Miss Julia Inherits a Mess

Also by Ann B. Ross

Miss Julia Lays Down the Law

Etta Mae's Worst Bad-Luck Day

Miss Julia's Marvelous Makeover

Miss Julia Stirs Up Trouble

Miss Julia to the Rescue

Miss Julia Rocks the Cradle

Miss Julia Renews Her Vows

Miss Julia Delivers the Goods

Miss Julia Paints the Town

Miss Julia Strikes Back

Miss Julia Stands Her Ground

Miss Julia's School of Beauty

Miss Julia Meets Her Match

Miss Julia Hits the Road

Miss Julia Throws a Wedding

Miss Julia Takes Over

Miss Julia Speaks Her Mind

VIKING

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Copyright © 2016 by Ann B. Ross

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

ISBN 978-0-698-15800-9

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book is for Carolyn Carlson with deep gratitude for the many years of superb editorial guidance, perceptive suggestions, constant encouragement, and general handholding. Miss Julia and I wish you the very best.

Last year, the Blue Ridge Literacy Council of Henderson County, North Carolina, offered at auction to the highest bidder the naming of a character in a Miss Julia book. This is that book.

Although I do not know Diane Jankowski, whose most generous bid won her namesake a prominent role in
Miss Julia Inherits a Mess
, it was a pleasure to work with my version of her. I have given that character a professional background as an accredited furniture appraiser and, as such, she is a great help in extricating Miss Julia from the mess in which she finds herself.

Through the many months of working with “Diane Jankowski,” I have come to know that character quite well. I can only hope that the real Diane likes her as much as I do.

My thanks to you, Diane.

“Julia
!”
Barely catching her breath, LuAnne Conover started talking as soon as I answered the phone. “Have you heard? Everybody's talking about it—it's all over town. I can't imagine what she's been through, can you?”

“Well, no, LuAnne, I can't. Who're we talking about, anyway?”

“Why, Miss Mattie Freeman, of course. Who else would we be talking about? I
mean,
Julia, who else do we know who fell and broke her hip and couldn't get help no matter how long she cried and screamed, and had to lie sprawled out on the floor all night long?”

“Oh, my,” I said, abruptly sitting down. “No, I hadn't heard. Is she all right? What happened?”

But LuAnne wasn't finished with what she'd started. “It's beyond me to understand how you miss everything, Julia. It's not as if you live out in the sticks or anything. In fact, I live farther out than you do, and
I
heard about it more than an hour ago. I would've called you sooner, but my phone's been busy.”

Yes, and I knew why—she'd been on it. But I said, “Well, I don't get out and around like you do.”

“That's because you have Lillian to run your errands and do your shopping and everything else, while I have to do everything myself.”

Every now and then, LuAnne had to take a little jab at those of us who had household help. Not, I assure you, that she couldn't
afford it herself, although I concede that she might've had to compromise on other things. But still.

“That's neither here nor there, LuAnne,” I said, unwilling to apologize for my good fortune. After all, I'd had to put up with Wesley Lloyd Springer for forty-some-odd years to get it. “Tell me about Miss Mattie. Is she all right?”

“Who knows?”
LuAnne said, almost in a shriek. “Nobody'll tell me anything! I've called the hospital and I've called Dr. Hargrove and they won't tell me a living thing! They ask if I'm a member of the family—they're the only ones they'll talk to. And, Julia, I've known her for
years,
which I think ought to count for something.”

“Well . . .”

“I even called Sue, and would you believe she said I knew more about it than she did. Now, I just don't believe that, because she's the doctor's wife. Who else would know something if not her?”

“When did this happen, LuAnne?”

“Not fifteen minutes ago. And she said she had something on the stove and couldn't talk. Hurt my feelings, too.”

“No, LuAnne, I mean when did Miss Mattie fall?”

“Oh. Well, sometime last night or maybe yesterday afternoon. I can't get a straight answer out of anybody. Do you think the EMTs would tell us anything?”

“I don't think I'd bother them. They're probably under orders not to give out information. But does that mean they were called out for Miss Mattie?”

“Julia,” LuAnne said with just a touch of impatience that meant I was being uncommonly slow. “Who do you
think
they'd call? Miss Mattie had been lying on that floor in horrific pain all night long. She had to have somebody who could get her on a stretcher or whatever, and somebody who had an ambulance to get her to the emergency room.”

“Oh, of course. But who found her?”

“The postman! You know how they have all the tenants' mailboxes in the hall of her building? Well, he was delivering the mail
right beside her door, and he heard her moaning, so he called for help. And thank goodness he did. But I can't believe her mail comes so early in the day. Can you? If it'd been me, I would've been lying there till suppertime, practically.”

“So she's in the hospital now?”

“Surgery. They're still operating on her.”

“Oh, my,” I said again. “Should we go over? I mean, maybe a group of us could sit in the waiting room to show our concern. She doesn't have any family, does she?”

“Not that I know of,” LuAnne said, slowing down as she thought about it. “It's strange, isn't it, to know someone so long, yet know so little about her? But I'll tell you something else,” she went on, gathering steam, “if you get a group together to go over there, don't bother calling Helen Stroud.”

“Well, she's probably busy.”

“Busy, my foot. She's just not interested, and I don't think she gives a flip about Mattie. When I phoned to tell her what happened, all she said was, ‘That's too bad. Thank you for calling.' Now, is that cold, or what?”

“Well, you know how Helen is. She expects people to do what they say they'll do, and Mattie . . . well, Mattie's not the easiest person to get along with.”

To tell the truth, Mattie Freeman could be downright disagreeable—abrupt and outspoken—with little thought of the feelings of others. She also had a tendency to volunteer for anything that came up, then to either forget it or just not do it. Helen, on the other hand, was the most efficient and organized person I knew—when she said she'd do something, you knew it would be done. She'd probably washed her hands of Mattie years ago and felt no need to manufacture a great concern for her now.

Not wanting to discuss those thoughts with LuAnne, though, I picked up on her earlier comment. “I think it's strange, too, that no one seems close to Mattie. I've known her since I first came to Abbotsville as a bride, yet I can't really say I
know
her. But what do you think? Should the two of us go over?”

“Well, I will if you will, but Leonard will want his lunch before I go. And there's really not much use in our just sitting around if she's still in surgery. Why don't we think about it for a while?”

I agreed, knowing that Miss Mattie would spend some time in the recovery room after the surgery anyway, and would be unlikely to feel up to receiving visitors anytime soon.

I put down the phone after LuAnne's assurance that she'd keep me up to date on Mattie's condition. I had no worries on that score, for LuAnne kept everyone up to date with anything and everything she heard, knew, or even thought of.

I sat down on the leather Chippendale sofa there in our library, which had once been the downstairs bedroom, to think about what had happened. Miss Mattie Freeman, bless her heart, what would she do now? As far as I knew—and I knew enough—she wouldn't have too many options. It was a settled fact, though, that she would need round-the-clock care for some time to come. Whom did she have to make those decisions and those arrangements if she was unable to do so herself? Which, at her advanced age, was highly likely to be the case.

Thinking of Miss Mattie's present, uneasy situation, I recalled the day a few weeks after Wesley Lloyd's passing—this was years ago now—when Binkie, my curly-headed lawyer, called me to her office.

“Miss Julia,” she'd said, holding out a frayed, much-used ledger, “you may not know about this, but you should take a look. It's a list of people who owe money to Mr. Springer—well, to the estate now. It shows how much they borrowed and how they're repaying it.”

“Oh, you mean bank loans?” Wesley Lloyd had been the owner of one of the last independent banks in the state, a situation in which I'd wanted no part. I'd sold out as soon as I profitably could.

“No, not bank loans—personal loans. You'll forgive me, Miss Julia, but Mr. Springer was running his own operation and charging a pretty penny for it, too.”

I hadn't needed to forgive her for anything she had to say about my first husband. I'd had plenty to say about him myself.

As I glanced down the list of names in the ledger, I realized that I knew most of the people who were indebted to my husband, and now to me. I smiled to myself as an idea began to form in my mind. Hazel Marie Puckett, my late husband's paramour and mother of his little son, who up to that point had been thoroughly snubbed by the town, would, I decided, soon be welcomed in some of the finest homes in Abbottsville. Or else I would see that a certain number of loans on that list would be called in forthwith. Then I saw Mattie Freeman's name. I closed the ledger and handed it back to Binkie, feeling as embarrassed as I would've if I'd walked in on Miss Mattie in the act of disrobing. I told Binkie to cancel that debt, but none of the others.

It was days later that Binkie told me that Mattie had been highly offended at the cancellation, saying that she didn't need charity from anyone, much less from someone she had to see in the Lila Mae Harding class every Sunday that rolled around. I'd left all further decisions about Wesley Lloyd's loan sharking up to Binkie after that and never mentioned the matter to Miss Mattie. For many people who run out of funds, pride is the only thing left, and I respected that.