Miss Julia Paints the Town (27 page)

“Emma Sue,” I said, a note of concern in my voice, “what have you done?”

“Oh, don't worry, Julia,” she said, with a delicate sniff. “I haven't lost my mind. I've just put my foot down, that's all.”

That didn't reassure me, as I recalled a certain Poker Run motorcycle race in which she'd also put her foot down, her defiance of Pastor Ledbetter's wishes nearly giving him a stroke.

“Look over there,” she went on, pointing across the lawn where the pastor sat alone almost hidden by the drooping limbs of a crepe myrtle. “See him? He's over there, sulking like a two-year-old because he's not getting his way. Whenever my feelings are hurt, he tells me how unattractive it is to mope around. But that's exactly what he's doing, and it
is
unattractive. I've told him so, too.”

Not wanting to get in the middle of a marital disagreement, I carefully asked, “Would this be about his call to Raleigh?”

“Well, what else?” she said blithely, trying to act as if she didn't care. But a certain frantic look in her eyes betrayed her. “Julia, I told him. Listen to what I said and see if you don't agree. I reminded him of the advice he always gives to seminary students. He tells them that whenever a minister thinks he's received a call, but his wife hasn't, then the minister can be sure that the call is not from God. And I told him that
I've
had absolutely no communication from anybody.” Her eyes darted from one side to the other. “Don't you think that would be enough to make him at least think twice about going to Raleigh?”

“Yes, I would, Emma Sue. Especially since you're so adamant on the subject.”

“He's not seen adamant yet,” she said with renewed determination. “If he's so bound and determined to pick up lock, stock and barrel and move across the state, then that's just what he can do. I'm staying here. I told him that, too.”

“Oh, Emma Sue, you can't mean you're divorcing him!”

“Of course not, Julia. You know we don't believe in divorce. But there's more than one way to skin a cat. I'm just not going to live with him. He can go to Raleigh if he wants to, but I'm staying here in my own house.” Her eyes narrowed as she lowered her voice. “Then we'll see how bad that new church wants him when he shows up without a wife.”

“Well,” I said, hardly knowing what to say, “I've heard of couples who live apart but never divorce, so I guess it could work.”

“It'll have to because that's what I'm going to do. And, Julia, when you look at it, it'll be perfect. I'll stay in our house here, and when he's ready to retire, he can move back. Thank goodness we bought our house and didn't accept a church-owned manse. And we did it that way, Julia, only because Larry said we'd stay on in Abbotsville after he retired. So all I'm doing is holding him to his word.” She jerked her bodice up again. “Don't you think?”

“Well, yes, but I can't imagine that he's happy about it.”

“Oh, he's not, believe me. He's so used to making all the decisions that he's just miserable now.” She sidled closer to me and whispered, “Julia, do you think the church would hire me? I mean, pay me a salary to keep doing what I'm doing?”

“Lord, Emma Sue, if we paid you for what you do in that church, we couldn't afford you.” Emma Sue taught Sunday school, organized activities for the youth, led the Bible study in our circle, worked in the kitchen when we had covered dish suppers, fed and put up guest preachers, visited newcomers, the sick and the bereaved, held a minor office in the Presbytery, set up vacation Bible school for the little ones and held an open house every Christmas for the entire membership.

“I wouldn't ask for much,” she said wistfully. “Just enough to tide me over. Keeping two households will be expensive.”

“The only thing I see wrong with it is if Pastor Ledbetter leaves, we'll have to call another preacher. And if that preacher has a wife, which he's bound to have or we wouldn't call him, then that wife would be expected to take your place. I'm not sure the deacons would be willing to pay you for what they could get free from her.”

“They'd better not count on that,” she said. “Things have changed since we came along. The young wives today already have jobs or professions. They're not so willing to be unpaid help in a two-for-one deal.”

“I'm sure you're right, and more power to them,” I said. “But I'll tell you what, Emma Sue. If you want to apply for the job you're already doing, I'll write a supporting letter for you. And Sam will speak for you, too, I'm sure. He admires you so much.”

“He does?” Tears welled up in her eyes, surprising me for being so late in coming. Emma Sue was known for crying at the least little thing.

“Everybody does. You may feel unappreciated, but you're not. We all know what you do, and I, for one, think that the pastor is foolish if he goes off and leaves you.”

As I searched my pocketbook for a Kleenex to hand to her, I felt an obtrusive presence beside me. “Good evening, ladies,” Arthur Kessler said, glancing briefly at us, then sweeping his gaze across the milling crowd. He removed a folded handkerchief from his ecru linen jacket and mopped his forehead. He'd dressed for his idea of a southern soiree and was now suffering from it. I saw the tail of the tie he'd removed sticking out of a pocket. “Lovely evening for a wingding, isn't it?”

“It's hardly a
wingding,
” I said coolly, as Emma Sue clutched her stole closer and turned aside to blot her eyes.

“Well, whatever you call it,” he said, not the least abashed. “I'm always interested in local customs, so this is a treat for me.”

Uh-huh,
I thought,
you've come to observe the natives.
And went on to realize that even if he hadn't already torn down the courthouse, our soiree wouldn't have deterred him one iota. All my efforts had been of no use, and here I was, stuck at a hot, sweaty and futile pig pickin' that ordinarily I would never have attended at all.

Mr. Kessler's eyes flicked my way. “You know what goes on in this town, Mrs. Murdoch. So I have a question for you.”

“I'll be happy to answer it if I can,” I said coolly, offended at the implication, “but I assure you that there are any number of things that go on, of which I know nothing.”

“Be that as it may,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “Have you heard anything about what happened to my statue?”

I stood very still. “What statue?”

“
My
statue. The one on the courthouse dome. That
was
on the dome, that is. It wasn't there yesterday morning when I got on site. I reported the theft to the police as soon as I saw it was gone.”

“
Theft?
Why, why, Arthur,” I said, swallowing hard to keep from strangling, “you said you didn't want it. You said the town could have it if it survived the demolition.”

“It didn't have a chance to survive anything. Somebody climbed up there during the night and stole it. They took something that belongs to me. That's pure theft in my book.”

“But, Arthur, how can it be?” My heart was fluttering in my chest at this turn of events. “You wouldn't have it anyway since you were willing to let it be destroyed when the building came down.”

“But,” he said, rounding on me, “whoever took it didn't know that, did they?”

“Well, no, I guess not.” Poochie certainly hadn't.

“If you hear anything, you let me know. I don't want anybody in this town thinking they can steal from me and get away with it.”

“I certainly will,” I murmured, wondering how I could politely but quickly move away. Then wondered why I thought it had to be done politely.

I was saved by LuAnne Conover who came bustling up to us. “There you are!” she chirped, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Mr. Kessler. Then she came to an abrupt stop, her eyes popping out at Emma Sue. “Oh!” they both gasped, staring at their identical sundresses.

“Well!” LuAnne said, attempting to laugh it off. “I guess we both went to Dillard's, didn't we?”

Emma Sue's face turned red and tears flowed copiously. “I'm so sorry, LuAnne. If I'd known, I never would've bought it.”

“Don't be silly,” LuAnne said, a bit sharply. “No one will even notice.” She was wrong. Whispers would seep throughout the female contingent at the soiree, and every one of them would have to look to see for themselves. “It looks much better on you,” LuAnne said in an attempt at graciousness. Of course, with her well-rounded and slightly plump little figure she could afford to be kind. She had enough to keep her bodice up without hiking it up every time she took a breath.

“Oh, Arthur,” LuAnne said, turning her full attention on him, although he had turned away to survey the crowd. “It's so good to see you. I've been looking forward to this so much. It's such a lovely evening, perfect weather and everything, and everybody's in such a party mood. I'm glad you're here to enjoy it with us.”

“Very interesting,” he said, as if he were making an anthropological observation. He barely looked at her, his head continuing to turn from side to side, as if he were searching for someone or maybe something. Like a missing statue.

But maybe it was Leonard he was keeping an eye out for, and as I looked past LuAnne's bare shoulder, I saw Leonard lumbering through the crowd, his eyes boring in on her. LuAnne glanced back, aware, I assumed, that he was on her trail. She hooked her arm through Mr. Kessler's and said, “Let's get closer to the music, Arthur. Who knows? We might decide to dance a little.”

My eyes rolled back just the least little bit as they moved away. LuAnne could go overboard on occasion, and this looked to be one of them. I saw Leonard change course and continue to follow the wife he'd discarded and now wanted back. At the same time, I caught a glimpse of Granny Wiggins over by the tent, tapping her foot in time to the music. I stretched a little to see if Etta Mae was near her—we really needed to talk now—but all I saw was Thurlow Jones doing a buck dance, so I quit looking.

“Oh, Julia,” Emma Sue said, giving in to a quiet crying fit, “I'm so embarrassed.”

“I am, too,” I said, seeing LuAnne give Mr. Kessler a slight bump with her hip. “Oh, you mean the dress. Don't let it concern you, Emma Sue. It happens all the time, especially at large gatherings. Nobody'll think a thing about it.”

We both knew that was untrue, but what are good manners, except a lot of pretense? You compliment the hostess when you can hardly get her food down your throat and when you think her home has had the worst decorating job in town and when you know you've never seen a tackier outfit on anybody. You save up what you really think for when you get home.

“I think I'll go inside,” Emma Sue said. “Maybe no one will notice if LuAnne stays out here. Besides, Tina's going to sing “Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life,” and I want to hear that.”

Well, Lord, I didn't, so I said, “I'll just mingle out here a while and wait for Sam to get through helping Robert. Come find us, Emma Sue, when you're ready, and eat with us.”

She gave me a grateful, but teary, smile and moved toward the house. I moved out to continue my reconnaissance of the yard, edging around and peering into clusters of people, speaking but not stopping, as I searched for Etta Mae and Poochie Dunn. One thing was certain, there would be no great and wonderful unveiling of Lady Justice at the soiree. She had to stay under wraps for the foreseeable future or one or more of us would end up in jail. And with Arthur Kessler so determined to catch a thief, even the Atlanta pen wasn't out of the question.

As I slipped along the outer edge of the lawn toward the heavily planted area that hid the tool shed and the potting shed, Japanese lanterns hanging from the trees begin to twinkle all across the yard. Dusk had crept upon us and, instead of subduing the merriment, the fall of darkness seemed to increase it. And the crowd had increased as well. I began to despair of ever finding either Etta Mae or Poochie until we were all three rounded up and shackled together.

“Hey! Miss Julia!”

I turned to see Etta Mae wiggling her way through the crowd, a big frown on her face but not much on the rest of her. Sundresses must've been the fashion choice for this event, for she had on the skimpiest one yet. Tight and short and black, her dress and what it revealed had eyes following her as she made her way to me. One thing, though, her dress had straps, but they were so tiny and thin that I would've never depended on them for heavy-duty work. Regardless of her dress, though, I was relieved of half my burden of worry to see her.

“Oh, Etta Mae,” I said with relief. “I've been looking all over for you. Have you seen Poochie?”

“No, but I've seen Arthur Kessler.” Her face darkened and her eyes squinched up, glinting with fire. “From a distance, which is where he better stay. I'm watching him like a hawk, and if he even looks at Granny, I'm gonna have his hide. You know what he did?”

“Yes, I do. But I didn't know you did.”

“Granny told me. She said he drove out to see her this morning and tried to talk her into selling the farm. Can you believe that? And after I told him to leave her alone. When I picked her up for the party, she was so upset she could hardly talk, her hands were just shaking. He told her she was too old to keep the place up, and it was already so run down it wasn't worth anything. He said it was dangerous for her to be living alone and she'd be better off in a rest home. And, on top of that, he offered her a hundred thousand dollars and I
know
it's worth more than that.”

“Really! I can't believe he'd be so crass.” I paused and thought about it. “Well, yes, I can, too. But listen, Etta Mae, that's not all he's done. He's gone back on his word after telling me plain as day that the town could have that statue. Now he's claiming that it's been stolen and he's reported it to the police.”

Etta Mae's eyes bugged out. “You don't mean it!”

“I do, indeed. I just saw him and he is livid. We've got to find Poochie and get that thing hidden. And warn him not to say a word. Lord, Etta Mae, I don't want to be arrested for theft. Well, for anything, really. You think we ought to give it back?”

“No way!” Etta Mae said with an emphatic shake of her head. “You know he won't take care of it. He'll destroy it just to prove he can do whatever he wants. And to keep us from having it, which he'll do since he thinks we're thieves.”

“My feeling exactly. So what should we do?”

“I'll tell you what I'd
like
to do.” Etta Mae laughed a little, but there was little humor in it. “I'd like to do what Granny did. She took a broom to him and ran him off. And I,” she declared with a great heave of her bosom, “
I
am ready to take him
down.
”

“First things first, Etta Mae,” I said, trying to divert all that ferocity into more productive avenues now that we were in agreement to keep the statue out of Mr. Kessler's destructive hands. “We have to find Poochie, take possession of the statue and get it hidden. And keep it hidden for as long as it takes, which is as long as Arthur's in town. One of these days, he'll be gone and we can bring it out. Then Poochie can take credit for saving it. But we have to find him first.”

“He should've been here by now, though I guess it's a good thing he hasn't already come prancing in carrying that statue. With Mr. Kessler on the warpath, there'd be you-know-what to pay.” She stretched up on her tiptoes to scan the crowd for Poochie. “He won't just not show up. He's counting on that new truck.”

“New used, Etta Mae. Let's not give him any ideas. But what'll we do if he doesn't come?”

She twisted her mouth, giving it some thought. “I guess I'm more concerned with what we'll do if he
does.
I mean, where're we going to hide it tonight?”

“I'm thinking Mildred's potting shed. It's off the beaten path and she doesn't use it anymore. Come on, I'll show you.” I took her arm and led her onto a narrow, winding path behind a row of hemlocks that lined the far edge of Mildred's lawn. We eased farther away from the festivities and into the dark. Brushing aside honeysuckle tendrils and making one last turn, we emerged onto a small clearing. Right in front of us was a miniature house almost covered with ivy. Carriage lamps, flickering with gaslight, were on each side of the door.

“Mildred doesn't do much potting,” I whispered. “She had this built when she first joined the garden club, then sort of lost interest in dirt.”

“It's so cute,” Etta Mae said. “It looks like a dollhouse.”

“Well, cute or not, let's just hope it's not locked. And not stacked full of manure and fertilizer, either.”

The sounds of revelry had diminished behind us, muffled by the dense growth we'd pushed through. The little house was so secluded that I felt I had to whisper, even though the party seemed far away. It was the perfect place to hide Lady Justice until her final destination could be determined. And that, as long as Arthur was around, could be a long time coming.

“Try the door, Etta Mae,” I said, looking around to be sure we were alone. “I'll keep a lookout.”

She walked over and turned the doorknob, giving the door a push. It opened about an inch and stuck. “It's open, but it won't open. All the way, I mean.”

I joined her and leaned my shoulder against the door. “At least it's not locked. Let's push together.”

Well, we got it open, but it wasn't easy, reassuring me that the shed was not often used. There was just enough light for us to make out the work benches along two walls with old pots and the occasional garden implement scattered on them. And sure enough, under the benches were bags of foul-smelling organic material stored for future use.

“This is perfect, Etta Mae,” I said. “We can lay her on those bags under the bench, and nobody'll be the wiser. If Poochie ever shows up. Maybe we'd better go look for him again.”

Etta Mae followed me outside, saying, “I want to check on Granny, too, though I guess I ought to be more worried about Mr. Kessler. No telling what she'll do if he mentions selling again.”

“Surely he has more sense than to accost her here. Let's take a few more minutes to look for Poochie. I can't rest until that statue is out of his hands and hidden away. And it has to be done tonight, because I can't have him showing up at my house tomorrow and dumping it on me.”

As we looked for the return path, she said, “Now tell me again why we're doing this?”

“Why, Etta Mae, all three of us are in danger of going to jail. According to Arthur, we're thieves. I don't want an arrest on my record, or on yours, either, and he's furious enough to push it as far as he can. He'd take great pleasure in seeing whoever has the statue behind bars. And I've just been elected president of the Lila Mae Harding Sunday School. Can you imagine?” I paused as a shudder ran across my shoulders at the thought. “And you wouldn't believe the uproar it would cause if Sam and Lillian and Hazel Marie knew what I'd been up to. And Lloyd, too, to say nothing of Mr. Pickens. Just think about it. Climbing up to the highest point in Abbot County and being shot at comes close to being the most unlikely thing I've ever done. If it got out, I'd be bandied around town as having lost all sense of decorum and perspective. Besides,” I went on, “I sort of promised Sam I'd never endanger life and limb again, which as you know I went right ahead and did, and, according to that Indian giver, Arthur Kessler, I've become a thief in the process.”

“Oh,” she said, ducking under a branch. Then she came to a halt. “Wait, I have an idea. Why don't we walk toward Jefferson Street before we go back to the party and see if Poochie's truck is there?”

I immediately swerved to the right and took off down a wider path, wondering why I hadn't thought of it myself. “We should've done this in the first place. There's a gate in Mildred's brick wall somewhere down here. It's where Robert has supplies unloaded.”

We found the gate and slipped through it onto the sidewalk behind the house, seeing lines of guest cars parked on both sides of the street just as they were on Polk. Once we were free of the bushes and trees in the yard, I could see more clearly by the streetlights at each end of the block and a few house lights across the street.

“Walk down that way, Etta Mae,” I said, “and see if you see his truck. I'll go this way and we'll meet on the other side of the street.”

She nodded and left. I set off, too, grateful for the tall brick wall at the back of Mildred's property. No one at the soiree would be able to see me. Nonetheless, I hurried past, looking intently for a listing and rusted-out pickup that was Lady Justice's temporary chariot.

Crossing the street at the corner and heading for the middle of the block, I saw Etta Mae running toward me. “He's here,” she panted as we met. “He parked down at the end on a yellow line. He got the instructions wrong and thought he was supposed to wait in the truck.” She grinned. “He says he's about to starve to death, smelling that barbecue and not being able to have any.”

“Well, he can hold his horses a while longer,” I said, striking off with her. “We could've already been through with it if he'd done what he was told.”

And wouldn't you know, there he was, grinning as he leaned against the side of his truck, waiting for us. No telling who had seen him, either, since he'd parked directly under a streetlight.

“I was about to give up on you,” he said, pushing himself upright. “And go on and get myself some of that barbecue.”

“We were waiting on you,” I said sharply, “but never mind that now. Let's get the statue out and under cover as quickly as we can. Poochie, you get up in the bed and hand her down.”

He hopped up and spent some nerve-racking time fiddling with something. When my patience had about worn thin, he lifted the statue and slid it over the tailgate. Etta Mae and I grabbed hold and brought her down, completely wrapped in the drop cloth.

“My word,” I said, marveling at Poochie's sense of modesty. “I didn't expect her to be in a shroud, but that's very sensitive of you, Poochie. Are you sure she's in this thing?”

“That's her, all right. You meet anybody, they won't know what you got.”

Yes,
I thought,
they'll just think we're moving a body,
but I said, “Come on, Etta Mae, grab your end and let's get going. Poochie, you can go on and eat, but not a word to anybody, you hear? I'll get with you on Monday to look at trucks.”

“Oh, I'll jus' go on with you,” he said with that inane smile. “I ain't in that big of a hurry.”

“Well, listen, Poochie, there's been a change of plans. At first we were going to let you take all the credit for saving the statue since it was all your doing from start to finish.”

“It was?”

“Yes, I mean, no, but we wanted you to be the hero. But now we have a big problem. Mr. Kessler is saying that we stole the statue, but he doesn't know it was us. So we not only have to hide this thing, we can't let anyone know that we know anything about it. You understand?”

“Sure,” he said around what appeared to be an uncomprehending smile. “Just make out like I don't know nothing.”

“That's it, exactly. Now let's get this thing hidden.”

Looking both ways and seeing no one, I lifted the head end of the statue and pulled Etta Mae across Jefferson and through the gate into the yard, Poochie right behind us. Ducking under some hemlock branches and noting how dark it was along the path, I hurried toward the potting shed.

As I rounded a curve in the path, entering the small clearing in front of the shed, I saw the flare of a match or the flash of some kind of light inside. I came to an abrupt halt.

Etta Mae didn't and Lady Justice almost shot through my grasp.

“Hold up, Etta Mae,” I whispered. “There's somebody in the shed.” I crouched down and felt her do the same.

“Who is it?” she whispered back.

“I don't know. Two people, I think.”

Poochie duckwalked up close. “I bet it's somebody doin' what they ought not be doin',” he said with a soft laugh.

The last thing I wanted was to come up on a pair of secret lovers. What other people do is no business of mine, except now that we were so close, it would be interesting to know who they were.

“Sh-h-h, let's get out of sight.” I began to creep toward a clump of boxwoods near the shed, drawing the statue and Etta Mae along with me. “Maybe they'll leave in a few minutes.”