Miss Julia Paints the Town (13 page)

When Mr. Pickens arrived the following morning to collect Hazel Marie, it was as if their cross-country trip was no more unusual than an evening out. And, to my consternation, I realized that we were all conspiring to overlook the fact that the two of them would be spending three or four days—and nights—together. You'd think he would've shown some shame.

But not him. He came in, greeted us all, then joined us at the breakfast table, perfectly at ease with himself. Hazel Marie, of course, couldn't sit still long enough to eat a thing. She was up and down constantly, remembering first one thing and another that she needed to pack, kissing Lloyd good-bye three times, reminding me that her cell phone would be on if we needed her—although what she could do thirty-thousand feet in the air, I didn't know—and telling Lillian that she'd already changed her bed linens.

And all the while, Mr. Pickens sat at the table, seemingly oblivious to her excitement and my disapproval. Probably he was accustomed to both and no longer took notice. While I got Lloyd off to school, Mr. Pickens accepted breakfast from Lillian and talked with Sam as if this were just another morning when old friends met.

“What's the latest on the missing?” Mr. Pickens asked.

Sam smiled wryly and shook his head. “Not a thing. The two of them have disappeared. At least as far as I know. The sheriffs may know something, but they're not giving anything out. The talk around town is that Stroud had reason to take off, but nobody knows what's up with Horace Allen.” Sam glanced over at me and winked. “Given his wife, he may've had a different reason.”

“Hazel Marie said there might be some connection between them. A paper they found?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, found it in Allen's car, but that doesn't necessarily prove anything. I'd hate to have my car searched and have conclusions drawn from what was found.”

Mr. Pickens laughed. “Ain't that the truth.”

“Helen Stroud said,” Sam said, as I strained to hear what Helen had said, “that Richard was putting together a real estate investment venture. She doesn't know any more than that, but apparently he'd put a lot of his investors' money into it. Or that's what he told them he was doing.”

While pouring another cup of coffee at the counter, I nodded at Lillian. That's what Richard had told me he was doing. It had all seemed aboveboard at the time and maybe it was, if that money had ever gotten into real estate. And if it hadn't, where was it now? Then, standing at the counter and looking out the window at the backyard, I thought,
real estate?
Interesting that Richard had been planning such a venture at the same time one was being planned for Main Street.

“Lillian,” Mr. Pickens said, turning in his chair, “would you tell Hazel Marie I'm gonna leave her if she doesn't come on? Or the plane's gonna leave both of us.”

But about that time, we heard the thump of a suitcase being hauled down the stairs. Mr. Pickens got up to help, and I heard him tell her that they weren't staying a month.

Hazel Marie held the kitchen door for him as he struggled with the largest suitcase she owned. “But I have to be prepared,” she said, her face showing the excitement she felt. “And besides, you don't know what all I'm not taking.”

In the flurry of getting them off, I saw Sam preparing to leave as well. As he pulled on a jacket, I realized for the first time that he was wearing a suit and tie, which was not his usual attire for a morning of research.

“You have a meeting today?” I asked, as he came to give me a good-bye kiss.

“I promised Helen I'd go with her to see her lawyer,” he said, then held up a hand as I started to protest. “Just for the first meeting. We'll leave around noon, for a one o'clock appointment. I told you, didn't I?”

“I must've forgotten,” I said stiffly and endured his kiss, but he didn't seem to notice.

As the back door closed behind him, I turned to see Lillian's raised eyebrows. She quickly looked down at the skillet she was scrubbing.

“Don't say anything,” I said, but thinking that if she'd noticed something amiss, then I wasn't too far off the mark myself. “He's just being his usual helpful self, although some help can be carried too far.”

“I don't say anything,” she said. “Nobody need to worry 'bout Mr. Sam.” She was giving the skillet a scrubbing like it'd never had. “Though I can't say the same 'bout no halfway widder woman.”

“That's exactly what I told him. But…” I was interrupted by the front doorbell. “Who can that be?”

“Hey, Miss Julia,” Etta Mae Wiggins said with a big smile on her face. “Is Hazel Marie home?”

“Why, no, Miss Wiggins, I mean Etta Mae. But won't you come in?” It was my nature to address people formally for as long as possible to avoid any misunderstanding as to an assumed friendship. Yet I'd come close to hurting Miss Wiggins's, I mean, Etta Mae's, feelings by seeming to hold her at arm's length. So I addressed her as Etta Mae, but continued to think of her as Miss Wiggins. I occasionally got mixed up as to whether I was speaking or thinking.

“I don't want to put you out,” she said, stepping inside. “But if she'll be back soon, maybe I can wait for her. I wanted to see if she'd like to go to lunch.”

“She won't be back for a few days, but do have a seat.” I indicated the sofa. “She just left for San Francisco with Mr. Pickens. A married couple is going along, too.”

“San Francisco! Oh, that lucky duck. Well,” she said, laughing at herself, “that is so cool, but I guess she can't go to lunch, can she?”

“No, and that's too bad. I'm sure she'll be sorry she missed you. But how is it you're free? Did Mildred give you the day off?”

“I wish! No, she let me go. Her daughter's back and her maid is out of the hospital, so she said she wouldn't need me anymore. So here I am, footloose and fancy-free for a couple of days.”

“My goodness. Does that mean you're out of work and won't get paid? I'm surprised that Mildred would be so inconsiderate.”

“No'm, she's not. She paid Lurline—that's the owner of Handy Home Helpers—for the full week up front. So I'll get my salary whether I'm working or not. I mean, Lurline could find me something else to do, but I thought what the heck, I could use a few days off. But since Hazel Marie's not here, I'll probably just go to the library and get something to read. Or maybe I'll clean my single-wide. Do something to fill the time.”

“Well, Etta Mae,” I said, recalling her considerable help in another time of trouble, “since you are free, I may have a better way to fill your time. If you're open to a suggestion.”

“Oh, you know me. I'm open to most anything. What you got in mind?”

“Well,” I said somewhat hesitantly since I didn't know how she'd take it. “Did you get the impression last night that Mr. Kessler was showing some interest in you?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, laughing. “I nearly always get some of that. It doesn't mean anything in the long run.”

“Well, I'm hoping it does. You see, it's like this.” And I proceeded to explain to her my idea of dissuading Mr. Kessler from destroying a piece of our history and putting us on the path of progress with an influx of condominium owners.

“Wow,” she said, her eyes big. “You think it'll work?”

“I don't know, but it's all I can come up with. From what he said last night, he's planning to sell his condos by promoting our town as the ideal place to live. If we could show him a different side from what he's seen, well, he might change his mind.”

“You mean, like, show him the dangerous curves on the mountain and the county dump and the paving company on the edge of town? Things like that?”

“I'd certainly include them, but I was thinking more of just driving him around and introducing him to some of our more outstanding citizens.”

She frowned. “Seems like that'd make him want to come here even more.”

“I'm using the word
outstanding
advisedly.” I smiled. “But not untruthfully. I'm thinking of people like Brother Vernon Puckett, for instance, and Thurlow Jones, Dixon Hightower and the like. And he really ought to meet Lieutenant Peavey, who may be an excellent sheriff's deputy but cannot by any stretch of the imagination be considered an attraction.”

“Oh, I get it! You want to show him the kind of good neighbors those city folks will be getting. Listen,” she said, leaning forward, her eyes sparkling, “if that's the case, you ought to put my granny at the top of the list.”

“Good idea. In fact, I'd like to show him Delmont, because, see, I don't care if he builds an eight-story monstrosity, just so it's where I don't have to look at it. Main Street is just not the place for it, especially since he'll have to destroy that beautiful courthouse with its Corinthian columns and gilded dome with a justice statue on top to make room for it. And since it's inappropriate for me to be escorting him around by myself, I'm going to need a companion. I was counting on Hazel Marie, but now I can't. You're an able substitute, though, and we've worked well together in the past. Would you be up for it?”

She laughed and slapped her knee. “You better believe! What do we do first?”

“Well, first, I should call Mayor Outz and find out what's been planned for Mr. Kessler. Then we'll know how much time he'll have for us.”

“Mr. Mayor?” I said when I was finally put through to him. “This is Julia Murdoch, and I'm calling to let you know how much we enjoyed Mr. Kessler's company last night.” Etta Mae made a face, and I had to turn away to keep from laughing. “And, also, to ask how long he'll be in town and if he'll have any free time to let us acquaint him with the town.”

“Why, Miss Julia,” Mayor Outz said, just oozing sincerity, “what a pleasure to hear from you, and let me extend my thanks for entertaining him so royally in your home. I knew you'd like him. Everybody does, and it'd be more help than I can say if you'd take him off my hands for a few days. He won't be here any longer than that, but I'll tell you the truth, I'm about to suffocate in paperwork. Working on the budget, you know, and I can't just ignore that to pal around with whoever decides to drop in. But we don't want to lose Arthur Kessler, do we? No, ma'am, we don't. We want him to feel at home here and welcome and wanted. So, if you see it as your civic duty to show him around and introduce him to some of our fine citizens, why, I'll dance at your wedding.”

“No need for that. Just tell me where I can get in touch with him and leave the rest to me.”

With Mr. Kessler's cell phone number in hand, I hung up the phone and smiled triumphantly at Etta Mae. “He's staying at the Mary Grace Haddington House, but he's probably already at the courthouse. The mayor is happy to turn him over to us.”

“Call him,” Etta Mae urged. “Let's call him now, before he gets busy with something else. But wait. Where're we going to take him first? We ought to have a plan of some kind.”

“I'm thinking,” I said, my eyes squinched up with the thought, “that Vernon Puckett would be a good one to start with. Did you see that article about him in the paper a couple of weeks ago? He's started a new church just half a block up from the courthouse, right on Main Street. It's where the Quality Furniture Store used to be, and it's been empty for a long time. I think their quality ran out.”

“I didn't know Brother Vern was back in town.”

“He's in and out all the time, doing first one thing and another, but nothing for very long.”

“That's the truth,” Etta Mae agreed. “Last I heard, he was holding tent meetings and printing tracts. Or was it preaching on TV?”

“All of the above, and anything he can think of. He's Hazel Marie's uncle, you know, and a thorn in my flesh for years. I almost hate to renew the acquaintance, but if anything can turn Mr. Kessler off, I'd think it'd be having a storefront church as a neighbor.”

“I guess,” Etta Mae said, a thoughtful look on her face. “Of course, we don't know what kind of preaching Mr. Kessler likes. He might be one of those Holy Rollers like Brother Vern.”

“I doubt it. Mr. Kessler strikes me as somebody who wants to hear a sermon with three topics and an amen. If he wants to hear any at all.”

Etta Mae fiddled with her pocketbook strap. “I don't know how you feel about it, and I hate to admit it, but Brother Vern's preaching doesn't do much for me. I mean,” she hurried to add, “I know he's a man of God and I shouldn't criticize, but I'd just as soon listen to a different kind of preacher.” She glanced up at me. “That's just my opinion. I hope I haven't offended you.”

“Offended me! Listen, Etta Mae, Brother Vern is a self-proclaimed preacher. He's never been to seminary or anything. And if he was the only preacher available to me, I'd stay home and read the Bible. You haven't offended me. I'm of the opinion that he ought to be banned from the pulpit, which, come to think of it, I think he has been. At least, from some of the churches around here. Why do you think he's had to start a church of his own? Because he can't find anywhere else that'd let him in, that's why. No, don't you worry about offending me where he's concerned. He's given me enough trouble over the years.”