Do Unto Others (13 page)

“Must’ve,” I concurred politely.

“And I have no idea why Beta would put Tamma’s name on this list. You’re judging Beta too harshly. Perhaps it was a prayer list. We should pray for our enemies.”

I shook my head. “Maybe with me and some of the others who are on the list. But not your wife, right? You just said they were pals.”

“I can’t help you. I don’t know the answer to why Beta did that.” He stood, trying to end the interview. “I must meet with my wife and Janice. We have a lot of planning to do for the Vacation Bible School.”

“Just another minute, please,” I said, keeping my seat. His comment reminded me of something Tamma mentioned yesterday. “She said she’d also worked with Beta on the church rummage sale.”

Adam smiled briefly as he sat back down. “That was the first sign that their little battles were over. Beta volunteered for it, then just took it over entirely from Tamma. Tamma realized that it was important to Beta to feel busy, so she let her.”

“When was that sale?” I asked.

Adam glanced at his calendar. “About two weeks ago. Beta, I’m afraid, didn’t do a very good job. She
left many things undone that Tamma and I had to do at the last minute.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged, impatient. “Sorting through contributions. Pricing them. She’d made a start on some, but then it was as if she forgot to finish the rest.”

That didn’t sound like Beta. If she was anything, she was thorough. She’d shown that in her war against the library. I thought hard. I hadn’t considered one important part of the formula that equalled death for Beta Harcher. Why had she died now, at that particular time? What had happened in her life that led to her death? I had only concentrated on her war against the library and me, but she might have had other mischief up her pilgrim’s sleeve. The church was her other main means of contact with her fellow human beings. Perhaps I needed to start looking for an answer there. Aside from her general involvement in the church, there was her involvement in the Vacation Bible School, the rummage sale, and the youth groups.

“Do you have a list of everyone who contributed to the rummage sale?”

Adam Hufnagel looked suspiciously at me. What was I—Herod hunting down innocents? “Why would you want that?”

“I’m curious as to who donated to the church. Surely you keep a list of contributors.”

“I do, but I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”

“Look, Adam. You can play this the easy way or the rough way. Beta Harcher had an unusual amount of money in her banking account, enough to overflow most coffers. She hadn’t had that money long. It hasn’t been traced yet, so I don’t think she got it from stock options or winning the lottery. She was getting it from someone.”

It took a moment for it to register with Adam. “Blackmail? Beta? That’s absurd.” The music of his voice was slightly off-key.

“No more ridiculous than her trying to burn the library. I’m just curious about who she dealt with in the past two weeks. It wasn’t just the folks on the library board. It was people in this church.”

Adam looked uncertain. I stood. “That’s okay. I can just take my story to Junebug. He doesn’t think I killed her. He’s just itching to have someone else to hand over to Billy Ray Bummel. He can get a warrant to search every record in this church.”

Tamma interrupted us. She stepped inside her husband’s office, not seeing me at first, but deciphering the look on her husband’s face. Her eyes, so downcast yesterday, found me and weren’t happy.

“Jordy. What are you doing here?” Her voice showed anger.

“Talking to your husband,” I answered. I’m a stickler for politeness.

“Bothering him, you mean. I wish you’d leave him alone.” The mouse was now roaring.

I ignored her. Adam held the power in that relationship, so it was him I dealt with. “That list, Reverend?”

He weighed it in his mind. A tongue, used to spouting Scripture and metaphor, fell silent. He walked out of the office. Tamma glared at me.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you bothering us?” she demanded. Her hands balled into fists, unsuitable for prayer.

“I didn’t realize looking for truth was a bother to you. Isn’t that why we have churches?”

“I used to think nicely of you, Jordy. But you’re a thoroughly unlikable person. Leave us alone.”

Adam returned with a file. He sorted through the papers,
found one, set the file down, and walked back out. I heard his footsteps stop, the hum of a copying machine, and the crisp sound of paper sliding into a tray. His footsteps resumed and he entered, brandishing a paper at me.

“Here. I hope you don’t bother these people too much.” He glanced at his wife, who wouldn’t look at me. “I can’t see how this has anything to do with Beta’s death.”

“Thanks. Good day, Reverend. Mrs. Hufnagel.” I nodded to the unfriendly Tamma, and left. Walking out into the morning sunshine of the parking lot, I scanned the list quickly. It was interesting that two of the names matched two of the names on Beta’s list.

  I changed my plans. I went home. Sister sat in the living room, watching Mama sweep the back porch. Mama loved to do that; repetitive actions hold a fascination for Alzheimer’s patients. It’s almost as if their repertoire of tasks is so limited, they get a sensual pleasure out of repeating endlessly the few actions they can still do well. Mama swept even the microbes off that porch, weaving back and forth for hours if uninterrupted. We didn’t want her to do it at first, but her doctor said it was decent exercise. It was better than the walking in circles that she also favored.

I decided to try out a theory. No more taking folks at face value. I picked up the kitchen phone, cleared my throat, and dialed Matt Blalock’s number.

“Hello, Blalock residence.”

“May I speak to Matthew Blalock, please?” I sounded just like my friend and co-worker Gil Camden back in Boston, just watering down the Yankee accent a tad. Making fun of Yankees when you live up there
tends to make you into a good mimic. At least it did me.

“This is Matt Blalock.”

“Hello, my name is Gil Camden. I’m a Vietnam vet who just recently moved to Bavary. I understand you hold a weekly meeting over there in Mirabeau for vets. I’m interested in attending.”

“Yes, we do. But not this week.” Matt coughed. “We don’t have our usual meeting place available. We should have it back next week, and we’ll meet then. If I can get your address and phone number, Mr. Camden, I’ll—”

I set the receiver gently back into its cradle. The good Reverend Hufnagel had lied right to my face. So why were he and Matt together at the church? The two of them were a pair that just didn’t match.

I went up to my room and laid out my notes. Since I didn’t have enough answers about the suspects, I decided to concentrate on the victim. Beta brought death on herself; this was no random act of violence, no crime of passion. Her presence in the library at night, her attempt to torch the building, her careful list of names and Biblical verses, the unexplained money in her account pointed to some system she’d imposed on her life. Beta, in other words, was up to something and it got her killed. I was the person most attached to the library; I’m the only one who would have arguably killed for it (and I wouldn’t have gone that far). That list had kept me focused on Beta’s relationships at the library, but Mirabeau was a small town and lives overlap in other areas. I needed to cast my net further, and I’d decided to start with the church.

I wrote out another list on paper:

TIMETABLE OF EVENTS IN BETA’S LIFE

January—Beta in hospital, accuses Ruth Wills of trying to poison her. Incident dropped.

February—Beta forced off library board after censorship battle. Rough fight with bad feelings between Beta and library board and vice versa. Particular animosity between Beta and Matt Blalock. Bob Don Goertz appointed to replace Beta.

Beginning of March—Beta chaperones with Tamma Hufnagel on youth group trip to Lake Travis. Beta and Tamma mend fences.

Late March—church rummage sale. Beta drops the ball on it.

Beginning of April—Beta begins planning work on Vacation Bible School with Tamma and Janice Schneider.

Monday, April 7, evening—Hally Schneider takes Beta home after baby-sitting job. Sees Eula Mae Quiff meeting Beta at her house.

Tuesday, April 8—Beta deposits $35,000 in her savings account.

Saturday, April 11, evening—Ruth witnesses violent argument between Beta and Bob Don at his dealership. Beta makes some threat toward someone Bob Don cares about. (Perhaps his mistress—remember his assigned quote about a damsel or two!)

Monday, April 13, morning—fights with me at library. Also present: Tamma, Eula Mae, Ruth.

Monday, April 13, afternoon—at her home apparently meets with Bob Don, then Tamma. Goes to church and takes library key from Adam’s office.

Monday, April 13, late night—goes to library with intention of burning it down—alone or with killer? Killed with baseball bat.

I read again where Beta deposited all that money. The day after she met Eula Mae. And Eula Mae was one of the few folks in town who could cough up that much cash. Beta must’ve been dangling something over Eula Mae’s head—

The palm of my hand slapped up against my mouth and I felt as stupid as a Bummel at birth. Beta did have something over Eula Mae, but it had to be something Beta didn’t know about when she made her censorship stand at the library. If Beta had dirt on Eula Mae, she’d have used it to get Eula Mae to switch her vote. The same for the others on the board: Janice and Ruth. But Beta hadn’t. No embarrassing revelations came to light when Beta got tossed. Whatever she’d had on Eula Mae, she hadn’t had it in February.

But at some point, Beta got smarter. She’d gotten $35,000 worth in smarts. Meeting late with Eula Mae. Threatening Bob Don. Who else?

I tore through my notebook, back to the list of names. Maybe this was a list of people Beta could blackmail. But then why were my name and Mama’s on it? I’d been as virtuous as a monk since coming home, and Mama could only get into a limited amount of mischief in her condition. It didn’t wash.

Sister rapped gently on my door. She’d never done that as a teenager but she’d broken her filthy habits.

“You have a visitor, Jordy. Beta Harcher’s niece is downstairs.”

THE YOUNG MISS HARCHER WASN’T WHAT I expected. Although I hadn’t given it much thought, when I’d heard Beta had a niece it wasn’t hard to imagine some tight-lipped, proper young clone of Beta. Apparently self-righteousness and primness aren’t in the genetic code.

The girl was around five feet eight, with shoulder-length reddish brown hair and a finely featured face. Her eyes were blue as a jay, and they darted around with the same cunning and speed. Her figure was firm and shapely under the black T-shirt and faded, acid-washed jeans she wore. She also wore large, funky turquoise earrings and black cowboy boots. I guessed she was young, around twenty-three.

Mark had come in from the backyard. As Sister and I came down the stairs, the girl laughed at something he said, a high, musical bell of a giggle. He blushed madly and kept gawking at her. I obviously needed to have a talk with that boy when all this calmed down. Had Sister explained the facts of life to him? Lord, all my responsibilities.

I kept those facts of life firmly out of my head as I introduced myself. I’m not sure she did.

“Well, Mr. Poteet, you sure don’t look like any librarian
I ever met. I’m Shannon Harcher.” Her hand was cool and firm in my grasp.

“Please, sit down,” I indicated the sofa.

She did, neatly, and I sat next to her. I glanced at Sister, asking with my eyes for some privacy. Sister made herself comfortable in the easy chair. Mark leaned against the wall, trying to look older and nonchalant. It didn’t work.

“My sympathies on your aunt’s death,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

To my surprise, a hint of a smile tugged at her mouth. “You’re very kind, Mr. Poteet. But I know you and Aunt Beta weren’t exactly friends. She gave me updates over the phone about her book-banning efforts.”

I opened my hands, then closed them back together. No use in denying that little fact. “No, we weren’t friends. I—” She raised a well-manicured hand to interrupt me.

“Look, Mr. Poteet, there’s no need to explain. I know what kind of person my aunt was.” Shannon Harcher shrugged. “You don’t have to pretend with me that you liked her. I won’t hold you to all those small-town niceties.”

“Okay, Miss Harcher—”

“Shannon.”

“Then call me Jordy. Okay, Shannon, your aunt and I weren’t friends.” I paused. “You’ve probably already heard that from the D.A.’s office and the chief of police.”

Her lovely eyes narrowed. “I haven’t talked with the D.A.’s office. The chief told me you’d found the body.”

So Junebug hadn’t told this girl I was a suspect. Maybe he didn’t consider me one anymore. I felt relief that she hadn’t talked with Billy Ray Bummel. She
wouldn’t have come around me if he’d been allowed to paint my picture.

“I did find the body.” I told her the story, quickly. I left out the part about Billy Ray wanting to nail my butt to the wall. While I spoke, Sister got up and fixed us iced tea with sliced limes. Shannon nodded her appreciation and sipped. She didn’t interrupt my story and sat thoughtfully for a moment when I finished.

“A baseball bat, of all things,” Shannon finally said. “I still can’t believe it. I always thought that she’d go down frothing at the mouth, waving her trusty Bible.”

“Not to be indelicate,” I said, “but I take it you didn’t share your aunt’s religious views.”

One of her fine, high, arched eyebrows (which probably already needed a building permit) went up a little farther. “No, I’m afraid I didn’t. I know you didn’t get along with her, Jordy. Sometimes, I didn’t either. My folks died when I was seventeen in a car wreck in Houston. They didn’t leave me enough for college, and I didn’t have the grades for a scholarship. Aunt Beta gave me the money for college.” She smiled. “With provisions. As long as I went to Baylor. As long as I went to church regularly. As long as I majored in religion.”

“Sounds like Beta,” Sister put in.

Shannon smiled her gorgeous smile. I might have majored in religion myself to see that more often. “It turned out to be negotiable. I ended up majoring in music instead. I just told Aunt Beta I specialized in church music, and that made her happy.”

“I’m glad someone could negotiate with her; I never mastered that particular talent.” I shifted on the couch. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Shannon, but why are you here to see me? Surely not just to meet the man who found your aunt’s body?”

Shannon lowered her eyes, staring down into her iced tea. She looked soulful and lost. It was a pose that she seemed comfortable in, carefully made to tug at a man’s heart. I could hear Mark’s sigh across the room.

“In going through some of Aunt Beta’s things, I found these library books. I was going to drop them off at the library, but it was closed. And I was curious to meet you anyway, after Chief Moncrief told me you’d found my aunt.” She dug into a book bag at her feet which I hadn’t noticed before. Pulling out four hardbacks, she offered them to me.

I took them from her, scanning the titles.
A Writer’s Guide to Getting Published. Drug Abuse: Traitor to Humanity. Videotaping for Fun. Living with Alzheimer’s Disease.
It made for a curious reading list.

Shannon watched my face. “That book on Alzheimer’s made me wonder if she was coming down with it.”

“Hardly. My mother has Alzheimer’s, though, and she made that list of Beta’s.” I set the books down. “I have no idea why Beta was interested in these other topics.”

“My aunt never had a wide range of hobbies,” Shannon said dryly. I liked her even more.

I ran a thumb along the book bindings. Alzheimer’s and my mother, and now Beta with a book on the painful subject. I wondered if some similar connection existed between Eula Mae and this book on writing. And what about the others? I couldn’t imagine Beta doing drugs—but I did know that Matt Blalock smoked dope. Maybe Beta knew, too (although I couldn’t imagine Matt caring). If she did know, she hadn’t turned him in. And I couldn’t picture Beta submitting an entry to
America’s Funniest Home Videos.
So why the videotape book?

Shannon cleared her throat and stood. “Well, I appreciate your hospitality, Jordy.” She nodded to Sister. “Thanks for the tea, Mrs. Slocum. Nice to have met you, Mark. Now you stay handsome, hear?” Before Mark could burst a blood vessel, I put my hand on Shannon’s arm.

“Stay for just a moment, please. I want to ask you something.” She shrugged and sat back down.

“Your aunt had just deposited $35,000 in her savings account before she died. I understand that was an unusual amount for her to have.”

Shannon examined one of her fingernails. “I’m not sure I should discuss my aunt’s financial situation with you. That was, after all, her business.”
And now it’s mine
was the unspoken ending to that sentence. I waited patiently for her to look at me. She did when I didn’t speak.

“Those of us who are involuntarily involved in this case have thought that Beta might have been getting money. By extortion.”

Shannon looked at me with wry amusement. “My aunt? A blackmailer? Get real, Jordy.” She sighed. “I guess I have to tell her secret, not that it matters now. She was hoarding that money for a long while. She was going to open up her own church in Houston.”

Her own church? I was glad my jaw was hinged, otherwise my chin’d be scraping the ground. “Beta wasn’t an ordained minister.” I managed to say.

Shannon laughed. “Oh, that didn’t matter. It was going to be a nondenominational, fundamentalist church. She didn’t need to be ordained for that; she just needed money, time, and some real estate.” Shannon shook her head. “She’d told me all about it. She’d saved up a bunch of money, and she was going to go to Houston and find her some office space she could convert. No
pun intended.” She laughed, any grief over her aunt forgotten. “She was supposed to come out to Houston next month and sign a lease. She was going to drag me into this whole mess. I work as a music promoter for several bands in Houston. She kept going on about how I could be the music director for her church. God, I wanted to avoid that, if possible.”

Enough to kill her? I wondered. “If she’d saved all this money, how come she made it in one big deposit? Why not let it grow in the account and accrue some interest?”

“I don’t know. She was goofy.”

“But she wasn’t stupid. If she was saving up to start a church, she’d want as much money as possible.” I shook my head. “I’m not calling you a liar, Shannon, but I don’t believe she had that money stuffed into a mattress all these years and just decided to put it in her account.”

Shannon’s eyes steeled. “Then it must have been donations from supporters. You know, like the TV evangelists get. It doesn’t matter anyhow; that money is mine now.”

“Not if it came from illegal means,” I said simply. “You already know she had a list of people on her when we found her. I’ve been talking with all those folks and they’re each as skittish as a waterbug during a drought. Maybe there’s a connection between her list, these books, and that money.”

“Maybe she was researching her first sermons,” Sister volunteered and I shot her a black look. She shrugged.

“She was religious,” Shannon argued. “Religious people don’t break the law.”

“She was in a library after hours, ready to torch it,”
I retorted. “I bet you if we look in the Texas Penal Code we’ll find arson mentioned.”

“So what do you want from me?” Shannon demanded. Her eyes flashed, and I guess the thought of losing that money was the spark.

“I want you to save yourself a lot of grief later on,” I answered. “If the money is genuinely your aunt’s, then it’s yours and the matter’s settled. But if she got it through blackmail, we need to know now. That way you won’t have to worry about the police coming and asking you for it down the line.”

Shannon weighed her choices. The lovely skin tightened across her high cheekbones as she thought. She was a smart woman.

“Fine,” she finally said. “I’ll cooperate. What do you want?”

“I want us—meaning you, me, and Chief Moncrief—to search your aunt’s house for any evidence that she was blackmailing someone.”

She shook her head, but not in disagreement. “The police already went through the house when she was killed. They didn’t find anything.”

“Then we go through it again. Junebug’s fellas probably wait for something to announce itself before they notice it. If we don’t find anything there, your aunt is probably innocent of extortion and I’ll apologize to her at her grave. But if she was, we might find who killed her.”

“I want that,” Shannon said bluntly. “I want to know who killed her and I want them to pay for it. I won’t pretend that she was my favorite person in the world, but she helped me when I needed it. It’s not right that she died that way.”

“I want that, too,” I said, but for an entirely different reason. It wasn’t right that Beta was murdered, but in
my humble opinion it was less right that I be arrested for it.

She glanced at her watch. “I have an appointment with Reverend Hufnagel. He’s conducting the funeral service. How about around three this afternoon?”

“I’ll call the chief,” I said, sure that he would not be pleased about me inviting myself along for the ride.

She stood, eager to be gone. She said her goodbyes again to Mark and Sister. I walked Shannon to her car, noticing that two doors down Janice Schneider was pulling into her driveway. Time to pay my kinfolk a visit.

I went back into the house. Mark was still moon-eyed over our visitor, but that wasn’t keeping him from toying around with expensive hardware. He pulled wires and cords from the TV and the VCR.

“Wow, she’s real pretty, huh, Uncle Jordy?” he said, yanking on a cord that looked costly to replace.

“Yes, she’s very attractive. And too old for you and too young for me.” I watched as he broke the bonds that hooked together TV and recorder. “What exactly are you doing, Mark?”

He began lugging the VCR up the stairs. “You said we all had to make our adjustments with Mamaw’s illness. Well, my adjustment for today is watching a Schwarzenegger tape on the TV in your room, so I can blare the volume and not freak out Mamaw.” He vanished up the stairs and into my private sanctuary. Great, I thought. That room always had been a magnet for teenage male mischief.

  Ever go into someone’s house and feel more like you’ve stepped into a catalog than a place where people actually live? I felt that way everytime I went into Janice Schneider’s house. Note that I said house, not
home. I swear to God there was no way this woman had three males actually living in this house. It was as pristine as new crystal and as tasteful as money could make it. There had been enough money, all right.

Janice’s living room wasn’t much bigger than ours, but it was as white as a snowy field. The carpet, the upholstery, the throw pillows were all various shades of ivory. The furniture that wasn’t white seemed to be all glass and chrome, so you could see through it to the white or have the white reflected back at you. I thought the TV might only pick up static, just to fit in. If I’d been a speck of dirt in that room, I would have died of loneliness.

Janice bravely served me coffee in that expanse of snowy home furnishings. I say bravely because if I were her, I wouldn’t allow anything that could make a stain in that room. Janice seemed to have total confidence in my ability to not spill, however.