, Brother Pickens, I gave them my bed, the one Mrs. Allen bought for me. I gave it up for them, so they’d have a place to lay their head.”

“They laid more than that,” Mr. Pickens said grimly. “Now, look, this all has to be straightened out, so Officer Winfield here will take you to the station and . . .”

“The
station
! But I didn’t have anything to do with it. I don’t know anything.”

“There’ll be questions,” Mr. Pickens said with little sympathy. “It’s your place and you’re responsible.”

“Oh, Lord,” Brother Vern moaned. “My witness, my blessed witness will be ruined, tarnished forever. I don’t know anything, I didn’t know what they were doing, I just thanked the Lord for sending them to me. They worked hard, they did all this.” He swept his arm around the room. “Every bit of it.” He buried his face in his hands. “I can’t believe it.”

I could hardly believe it, either. Mildred Allen would have the shock of her life to learn that she’d sponsored Abbotsville’s very own prostitution ring—and had decorated the bedroom for it, too.

As Officer Winfield escorted Brother Vern out to the last squad car, Mr. Pickens turned to me. I almost smiled at his warped face, but decided against it. He wasn’t in the mood.

“Why is it,” he asked fairly calmly, but he gathered steam as he went, “that you stir up trouble wherever you go? You could’ve gotten hurt, you could’ve given it all away. The cops have been tracking those women all over town for weeks. You could’ve created a flat-out mess, and all because you can’t stay out of trouble.”

“I was looking for you,” I said, determined to stand up to him. “I was looking for you to keep
you
out of trouble. To warn you about being seen with those women and to get you to turn your attention to your wife before she found out. And, while we’re on the subject, just what were you doing with those women in the first place?” Let him see how it felt to be on the defensive end.

“I wasn’t doing anything with them!” He yelled it so loudly I cringed. “I was working with the cops to find out who was running them. I was pumping them for information! And only somebody without a lick of trust in me would think any different. Right?” He leaned down in my face. “
Right?
The only thought in your head was that I was fooling around on Hazel Marie. Didn’t give me the benefit of the doubt
at all.
Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Oh, I have,” I assured him, then hurried to clarify matters. “But you have to admit I had reason for being suspicious, and you have to admit that my concern was for your family—for Hazel Marie and Lloyd. Well, and your little girls, too. And for you as well, Mr. Pickens. But, really, what would you expect me to think when you were constantly seen in the company of strange women in parking lots all over town?”

He wiped his hand down his face, wincing when he touched his eye. He started to say something, but I got in first.

“And another thing,” I went on. “You are completely unaware of what’s going on with Hazel Marie. What with taking care of two babies, doing without James and having to nurse him, cooking and cleaning,
and
putting up with that uncle of hers who ought to be forcibly removed from your house, she is at the end of her rope. But what do you do? You go to work. You leave early and you come home late. And furthermore . . .”

He held up his hand. “Stop right there. I am not unaware of my own wife and what she’s going through. For your information, I was trying to protect her.”

“Hah!” I said, tossing my hair, wet ends flapping in my face. “Not when I saw you.”

He rolled his eyes; at least he rolled the one I could see. “Listen to me. Just this once, listen to me. The cops thought Brother Vern brought the two women to town.”

“Two? I counted three. What about Trixie, the one who almost pinched a plug out of my neck?” My hand rubbed the still-stinging place. “And I’ll tell you, Mr. Pickens, from the little I saw of her in that dark car, she wasn’t your usual type.”

His good eye almost rolled out of its socket. “She came in later, and Puckett hired her to cook. But the three of them were in it together—either they’d been sent here or Puckett brought them here. So don’t worry about her. She’ll be charged with the other two. Plus charged with car theft, kidnapping, and assault and battery.” He peered at my neck. “Better take a picture of that bruise. It’s evidence.”

I nodded, always willing to aid the court system. “You know I don’t particularly like Vernon Puckett, but I can’t believe he’d be involved in such debauchery as . . . what you said.”

Mr. Pickens grimaced. “The cops thought this whole soup kitchen idea was a cover for a prostitution ring he was running. I had to do some fast talking and arm twisting to get them to hold off until we could be sure. He’s been under observation ever since he got to town, and I have been trying to get information from what’s-their-names . . .”

“Janie and Junie.”

“Right. Doing all that for the purpose of clearing Vernon Puckett—if he was clearable.” He leaned over me as I leaned back. “For Hazel Marie’s sake, so she wouldn’t be embarrassed, humiliated, and hurt if he was involved.”

I let that soak in for a minute. “Oh. Well, was he?”

“Was he what?”

“Involved.”

“There’s nothing to indicate he was.” He turned and took a couple of steps. “The ladies came up from Florida, part of a larger ring that’s targeting small towns, but so far we’ve found no connection to him before they showed up here. But I’ll tell you this.” He whirled and stepped back toward me. “The cops were ready to arrest ’em all, Brother Vern included, and play it up big all over the state. It took everything I had to talk ’em into waiting, into putting them under observation and giving me a chance to get information from the ladies, which,” he suddenly bellowed, “WAS WHAT I WAS DOING IN THOSE PARKING LOTS!”

I flinched, but with a mighty effort he regained control and went on. “We wanted to be sure of who was doing what. And we got a couple of johns—‘customers’ to you—tonight as well, one big one, in fact, although I was hoping for more.”

“Who?”

“Who what?”

“Who was the big one?”

He gave me a tight grin. “One of our commissioners. We knew he’d been visiting and, tonight, I saw him come in again. Caught him red-handed, you might say. Told us he was doing a survey on nonprofits in the county—in his underdrawers.”

I could’ve done without the description, which put an unsavory image in my mind, but I let it go and instead asked, “And this has been going on ever since Brother Vern got here?”

“Janie and Junie had been here awhile, but Trixie came in on a Greyhound about the time Puckett rented the place. As far as we can determine, he met her at the bus station, where he was handing out flyers. But that put him under suspicion right then, because the cops had advance notice about all of them. I think, though, that Puckett’s pretty much in the clear now. But let me tell you, there’s been a steady stream in and out of here every night since he gave the ladies his bed.”

“My goodness,
every
night? And they worked every day cleaning up this place? They must be healthy young women.”

Mr. Pickens stared one-eyed at me, then he started laughing. It relieved me to see him so lighthearted, although I remained unamused. “You should go to the emergency room and have that eye looked at,” I suggested. “I’ll drive you in your car, if we can untangle it. Mine’s out of gas.”

He looked up at the sound of heavy motors outside, then started toward the door. “That’ll be the wrecker. If it’s drivable, I’ll be the one doing it. Let’s go.”

“Wait. We should lock up first.”

He looked around as if he’d just noticed where he was. “Okay, somebody might steal that candy. I sure haven’t smelled any soup cooking.”

Come to think of it, neither had I. The cook had been too busy wringing my neck.

Announcing that he could drive better with one eye than I could with two, Mr. Pickens turned the car toward town. I was just relieved that anyone at all could drive it. We’d watched, along with the unhappy police chief, who was probably thinking of his budget, as the wrecker disentangled it from the city car.

I must say that even though Mr. Pickens’s car had several dents and dings, as well as a crushed grill and bumper, it still ran reasonably well, in spite of the strange knocks under the hood and the fact that the passenger door wouldn’t open. He had examined it inside and out, opening the hood and crawling underneath, looking for leaks and other signs of damage. We were driving with one headlight, just to get it home.

Mr. Pickens didn’t stop at the emergency room and he didn’t stop at my house. He pulled into his own driveway, saying, “I’ve got a gas can in the garage. I’ll fill it and take you back for your car.”

“You’re tired and injured, so let’s put it off till tomorrow. It should be all right where it is.”

“If you don’t mind missing a few hubcaps and a couple of tires, it’ll be fine.”

“Oh, well, in that case . . .”

As we got out of the car, he said, “I’ll let Hazel Marie know what we’re doing, but don’t tell her anything about tonight. After I get you on your way, I’ll go to the police station for Puckett.”

“And bring him here?”

“Nope.” Mr. Pickens stopped at the porch steps, searching his key ring for the door key. “He’s spent his last night here.”

“Hearing that makes everything I’ve been through worth all the time and effort it took.”

“Oh?” With a quizzical look aimed at me, Mr. Pickens cocked his head to one side. “What all have you done besides spy on me, interfere in an official investigation, ruin my car, and cost the town several thousand dollars?”

“Well,” I said defensively, “all that’s different. You don’t know the effort I’ve put in, what with engaging Granny Wiggins and supervising cooking demonstrations and getting Hazel Marie made over and babysitting and collecting recipes and untangling James from a Spanish lottery he thought he’d won but hadn’t—and, by the way, he’s going to ask you for a raise—and comforting Lloyd when we both thought you were looking for greener pastures.”

Before he could respond and as I saw in the glow from the porch lights that he’d raised his eyes heavenward, I went on, “But I acknowledge that I owe you a deep and abject apology, Mr. Pickens. You were acting with the best of intentions, protecting your wife, even as she was trying to learn to cook for you.” I frowned. “I think I read a story about the same sort of thing sometime or another. But, never mind that—I do apologize for distrusting you and for interfering in your stalwart work and for hurting your car. You must, however, admit that if it hadn’t been for me, that cook would’ve gotten away. I’m just sorry that stopping her caused so much damage to you and the city.”

He stood looking at me for so long that I began to get fidgety. Finally he spread his hands and said, “What else can I do? Apology accepted. Now,” he went on as he started up the steps to the porch, “not a word to Hazel Marie. All I want her to know is that Puckett is pulling up stakes on his own. Sponsors haven’t been forthcoming and he’s discovered several other nonprofits that are in competition with him—whatever she wants to think. It’s going to be Puckett’s idea to head out to look for greener pastures. Okay?”

“Absolutely,” I agreed, then stopped on the bottom step with a sudden insight. “Why, Mr. Pickens, I’ve just realized that both of us had the same goal in mind—getting rid of Brother Vern. We’d have been better off if we’d worked together, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, well, I’ll remember that next time,” he said.

Ignoring the wry twist he gave to his words, I asked, “And Lloyd? What’re you going to tell him?”

“I’ll talk to Lloyd tomorrow.” He stopped on the top step and looked at his watch. “Almost today. I’ll tell him a little more than I want Hazel Marie to know, because he’ll understand.” He paused as if deciding whether to say more, then he decided. “I’ve been meaning to talk to him for a while anyway. In fact, he’ll probably say something to you about it, so I’ll go ahead and tell you. If he’s agreeable, I’m going to adopt him.”

“Why, Mr. Pickens!” I exclaimed, surprised and delighted, but before I could say more, Sam opened the front door.

“More trick-or-treaters?” he called. “Good thing you got here—James and I are about to eat all the candy.”

James came limping up behind him, grinning. “We had too good a supper to be eatin’ much candy. Miss Hazel Marie, she cooked us up a feast, an’ didn’t burn anything. Come on in—we glad it’s you an’ not no witches or goblins.”

Mr. Pickens walked in, asking, “Hazel Marie in bed?”

“Just went up,” Sam said. “The babies are better and they’re sleeping.”

Mr. Pickens started up the stairs. “Sam, I didn’t expect you to be here, but since you are, I need help with a little errand. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I stood by Sam and leaned my damp head on his chest. James took one look and went back to the television. “Oh, Sam, what a night.” A lot of it poured out then—about running out of gas and about Trixie and about changing gears and about Brother Vern on his way out—all in no particular order, but he was accustomed to that. He kept patting my back and saying, “And I thought you were home all this time.” Sort of in wonder or maybe disbelief. I had a little of both myself.

“Did Hazel Marie really cook supper?”

“She really did,” he said. “She put turkey tetrazzini on the table and it was as good as anything Lillian could’ve fixed.”

It had been a long day, but I seemed to recall that Pastor Poppy had left a turkey tetrazzini casserole in the refrigerator that morning. I smiled and didn’t say anything. Hazel Marie had let Sam and James think whatever they wanted, just as I’d been known to do on occasion.

“Sam,” I whispered, in case Mr. Pickens didn’t want it known far and wide, “do you know what Mr. Pickens has in mind?”

“About Lloyd?”

I nodded against his chest. “What do you think about it?”

“I think it’s the best thing that could happen,” he said. “What about you?”

I thought about it for a minute, trying out my boy as Lloyd Pickens. It was a stretch, though not all that far from Lloyd Puckett, so I could get used to it. “I think,” I said, looking up at the face I loved, “that all is right with the world. At least for right now, right this minute, right at this moment in time, which is all we can count on anyway.”