Miss Julia Renews Her Vows (34 page)

“No, he’s not.” A pain like a knife thrust ripped through my heart, and I covered my face with my hands. “Oh, Hazel Marie, I hate to say this, but Sam’s so unhappy and I don’t know why. Except it has to be because of me.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute.” Hazel Marie spoke so firmly, I had to look up at her. “No way in the world is that man unhappy because of you or for any other reason. And I don’t see how you’d even think so.”

So I told her. I told her about Sam wanting us to go to Dr. Fowler’s marriage enrichment classes and how I couldn’t. Hazel Marie already knew a little because she’d been around during my first encounter with the man. “So, see,” I went on, “why would Sam want us to go to those classes if he was happy with the way things are? I tell you, Hazel Marie, it’s a clear wake-up call to me that Sam feels something is lacking in our marriage. Why would he want us to go get enriched if he didn’t feel impoverished?”

“Maybe it’s just what he said,” Hazel Marie said. “He wants to support the pastor. I don’t think you need to look for anything else.”

“But Hazel Marie, the wife is always the last to know, and I’m afraid that his wanting to get me to those classes is an indication that something is wrong. I’d be a fool to ignore it, and under any other circumstances I’d just go and be done with it. But I can’t, not with Dr. Fowler there, because if Sam learns about that little episode, I might as well head out for Reno. Or for a quiet divorce downtown. Because that will give him the excuse he’s looking for.”

“Oh, Miss Julia, you can’t believe that!”

“Well, I don’t, but that’s what I’m afraid of. And now you say that Francie Pitts is just waiting in the wings, so that’s another thing to worry about. Wanting to go to those classes is clear evidence to me that Sam is restless, and she’s just waiting to pounce.” I grabbed a napkin to mop up the tears that had been waiting to spill out, for the more I thought of all that had happened, the more I’d convinced myself that our marriage was on the rocks.

“You’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” Hazel Marie said. “I don’t for a minute believe that Mr. Sam’s unhappy about anything, and as for Francie, don’t make me laugh. From what you say about her, he wouldn’t have her on a silver platter.”

“Well, Hazel Marie, when you look back at how we got married, you have to admit that Sam might have a hard time
feeling
married. Remember? We eloped to Pigeon Forge and ended up before a defrocked preacher who had no legal right to marry anybody. Then, in order to rectify that, we got remarried by the Reverend Morris Abernathy. Now, I know that Lillian’s pastor is as legal and as qualified to marry people as they come, but a wedding ceremony in an empty classroom at the high school after a beauty pageant? What kind of wedding is that? I don’t wonder that Sam feels he’s missed out on something. I sometimes feel that way myself.”

“Well, that’s easy to fix,” Hazel Marie said. “Why don’t you just get remarried? You can renew your vows—you know, like you told everybody that J.D. and I did. Only you and Sam really would. And you could have a big reception with all the trimmings, invite everybody and have the kind of wedding every woman dreams of. I’d love to help. It’d be like having my own real wedding, although,” she quickly added, “I’m happy with the one I got, considering how slippery J.D.’s been all these years.”

“I don’t know, Hazel Marie,” I said, cringing at the thought of such a public spectacle, yet thinking at the same time that it would be a small price to pay to ease Sam’s mind.

“Think about it,” Hazel Marie urged. “And feel Mr. Sam out. It might be just the thing to put a little fire back into your marriage. If that’s what’s missing, I mean.”

“Well, that’s just the thing. If it’s fire that’s missing, I sure haven’t noticed. Yet Dr. Fowler’s classes are all about how to stoke the embers and stir up the flames, so maybe that is the area that concerns Sam.” I wiped my face, shuddering a little for discussing such intimate matters with Hazel Marie. Or with anyone, for that matter. What happens in the bedroom ought to stay there, in my opinion. Yet the longer we’d talked, the more desperate my situation seemed, and at least Hazel Marie had suggested something I could do other than just worry about it. “Well, it’s something to think about, Hazel Marie, and I will. But I’ll tell you, after all the other times I’ve been through it, I’ve about memorized those vows.”

Etta Mae knocked on the back door, then walked in, looking edgier than usual after her visit to Binkie’s office. Hazel Marie and I both looked at her, just as Lillian came into the kitchen.

“What happened?” We all said at about the same time, bringing a tiny smile to Etta Mae’s face.

She dropped into a chair and said, “Well, he didn’t identify me.”

We all, in our various ways, expressed relief and gratification that the pawnbroker’s nephew had such an excellent memory.

“Actually,” Etta Mae went on, “he couldn’t identify anybody in the pictures they showed him. And Lieutenant Peavey wouldn’t tell Binkie whether he’d even hesitated over any of them. I just wish he could’ve identified one of the others. But he didn’t, so I guess everything’s still up in the air.”

Lillian and I did our best to reassure her and tell her that surely the nephew’s inability to point at her picture proved her innocence. I don’t think she was convinced and probably wouldn’t be until the real culprit was revealed. I can’t say that I blamed her, for Francie’s accusation—the only lead the lieutenant had—still hung over her head.

Hazel Marie had been quiet for several minutes, then with a knowledgeable tone that surprised me, she said, “You know what they do, don’t you? They put your picture in with four or five pictures of people they know—probably women deputies or clerks in the office, like that. The thing about it is, Etta Mae, there wasn’t anybody but you in that lineup that they’re even looking at.” She glanced around at us. “J.D. told me how they do it.”

“Well, my word,” I said, flaring up, “you’d think they’d put some real suspects in the lineup. What good did it do to go through that rigamarole when we know that the one person they suspect is innocent? I think they should’ve put Evelyn’s picture in it, and maybe the gatekeeper’s, the trashman’s and so forth—anybody who had access to Francie’s cottage.”

Lillian said, “I thought that nephew ’membered it was a woman that hocked it.”

“Oh,” I said, “that’s right. Well, I guess they should’ve used pictures of wives and girlfriends of those people. Or,” I went on with a sudden flash, “even Francie’s picture, because I don’t trust that woman as far as I can throw her.”

Hazel Marie patted my arm. She knew that I suspected Francie, but for far more than the theft of a bracelet.

When we’d talked out the open-ended results of the lineup, thrashed through the ineptitude of the sheriff’s department and eaten lunch, Hazel Marie asked Etta Mae if she still felt like doing some shopping. Etta Mae looked tired and drained from her unproductive morning, but she quickly agreed.

“She don’t need to be on her feet too long,” Lillian cautioned, with a knowing look at Hazel Marie. “Miss Etta Mae, don’t let her be traipsin’ all over the place. You know how she like to shop.”

Etta Mae gave her a quick grin. “I sure do, but don’t worry. She just wants to look at cribs, then we’ll be home.”

“That’s right,” Hazel Marie said. “I’m just looking today to see what they have. Then I’ll get J.D. to go with me to see which one he likes.”

“Lots of luck with that,” I said, smiling, as Lillian laughed at the thought of Mr. Pickens judiciously studying a lineup of baby beds, then, after careful consideration of each one, pointing out his choice. It wouldn’t surprise me, though, if he opted for a dresser drawer and a pillow. Make that two dresser drawers and two pillows.

“Lillian,” I said as they left for their shopping trip, “something’s got to be done to help Etta Mae. But for the life of me, I can’t think what it could be.” But something else was niggling at the back of my mind, something that might take care of the other problem that was troubling me.

“It all work out in the long run,” Lillian said. “You don’t need to be messin’ ’round in it.”

“Oh, I agree. I just want to give it some thought.” And to that end, I went into the living room so I could think by myself without anybody taking the wind out of my sails.

As concerned about Etta Mae as I was, it was Sam who had me in mortal turmoil. Inadvertently, Hazel Marie had opened my eyes to the danger that he was in. Everybody knows that the most constant of husbands can have his head turned, and Sam’s innate kindness would allow him to put up with Francie until she had him where she wanted him. I didn’t doubt that Sam was faithful—he might be unhappy, but his own high moral standards would keep him faithful. So on those grounds, as opposed to the moral standards of Wesley Lloyd Springer, I trusted him completely. But I didn’t trust Francie Pitts.

So did that give me license to fight fire with fire? I thought it did, and to that end I went back to the kitchen and told Lillian that I was going to pay a visit to LuAnne Conover. But just as I started for the door, the phone rang.

As soon as I answered it, Emma Sue Ledbetter began talking. “Julia, I just got back from visiting Francie Whatever-her-name-is, and I’m so upset I can hardly stand it. Something is really,
really
wrong with her.”

I could’ve told her that to begin with, but I just said, “I know.”

“No, Julia, I don’t think you do. She’s had some medical problems, I know, but I think she has some spriritual problems, too. You know that woman who stays with her? That housekeeper or whatever? Well, you wouldn’t believe how ugly Francie talked to her, and I mean with me sitting right there listening to it all. Francie yelled at her, called her a moron and an idiot and just
berated
her like I’ve never heard before. Why, I wouldn’t talk to a dog that way, much less a person. And she didn’t even apologize to me, just acted like it was something everybody does and I’d understand. But I didn’t and I still don’t. I tell you, Julia, the whole thing scared me. It was like she has a demon, a demon of anger, and she could turn it off and on without thinking a thing about it. And you know what the worst thing about it was?”

“No, what?”

“That woman is her
cousin
!”

“Really! I didn’t know that. But I’ve heard Francie lay into her, too, and it’s not a pleasant thing to witness. And to think that she’s a relative!”

I listened as Emma Sue went on telling about her visit, but my mind was engaged with this new information. Evelyn was Francie’s cousin—did that mean anything, and if so, what? It seemed obvious to me that Evelyn had to be dependent on Francie—financially speaking, at least—else why would she put up with such abuse? And maybe she was emotionally dependent on her as well and had been so beaten down that she could no longer stand up for herself. I’d heard of cases like that.

Finally, after agreeing with Emma Sue that the pastor should be informed—especially because Emma Sue had convinced herself that a demon was involved—I was able to end the conversation.

After hanging up, I turned to Lillian. “Lillian, do you believe in demons?”

She frowned at me, wondering where that had come from. Then she said, “I b’lieve in the devil, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he have some helpers flittin’ ’round. Why?”

“Oh, I was just wondering. Emma Sue believes in them, but I think they could just be a good excuse for people who can’t or won’t control themselves. They can blame their faults on somebody else.”

But with the greater knowledge of Francie’s personality that Emma Sue had given me, I had no hesitation in going on to LuAnne’s to put my plan in motion.