whole crazy thing and there was no evidence to support Beta’s charge.”
“I don’t get it. Even if it were true, why would Ruth want to kill Beta?”
“Back then, who knows? Community service, perhaps? It’s a lot of bullcrap if you ask me. But now”—Eula Mae slid her glance slyly over her shoulder—“who knows? I mean, Beta did try to ruin her career.”
“But she failed. Ruth didn’t lose her job. They didn’t even file charges. Why kill Beta now?” This made little sense to me.
“I don’t know what else might have transpired between them. Ruth supported you in the censorship fight. Maybe there’s some other dark secret between them.” Eula Mae’s eyes glowed with creativity, as though she were plotting her next potboiler. “Was Ruth on that list? What was her quote?”
Ruth’s was easy to remember, especially in light of this revelation. It was 2 Kings 4:40—to wit:
There is death in the pot.
When I read it earlier, I had no story such as this to relate it to. Now it sounded like Beta considered Ruth as Mirabeau’s own Lucrezia Borgia.
I repeated the quote to Eula Mae and enjoyed the momentary silence. “Well, my Lord. Sounds like Beta still held a grudge.”
“Great. I have a dinner date with Ruth tonight.” My enthusiasm waned.
“Mind your cocktail, sweetie.” Eula Mae laughed. Then her merry face darkened and grew serious. “Well, what if it’s not bullcrap and Beta was right? Maybe you shouldn’t go.”
“For God’s sake, even if it was true, she’d have no reason to poison me.” I stood and watched Hally fill a trash bag with pulled weeds. “Hey, maybe Hally’s pulled up a toxic plant I can take with me for defense.”
“Don’t joke, Jordy.” I turned and looked at her. The pretend drama was out of her face. “Someone killed Beta. Maybe someone on that list, maybe not. But it’s for the police to handle. Let them.”
“Ruth called me. She can’t think that I’m snooping into her life.” I brightened. “Maybe because of Beta’s earlier accusation, the police’ll think of Ruth as a bigger suspect.”
“Now you sound guilty,” Eula Mae reproved. “No one looks more culpable than the fellow who goes around trying to prove his innocence.”
I stood and rested my forehead against the porch pillar. “Thanks for the catch-22. Look, if you saw how Billy Ray guns for me—”
“You were panicked this morning, sug.” Eula Mae rested her knobby hand on my arm. “You found the dead body of someone you know in your workplace. That’s a profound shock. I think you’ve borne it quite well. But you’ve got to quit thinking that you’re going to be arrested in the next ten seconds unless you find the killer. It’s not healthy to worry so.”
I hated to admit it, but she made sense. Junebug surely wouldn’t arrest me—or anyone else—without hard evidence. He was a professional, after all. I kept picturing him as the boy I’d grown up with and not as the responsible police chief he was. He’d done a good job for Mirabeau. Billy Ray was another story.
“Thanks, Eula Mae. I appreciate that.”
“Yeah, yeah, right.” She wagged crimson fingernails at me. “Just give me first rights to be your biographer from the hoosegow.”
“Deal.” I nodded toward her scattered pages and then toward Hally, who was drying the sweat from his firm body with his shirt. “I’ll let our beloved Jocelyn Lushe get back to work.”
“Have a good dinner. Don’t let Candace know. She might poison you even if Ruth doesn’t.”
You could always count on Eula Mae for moral support.
I headed back down the walk, watching Hally toss open another trash bag for the mound of weeds he’d pulled. I suppose Eula Mae was right. Even distantly related as third cousins (still considered kin in this part of the country), there was a family resemblance. We both stood tall with thick blondish hair and green eyes, and we had the distinctive stubborn Schneider cheekbonesthat could
“I don’t get it. Even if it were true, why would Ruth want to kill Beta?”
“Back then, who knows? Community service, perhaps? It’s a lot of bullcrap if you ask me. But now”—Eula Mae slid her glance slyly over her shoulder—“who knows? I mean, Beta did try to ruin her career.”
“But she failed. Ruth didn’t lose her job. They didn’t even file charges. Why kill Beta now?” This made little sense to me.
“I don’t know what else might have transpired between them. Ruth supported you in the censorship fight. Maybe there’s some other dark secret between them.” Eula Mae’s eyes glowed with creativity, as though she were plotting her next potboiler. “Was Ruth on that list? What was her quote?”
Ruth’s was easy to remember, especially in light of this revelation. It was 2 Kings 4:40—to wit:
There is death in the pot.
When I read it earlier, I had no story such as this to relate it to. Now it sounded like Beta considered Ruth as Mirabeau’s own Lucrezia Borgia.
I repeated the quote to Eula Mae and enjoyed the momentary silence. “Well, my Lord. Sounds like Beta still held a grudge.”
“Great. I have a dinner date with Ruth tonight.” My enthusiasm waned.
“Mind your cocktail, sweetie.” Eula Mae laughed. Then her merry face darkened and grew serious. “Well, what if it’s not bullcrap and Beta was right? Maybe you shouldn’t go.”
“For God’s sake, even if it was true, she’d have no reason to poison me.” I stood and watched Hally fill a trash bag with pulled weeds. “Hey, maybe Hally’s pulled up a toxic plant I can take with me for defense.”
“Don’t joke, Jordy.” I turned and looked at her. The pretend drama was out of her face. “Someone killed Beta. Maybe someone on that list, maybe not. But it’s for the police to handle. Let them.”
“Ruth called me. She can’t think that I’m snooping into her life.” I brightened. “Maybe because of Beta’s earlier accusation, the police’ll think of Ruth as a bigger suspect.”
“Now you sound guilty,” Eula Mae reproved. “No one looks more culpable than the fellow who goes around trying to prove his innocence.”
I stood and rested my forehead against the porch pillar. “Thanks for the catch-22. Look, if you saw how Billy Ray guns for me—”
“You were panicked this morning, sug.” Eula Mae rested her knobby hand on my arm. “You found the dead body of someone you know in your workplace. That’s a profound shock. I think you’ve borne it quite well. But you’ve got to quit thinking that you’re going to be arrested in the next ten seconds unless you find the killer. It’s not healthy to worry so.”
I hated to admit it, but she made sense. Junebug surely wouldn’t arrest me—or anyone else—without hard evidence. He was a professional, after all. I kept picturing him as the boy I’d grown up with and not as the responsible police chief he was. He’d done a good job for Mirabeau. Billy Ray was another story.
“Thanks, Eula Mae. I appreciate that.”
“Yeah, yeah, right.” She wagged crimson fingernails at me. “Just give me first rights to be your biographer from the hoosegow.”
“Deal.” I nodded toward her scattered pages and then toward Hally, who was drying the sweat from his firm body with his shirt. “I’ll let our beloved Jocelyn Lushe get back to work.”
“Have a good dinner. Don’t let Candace know. She might poison you even if Ruth doesn’t.”
You could always count on Eula Mae for moral support.
I headed back down the walk, watching Hally toss open another trash bag for the mound of weeds he’d pulled. I suppose Eula Mae was right. Even distantly related as third cousins (still considered kin in this part of the country), there was a family resemblance. We both stood tall with thick blondish hair and green eyes, and we had the distinctive stubborn Schneider cheekbonesthat could
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