Chapter 35

An hour or so later, with the rain seeming to have set in for a long stay, the front doorbell rang. Hurrying to answer it before Lillian tried to hobble from the kitchen, I opened the door.

“Etta Mae! How nice to see you,” I said, unable to hide my surprise at her visit. “What in the world are you doing out on a day like this? Come in, come in.”

“I can’t stay,” she said, her raincoat dripping on the hall floor. “I’m on my way to the drugstore. But I wanted to drop this off for Latisha.” She held out a small wooden frame—no picture, no glass, just a plain wooden frame.

“For Latisha? Why?”

“I told her at the beach that I had an old one she could have. She called a little while ago and said she sure could use it, so here it is.”

“Well, for goodness’ sakes,” I said, thinking to myself, as Lillian had said out loud, “That child.”

Then, as Etta Mae turned to leave, the fortuity of her visit struck me. “Wait, Etta Mae. I’ve been meaning to call you, so your timing is perfect. Let’s go in here. I won’t keep you long.”

Looking a little apprehensive, she followed me into the living room. “Is anything wrong? How’s Mrs. Conover?”

“She’s all right—still talking about doing something, but never actually doing anything. And as far as something being wrong, we just don’t know. That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

Her face dropped. “Oh, Miss Julia, I’m so sorry. What have I done?”

My heart dropped as well as she so quickly assumed that she was in the wrong.

“Not one thing, Etta Mae,” I said firmly and, I hope, convincingly. “No, I just wanted to ask if you’ve seen a black Suburban—that’s one of those big trucklike vehicles, only the beds are closed in with nicely appointed interiors. It could’ve been parked somewhere or maybe looking as if it’s following you on your patient rounds.”

She frowned. “A Suburban?”

“Yes, and the one I’m talking about has its windows blacked out so you can’t see who’s in it.”

“Yes’m, I know what they’re like, but I don’t think I’ve noticed one. But then, I haven’t been looking. Why?”

“I think you would’ve noticed, Etta Mae, if it had been after you.”

“After me?”

“Yes. Come sit down. I need to tell you about it.”

“Maybe I’d better,” she said, easing onto the edge of my Victorian sofa. “What’s going on, Miss Julia?”

“Well,” I said, sitting across from her and preparing to report on the sightings, “it started at the beach. At least, we think it did.”

And I went on to describe how Lloyd, Latisha, and I had met that money-hunting trio on the beach, and how I’d dismissed them but Lloyd hadn’t, and the fact that that very night somebody had searched Hazel Marie’s car. Which was strange in itself because there was nothing in it worth stealing.

“The next sighting was when we were parked on the interstate,” I went on. “Lloyd saw them—or at least, he saw the woman—practically face-to-face, and her reaction to seeing him was as guilty looking as it could be. Then Lloyd saw the Suburban parked on his mother’s street near her house. And after that, he saw it driving very slowly past this house. Now, if that’s not suspicious, I don’t know what is.”

Etta Mae looked warily over her shoulder toward the hall, as if expecting that huge vehicle to come barreling in. “That gives me the shivers,” she said.

“Me, too. Especially after listing the sightings that way. It sounds so planned and deliberate, but we don’t know what they could want.”

“Maybe they think we got some of those hundred-dollar bills.”

“That’s what Latisha thinks, but you know we didn’t. And I made that plain when we spoke to them on the beach that day.”

“And you’re sure it’s the same Suburban that you keep seeing?”

“Well, no. And that leaves us questioning everything else. So we don’t know if we have an actual problem or if the Chevrolet company has flooded the market with a sale on Suburbans.” I stopped, bit my lip, then went on. “Actually, Etta Mae, I’m deathly afraid that they’re interested in Lloyd—you probably know that he and I share a sizable estate left by Mr. Springer, so he could be a person of interest to them. I’ve not mentioned that possibility to Lloyd, but that car shows up wherever he happens to be—they seem to be watching this house and Hazel Marie’s. It makes me sick to my stomach to think of what they might be planning. And both Mr. Pickens and Coleman are gone until the weekend.”

“Yet it doesn’t sound like they’ve actually done anything. I mean, so you could report them to the sheriff.”

“That’s it in a nutshell,” I said, marveling again at the quickness of her mind. “We can’t do anything until they make a move. Anyway,” I went on, standing up because I was too antsy to sit still, “I thought you needed to know so you can watch out for them.”

“Oh, my goodness,” Etta Mae said, jumping up. “I’ll be watching my back all the time, you can count on that. And you better believe I’ll let you know if I see them.” She shivered again and tightened the belt of her raincoat. “I have to go, Miss Julia. I’m picking up a prescription for one of my patients.”

“I thought you’d be off the rest of the week.” I smiled somewhat ruefully and added, “I mean, you’re still supposed to be on vacation at the beach.”

“I’d just as soon be working,” she said, heading toward the door, “and save my vacation days for better weather.”

After watching Etta Mae splash along my front walk to her car at the curb, I turned back to the living room and sat by myself for a moment or two. I hoped I hadn’t frightened her unnecessarily, but nothing is worse than for somebody who says nothing, then to say, “I knew it all along,” after something has happened.

Besides, I happened to know that Etta Mae had some strong connections to a few sheriff’s deputies—maybe one in particular. She wouldn’t hesitate to call on them—or him—if she needed to.

I momentarily considered whether I should tell LuAnne about the black car, but it wasn’t as if she was in any shape to handle another cause for concern. It was highly likely that adding another problem to the one she already had would throw her into a frenzy, and I wasn’t sure that she—or I—could handle any more agitation.

I stood there for a minute, turning Etta Mae’s small wooden frame around in my hands, smiling at the thought of her driving out of her way and in the midst of her busy day to bring it to Latisha. It didn’t surprise me, though, for Etta Mae would no more disappoint a child than she would ignore one of her ailing patients, even if she got soaked in the process.

Bestirring myself and putting aside my wandering thoughts, I went to the kitchen and presented the frame to Latisha. She was delighted to get it—at first. But after turning it over and around several times, she announced, “I thought it’d be bigger.”

“Five by seven is a good size, Latisha,” I said, “depending, I guess, on what you want it for. Are you planning to put shells on it?”

She looked up in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Oh, just a lucky guess.”

“Well, don’t tell anybody ’cause it’s gonna be a surprise.” She picked up a shell and examined it carefully, looking for flaws. “If I ever figure out how to do it.”