Miss Julia's Marvelous Makeover (23 page)

“Yes, I'll tell her you have my permission. Just go on and survey to your heart's content. She won't bother you.”

“And if it's thirty acres or more, you'll sell?”

“I've already told you: the property is not for sale under any circumstances. All I'm interested in is putting your mind at rest.”
So you'll go bother somebody else,
I wanted to add, but I opened the door and said instead, “Good day, Rodney.”

“Sam,” I said as he drove us home that evening from a League of Women Voters meeting where he and Jimmy Ray had stated their platforms and answered questions. “You have any idea who Rodney's silent partner is?”

“Hm-m? Oh, no telling,” he said, and I knew he still had the meeting on his mind. He'd done well, as he always did, answering every question thrown at him, even the follow-ups that demanded more detailed information—the League members were a knowledgeable group.

“Well, I wish I knew,” I said. “I don't like the idea of dealing with someone behind the scenes.”

Sam moved his hand from the steering wheel and laid it on my knee. “But you're not dealing with him or with Rodney, so it doesn't matter. It could even be McCrory's that's pulling his strings. Maybe they want another location and Rodney's just the front man.”

“I hadn't thought of that. But, no, I don't think so. Rodney speaks too strongly about
his
cemetery and
his
mortuary and
his
plans. I think if he were just a front man, he'd have let something slip before this. Besides, he referred to his silent partner like it was an individual, not a family group like McCrory's or even a bank. Whoever it is owns that farm a little before you get to the trailer park, so we can find out easily enough. I think I'll ask Binkie to look it up at the county clerk's office and see who it is.”

“If I have time tomorrow, I'll go to the courthouse and do it for you.”

“Oh, no, Sam, don't do that. You're much too busy. You're speaking to the Lions Club tomorrow, aren't you? And before I forget it, I was so proud of you tonight. Jimmy Ray got befuddled trying to
answer some of the questions, but they didn't stump you at all. Of course, Jimmy Ray had to defend himself on some of his votes.”

Sam laughed. “That's always a problem when you're the incumbent. Anyway, I think I may have swayed a few.”

“More than a few,” I said, putting my hand on his. “I could tell from the looks on their faces that they were impressed with you. But, I declare, I don't know how you can eat something wherever you go. If it's not lunch, it's dinner and usually chicken of some sort, or else it's doughnuts or desserts spread out on a table. It's a wonder every candidate doesn't gain ten pounds a campaign.”

“We just about do,” Sam said, smiling in the dark of the car. “I've learned to just pick up a doughnut or whatever and nibble on it. And, usually, at a meal, I can start a conversation at the table, take a bite or two, and string it out until it's time for me to speak.”

I laughed. “Take a tip from Lloyd. Remember how he used to stir things around on his plate so it'd look as if he'd eaten something? And remember when Lillian found some dried-up peas in a drawer in the kitchen table? He'd raked them in when nobody was looking.”

“I do remember,” Sam said as we smiled at each other, “and now we can't fill him up. He eats everything in sight.”

“He wants to build muscles,” I murmured, but my mind was still on something else. “Whoever it is has to be somebody with enough money to invest in everything Rodney wants to do. Why, it'll take millions to do what he's talking about. Who has that kind of wealth, or that kind of interest in a mortuary, of all things?”

“Well, think about it. Who do we know that would fill the bill?”

“Well, Mildred for one. She certainly has the means, but I don't know how she'd feel about owning grave sites with people buried in them. She can be squeamish about things like that. I think it has to be somebody who's just off enough to think a cemetery on my property would be a grand . . .” I stopped, jerked upright, and said, “
Thurlow!
That's who it is, it has to be! And, listen, Sam,” I said, grasping his arm, “everything Rodney told me points to him. He's not
selling
that farm, he's leasing it. Long-term,
but still. And that means that Thurlow will not only retain ownership of the farm, he'll own everything Rodney builds on it. So if Rodney's business fails, Thurlow will not only get his property back, but all the improvements, too. Doesn't that sound just like something he'd do?”

“You may be right,” Sam said. “He's a crafty one, that's for sure.”

“I could almost feel sorry for Rodney, getting mixed up with him. But, Sam, Rodney has never mentioned the property to the south of my place, which would be as natural an extension as the farm on the north. I wonder who owns it.”

“I don't know, but I seem to recall some sort of problem with it,” Sam said. “But now you've got me intrigued. I'll make time to go to the courthouse tomorrow, then we'll know about both.”

“Only if you have time.” We rode along for a while, me thinking of my Springer Road property and him, well, I didn't know what he was thinking. “By the way,” I said, “I didn't know a railroad runs through that tract on the south. Etta Mae said it's been there forever, but she's never seen a train on it.”

“That's it!” Sam said. “I knew there was something that put that land out of reach. If Rodney has his eye on it, he won't get far, let me tell you. The railroad never sells anything, doesn't matter whether they're using it or not.”

“But aren't some of those old rail beds used as walking trails?”

“Yep, but I think the railroad just permits the use of them. They don't sell.”

“Wonder if Rodney knows that.”

Sam smiled. “I would guess he does, and it's probably why he's pushing you so hard. You thinking of warning him about Thurlow?”

I thought about it for a few minutes. “No, it wouldn't do any good, and those two probably deserve each other. Besides, I'm not selling, so their plans aren't going anywhere, anyway.”

—

When we walked into the house, the first thing I saw was the blinking message light on the telephone. As Sam went on into the
hall, turning on lights as he went, I stopped by the counter, punched the Play button, and listened.

“Miss Julia? It's Hazel Marie. If you get home before ten tonight, will you give me a call? Something wonderful just happened. So, bye. No, wait, if you're later than that, call me first thing in the morning. Okay?” Then there was silence as if she were waiting for me to answer. “Well, okay, bye. Call me.”

Checking the time, which was nine-thirty, I punched in the Pickenses' number and got him.

“Mr. Pickens, it's Julia Murdoch,” I said after his abrupt answer. “I hope it's not too late to call, but I had a message from Hazel Marie . . .”

“Hold on,” he said. “I'll get her. Big doings around here. She's beside herself, waiting for you to call.”

As I waited, a number of possibilities ran through my mind. Lord, I hoped she wasn't expecting again. No, it couldn't be that—at least I didn't think so. Maybe one of the little girls did something outstanding. Hazel Marie was known to report every remarkable event—first tooth, first step, first word, first sentence, and I mean, since there were two of them, there were double the number of reports.

“Oh, Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie said as she picked up the phone. “I'm so glad you called. I'd be too excited to sleep if I had to wait till morning to tell you.”

I couldn't help but smile. Hazel Marie's excitement was infectious. “Well, tell me. I can't wait to hear.”

“Guess who called tonight.”

“I don't know, Hazel Marie. Who?”

“
Rodney,
that's who!”

Rodney didn't exactly excite me, but I asked, “What did he want?”

“Trixie! He wanted Trixie. He asked her out, and they're going to dinner and a movie tomorrow night. Isn't that wonderful?”

“Well, my goodness, I guess it is. How does Trixie feel about it?”

“Oh, she's walking on air, just thrilled, and we've been planning
what she'll wear and practicing with a knife and fork . . . Oh, I didn't tell you. He's taking her to the Grove Park Inn to their fancy restaurant where each table has its own server and that's all he does, just waits on that one table. Oh, it's grand, Miss Julia. J.D. took me there on our first date after the babies were born. They treat you like royalty. Trixie's so excited she can hardly stand it.”

“I hope she's not so excited that she forgets all you've taught her.”

“I just wish I'd done what I've been thinking of doing before this happened,” Hazel Marie said worriedly. “She really needs more practice before going public, and I've thought of having a luncheon—just a few friends so Trixie can learn by example. Do you think I should go ahead and have one, even though it'll have to be after her date?”

“I think that's an excellent idea. But, Hazel Marie, if I were you, I'd limit the guest list to our most tolerant and noncritical friends.”

“Then let's do it Monday before everybody is wiped out from Fourth of July celebrations. You're invited, of course, and I think Etta Mae—she's a lot of fun and I think Trixie will enjoy her company. And Mildred Allen, who's always so kind to those of us who've never been to New York. And LuAnne, 'cause I kinda owe her. Let's see, counting me, you, and Trixie, that makes six. If I invite Mrs. Ledbetter, I'll have to think of somebody else to even up the table.”

I'd already frowned at the mention of LuAnne, who never let a breach of etiquette pass without commenting on it and continuing to comment for days afterward. Emma Sue Ledbetter wouldn't do that, but she'd take every evangelistic opportunity that presented itself in the company of an unchurched person. Which Trixie, who couldn't be roused on Sunday mornings, assuredly would be in her eyes.

“I think six is the ideal number, Hazel Marie,” I said. “You wouldn't want to overwhelm her with too many people she doesn't know.”

“That's settled then. Let's say about noon Monday. I'll call the
others this afternoon and apologize for being last-minute. But I think I'd better strike while the iron's hot, which will be right after her date. I mean, by then Trixie will surely understand the importance of being comfortable—because of knowing what to do—in any social situation, don't you think?”

“I do, indeed, and, Hazel Marie, you can pat yourself on the back. You're doing wonders with her and for her, and I hope she remembers to thank you.”

“Well,” Hazel Marie said, a bit wryly, “I think I'll wait and see how tomorrow night goes before looking for any thanks.”

I laughed. “Good idea. But, listen, if Trixie needs a new dress, use my credit card.”

After hanging up, I turned around to see Sam standing in the doorway. “Did you hear all that?” I asked. “Rodney's taking Trixie out again.”

Sam's eyebrows went up, then he smiled. “That's a pretty fast about-face, isn't it?”

“It sure is, and I'm wondering why.”

I didn't have long to wonder. Barely forty-eight hours later, Trixie came to see me. She showed up Sunday afternoon, after her date with Rodney the evening before. Our morning had been spent at church, from which Trixie had been noticeably absent, and after lunch Sam had left for some vote mongering, taking Mr. Pickens and Lloyd with him.

Looking forward to a leisurely afternoon, I'd started on the newspaper in the library, having slipped off my shoes to rest my feet on an ottoman. I'd deliberately stayed away from Hazel Marie's the day before, knowing that the preparations for Trixie's date would be hectic, and that she'd need all the last-minute instructions in etiquette and deportment that she could get. But Hazel Marie had called, almost every hour on the hour, to let me know how the day was progressing.

“We got her a dress,” she reported, barely an hour after the shops had opened. “It's just elegant and looks so good on her. She didn't really want black, until she saw it on. And when I told her I'd let her wear my pearls—the ones you gave me—why, she was as happy as she could be.”

I mentally moaned at the thought of those beautiful pearls in Trixie's care, but refrained from saying anything.

Then in the early afternoon, Hazel Marie called again. “I tried to get Trixie to take a nap, but she's too excited to sleep or eat or anything. Now she's practicing how to walk in her new shoes. Really high heels, but they're all that way now.”

And not an hour later, another report. “Trixie just threw up. You reckon she's getting sick?”

“Just excitement, Hazel Marie,” I assured her. “But you better
get her to eat a little something. She shouldn't leave on an empty stomach—she'll be ravenous at dinner. Just imagine that.”

And on and on it went all afternoon, until finally Hazel Marie called a little after six. “Well, they're off, and Trixie did look nice. I think Rodney was impressed when she came downstairs, although I had a hard time getting her to wait till he got in the house. J.D. talked with him a few minutes.” Hazel Marie stopped and laughed a little. “I think Rodney was happy to get Trixie and leave. You know how J.D. can be—I think he was practicing for when our girls begin to date.”

I'd heard nothing more after that, not even on the morning after. Assuming that Trixie had slept late after her big night, I expected to get a complete report sometime that afternoon.

But I hadn't expected Trixie to suddenly show up in my house. She'd come in the kitchen door, walked through the house, and appeared in the library before I knew she was there. No knocking, no doorbell ringing, no phone call—she was just there. I was startled, because we usually kept the doors locked when someone was in the house alone, and I almost reprimanded her. Still, Lloyd came and went at will, and Trixie probably felt she had the run of the place as well.

“Why, Trixie,” I said, putting aside the paper. “I'm glad to see you. Come tell me all about last night. Did you have a good time?”

“Real good,” she said, flopping down in the wing chair opposite mine. Then, as if suddenly remembering a lesson, she sat up, put her knees together, and primly said, “It was a delightful evening, and Rodney enjoyed it just as much as me. I mean, as I did. He told me he did, and that he'd probably jumped the gun a little when he said we ought to see other people. He really missed me, so I guess we're back together.”

“I'm pleased to hear it.” What else could I say? I didn't trust Rodney or his intentions toward her, but I couldn't tell her that.

“Yeah,” she said, her gaze wandering around the room as if her mind was somewhere else. “That place we went to was real fancy, but I could do without all that hovering the waiter did. That's what
Rodney called it, hovering. Made me nervous. I don't like somebody watching me eat, and we couldn't take a drink of water without him coming to pour us some more.”

“Well, that's the way those places are. At least you never have to flag down a waiter to get served.”

“I guess.” She nodded. “But Rodney and me decided we didn't much like it. Food was good, though. Miss Julia,” she went on, her eyes briefly meeting mine, then darting away, “I got something to ask you. You know that property Rodney wants for his mortuary complex?”

Mortuary
complex
? That was a new one, but I nodded. “Yes, I've been hearing a lot about it lately.”

“Well, he's having it surveyed Wednesday—that's the day after the Fourth of July, I guess you know. He wanted to have it done sooner than that, like tomorrow, but they wouldn't do it. He said you gave him permission.”

“I did,” I agreed, “although I don't know why he's going to the expense. The property is not suitable for what he wants and I wouldn't sell it if it was.”

“That's what he said. But it started me thinking, and I feel like you do. I mean, I wouldn't sell it either, if I didn't want to. Rodney says you probably want to keep it as part of your estate—you know, to pass on to whoever's in your will.”

I looked at her in surprise. People don't normally bring up such personal matters as one's beneficiaries or, indeed, to remind one of the attendant matter of preparation for one's death.

“So it got me to thinking,” Trixie went on, “and I know you don't have any kids and your sisters don't, either, so Meemaw has to be your next of kin. And because you don't even know my mama, and Meemaw says she don't deserve anything anyway, I figure I'm in there somewhere and it might all come to me, 'specially since I know you don't think much of Meemaw. So what I want to know is why don't you go ahead and give me that land now instead of me having to wait till you die, when I'll inherit it anyway?”

If I'd ever been stunned before, it was nothing like I felt at that moment. I stared at her, simply speechless at her presumption, her boldness, and her unmitigated gall in assuming that she was in my will, much less my primary beneficiary.

Finally I was able to open my mouth. “Did Rodney put you up to this?”

“Nuh-uh,” she said with a shake of her head, but it was a weak
nuh-uh.
“I thought of it all by myself. See, because I'd do just what you're doing and hold on to it. I wouldn't sell it for anything. That way, see, I'd go in with Rodney and be his partner, and we'd get married and we'd own the whole complex together. He wouldn't ever think we ought to see other people then.”

If marriage vows wouldn't hold on to a man—I wanted to say, as Wesley Lloyd Springer passed through my mind—how did she expect a chunk of land to keep him in line? But that was neither here nor there at the present time.

“Well, Trixie,” I said calmly, even as I marveled at my own restraint, “it seems that Hazel Marie hasn't gotten to the point of explaining to you that there are certain subjects that one does not bring up or mention in passing, or even vaguely refer to. A person's will is at the top of the list. And,” I said, gathering steam, “let me just set you straight about kinship and lines of inheritance. It does not necessarily follow that just because someone is related to someone, that that someone is in line for a windfall. And furthermore, I seriously doubt that your Meemaw and I are any kin at all, and if we are, it is of the most tenuous nature and certainly not one you can count on.”

She was looking at me, wide-eyed, during this, and I began to doubt that half of what I said had gotten through to her.

“Well, but,” she finally said, “you don't have nobody else to leave it to. I mean, you never had no kids or nieces or nephews or anything. I'm almost the next of kin, and the most important thing is
family
—Meemaw says so. That's the way she was raised, and you were, too. So if you was to give me that land, I wouldn't ask
for anything else. You could do whatever else you wanted to with whatever else you've got.”

“That's very thoughtful of you,” I said, but she didn't hear the sarcasm that I hadn't been able to control.

“Yeah, well, Rodney said that you're just the type to leave everything to the church or to a bunch of cats like some old ladies do. But you don't have any cats, and we need that land more'n the church does. The one you go to's got money gone to bed anyway—I could tell the first time I walked in the door.”

So Rodney had discussed the dispensation of my estate with her. Why was I not surprised?

“Let me put your mind at ease,” I said, getting to my feet because I'd about reached the end of my tether. “My will and my intentions for what the Lord has blessed me with are not your concern, Trixie. And I will also tell you this: family, especially far-flung family, the members of which might have no ties whatsoever to each other, is not all it's cracked up to be. There just might be people of absolutely no blood kin who are closer and more precious than anyone with a presumed family connection. In other words, there are families, and then there are
families
. So my advice to you is to look to your Meemaw for any inheritance coming to you, because the fact of the matter is: I'm neither ready to die nor am I ready to begin dispensing my assets, and I won't be for some time to come. In fact,” I went on, as I fumed at Rodney's categorization of me, “I just might begin taking in a few cats.”

She stared at me as if I'd lost my mind, then her face turned red as it scrunched up and a few tears squeezed out. Putting her hands over her face, she hopped up and headed for the door. When she got there, she turned back and cried, “I could have everything I ever wanted if I had that land, but you're just too
selfish
to let me have it!”

And with that, she ran out, slamming the back door as she went.