George, Anne (9 page)

"Nope. But Aunt Sister was on it. And Debbie and the twins."

"Aunt Sister on a pedigree chart? She'll be thrilled to hear it." I thought for a moment. "And who did they put down as the twins' father?"

"Left it blank." Haley grinned. "Sort of put things in perspective."

We were going up the back steps when the cordless phone that I had forgotten and left in the yard rang. Haley ran back to get it.

"For you," she said, handing it to me with her hand over the speaker. "Sounds strange."

"Hello," I said.

Julia Child's voice. "Is this the Patricia Anne Hol-lowell who is the sister of Mary Alice Crane?"

"Yes. Hello, Trinity."

"Mrs. Hollowell, I'm sorry to bother you, but I find myself in need of help."

"What can I do for you?"

"You can come get me out of jail. I tried to call your sister, but all I got was her answering machine."

"You're in jail?" I saw Haley stop on the top step and turn around.

"Yes. I'm in the Birmingham jail. I understand this is not the same jail where Martin Luther King wrote his famous letter, but a newer edifice. Are you
familiar
with its location?"

"I'll find it. What are you doing in jail?"

"They've charged me with breaking and entering. They have been kind enough not to lock me up, though, as yet. I explained to them about my claustrophobia, and they have been most understanding."

"Breaking and entering?"

"At Bobby Haskins's house, of course. It seems he has some kind of security system that alerts the police. I told them he should be the one arrested, and I am happy to say they seem to have taken me seriously and are trying to find Bobby. In the meantime, I can be released, I understand. There is a small matter of bail or something like that, but we can discuss that when you get here."

"Bail?"

By this time, Haley was standing by my side. "Who is it?"

"Trinity Buckalew," I mouthed. "I'll be right down," I said into the phone.

"Thank-you. I'll be here."

I hung up and turned to Haley. "Breaking and entering at Judge Haskins's. She wants us to come down and get her out."

"What fun!" Love was doing wonderful things for Haley, I decided. We left a note for Fred on the kitchen table explaining that we had gone to spring a friend from the Birmingham jail.

Six The woman who committed suicide and the woman in jail are Henry's cousins. Right?" Haley asked on the way to town. We were in her car, since she had been parked behind me.

"His mother's first cousins, I understand. Sounds like an interesting family."

Haley stopped for a light. "You know, I've been thinking. We don't know anything about our family history, do we?"

"Would you like to? I can get you back as far as your great great grandparents on my side. Nothing spectacular. Not even landowners. Clerks and bookkeepers. Just plain nice people. Now, the Hollowells may be more interesting. Your papa said at the wedding that he would like to know more about them."

"Philip says it's good to find out about your family. In fact, he says it's something everybody needs to know. About inherited genes and stuff."

"Uh huh," I said. "Gotta watch those genes."

My knowledge of the Birmingham jail is, thank God, limited to mournful songs about letters and valleys so low which Haley sang until I told her to hush.

... 75 ...

And then, of course, there's Martin Luther King's famous letter, which Trinity Buckalew had mentioned. TV shows had prepared me for the busyness of suspects being brought in, of phones ringing, of Cagney and Lacey answering calls, rushing out. TV had prepared me for the seedy characters, the dirty floors, the screams, the hangings against the bars.

What I was totally unprepared for was the pleasant white room that could have been an insurance company or a bank. Several uniformed policemen sat at desks and either talked quietly into phones or read.

"Is this the right place?" Haley whispered.

"Must not be."

A pretty young woman in a uniform came over and asked if she could help us. We explained that we were looking for a lady named Trinity Buckalew who was being held for breaking and entering, and that we were obviously in the wrong place.

"No, you're not. She's down the hall, first door on the right. You can go on back."

"Just walk on back?"

The woman smiled. "Of course."

Haley and I looked at each other.

"Right through there," the woman repeated, pointing to the hall on her left.

"This isn't at all what I expected," Haley looked around the room. "Where are all the criminals?"

The policewoman leaned forward and whispered, "Out on the streets." Then, grinning at our startled expressions, she said, "Y'all go on back." She turned and went to her desk.

"God!" Haley murmured. "Is she serious?"

"Probably."

"Jesus!"

"Quit taking the Lord's name in vain, Haley."

"I'm not, Mama. I'm praying."

We entered the hall, which was lined with small, neat offices. In the second one on the right, Trinity Buckalew was playing cards with a middle-aged man whose graying hair and beard looked as if they had never been touched by scissors or soap. His clothes were tatters, and the knapsack propped against the wall wasn't in much better shape.

"Gin!" he exclaimed.

"Shit!" Trinity slammed down her cards, looked up and saw us. "Well, good. Here's the rescue squad. Marty Holmes, this is Patricia Anne Hollowell and—"

"My daughter Haley."

Marty stood up politely. "Nice to meet you ladies."

"Freddie's a narc," Trinity explained. "He hangs around under interstate bridges and places like that. He's been showing me how to cheat at cards."

"A narc?"

"A narcotics agent. You know."

"I know what a narc is," I said.

Marty grinned, showing where teeth used to be. Trinity stood up and reached for her cape and hat, which were on the desk. "Well, let's go," she said.

"What about bail?" I asked. "You can't just walk out, can you?"

"They finally got Bobby and he told them I was his ex-sister-in-law and not to press charges. My car's impounded, though, and I can't get it until tomorrow. The garage is closed." Trinity swung her cape around her shoulders.

"Love that cape, babe," Marty said. "And the hat is to die for."

"Under the interstate, it probably would be."

"Too true. Not the best element."

Trinity walked over and hugged Marty. "You take care," she said. "Come see me in Fairhope."

"You take care, too, babe."

"Dear God!" I whispered to Haley.

"You praying, Mama?"

"Something like that."

"Bye, Mrs. Buckalew," the nice young policewoman called as we walked back through the office.

"Bye!"

Several of the policemen looked up and waved.

"Such nice people," Trinity assured us. Then she turned to Haley. "How tall are you, young lady?"

"Five one. Why?"

"Just wondered."

Haley looked at me questioningly; I shrugged.

We exited into a warm late afternoon, Haley had found a parking place right around the corner, and on the way to the car I asked Trinity if she had planned to stay at a hotel and if she would like us to drop her off.

"When I am in Birmingham, I always stay with my friend Georgiana Peach. She is a genealogist and a dear friend of Meg's, too. Unfortunately, she is out of town, which is why I have had to rely on your very gracious help. So any hotel you recommend will be fine."

"You have a friend named Georgiana Peach?" Haley motioned Trinity toward the car and unlocked the door.

"A lovely Southern name, isn't it? She was named for an aunt who turned a little funny. Died a couple of years ago and left Georgiana a generous estate. Totally unexpected, I understand. Stock certifictes in the attic, money in books. That kind of thing."

"I've got a family name," Haley said, "totally unencumbered with things like estates." As she opened the door, a problem presented itself. There was no way Trinity Buckalew could fold herself up enough to get in the back.

"I'll get in," I said, wondering for the thousandth time why Haley had bought this compact car.

"Stay with me tonight, Mrs. Buckalew." Haley gave me a push into the car. "I've got a sofa sleeper."

"How sweet." Trinity slid into the bucket seat. Her head touched the ceiling. "That would be very nice."

I straightened up and perched on the backseat. "Don't be silly. We've got two extra bedrooms and I've got Shrimp Creole already fixed for supper."

What else could I do? Sometimes being a Southern lady is such a pain.

"We liked your sister very much," Haley said, opening the other door and getting in. "I was so sorry to hear of her death."

"Thank-you, dear. My friend, Georgiana Peach, will be upset, too. I understand she's attending a genealogical conference in Charleston."

"Are you a genealogist, too?" Haley floored the accelerator and pulled out in front of a Mac truck. I shrieked. "Put on your seat belt, Mama," she said.

"I'm an antique dealer. Meg was the only genealogist in the family. Her business was more profitable than mine, I must admit, though I love antiques." Trinity had removed her blue felt hat and was pushing it back into shape. "Meg and I still live in the family home in Fairhope, and our sister Jo lives close by. Our sister Amy lives down the bay, and Beth—"

"Oh, no!"

"For heaven sakes, Haley. Watch where you're go-

ing," I said. "Beth lives in Hawaii with her husband and children."

"She loves it there," Trinity agreed.

Haley sighed with relief and entered the interstate heading south toward Vulcan.

"Bobby Haskins lives up there," Trinity said. "By that naked iron man."

"There are some pretty houses up there," Haley said. "Aunt Sister's is up there."

"I know. Does she have an alarm system?"

"Yes, she does," I answered.

"Well, they work. You can tell her." Trinity was silent for a few minutes, looking out over downtown. "I was going to leave Bobby a note on his refrigerator. Tell him he needn't think he was going to get away with murder. You know?"

Haley nodded that she knew. Bless her.

"In fact, I put the note under a magnet, a little red tulip it was, and was about to leave when all those policemen rushed in."

"How did you get in the house?" I asked.

Trinity snorted. "Bobby has no imagination. That's why they made him a judge, probably. There's an extreme deficit of imagination among the judiciary, you know." She snorted again. "The key was in one of those fake rocks right by the steps."

Haley turned and looked at me. That's where my key is hidden, the one she's been after me to get another hiding place for. "How long have Meg and the judge been divorced?" I asked, changing the subject.

Trinity thought for a moment. ''About forty years."

"Is there a Mrs. Haskins now?"

"There usually is. But if there is one currently, she wasn't at home." Trinity picked lint from her hat.

"Meg was the one who got him interested in genealogy, though."

"Did Meg remarry?" Haley asked.

"She married Gregory Bryan, a prince of a man whom she treated abominably."

I hated to ask what Meg had done that was so abominable. So I asked whether they were divorced.

"Gregory is deceased. At least we think so. He went fishing one night out on Mobile Bay and never came back." Trinity sighed. "He looked like Ronald Coleman with a little mustache." She sighed again. "It was five years before I let Meg give him a fond farewell party. I kept thinking he'd come walking up the pier with that little mustache and a string of fish."

Haley wasn't as polite as I was. "What did Meg do to him?" she asked.

"Always chasing around in cemeteries and libraries. She was gone so much, Gregory forgot sometimes which one of us sisters he was married to." Trinity closed her eyes and smiled. "A prince of a man. Yes, indeed."

Haley cut her eyes around at me again and grinned. She and I were thinking the same thing. If the other March sisters were anything like Trinity and Meg, Prince Gregory hadn't stood a chance.

"My husband, Ed Buckalew, was more the Jimmy Cagney type. The Yankee Doodle type, not the mean one. Loved to dance. He's gone, too. Just sat down under a pecan tree one day and died. Said he wasn't going to pick up another pecan. And he didn't."

Haley was suddenly seized with a suspicious coughing fit. Fortunately, our exit ramp was right ahead.

Fred's white Oldsmobile was in the driveway when we pulled up to the house. Haley hopped out of her car and helped Trinity and me unfold. "It must have been like this in the womb," I grumbled. I limped up the front steps, opened the door, and called Fred.