When Did We Lose Harriet? (25 page)

She wouldn’t be so glad later, I thought sadly, giving her an awkward hug. I hoped she’d never learn how many of their notions the police were getting from me.

“How’re you holding up?” Joe Riddley bent down and asked kindly.

“Just barely,” Dee moaned. “The television reporter was downright rude. Wondered if she could put me on the evening news. When I didn’t recognize your car, I almost didn’t answer the bell. Are you Laura’s brother?”

When I introduced them, her surprise wasn’t a bit flattering. Apparently it hadn’t occurred to her I was married.
Especially not to such a nice, handsome man. And as worried as she was, Dee couldn’t help turning on the charm for him. Her blue eyes widened pitifully. “Nothing this awful has ever happened to us. Those reporters are just ghouls!” She led the way to the sunroom. “Thank God, Julie’s over at Rachel’s. I can’t decide about calling her to come home. I don’t like to worry her, but it will be awful if she hears it from somebody else. I don’t know what to do.”

I was tempted to suggest she call. Miss Slyboots could stand to be found out once in a while. In fact, it would probably be good for her. I felt a twinge of unexpected compassion. Maybe Julie’s main problem was that nobody ever told her mother on her. Dee wasn’t such a doting parent that she’d refuse to discipline the child, nor was Julie really bad—just used to getting away with things.

However, no matter what Joe Riddley might tell you, I don’t always jump into other people’s lives with both feet. I knew this was neither the time nor the place to worry Dee with anything else. She had enough on her plate without having to call all over town trying to find her daughter.

For one thing, she had suddenly remembered she was a Montgomery hostess. “Please sit down. Can I get you all a Coke or something?”

“No, thanks.” I took a chair, and Joe Riddley sat down gingerly on the love seat, perching on the front of his cushion as if afraid the wicker couldn’t stand up to his two hundred pounds.

“How could anybody think William…” Dee’s voice trembled and stopped. She settled herself on the chaise, arranged her skirt, and looked at us with eyes brimming with tears.

“Have you talked with a lawyer?” I asked matter-of-factly.

She nodded. “He said he’d go down to the station at once.”

“Well, I hate to ask this, but do you think William killed Myrna?”

“Of course not! He didn’t even
know
Myrna. I don’t think they’d met more than two or three times. Besides, William wouldn’t kill
anybody.”
She fiddled with her beads.

A car roared up the drive. A door slammed, and a key rattled in the kitchen lock. “Dee? Dee! Are you here?” Nora started talking before she reached the sunroom. “What did you mean by that message you left on my machine about William?”

I waited a bit nervously to see what Dee would say, since it had been me who left the message—holding my nose and sniffing to sound like I was crying. However, Nora went right on talking without waiting for a reply. “And why should he—Oh! I didn’t realize you had company.” She stood in the doorway, slim in pale white slacks and an orange and yellow top. Why hadn’t that woman’s hips slid south when the rest of ours did?

And whom did she think Joe Riddley’s silver Town Car belonged to—the yard man?

“Hello, Nora,” I said. “I came by to give Dee some news, and she’s been giving us some instead. This is my husband, Joe Riddley Yarbrough.” I almost said “Judge Yarbrough.” There was something about Nora that made me want to impress her. Perhaps those hips, or the way her hair still looked so naturally red. I realized just in time, however, that if I said “judge,” Nora and Dee might expect things of Joe Riddley he couldn’t deliver, and he’d practically kill himself trying. He can be hard on our boys, but pretty women make putty out of him.

Dee sighed. “I was just telling Laura and her husband, Nora—William’s been taken to the police station to answer questions about Myrna, and I’ve been perfectly besieged by reporters. You can’t imagine how tacky some of them were.”

Nora sat down suddenly in a straight chair. “What on earth do they think William knows about that woman?”

Dee shook her head. “I have no idea. He didn’t call me, his secretary did. She said the police asked him some questions about his trip to New Orleans last spring, then asked him to come downtown with them.” Her voice trembled. “You know what that means. It means they think William ki—ki—killed her!” She burst into tears. Joe Riddley reached for a tissue and handed it across to her, although she could easily have gotten it herself.

I thought we’d better get on with our business and leave. I could tell by his expression what he was thinking:
Little Bit, how could you even think one of these delightful ladies could kill anybody?
I’ve always said it’s a good thing he’s a magistrate and not a trial judge. No woman in Hope County would ever get convicted except the loud, the rude, or the ugly.

I reached into my pocketbook, pulled out a scrap of paper, and repeated what I’d told Eunice and old Mrs. Scott. Nora, who is no dummy, pooh-poohed the whole idea of somebody coming forward after all this time, but Dee snatched up the paper and looked at it like she’d like to memorize what it said.

She didn’t need to do that. I left it on her wicker coffee table.

When we got home, Glenna poured us each a glass of tea and got us settled in the den, then she and Jake sat down with us to compare stories.

“Carter called,” she told us. “William admits running into Myrna down in New Orleans in early May, and telling her that Harriet’s grandmother and father had both died and left Harriet—to quote Carter—’a bundle.’ William said he figures Myrna came back to get her hands on some of it. He swears he didn’t kill her, though, and has employees at his store who can testify he was there the day she got shot. Carter also asked him about why he was paying
Harriet, and he says he never touched her—that one day they were in the kitchen and he just bumped into her, but she accused him of trying—you know. Anyway, he says he wasn’t, but he gave her an allowance because he felt sorry for her. I was so
glad
to hear that.”

“Yeah, right,” Joe Riddley muttered under his breath.

Jake rubbed his hands together, a sure sign he was nervous. “We had a good visit with Lou Ella, too, but we can’t tell you everything she said. It boiled down to this: she found out on Monday, June third, how bad William’s business is doing, and she got real upset.”

“She cried!” Glenna marveled. “She sat here and cried to think her grandson had gotten in such a financial bind and she never suspected. ‘I’ve been too busy with outside things and not kept watch over my family,’ she said.”

“But what does that have to do with where she was on June fourth?” I asked whichever one of them wanted to tell me.

“She was with our preacher all morning. Lou Ella grew up Catholic in New Orleans—her real name is Lourdes Elaine. She changed it in college. Anyway, she said that was the first time in years she’d wished she had a priest to confess to, so she called the preacher and asked if she could talk to him. She was just
stricken
to think how much William had suffered without her knowing a thing about it. After she’d talked to the preacher, she had William over for a late lunch to, as she put it, ‘Make things right.’ I don’t know exactly what she meant—”

“But we figure it had something to do with writing a check for Julie’s education,” Jake finished. “We didn’t call the preacher to check that alibi, Clara, but we could if necessary.”

I shook my head. “At this point we don’t need to verify any alibis. All we need to do is eat supper and see if a bird comes to our bait this evening.”

What the wicked dreads will overtake
him; what the righteous desire will
be granted.
Proverbs 10:24

“It was a dark and stormy night,” I murmured.

Joe Riddley turned from the TV movie he was watching. “What did you say?”

“Nothing. I was just trying to set the mood—and pass the time.” I nestled against his shoulder and wiggled to get the pillows more comfortable behind my back. “What if this doesn’t work?” I wiggled some more. “Or what if the person I’m expecting does come, but I’m wrong about who killed Harriet?”

“I still wish you’d tell me who you suspect—and stop worrying,” Joe Riddley growled. “If nobody comes or we don’t get a confession, we’ve lost a night’s sleep and watched a good movie—if you’ll hush and let me see it.”

It was well past eleven, and by now my bottom was numb and there was no comfortable position left to sit. We were propped, of course, on our bed in room 214 at the Marriott
watching
Midway
—an old World War II movie Joe Riddley’s already seen a hundred times and never passes up a chance to see again. Carter, hopefully, was standing guard by the peephole in his room across the hall.

Thunder rumbled beyond the windows. I got up and padded across the floor to pull back the drapes. Outside our windows, Nature was just beginning another spectacular performance. Lightning flashed. Thunder rumbled. Even as I watched, rain began sheeting down.

“If nobody’s come by now, we wasted our time,” I complained. “Nobody in their right mind, even a desperate mind, would come out now in that storm.”

“Little Bit,” Joe Riddley said in exasperation, “if you don’t stop talking I am going to call down and rent you another room. Hush! Here come the American dive bombers! Watch what happens.”

I knew what was going to happen. Aircraft carriers were going to blow up. People were going to die. America was going to win. I’d lived the book.

“I wish we’d gotten some Co-colas.” I climbed off the bed for a glass of water.

“Go get some,” Joe Riddley told me, intent on his movie. “My wallet’s on the dresser.” I knew he wasn’t thinking about what he was saying, but I was bored enough to go. Nobody was going to come this late and in all that rain.

I took the ice bucket and some dollars from his wallet and left with the feeling I was being let out of jail. Waiting has never been my strong suit. Unfortunately, the ice machine was slow, and the drink machine kept spitting back my dollars. I smoothed out all the wrinkles and ran them through four times each before going to the office for some change. Nobody will ever convince me that machines aren’t conscious beings. They always know when you are in a hurry, and do all they can to hold you up.

Finally, carrying two canned Co-colas and a bucket of ice, I hurried back to our room. Rounding a corner, I
saw ahead of me down the hall, almost at our door, the killer of Harriet Lawson. Nora Sykes. With a gun.

It was a small silver gun. It gleamed very prettily in the hall lights, then slid nicely into the pocket of that lovely full green skirt I’d admired at the hospital. With it, Nora wore the marvelous green and purple top I liked so much. She even had on her pretty green shoes.

She raised her hand to knock at the door. In the next two seconds, I had approximately a million thoughts, all jumbled together. One was a very clear picture of Joe Riddley opening that door and getting a bullet plumb through him. Another was to wonder if it would help if I screamed and swooned. I didn’t know how to swoon. Besides, chances were good that Nora would shoot me and then turn to shoot Joe Riddley as soon as he showed the whites of his dear, familiar eyes.

A third thought was to wish I’d gotten training in karate or jujitsu, one of those fancy methods of sneaking up on somebody and knocking them cold before they suspect a thing—except, given my agility in other sports, I’d have been maimed for life during training.

A fourth thought was to wonder if I could throw a canned drink and knock her out. Since I can’t throw a round baseball straight at close range, the very best I could hope for at that distance with a canned Co-cola was that it would hit the ground, spew all over, and distract her for a second.

I am ashamed to admit I even wondered if I’d get to find out where she got those shoes before she shot me.

Finally I remembered something my mama always said:
Use the gifts the good Lord gave you, girl. That’s what they are for.

At that moment, the only two weapons that stood between Joe Riddley Yarbrough and a small silver gun—
besides two cold Co-colas and a full ice bucket—were Southern charm and a carrying voice.

“Why, hello!” I called brightly and very loudly down the hall, hurrying toward her. “Were you looking for me, Nora?”

She turned toward me, startled. Do you know, she was so well trained by her mother that she actually smiled? I kept walking. Having read somewhere that a moving target is harder to hit, I wove back and forth across that wide hall, hoping I looked either drunk or very sleepy.

“I’m so sorry,” I called, sounding as apologetic as if I’d stood up Rosalynn Carter when I’d invited her to tea. “I got very thirsty and ran down for some drinks, but I got lost coming back. I don’t stay in hotels very often, and I plumb forgot my room number. Wasn’t that silly? I’ve written it on every scrap of paper I could find all day long, and I still forgot.”

From a moment’s uncertainty in her white still face, I thought I’d scored with that. I hoped she was thinking
Maybe the number on that piece of paper wasn’t the out-of-town visitor’s room after all.

She still hadn’t said a word as I came nearer, but I pretended not to notice.

“I had to go ask the desk clerk,” I babbled on. “I hope you haven’t been standing there too long.” I got within handing range. “Here, if you’ll hold these for a second, I’ll get the key out of my pocket.” I stuck out the two drinks, and she automatically put out both hands to take them. I tucked the ice bucket in my left elbow and fumbled with my right hand in my pants and then my jacket pocket.

Come on, Carter!
I was silently urging.
Where are you? Get your eye to that peephole and get yourself out that door before this dadgum killer turns around and sees you! Now, while we’ve both got our backs to you and her hands are full! And Joe Riddley, don’t you dare open our door.

Both doors remained obstinately shut.

Since I kept my eyes fixed on Nora’s face, I sensed rather than saw when she stuck both Cokes in one hand and lowered her other hand back toward her gun pocket.
Come on, Carter!
I thought, trying to send a louder silent message through the door across the hall. He must not have on his listening ears.

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed, louder than before. “I’ve left my key inside on the dresser. I’ll have to—”

At least I’d gotten the attention of a man next door. “What’s going on out there?” A very large and irate head stuck out his door. “People are trying to sleep around here.”

“Sorry!” I put a finger to my lips and gave him my silliest smile. “I’ve locked myself out of my room.”

“Go ask for a key at the desk.” He was about to go back inside, leaving us alone in the hall.

“Could you just call and ask them to bring one?” I pleaded, hoping I could still bat my lashes when my whole face felt frozen. “Tell them poor Mrs. Yarbrough is standing right here waiting, with her guest, Nora Sykes. Please!”

He slammed the door behind him, hard. I doubted, somehow, that he was going to call for my key, and I had run out of clever things to say.

I’ve never been good at a poker face, anyway, and I’d spoken too desperately and too deliberately. Nora slid her hand back in her pocket. With the entire world to choose from, I was going to die in this hall.

I had to know one thing before it happened. “Why did you kill Harriet, Nora?”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “For the money, of course. Julie needs it for college. Poor William’s just not a businessman. I doubt if he’d be able to pay for more than a year at a
quality
college.”

I thought for a second about trying to distract her with a discussion of the American university system, but
she’d already made me too mad. People who assume that some colleges are automatically better than others always get my dander up. I sit on the board of our local community college, and if it’s not quality, I don’t know what is. “Surely you’ve got enough money to send her yourself,” I said, with just that little edge to my charm that any Southern woman worth her salt knows how to use.

Her eyes flashed. “Of course I have enough, but that’s not the point. Julie deserves that money. Harriet didn’t. She’d have wasted her whole inheritance. That’s probably the only thing in history that Dee and I have ever agreed on.”

“You can’t kill people just because they don’t spend their money the way you think they should,” I pointed out, stalling for time and wondering where the dickens Carter was.

“I didn’t want to kill her. For nearly a week I kept trying to persuade her to sign a paper, but Harriet wouldn’t listen to reason. Very foolish.” Her green eyes glittered in the light. She held out the cans. “Please take these drinks. They are very cold.”

I ignored her request. “From what I’ve heard about Harriet, you can’t have had an easy time with her for nearly a week.”

A small and very unpleasant smile flickered on her lips. “I drugged her soft drinks. That child drinks more of them than you would think possible. The poor dear thought she had a touch of the flu. And I kept telling her we were going to see her mother as soon as she felt better. It wasn’t as hard as you might think. Now take these drinks, please.” Again she thrust them at me.

I shook my head. “Put them down if you don’t want them.”

She bent her knees and tumbled them from her arm onto the carpet, watching me every second. If I gave one quick thought to shoving her while she was distracted
and trying to get away before she could shoot, I was too spineless to try.

“So you had Harriet up at your lake house all week?” I asked as she stood erect, right hand still in her pocket. She didn’t answer. Desperately, I kept talking. “I know it’s true, Nora, just like I know you killed her. I even know how. Nicotiana, wasn’t it? Out of William’s flower beds. The tobacco family is so deadly in any form.”

I’d startled her. “How did you guess?”

“We’re in the nursery business. If the cigarettes under Harriet were supposed to make forensics think she was a smoker, you could have saved yourself the trouble. A medical examiner I called this afternoon told me they routinely find nicotine in everybody these days. We’ve all got it, even rabid nonsmokers like Harriet. He said they don’t even bother to report it a lot of the time. They didn’t for Harriet, but he’s going back to check their findings.”

Over her shoulder I saw a movement. Carter, far down the corridor, edging along the wall. Where in heaven’s name had he been? Terrified I’d give a sign I’d seen him, I willed myself to look straight at Nora. At the edge of my vision, Carter crept closer and closer. Would he get to her before she got me? And how could I stall her until he did?

Your mind does the strangest things sometimes. I found myself once again admiring Nora’s pretty green and purple sweater. “I know it’s changing the subject, Nora, but would you mind telling me where you got those shoes? I’ve been wanting some that very shade of green.”

Her eyes flickered toward her feet, but the instant was too short for me to run. “Dillard’s, honey. They’re soft as gloves. You can try them on in the car. Don’t look surprised. We’re going for a little ride. Now I have a gun in my pocket, so don’t make a scene. Would you please turn around and lead the way to the ele—”

She stopped, diverted by something over my shoulder. “Oh, dear. Your husband is out looking for you.” Her forehead puckered in a worried frown.

I whirled. That fool Joe Riddley was getting off the elevator! I tried to shoo him back, but the dummox just waved back and started loping up the long hall.

“Such a nice man,” Nora murmured, almost to herself, “but he’s made things very difficult.” Slowly and deliberately she pulled the little gun from her pocket. “I doubt I can shoot both of you and get away, but as my daddy used to say, we never know what we can do until we try.”

“No!” I gasped. “He doesn’t know a thing. Really! Run, Joe Riddley! Run!” You find out how much you really love somebody when you’re about to lose them.

Nora wasn’t listening to either one of us. She was raising the little gun until it was aimed directly at my chest. “No!” Joe Riddley yelled, pounding up the hall.

Over her shoulder, Carter was still one room away.

I didn’t take time to think. I threw my whole bucket of ice in her face.

Startled, she staggered backwards. Carter sprang forward. As he pinned her arms to her side, I saw her finger tighten on the trigger.

I flung myself face forward onto the scratchy carpet as the shot rang out. Heard it whiz over my head. “Watch out, Joe Riddley!” I screamed.

I heard him throw himself to the floor. “What in tarnation…?”

Carter struggled with Nora for what seemed an hour but was probably seconds. She was stronger than she looked. I reached for her ankle and tugged. She shook her foot trying to loosen my grip, and toppled backwards. Carter wrested the gun from her as she fell and dropped it to the carpet near my head. Then he held her down while she wriggled to get free.

I grabbed the gun and clutched it close to my chest. Doors up and down the hall flew open and cautious heads popped out.

“Go back to bed. It’s okay, folks, go back to bed,” Joe Riddley climbed to his feet and flapped his hands. For all the world he sounded like he does on Wednesday nights, quieting the church supper crowd before the program. He bent and peered down at me. “You okay down there, Little Bit?”

Mama often said no experience is ever wasted. Since that moment, I’ve known how to swoon.