Miss Julia Lays Down the Law (18 page)

“Scoot around these chairs,” I whispered, giving him a nudge with my shoulder. “If anybody’s looking, they won’t see us. We’re beyond the end of the house.”

He grunted, hesitated, then moved, and so did I. We stayed out of a direct line from any window and crept around a metal table, minus its umbrella, and several large terra-cotta pots.

Reaching the corner of the house, I edged one eye to the window and looked into total darkness. Lamar was right on my heels, scrooched up next to me and clinging to the siding.

“Don’t make no noise,” he whispered.

I nodded my head, trying to pierce the dark of the room and see something that would make this perilous trek worth the risks. And worth the stinging scratches on my hands and face as well.

Trying to see inside, I pressed my forehead against a pane of glass and nearly died of shock. Every light in the world—inside and out—came on, and a siren shrieked like a banshee, echoing and bouncing around the hills of Grand View Estates. My heart jumped a mile, and my nerves went haywire. Lamar yelled and pushed at me as he scrambled to get away.

I was screaming, too—I think. I couldn’t hear anything but the wailing blasts of noise summoning every neighbor, gatekeeper, and deputy sheriff within miles of the place.

Lamar grabbed my arm, pulled, and as I turned to run, my feet tangled with his and, tripping each other, down we went. Expecting to hit the concrete pavement, I braced myself for a hard landing. Instead, I bounced—and so did Lamar, first on top of me, then onto the pool cover, as water sloshed under us.

Hoping we weren’t over the deep end, I pushed at Lamar. “Hurry!” I panted, getting my knees under me in an effort to rise. “Get up, Lamar! Run!”

Struggling to his feet, he set the water undulating under us and I went sprawling again. He kept moving, and the last I saw of him was his high-stepping, bouncing run across the roiling pool cover, a jump to the deck, and a sprint up the steps into the laurel thicket.

I had to move, leave, get out of there, as far away as I could get from the ear-splitting noise of the siren and the eye-watering glare of the lights. But every effort to stand tipped me over and down again. So I crawled. I crawled to the edge of the pool, rolled onto the deck, finally got to my feet, and ran to the steps, panting and heaving, frightened half to death.

Up the hill I scrambled on hands and knees, grabbing on to roots and branches, pushing and pulling myself up the slippery incline, ignoring vines and branches and briars. Lord, they even had spotlights in the trees! Keeping low—well, I had to—it was too steep to stand up—I finally reached the ditch at the top, coming out a good bit farther along than where we’d gone in.

I saw the car, darkly gleaming from the glare below. It was right where I’d left it, and nothing had ever looked so good. Hardly able to get my breath, I ran toward it, feeling for the keys in my pocket. No matter if the interior lights came on now—who would notice in the several thousand watts already burning?

I jerked the door open, tumbled in, jabbed the key into the ignition, and took off, bumping and rocking back and forth on the little-used lane. I couldn’t turn the car around—the lane was too narrow—and I didn’t know where I was going. I just drove wherever it went—it didn’t matter as long as I ended up far from where I was.

And Lamar? Who knew? I’d thought he’d be waiting in the car, but there was no sign of him.

Maybe I’d come up on him walking or running along the lane, but I didn’t. As I put some distance between me and the Clayborn house, with all its lights and the racket still echoing and bouncing around the hills, I began to worry about him.

What if the deputies found him and arrested him? What if he was hiding in the woods, only to freeze to death during the night? Well, it wasn’t that cold, but that didn’t ease my concern for him.

Finally I reached an intersection where the lane led onto a decent paved road with curbs and stop signs and cars with lights on. That’s when I remembered to turn mine on. I’d been driving half blind for who-knew-how-long. That’s what happens when your mind is on leaving in a hurry.

Who would’ve thought that the Clayborn house was wired to the gills? I shivered and shook at how close we’d come to being caught sneaking around a crime scene, and, for all I knew, Lamar had been or was about to be. I didn’t know what to do but to keep on going. So I did.

Turning onto the highway, I headed toward town, my eyes peeled for a small, huddled figure trudging along the side. I didn’t see anybody, huddled or not, and now that I was reasonably safe, regret and a sense of loss swept over me. He’d been so helpful and so considerate, and I’d just gone off and left him. If the deputies found him in the vicinity of the Clayborn house, what would they think? That he’d been there before? Maybe, but I consoled myself by recalling that he’d seemed well armed with alibis, some of which might actually hold up.

But I couldn’t shake the awful feeling that I’d thought only of myself, without one thought of his safety. Then, as I neared Main Street, I had another thought that gave me considerable relief—he’d left me first, hadn’t he?

I almost turned for home, but thought better of it. I needed an alibi. I didn’t like the thought of Lieutenant Peavey showing up at my house and demanding an account of my recent activities. What could I say?
Oh, I’ve been home all evening, Lieutenant, but, no, there’s no one who can confirm it.

How well would that go over? And if they caught Lamar anywhere near the Clayborn house, how long would he hold out before telling it all? I’d be nabbed for attempted breaking and entering—although I’d not been close to getting in nor had I even wanted to—and caught in a lie as well. My goose was just before being thoroughly cooked.

Well, you do the best you can, so I turned off Main Street but not toward home. I’d go see Coleman again on his last night of sign sitting. He’d be able to testify to the fact that I had visited him at least part of the evening. Maybe he wouldn’t notice the time, so he could be wishy-washy about how long I was with him. Some things have to be left to chance, but what better alibi can you have than one from a deputy sergeant of the sheriff’s department?

Driving out on the boulevard, I glanced at the clock on the dashboard—barely nine o’clock. Where was Lamar Owens? I couldn’t shake the feeling of responsibility for him, but I didn’t know what to do about it. It certainly wouldn’t have helped either of us if I’d lingered at the Clayborn house until the deputies got there.

And to depress me further, I had seen for myself that the gatekeeper’s record of visitors didn’t amount to a hill of beans.
Anyone
could have gotten to that house without being seen and could’ve left the same way if they didn’t mind scrambling up and down a bush-covered hillside. And, of course, Lieutenant Peavey and Detective Ellis would include me in that
anyone
. Until, that is, I presented them with a list of iron-clad alibis for the entire day of Connie’s death up to and including the time I entered Grand View Estates and the time I reported what I’d found.

But that
anyone
could include Pastor Ledbetter, as unlikely and unthinkable as that was. He wasn’t in the best of shape, constantly fighting the battle of the bulge and rarely exercising. A large man to begin with, he had reached the age when any extra pounds went to his midsection and stayed there. It wouldn’t have been easy for him to have gotten to and from Connie’s house the back way, but it could’ve been done and no one would’ve been the wiser.

I didn’t want to even think that. I
hated
thinking it. I couldn’t bring myself to believe it, but there was no getting around the fact that he was acting in unusually strange ways—even for him.

I put it all out of my mind as I saw Coleman’s car parked on the wide shoulder of the boulevard. Pulling in behind it and parking, I was thankful there were no other visitors, specifically a certain ditzy librarian. I had enough on my mind without adding her romantic enthusiasm for a married man, and a younger one, at that.

I pulled down the visor to check my stinging face in the mirror. Finding a Kleenex, I wet it with my tongue to clean the long briar scratch across my forehead. Then pulling a few wisps of hair down to cover it, I hoped Coleman wouldn’t notice. No need to give him a reason to question how I’d gotten it.

There was enough light from the streetlamps on the boulevard to give me pause when I saw the state of my hands. Shocked at the scratches on them and the dirt under my nails—the ones that weren’t broken—I did my best to clean them, then gave up. I didn’t have that much saliva. Instead, I found a pair of gloves in the car and put them on. It was November, after all.

Then I made the climb over the railing, down the little slope—which was nothing compared to the one I’d recently been on—and along the path, waving merrily to Coleman as I went. He had the ladder waiting for me on the far side of the platform.

“What’re you doing here, Miss Julia?” Coleman called down as I began the climb to the platform. But he was smiling and seemed glad to see me. I had a feeling that he’d about had enough of solitary sign sitting in spite of all the horn blowing, catcalls, and eye-popping spectacles that kept him company.

“Oh, I just got lonely at home, and thought you wouldn’t mind some company.” I caught my breath as he helped me off the ladder. Then, brushing leaves and twigs, undoubtedly from the Clayborn property, from my coat, I made light of my dishevelment. “My goodness, Coleman,” I said, laughing, “if you do this again, you should clear out that path down there.”

“Don’t want it too clear,” he said, leading me over to his tent. “It keeps down the riffraff.” He helped me crawl into the tent, which I had promised myself not to get stuck in again, but there I was, folded into a limb-cramping position from which I dreaded the pain of getting out. Coleman brought his lawn chair over and sat beside the open flap of the tent. “Mr. Sam didn’t get back?”

“No, and I’m worried he’ll get caught in that ice storm. Have you heard the weather forecast lately?”

“The storm’s still on the way, but it may miss us—might be too far to the east. Raleigh’s in its path, though, so he better keep an eye on it.” Coleman’s hands dangled between his knees as he leaned over to talk with me. “You heard anything more about the investigation?”

“No. Well, not directly. But I have heard that there might be a back way into Grand View Estates. And that means that anybody using it wouldn’t show up on the gatekeeper’s record. Which could put me back in contention for the prime suspect spot. Although,” I said, laughing in a disparaging way, “how anybody could think
I
would’ve known about it is beyond me. I can hardly find my way downtown.”

“I’ll be back on duty Monday morning, so I’ll see what’s going on.”

“That’ll be good,” I said, then wondered how to get off that subject before I said too much. “Oh, Coleman, I’m sorry. I should’ve brought you something to eat. Or a hot drink, at least. I don’t know where my mind is.”

He smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t need anything. Besides, Roberta will be by in a little while.”

“Then I better be gone before she gets here.” I began to gather myself to leave the tent. “I just dropped by to see how you’re doing, and, I admit, to pass the time while Sam’s away.”

“Uh, Miss Julia,” Coleman said, looking down at his hands. “Before you go . . . I think I might have a problem, and I don’t much know what to do about it. But you mentioned it, so I thought . . .”

“Roberta?”

He looked up with a rueful grin. “Yeah.”

The long blast of a car horn drew our attention to the street, and Coleman turned to wave. Then, turning back with a frown, he said, “It’s gotten so bad that I was thinking of going on home tonight. You know, to avoid her. But tomorrow will be my best day with people coming by after church to donate. And I sure do want to collect enough for that playground equipment.”

“Coleman, I . . .”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “This is my thing, and I’m going to see it through. I thank you for the offer, though.” He grinned. “If that’s what you were going to do.”

“It was, and the offer will stay open if you change your mind. But, Coleman, what is Roberta doing? I mean, other than bringing hot chocolate and hot apple pies?”

“Well, that and hamburgers and homemade cake and fudge and coffee, and this morning she brought sausage biscuits, ham biscuits, and sausage and egg biscuits—so I’d have a choice. And for lunch she brought Kentucky Fried Chicken and more biscuits, and said she’d have a surprise for me tonight. And, see,” he said, with a tinge of exasperation, “it was okay when she was coming once a day, but today’s Saturday and she was off. She was here, bearing gifts, every time I turned around, and she’s off again tomorrow. Only thing, though, so is Binkie.”

“My word,” I said, addressing the smallest problem first. “How do you eat all that, along with what other people bring?”

“I don’t. I give it away, or throw it out. Hate to do it, but . . .” He turned up his hands. “And she doesn’t just bring food and leave. She’s staying longer and longer each time, asking my favorite color and when my birthday is and what I like to do for fun. I tell you, Miss Julia, I about get a crick in my neck from looking down at her and talking so long.”

I almost laughed at the worried look on his face. Yet it was plain that Coleman didn’t think it a laughing matter, so I responded in a sympathetic manner.

“I don’t suppose you could be busy with something? Too busy to talk, I mean.”

“I’ve tried that,” he said, “but it doesn’t work. She says she’ll wait till I’m through. I can’t even hide and pretend I’m not here.”

There was no getting around it—Roberta was making a nuisance of herself, and I marveled at how she could throw herself at an indifferent man the way she was doing. Most women could take a hint, but Roberta was off in some vague dreamworld populated by heroic men and pre-Raphaelite women. And, come to think of it, if she’d brush out her hair, she’d look just like one of those women.

“Let me study on this, Coleman,” I said. “I have an idea or two, although I expect she’ll calm down when you’re not as available as you are now. Roberta is prone to going off on tangents, then veering off in other directions before you know it.”

“Well,” Coleman said with a laugh, “I hope she veers off before Binkie knows it. I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Yoo-hoo
!”

Coleman straightened up and turned to look toward the street. “Oh, Lord, here she comes.”

“Binkie?”

“No, Roberta. Just stay in the tent, Miss Julia. I’ll get rid of her as soon as I can.”

Soon
wasn’t soon enough for me. My limbs began to tremble from my position in the tight quarters, and after several minutes, during which I could catch only a few words of the prolonged conversation at the other end of the platform, I’d had enough. Roberta needed a good talking-to, and I decided to give her one.

With no leverage and no ballast in Coleman’s chair, I had no option but to crawl out on my hands and knees, and keep crawling to the head of the ladder. Once there, I quickly descended to the ground. Well, as quickly as I could manage, because I’d become so stiff and sore from all the unaccustomed exercise I’d gotten on a certain hillside, I could barely straighten up.

But I reached the ground in reasonable shape and proceeded to march under the platform to Roberta’s side before either of them noticed me. I stood in the dark for a minute, watching and listening, and while I did, I was moved with pity for a lonely woman looking for love in all the wrong places.

Roberta’s head was tilted back so she could look up at Coleman, as she rattled on and on about the courage and heroism of warrior kings, medieval knights, and deputy sheriffs. No wonder he didn’t want Binkie to know what was going on—she’d laugh her head off.

I walked right up to Roberta, put my hand on her arm, and said, “Roberta.”

She screamed and jumped a mile.

“It’s just me,” I said. “Now, come on. It’s time to go.”

“But . . . what’re you doing here? I mean, where did you come from? Oh, my goodness, Miss Julia,” she said, patting her heaving chest, “you scared me to death.”

“Sorry, but I need you to walk me to the car.”

“Oh, of course. Are you all right?” Then, with a wave behind her, she called, “See you later, Coleman. Miss Julia needs some help.” Roberta had a good heart—she was just as willing to offer assistance to me as she was to stand around talking to Coleman half the night.

After asking her to sit with me awhile, she got into the passenger seat of my car, as, avoiding passing cars, I took my life in my hands and made my way to the driver’s side.

“I’m so glad you came along, Roberta,” I said. “Like you, I was concerned about Coleman’s welfare, then found the trek through the weeds more arduous than I’d thought.”

“I’m just happy I was here to help,” she said, as I felt a smidgen of guilt for taking advantage of her good heart. “Is there anything else I can do? Can I take you home?”

“I’m all right now, thank you. As one grows older, you know, one must learn to slow down.” I paused to allow her to consider the limitations of age, then went on. “But there is one thing I’ve been wanting to ask you. I hate to admit this, Roberta, but I’ve never seen
Pride and Prejudice,
and I know you have the videos. Could you, would you . . . ?”

“Oh, Miss Julia, of course!” she said, waving her hands in excitement. “You must see it—it’s a classic, and you’ll love it. Then we can talk about it. Don’t you just love to discuss a book or a movie with someone who really understands? Whenever you want to watch it, just let me know. I’ll bring it to you.”

“Well, Sam won’t be home till late tomorrow, and I was thinking what a long day it was going to be. I do have a problem, though. I don’t know how to work the video player or whatever you call it, so I was wondering if you and I could watch it together at your house. Maybe tomorrow? You could give me all the historical background and so forth that would make it more meaningful for me.”

“Oh, I would
love
to! What time can you come? Right after church? I could fix some sandwiches.” She stopped as if remembering something. “I was planning to bring some for Coleman’s lunch. . . .”

“Don’t worry about that, Roberta. The Baptist ladies are bringing an absolute spread—a full hot meal, I’ve heard. Believe me, he won’t starve.”

“Well . . .”

“Thank you so much for giving me such a treat. I have
longed
to see that movie, especially the wonderful Mr. Darcy. After hearing you speak of him so often, he must be quite special.”

“Oh, he is! I can’t wait to share him with you.”

My eyebrows went up at that, but I let it pass. After deciding that I would come calling as soon after church as I could manage, she hopped out of my car and, flapping her hands, hurried to her own.

Well, I thought, as I pulled away from the curb to head for home, that was a successful diversion of the attention she’d been showering on Coleman. Of course, it meant my entire Sunday afternoon would be taken up with watching videos one after the other for hours on end. But those would be hours that would keep Roberta home and out of Coleman’s hair, so I could view them as a reasonable sacrifice for his benefit.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: if there’s something you really need to do—like locate a certain pastor—but you’re thwarted at every turn, then go to the next item on your list and get that done in its place. In other words, use the time judiciously, which was what I was doing.

As I drove up the boulevard to the gas station to turn around for home, I began to plan my Sunday. As soon as I got out of bed, I would call Roberta and ask her out for breakfast. Then we’d go to church together—that would take care of any morning visits to Coleman.

After church, I’d send her on home to set up the viewing, while I lingered to waylay Pastor Ledbetter—if he showed up to preach. If he didn’t, I’d have to track him down some other way. Or just go ahead and tell Detective Ellis what I knew and be done with it. Then we’d see just how adroit the pastor was at avoiding an all points bulletin.

I was about to work up another round of anger at the position that both Connie—although she couldn’t really be blamed—and Pastor Ledbetter had put me in. And to make it worse, I’d put my own self into the position of having to endure a long, boring afternoon watching a two-hundred-year-old romance and listening to Roberta’s raptures over a make-believe Mr. Darcy.

My goodness,
I thought with a touch of self-congratulation,
what I’m willing to do for my friends!

As I crossed Main Street to head toward Polk, I noticed how little traffic was out and about. Abbotsville rolled up the sidewalks fairly early on a winter’s night, and, though it was barely past my usual bedtime, a great, lonely feeling swept over me. Especially since I knew I’d have to enter a dark and empty house all by myself.

Shivering at the thought, I felt a wisp of air blow across the back of my neck and heard a soft whisper.

“Hey, Miz Murdoch.”