Miss Julia to the Rescue (7 page)

“That does sound strange,” I said. Then, unable to sit still, I got up and paced the floor. “Well, things come and go, don’t they? You never know what fad is going to be next. That’s because people are always looking for answers when they don’t even know the questions.”

“You jus’ said a mouthful,” Lillian said.

The telephone rang then, and I nearly broke my neck getting to it. “Yes? I mean, hello.”

“Miss Julia,” Coleman said, “I just spoke with the Charleston Police Department, and they have no information on J.D. specifically, or on anything that’s occurred in the vicinity that he might be involved in.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

“So far. It’ll take awhile for the highway patrol to check all their areas, so we’ll have to wait on that. It could be tomorrow before we hear from them.”

“Oh, me, I don’t know how I can wait that long. Coleman, is there nothing else we can do?”

“I can’t think of anything. Just wait and hope J.D. calls in or the State Police get back to us.”

“You don’t suppose he’s on the way home?”

Coleman didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he said, “Not likely. He’d call if that was the case. He’d know Hazel Marie’s waiting to hear from him.”

“Yes, that’s true,” I agreed. “Well, she and the babies are coming over to eat with us, so if you hear anything, do let us know.”

“I will. I’ve got everybody here on alert for a call, so I’ll go on home. They’ll let me know if any news comes in.”

“Well, if it does, call me no matter what time of the day or night. I doubt I’ll be doing much sleeping anyway, what with both Sam and Mr. Pickens gone.”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I know.”

After thanking him, I hung up the phone and turned to Lillian. “He hasn’t found out anything.”

“Well, no news is good news, I guess,” Lillian said.

“That’s what they say, and I’d believe it if I hadn’t gotten that strange call from Mr. Pickens. And if we’d been able to reach him again. As it is, I can’t help but think that something is wrong.”

“Jus’ don’t let Miss Hazel Marie know you thinkin’ that. She get herself all wound up if she see you worried ’bout him.”

“I know, and I’ll keep it to myself.”

Lillian left to pick up Latisha from after-school care, so with an empty house I sat in the living room, trying to figure out a way to reach Mr. Pickens. I couldn’t come up with anything that made any sense, but that didn’t stop me from dreaming up all sorts of plots and plans.

It was with relief that I heard footsteps on the front porch and the ringing of the doorbell. Maybe somebody had heard something, I thought, then quickly discarded that on the basis that whoever it was would’ve called and not come by. Unless it was bad news.

In a way it was. LuAnne Conover breezed in as soon as I answered the door.

“Julia,” she said, heading for my Duncan Phyfe sofa, “I haven’t heard from you in I don’t know how long, so since I had to be downtown anyway, I thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”

“I’ve been busy, LuAnne, getting Sam ready to go on that tour and, well, you know, first one thing and another.” There was no way in the world that I’d tell her our concerns about Mr. Pickens’s
welfare. With the best of intentions, she would feel she had to go comfort Hazel Marie, even though Hazel Marie wouldn’t know what she was being comforted for. LuAnne was the worst when it came to keeping anything to herself.

“Well, you’ve got him off, so you ought to plan a few outings to keep yourself busy while he’s gone. I know I would if Leonard ever decided to go on a tour. Not that he ever would, but I’d think of something.”

After offering a glass of tea or lemonade and being turned down, I said, “I don’t have any outings planned, but I’m about to tear this house up and do some remodeling. That’ll keep me plenty busy.”

“Really?” LuAnne said, leaning forward eagerly. “What’re you going to do?”

“Well, you know, since Sam’s lost his office at his house, I need to rearrange a few rooms and make a place here for him.”

“Oh!” she nearly screeched. “You’re going to make a man cave! He’ll love it—I know Leonard would, but we don’t have room in the condo.”

“I don’t know what a man cave is.”

“Oh, Julia, it’s a room for the man of the house where all his hobbies and interests can be located. Now, for Sam, you’d have his fishing poles and tackle stuff sort of placed decoratively around the room. And a television and a recliner, of course, and all of his trophies and plaques and things like that. And I guess a few books because Sam is such a big reader. You might want to put up a dartboard or some other game because it’s sort of like a game room, where a man can entertain his man friends.”

“LuAnne,” I said, “if Sam wants to entertain his man friends, he can take them to the country club. I’m not having a man cave in my house, since I’m not married to a caveman. Sam is a civilized human being. The whole idea of a man cave is about the silliest thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“Well, Julia,” LuAnne said, getting a little snippy as she was wont to do whenever her enthusiasms weren’t shared, “it’s really the
in
thing to do these days.”

“You know how much I care about that. Believe me, the last thing I want in my house is smelly old fishing tackle, and Sam would laugh his head off at the idea. But listen,” I said, ready for a change of subject, “have you heard of a woman named Agnes Whitman?”

“No, should I have?”

“Well, let me tell you.” And I went on to do so, repeating what I’d heard from Mildred and from Lillian, entrancing LuAnne and distracting her from any more talk of man caves.

“That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said, standing to leave. “We don’t need such as that in this town. I’ll look into it and let you know what I find out.” And off she went.

The phone rang at five-thirty the next morning, and even though it was a Saturday, when we were slow to rise, I popped up wide awake at the first ring.

Sure that it was Coleman with news or maybe Mr. Pickens with a better connection, I snatched it up.

“Miss Julia?” Coleman said. “He may be in a hospital.”

“Oh, no! What’s wrong with him?”

“Well, that’s the thing. I didn’t get much out of the state trooper who called.
He
didn’t know much, but he’d had several feelers out to other troopers and just got the information that an unidentified male had been injured a few days ago in a little town back in the hills somewhere.” Coleman gave a little laugh. “Looks like a lot of us are up early working on this thing. Anyway, whoever they’re talking about was taken to a county hospital in Mill Run, West Virginia.”

“Where’s that?”

“About seventy miles or so southeast of Charleston—as the crow flies, that is. I just found it on a map.”

“Well, is it him, Coleman? Could it be Mr. Pickens? And how could he be unidentified?” Coleman didn’t answer right away, so I went on peppering him with questions, my voice trembling a little as I pictured massive injuries from a car wreck. “Should we get Hazel Marie there? How bad is he injured anyway?”

“The trooper didn’t know. Said he’s miles from there and
couldn’t check on him himself. What information he had amounts to hearsay, more or less, just that the man might be a private cop and he’d been injured somewhere out back of nowhere.”

“If the man’s a private cop, then it has to be Mr. Pickens. How many of them can there be? But you’d think somebody would get in touch with us. Maybe we ought to go up there, Coleman, and find out what’s going on.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking that way, too. I’d go today if I could get away, but we’re swamped. On the other hand, it’d be foolish to go flying off without knowing who we’d find. It could be a complete stranger.”

“I guess,” I said, fighting the urge to grab Hazel Marie and fly off to keep a vigil by a bedside. Well, not fly, exactly, but drive real fast.

“I’m still working on it, so let’s wait till we know more. Oh, and I do have the hospital’s number. You want to take it down?”

I certainly did, and did so. “Should I call or will you? Or should we go ahead and tell Hazel Marie and let her call?”

“Well, here’s the thing, Miss Julia. I’ve already called, and even with telling them I’m a sheriff’s deputy, they said they couldn’t give out any information. It would have to come through their sheriff’s office.”

“Well, let’s call that office.”

“Yeah, well, I did, and got the runaround there, too. Told me that only the sheriff could discuss that, and the sheriff wasn’t in. It’s the damndest thing I’ve ever run into. Oh, sorry ’bout that.”

“Don’t apologize. I feel the same way.” I let a few moments elapse, wondering what to do next. Then I said, “I guess we better tell Hazel Marie, don’t you?”

“Yeah, maybe so, now that it’s probably him who’s in trouble. Injured, and who knows what else.” Coleman stopped, seemingly to adjust his thinking. “Except we’re still not positive it’s J.D. It could be some other private eye.”

“What do you think, Coleman? You think it’s him?”

“Yeah, I do. Too many things fit together. Anyway, the trooper
will try to get over that way later today. Apparently, they’re few and far between in that part of the state and he has a huge area to patrol. He has my cell number and he’ll call if he learns any more.”

“All right. I’ll get dressed and go on over to Hazel Marie’s, because I’m like you, Coleman, I think it’s him, too. Let us know as soon as you hear anything.”

I stood staring at the long-distance number that I’d jotted down on a scrap of paper. Coleman had already called it and gotten nothing for his trouble. How was it that a hospital would refuse to give out information to a qualified, certified and official law officer? If a police officer or sheriff’s deputy asked me a question, I’d answer it without another thought. But then, there were those new privacy laws, and maybe that was the reason the hospital had turned Coleman down. After all, anybody and his brother could say they were law officers over a telephone, and the hospital would have no way of checking the claim.

But maybe, maybe they’d tell me something.

I thought of getting dressed first—you know, to give myself a little confidence. It’s hard to be firm and persistent when you’re in a cotton batiste nightgown with your bare feet dangling off the side of a bed.

I couldn’t wait. I dialed the number slowly and carefully, waited for an answer and heard a woman’s twangy voice say, “Crayton County Hospital. How may I direct your call?”

“I’d like to speak to whoever is attending Mr. J. D. Pickens, please.”

“Who?”

I repeated myself, then added, “He’s a patient there, and I’ll speak to anyone working on whatever floor he’s on.”

“Honey,” the operator said, “there ain’t but two floors, and everybody’s busy.”

“Well, could you just ring his room?”

“I could. If there was a phone in it. None of the rooms have ’em.”

Getting a little exasperated, I said, “I just want a little information on his condition. How is he doing? And what’s wrong with him anyway? We’re all worried about him.”

“I’m sorry, honey, but I got a note here saying no information to anybody about anybody. Hold on a minute. I got another call coming in.”