When Will the Dead Lady Sing? (12 page)

Hubert came to give me a friendly pat. “Been running around on the old boy, have you? Just what I’d expect to happen up in Athens. At Tech, now—”

“At Tech in your day, there was nobody to run around with,” I snapped. “But speaking of running around—” I nodded toward Abigail’s back.

“I’ve been showing Miss Abigail some of the sights,” he admitted. “Even ran by the house to see if that bum was still there, but I didn’t see any sign of him.”

“You aren’t to hurt him,” I reminded him. “Call Buster if you see him.”

Hubert’s face grew pink. “I’ll shoot him dead if I catch him in that barn.”

Abigail turned and stared at him in surprise. Hubert gave an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry to be breathing fire, Miss Abigail, but MacLaren here was asking about that homeless man who’s set up camp down at my place. It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“Abigail never worries,” Georgia assured him. “But I’d better. Edward’s about to eat my pie.” She gave us a brilliant smile and headed back to her table.

How did she manage to look so gorgeous at her age? Did anybody have any idea she was almost as old as me? I thought about mentioning that in a carrying voice, but Myrtle hurried up just then. “I’ve got two tables. Mac and Martha, you all take the one in the corner. Hubert, you all follow me.” She led Hubert and Abigail to a center table like that was standard procedure.

The fact is, Myrtle is apt to skip the niceties. She embarrasses members of the Chamber of Commerce to death by calling to tourists as they hesitate near her door, “If you can see well enough to drive yourself here, you can see well enough to find yourself a table. Come on in.” It tickled me to watch her hovering over Hubert’s table, saying things like, “You all take your time. The pies are just out of the oven. I’ll bring you some water while you make up your minds. You want something else to drink with the water?” When they ordered sweet tea, she hurried to the kitchen like they were her only customers.

They were certainly the only customers she was paying attention to. My coffee cup was still empty. I regarded the bottom and consoled myself that it wasn’t Abigail or even Georgia who was causing all that stir. Any woman with Hubert would do. Myrtle is a romantic at heart.

I owed her a favor for interrupting us when she did, too. It had eventually dawned on me that if I had announced that Georgia and I were close in age, folks wouldn’t wonder why she looked so good, they’d wonder why I didn’t. Besides, I couldn’t let on I knew how old Georgia was without confirming everybody’s suspicions that I’d known her—and her brother—before.

Cricket climbed into his chair with a worried frown. “Mama, Mr. Spence wouldn’t really kill anybody, would he?”

That was the question we would all be asking in a couple of days.

8

I considered taking Monday off. For one thing, although the sheriff had actually started a search for Tad the afternoon before, the child had not been found. Joe Riddley and Ridd joined the search when Joe Riddley called at sundown and found Buster already had his deputies on the job. They looked until midnight and came home tight-lipped and anxious. Even though Buster agreed Tad was most likely in no danger, but simply hiding out and enjoying a few days of unusual freedom, neither Joe Riddley nor I got a wink of sleep. We just lay in bed trying to think where that child could be.

For another thing, after yesterday’s paper, I preferred to avoid people. I was planning to make a list of places to search for Tad until Clarinda put one fist on her ample hips and commanded, “You leave the searching to the sheriff. But you and me can unpack all those boxes in the guest room.” That got me moving.

It was because I was trying to remember what was in those boxes as I pulled into the parking lot that I didn’t notice Burlin lounging against one of our trucks until I got out of my car. He looked as good in that pale blue shirt as he had in the yellow one Friday and the gray suit he’d worn to Gusta’s party. He and Georgia had both aged well.

A Spence’s Appliances bag dangled from his arm—and if you wonder which appliance would fit into a plastic bag, you’ve never lived in a small town. Hubert sold radios, CD players, radio-controlled toys, watches, cameras, toasters, and those gizmos you put under your cup to keep your coffee warm. Anything electric or electronic. His was the only place in town to get that stuff, although that side of his business would suffer when the new superstore opened in December.

I slammed my car door and informed Burlin, “We aren’t hiring right now. That superstore that’s getting built outside of town is putting a damper on the local economy. If you political types want to do something to help us out, do something to boost our economies and tax national corporations out the kazoo. However, I’m not speaking to you after yesterday’s paper.”

He pushed away from the truck and brushed off his backside. “I was afraid you weren’t. You hadn’t seen it before church, had you? I could tell, because you didn’t look daggers at me, like you are now. But believe me, I didn’t talk to any reporters about you. I suspect Edward—he’s a wizard at knowing what will get somebody’s name in the papers to help get them elected.”

“It was my name,” I reminded him, “and I’m not running for anything. And how could Edward have told them anything unless you told him first?”

“I didn’t. I swear it.” He held up both hands in protest.

“You didn’t help things by showing up at church.”

“I didn’t know it was your church. And when your husband invited me to join you, I didn’t know what else to do except sit down, shut up, and pretend we were all friends. I hope we are, actually. We may need your help with yesterday’s buffalo incident.”

“I don’t do buffalo,” I informed him. “And you aren’t asking me to fix a trial, are you?”

“Of course not. But if you could keep it from coming to trial—”

“I can’t, and you ought to know that.” I turned to leave.

“Wait.” He grabbed my arm. I pulled away as if he’d given me an electric shock. “Sorry. But listen, I heard about your grandson, and I’m sorry. I brought you something.” He held out the bag. “It might cheer you up.”

I stepped back and held up both hands. “I can’t take anything from you. I’m a judge and you’re a politician. After what happened Saturday, I don’t even want to be seen with you. Who knows when the next photographer will show up?”

He put the bag behind him and shook his head sheepishly. “When I saw this, I forgot you were a judge. I’ll take it back and get a refund, and I’ll try to make sure you don’t get in the papers again. I won’t hang around waiting for you to come home or come to work. I won’t stake out the local café waiting for you to show up for ice cream. I won’t serenade your window late at night. I won’t—” He was grinning again.

“Stop it,” I said crossly. That was a list of things he used to do. I blushed just thinking about those songs outside my sorority house window. Burlin wasn’t an actor for nothing. He’d shown up in a sombrero with a guitar to sing Spanish love songs in a sultry accent and came in a cowboy hat with a ukelele and sang like Roy Rogers. My sorority sisters thought he was very romantic. I pretended to think him silly, but for a while I found him romantic, too. Right now, I wanted him to go sing his songs somewhere else.

He ducked his head, but I knew he wasn’t the least bit repentant. “I’ll go, but I want you to know something, okay? You’ve aged well. Are you happy with this fellow you married? Because if you aren’t, by gum, I’ll stick around and give him a run for his money.”

“He’d probably say, ‘Take her—you’re welcome to her,’ but I have every intention of sticking around to torment him for a number of years to come. Now go away and let me work. I’ve got quarterly taxes to do this week.”

“Okay, if you say so.” He gave me a little salute and sauntered across the parking lot. I was idly wondering what he had in the bag when he started to whistle “I’ll be seeing you.”

 

The rest of the morning, I felt like a corpse. People kept coming in to view my remains.

Three deputies showed up, one by one, with warrants to sign. All our employees found reasons to come to my office for a minute. Every single person assured me Tad would be found, but they all also managed while leaving to mention my picture in the paper. Each of them, like the Cheshire cat, left a big grin behind.

Buster had told Ridd to go on to school. However, he didn’t have a third-period class that semester, so he came over around ten. “I’m getting pretty frantic, Mama. We’ve called every friend Tad has, and I’ve been by their house again. He’s vanished. You don’t reckon somebody’s kidnapped him, do you?”

I’d had one idea in the night I hadn’t followed up on yet. “Have you called Cindy’s parents? Maybe he rode up there.”

Ridd was dubious. “Thomson’s pretty far—fifty miles or more.”

“Tad was pretty desperate.” I reached for the phone, then stopped. “What shall I say?”

He shrugged. “Think of something.” He slapped his cap against his leg, just like his daddy did when he was worried.

I thought as I dialed. When Cindy’s mother answered, I said, “Hi. We want to have a welcome-home supper for the kids next Saturday at our new house and wonder if you all would like to come.”

“Why, that would be nice. Let me check my calendar.” She sounded astonished, and no wonder. I’d never invited her for a casual meal before. “We’d love to,” she came back to say.

I gave Ridd a sour look as I hung up. “I achieved our object. If Tad had been there, she’d have said something. But now I’m stuck with throwing a party, and it has to be nice, since they’re coming down. Heaven only knows where I’ll put everybody in our little bitty house.” He gave me a sharp look, and I was sorry I’d said it that way. “We’ll manage,” I added quickly. I didn’t want him or Martha ever suspecting I wished we were back in the homeplace.

He heaved a sigh as he stood to leave. “I just hope Tad’s back by then.”

“I do too, hon. Buster thinks he’s fine, and I keep reminding myself that the kid knows how to camp and there’s all sorts of places he could be hiding out that we haven’t looked yet, but then I start imagining things.”

That at least got a chuckle from him. “And when it comes to imagining awful things that can happen to people, you are the world’s most creative. But Walker’s almost as bad. Buster said to give them until tomorrow morning to turn up the kid, but if they haven’t found him by tomorrow, I’ve gotta call his daddy. Walker’s gonna be furious that we’ve waited this long, and Cindy will kill us all if anything has actually happened to him.”

“I know,” I agreed. “Still, Walker was going to be furious anyway, and it was a joint decision not to call them right away. We’ll all stand behind you on that.”

He bent to give me a hug. “I love you. Do you know that?

“I’ve suspected it a time or two, son. I love you, too.”

Joe Riddley searched with Buster’s men that morning, but he came in around ten thirty, ushering Georgia Bullock ahead of him. “Look who I found wandering around in the street.” He sounded downright gallant.

“I can’t believe I got lost,” Georgia said with a rueful laugh, “but I’m terrible about that. I once got so lost in Lavonia, I drove past the post office three times before I found the road out of town. Thank goodness your husband found me, Mackie.” She beamed up at him like he’d personally escorted her to the moon.

If so, she could pose for the flag. She wore a navy blazer with matching slacks, and a silky white shirt with a red-white-and-blue striped scarf around her neck. Even her long, slim shoes were red and navy. Every wisp of yellow hair was in place, her makeup hadn’t wilted in the heat, and her lipstick was fresh and flag red.

I’d forgotten to refresh my own lipstick after standing for ten minutes talking to Burlin in the parking lot, and my hair was probably windblown, but I reminded myself she was still only one year younger than me.

“I hate to bother you all,” she went on in a hurried, breathless voice, “but I’m looking for Burlin and Renée. We’re all supposed to be going down to Dublin for a luncheon.” She looked around the office like I might be concealing somebody behind the filing cabinets.

“They’re not here.” I stood up so she could see they weren’t under my desk, either.

She tapped a thumbnail against her upper front teeth. It wasn’t an attractive habit, but it made her seem more human, like the rest of us. Joe Riddley must have thought so, too, because he came down off the clouds to say, “I have a bone to pick with your brother. My wife doesn’t need ru mors getting around about her and anybody.”

I held my breath. Here it came . . .

Georgia gave a disgusted sigh. “Nobody does. The way reporters twist things around is terrible. You never know what they’ll print, which is why I am always telling Lance and Burlin that the less they say, the better. I’m so sorry, Mackie.” She actually had tears in her eyes.

All that unexpected sympathy made me admit, “I did see Burlin briefly in the parking lot when I came in about an hour ago. He was on his way to Spence’s Appliances. I don’t know where he was going after that.”

“Thanks. Maybe Hubert will know where he is, then. Nobody else is worried except Abigail and me. Lance is answering mail, Burlin’s wandering, and heaven only knows where Renée is—she went for a walk just after breakfast and hasn’t come back yet. That woman has no sense of time. I hope she doesn’t make us late.” She turned to Joe Riddley with an anxious frown. “It won’t take us more than half an hour to get down there, right?”

“If you drive like MacLaren, here. Otherwise, you’d better allow forty-five.”

“Especially on these roads,” I added. “It’s two lanes all the way, and you never know when you’ll get caught behind a timber truck or a tractor.”

“And it looks like it might rain.” She checked her watch and sighed. “So we’ll need to leave in less than an hour. Edward likes us to be early. But thanks.” She turned to Joe Riddley and her frown dissolved into a radiant smile. “Thanks for rescuing me, Judge Yarbrough.” She tripped out in her patriotic shoes.