George, Anne (6 page)

I shivered. "Damn, I'd forgotten about that." I got up from the table to pour some more tea. "Shook the hell out of the judge. That's for sure." I handed Fred a packet of Sweet'n Low. "I didn't tell you he tried to steal her computer."

"What?"

"He had it under his arm and was hightailing it out of the park. I just happened to see it, and snatched it away from him. He said he was so upset he didn't know what he was doing. But he knew. I think it's got all kinds of genealogy research stuff in it that he wants."

"What did you say his name is?"

"Judge Robert Haskins. You ever heard of him? Looks sort of like a weasel."

"Nope." Fred stirred his tea., "Where's the computer now?"

"Mary Alice has it. The other briefcase, too. She was going to call the family in Fairhope."

"I'm surprised she didn't make you do it."

"She tried." We smiled at each other. I hesitated, and then asked, "Did you hear anything from Universal Satellite today?"

Fred shook his head no. "They won't return my calls." He pushed his chair back and stood up. "I'm going to go watch
Jeopardy."

Well, so much for that conversation. I looked out into the lighted backyard. Several years ago, we had had a bay window put in the breakfast nook, and it immediately became our favorite place to sit. My sweet Fred placed some lights in the shrubbery, creating just the soft effect I wanted. The incentive for his doing it was the estimate a couple of landscape architects gave me. Fred hit the road to Wal-Mart run-

ning. But that was okay. Tonight I could see how pretty the forsythia and quince were.

Our dog Woofer's igloo doghouse is partly hidden by shrubbery. But only partly. I know it's big, and that a small family of Eskimos would fit right in, but Woofer's getting old. When it's snowing or raining, I like to think of him snuggled up in his igloo.

I sipped my tea and looked out at my peaceful yard. I thought about lunch, about Meg Bryan who had seemed to enjoy herself and then, an hour later, had been dead.

"Heights make me nervous." Wasn't that what she had said? "Heights make me nervous." Did they make her nervous because she felt the urge to jump? I'd heard of that.

Woofer came from his igloo, walked over to the peach tree, and hiked his leg. I tapped on the window, and he came to the door to be let in.

"Bernard Baruch!" Fred yelled at the television. "It's Bernard Baruch, you dummies."

I opened the door for Woofer, let him in, and gave him a dog biscuit.

Or someone could have pushed her. I scraped the dishes and began to stack them in the dishwasher. Someone like Judge Haskins, who wanted what was on her computer. He knew she had left it with us. Probably knew she was writing a new program. Maybe that was it. Push her out of the window, grab the computer, and make a mint. Like the guy who started Apple. Not that he had thrown anybody out of a window, but he sure had made a mint. And wasn't it ironic that Meg, who was working on Windows, had jumped out of one. I put the detergent in and started the dishwasher, and ground the scraps in the disposal with such a racket that Woofer loped into the den leaving a definite smell of dog behind him.

A knock at the back door startled me. I looked up and saw Mary Alice.

"Tell Fred I knocked," she said when I opened the door.

"Sister knocked, Fred," I called. He's always complaining that she barges in without knocking.

He came and stood in the den door holding his hands to his chest. "I'm not sure I can take the shock."

"Smart-ass." Mary Alice came in carrying a large tote bag. She put it down on the kitchen table with a clunk. "Tapes," she said. "Of the wedding. I thought we'd watch them and cheer up some. This day has been hell, Fred, pure hell for Patricia Anne and I."

"Me," I said.

Mary Alice turned and looked at me, puzzled. "Didn't I say you?"

"You said 'for Patricia Anne and I.' But it's Patricia Anne and me. For me. Objective case."

Mary Alice's eyes narrowed. "Stick it up your textbook, English teacher."

And Fred laughed. The traitor. Mary Alice smiled at him appreciatively.

"Did Patricia Anne tell you everything that happened today?" she asked him.

"She told me enough to curl my hair."

Mary Alice looked at his head. "I assume you're being facetious."

It was my turn to laugh. Fred has a very nice, full head of hair that used to be ash blond and has gradually become gray blond. It's hair. What can I say? But every morning he stands before the mirror examining the width of his forehead. And every two weeks he goes to a barber named Edna who tells him all her female problems. He swears she is the only one who can cut his hair right, but after hearing the ordeal of the third miscarriage, he was shaken for days. Mary Alice, of course, knows all this.

Fred turned and walked back to the den. We followed him, Mary Alice carrying one of the tapes.

"Did you get in touch with Meg's family?" I asked.

"Her sister."

"Which one?"

"Trinity. She said she'd be here tomorrow to make arrangements and have Bobby Haskins arrested."

"The judge?" Fred stepped over Woofer.

"She says he killed her." Mary Alice knelt by the VCR. "How do you turn this thing on?"

"That button on the left. But wait a minute," I said as Sister put the tape in. "She said the judge killed her? Did she say why she thought so?"

Mary Alice shook her head no. "I'm staying out of it." She pushed the Play button and the wedding music from St. Mark's blared out, making us all jump. "Too loud!" Mary Alice adjusted the volume.

"Look, Fred," I said, pointing to us sitting in the front row. "There we are."

"And I'm fixing to come down the aisle." Mary Alice got up from her knees, groaning, and sank down on the sofa.

Fred reached over and pushed Stop. Both Sister and I looked up in surprise.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"A woman you had lunch with either committed suicide or was killed a few minutes after she left you. Her sister says it was the guy you met, the guy who tried to steal her computer." Mary Mice and i looked at him and nodded yes.

"Well?" He looked from one to the other.

"Well, what?" Mary Alice asked.

"Don't you think you ought to talk about it?"

"Okay," she agreed.

The three of us sat and looked at each other.

"I know," Sister said finally. "You know that book,
The Tenth Good Thing About Barney,
or maybe it's thirteenth. Anyway, we could do that about Meg."

Fred looked at me like what the hell is she talking about. "It's a children's book," I explained. "About a cat that dies and they make a list of the good things about him. I cry every time I read it."

"I'll start," Sister said. She looked down at her hands. "Meg Bryan was clean. The whites of her fingernails were so white they didn't look real." She nodded to me.

"Meg Bryan was smart," I said. "She knew how to work a computer. Even how to write her own programs." I nodded to Fred.

He got up and turned the TV on. The wedding music soared forth.

"See," Sister said. "There I come down the aisle. That dress looks good, doesn't it? Those damn pantyhose are already making me walk funny, though. Can you tell it?" I assured her that you couldn't.

The camera panned across the aisle and there was Meg Bryan sitting by herself on the groom's side. She was clutching a navy-blue purse, and her legs were crossed neatly at the ankles. She was also smiling. At Henry? This time I reached over and pushed Stop.

"Did you call Henry?" I asked Sister.

"I haven't yet. I will in the morning."

"She's one of his few relatives."

"I told you I'd call him." Sister reached her hand toward the TV. "Can I turn this back on?"

I shook my head. "It makes me sad."

But Fred surprised me. "Let's see it," he said. "It's a celebration of life."

Celebration of life? This remark was so unlike him, Mary Alice cut her eyes around at me.

"Turn it on," I said.

And soon we were caught up in the celebration. There we were, madly chewing, and the camera moving to show the groom and best man swallowing. There were the bridesmaids, Marilyn, tall and dignified, and Haley, flushed, lovely, smiling at someone at the altar. And then the bride in the wonderful white dress.

"The ENT!" Fred exclaimed, pointing toward Philip Nachman. "Look, he and Haley are giving each other the eye."

And there we were exiting the church, talking to Bonnie Blue, entering The Club, watching Henry and Debbie dance with the twins. Watching Haley dance with Philip. "Look at that!" from Fred.

Once again we sat on the terrace with Meg Bryan and ate and talked and smiled at the camera. I found myself smiling back at the TV images. And when the helicopter lifted off, I clapped as I had at The Club.

"Thank-you," I told Fred as the helicopter faded in the distance and the screen went dark. "I'm glad we saw it."

He smiled.

Mary Alice blew her nose loudly into a Kleenex. "That was very nice. Do you want to see it again?"

"No," Fred and I said together.

"Well, I brought you a copy. You can look at it anytime." She ejected the tape. "I've got some videos of the babies. You want to see them?"

Fred begged off with work to do; I claimed fatigue, utter exhaustion. Which was true. But I would watch them later, would look forward to watching them later, which was also true. I think I'm as crazy about those two-year-old twins as Sister is.

"Come over in the morning," Sister said as she was leaving. "Trinity Buckalew said she would be getting into town about eleven and asked if I would meet her somewhere and help her find her way around. I told her just to come to the house."

"What do you need me for?"

"Well, my Lord, Mouse. The woman's sister's dead. She may be falling apart. Probably is."

"Trinity Buckalew?"

"Yep."

"She sounds like a Quaker, doesn't she? Maybe a Shaker."

"Quaker or Shaker, she's going to be at my house in the morning. Probably falling apart."

"I'll be there," I promised.

After Sister left, I put Woofer out and went to see if Fred wanted a cup of hot chocolate. But he was asleep, lying on the bed with his clothes still on and his glasses hanging on the end of his nose. When I slipped the glasses off, he woke up and blinked.

"Mary Alice gone?"

"And everything's locked up."

He got up and went into the bathroom. When he came back, he had on his pajamas.

"You're a nice man," I said.

"Tell me about it." He lay down and closed his eyes.

"You're wise. You understand about celebrating life. You're pretty."

He snorted.

"Well, I think you are." I rubbed his shoulder.

"You have nice hair, lots of it, and cute buns."

He snorted again. And again.

"Fred?" But he was snoring away. I fixed myself a cup of hot chocolate and watched the late news. The anchorwoman didn't mention a suicide at the courthouse.

"Trinity Buckalew," the formidable woman standing at the door said. If I hadn't just seen Julia Child on Good Morning America dumping mashed potatoes into a bowl of rutabagas and getting paid a fortune for it, I'd have sworn she was standing here at Mary Alice's house holding out her hand.

"Patricia Anne Hollowell." My hand was engulfed by Trinity's.

"This is the Crane residence, isn't it?"

"I'm her sister. Won't you come in? We're so sorry about Meg."

"Yes. Well," she stepped inside and looked around, "we all knew it was going to happen some day."

"She was depressed?"

"Of course not." Trinity Buckalew leaned forward and examined the hall tree. She was wearing a bright blue cape that swung forward like wings. "Interesting," she said. "Who made this?"

It was her husky, authoritative voice, I realized, as well as her size, that reminded me of Julia Child. "I have no idea," I admitted. "It belonged to our grandmother."

She pushed her bifocals up so she could look through the bottom part. "Interesting."

"May I take your coat?" Somehow "cape" wouldn't come out. "My sister's on the phone, but she'll be here in a minute. There's coffee on the sun-porch."

Trinity Buckalew straightened up and slipped her cape off. She also removed the matching blue felt hat that reminded me of the ones Daddy used to wear. "Thanks." She handed them to me and I immediately hung them on the hall tree, which she could have done herself, of course, but I was being polite.

"How tall are you?" she asked.

"Five one. Why?"

"Just wondered." She stretched, reaching both hands toward the ceiling. "Stiff from the drive," she explained.

"Come have some coffee, then." I pointed toward the sunporch.