Miss Julia Renews Her Vows (12 page)

“Well, good,” I said, but with a pang of envy—or was it jealousy?—at the thought of those two working alone together.

“Yes, and Lloyd wants to help, too.”

“Even better,” I said.

Urging me to call her during the night if I needed anything, she started to leave but turned back. “Oh, I wanted to tell you, I’ll be up and gone early tomorrow. I have a client way past Delmont who wants me there by seven every Monday morning. I won’t disturb you before I go, so I’ll just thank you now for everything, especially for getting me out of jail.”

“You weren’t exactly in jail, Etta Mae, but I’m glad you felt you could call on me. Now, I do want to hear what Binkie says, so come by when you finish with her. And remember that the invitation to stay here as long as you want is still open.”

She flashed her brilliant smile and left me to wallow in a lonely bed of my own making.

Etta Mae did, indeed, leave early the following morning, just as everybody but me was stirring. I heard Lillian come in downstairs while Sam was shaving, but I stayed where I was.

“You feeling better?” Sam asked as he came back into the room, buttoning his shirt.

“Not really. I was up and down most of the night with an upset stomach.”

“I’m sorry, honey. Why didn’t you wake me? I didn’t hear a thing.”

Well, of course, he wouldn’t, because I’d slept like a log. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You can disturb me anytime you want,” that sweet man said. “Now, listen, if you’re not any better today, I want you to call Dr. Hargrove. And if you don’t, I will.”

“I will. I promise. I can’t take much more of this.” Actually, it was the bed itself I’d had enough of, but surely I could manage twelve more hours of it—just long enough for Dr. Fred Fowler to start enriching, then I was going to have a miraculous recovery.

Sam and Lloyd had barely gotten out the door downstairs—one on the way to school and the other to the office at his house—when I heard Lillian climbing the stairs. There was more than one creaky tread under her.

“What you doin’ in that bed?” she demanded as soon as she appeared in the room. “What’s the matter with you? You not s’posed to be sick.”

This was Lillian’s way of expressing concern, and if she’d been kind and solicitous, I’d have felt I was on my deathbed.

“Just an upset stomach, Lillian. It’s made me feel a little weak and trembly. I think if I stay in bed today, I’ll get over it faster.”

“Well, you do look a little peaked. You feel like gettin’ up an’ lettin’ me change the sheets?”

“That would be lovely.” The thought of getting out of that bed even for a few minutes made me throw back the covers and swing my feet to the floor. I had to remind myself to slow down and sway a little when I stood up.

I felt guilty when she took my arm and led me to one of Hazel Marie’s pink velvet chairs beside the front window. She tucked an afghan around me, then proceeded to strip the bed for a change of linens. I could hardly meet her eyes, I felt so bad about what I was doing—though not quite bad enough to stop doing it.

“Miss Julia,” Lillian said as she snapped a sheet over the bed, “Mr. Sam, he tell me ’bout Miss Etta Mae an’ her troubles, an’ I been frettin’ over it ever since. How anybody could think that little woman could hurt anybody is beyond me. You reckon them police gonna come back an’ get her again?”

“They certainly shouldn’t,” I said. “She’s as innocent as the day is long, and I’d like to know whether that patient of hers has actually accused her or not. I’m hoping they took her in simply because she’d been to the woman’s house and they’re questioning everybody who’d been there. It beats all I’ve ever heard, though, Lillian, that somebody would walk into a person’s home, steal a bracelet, then try to kill the owner. Be sure all the doors are locked. I wouldn’t want it to happen here.”

“Law, me neither.”

When I was back in bed, propped up against a pile of pillows, and Lillian had gone downstairs to fix a bowl of oatmeal for me, I wondered what I could do to pass the time. I was supposed to be too sick to want to read anything, much less do any handwork, so the day stretched out interminably before me.

When the phone rang, I snatched it up, hoping for some time-passing word from anybody.

“Miss Julia?” Etta Mae’s trembly voice said. “I just thought I’d call and let you know that if you need any nursing care, I’m available.”

“Why, I thought you had a full schedule of patients.”

“No’m, not any longer. I just got fired.”

“
Fired!
Etta Mae, what happened?”

“Well,” she said, then stopped to blow her nose. “Lurline said she couldn’t have somebody with a cloud over her head working for her. Her clients wouldn’t stand for it. They’d all be afraid I’d do the same thing to them.”

“But you haven’t done anything to anybody! What do they have to be afraid of? I hope you told that Lurline woman that you’re innocent and she has no right to fire you.”

“Oh, she knows it. She’s just worried about appearances and about losing clients. I expect she’s right. They’ll all be afraid of me because I’m practically a jailbird.”

“Now you just stop that kind of talk right now,” I said. “You are certainly not a jailbird. You and everybody else that was in that woman’s house last Thursday have to be questioned. It’s a perfectly normal thing for the investigators to do and doesn’t at all imply guilt. And you need to stop thinking that way.” I drew in a deep breath. “Now listen, Etta Mae, I don’t think your employer has any right to fire you under these circumstances. You might discuss it with Binkie. I expect she can get your job back for you under a fair hiring act or something. Have you seen her yet?”

“No’m. I have an appointment at one o’clock, but Miss Julia, I don’t think Binkie can do anything about Lurline. Lurline never pays any attention to anything the government comes out with. She says they don’t know what she has to put up with and if they don’t bother her, she won’t bother them.”

“Well, they just might bother her if she’s fired you without cause. But look, Etta Mae, you go on and see Binkie, then I want you to come back here. I want to know everything she says and I want you to be sure to tell her about losing your job. I’m going to look for you this afternoon, and you come prepared to stay here with us.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll come by, but I guess I better not stay over. I thank you anyway, but I ought to go on home and try to think of somebody who might hire me. I need the work.”

“I know you do,” I said, and I did. I already employed her to manage the Hillandale Trailer Park, but her only remuneration for that was a rent-free space for her single-wide. “So I’m hiring you to look after me until Hazel Marie needs you.” I heaved a sign. “I’m not well, you know, and I could use your expertise. So you just pack your suitcase and plan to do some twenty-four-hour nursing care.”

“Really? You really mean it?”

“Yes, I really do. This has happened just at the opportune time, when I’m laid low and you need a job. I’ll look for you this afternoon.”

With that settled, I hung up the phone, lay back on the pillows and wondered what I had done. I hadn’t planned on being sick much past eight o’clock that night—just long enough for the marriage enrichment session to start without me. But with a live-in private-duty nurse on her way, I was going to have to think of something that would keep me sick enough to need her, but not sick enough to keep me in bed the livelong day. Maybe walking pneumonia would do it.

With Lillian’s encouragement—she said it would make me feel better—I got up later in the morning and took a bath. It helped fill the time, but after I got into a fresh gown and bed jacket, there was nothing for it but to crawl back in bed and stare at the four walls. Whoever said that resting in bed was good for you had never spent much time in one. All it gave me was restless legs syndrome.

A little after two o’clock, Etta Mae Wiggins came by after her appointment with Binkie. I was relieved to see her, not only to find out what Binkie had had to say, but to have something to think about other than the long afternoon stretching out before me.

“What’d she say?” I asked as soon as Etta Mae walked into the room. “Pull a chair up close, Etta Mae; I want to hear everything you talked about and everything Binkie told you.”

“Well,” she said, clasping her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling. Her face was deathly pale, maybe because her makeup had faded. “Well,” she said again, “I told her what all had happened, and she was surprised. She said she usually hears things like that around town before a client comes in, but in this case she’d not heard a word. Anyway, all she could do was tell me to call her if the deputies pick me up again. And not to say anything until she gets there.”

“That’s all?” I couldn’t believe that Binkie had had no more to say on the subject. Why, it was no more than what
I
’d told Etta Mae.

“No’m. Binkie’s going to find out exactly what the client has said; who she’s accused, if anybody; and just what line of investigation the deputies are working on. Oh, and what Mrs. Delacorte’s condition is—how badly injured she is and so on.”

“That’s your patient or client or whatever she is? Mrs. Delacorte? I don’t believe I know her.”

“Probably not. She moved into one of the cottages out at the Mountain Villas Retirement Center only a few months ago.”

Still thinking I might have heard of the woman, I asked, “What’s her first name?”

“Fran is all I’ve ever heard. Mrs. Fran Delacorte.”

“Good Lord!” I said, throwing back the covers and springing out of bed. I stood up so suddenly that my head began to swim and I had to clutch at Etta Mae to keep from falling.

“Miss Julia!” she cried, holding on to me. “What’s the matter? Are you ill? You need to go to the bathroom?”

“No, no, I’m all right.” I sank back onto the edge of the bed and tried to get myself under control. “It’s just . . . well, I think I’ve just put two and two together. You said she was from Florida, too, didn’t you? So tell me, Etta Mae, this Fran Delacorte, is she a short, heavyset woman with a lot of strange-looking hats?”

“I guess, though I wouldn’t call her heavyset, exactly. I’d say she’s just plain overweight. And she does have a lot of hat
boxes,
though I don’t know what’s in them. And she’s as short as I am, maybe a little shorter. I’m not sure because she’s always in bed or sitting in a chair with her foot propped up when I’ve seen her. That big toe of hers, you know, where she has the gout? Well, it sure keeps her off her feet.”

My eyes narrowed as I gave it some thought. “She have a queenly sort of attitude? As if everything you do for her is only her rightful due?”

Etta Mae gave a short bark of a laugh. “I’ll say. That woman’s never once even said thank you. Not that I expect it, you understand, because after all, she is paying for the service. But she’s not the easiest client I have by a long shot.”