Miss Julia Inherits a Mess (11 page)

I crawled out of bed about lunchtime, feeling worse than when I'd gotten in it. Sleeping in the middle of the day had never been a habit of mine, and I didn't intend to start it at this late date. Still, after the night I'd had, I'd needed the rest.

“Miss Norma at the church call you,” Lillian said as soon as I entered the kitchen. “She say she need to talk to you, an' for you to call her soon as you come in.”

“She can wait,” I said and headed for the coffeepot. “I'm in no mood to deal with her.”

“Uh-huh, you get up on the wrong side of the bed, didn't you? Set down and eat something. Maybe you feel better.”

“Maybe,” I mumbled, but I sat at the table and tried to eat the bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich that Lillian put before me. Glancing at my watch to see how much time I had before meeting Helen, Helen's appraiser, and LuAnne at Mattie's apartment, I could've put my head on the table and gone back to sleep.

I finally began to feel more like facing the day, as late as the day was at that point. “Well, Lillian,” I said, standing up. “Did Norma say what she wanted?”

“No'm, just it real important.”

“I can't imagine, but I need to check in with Mildred first.”

So I went to the library, called Mildred's room at the hospital, and was relieved to hear Ida Lee answer. She told me that Mildred was feeling much better, convinced now that her fall had
been an aberration, and that she'd had her fill of tests, especially the ones that required nothing by mouth after midnight.

“She's in X-ray now,” Ida Lee told me, “but she says she's going home this afternoon. She says she'll not spend another night here because she didn't sleep at all.”

“Oh, for goodness' sake.
I
was the one who didn't sleep, because she snored all night long. What do her doctors say?”

“Well, you know how they are. They don't say much, but I know they've not discharged her.”

“All right, but you tell her that I'm coming up there right after I go through Mrs. Freeman's closet, and she'd better still be in that bed. If I have to stay another night to keep her there, I will.”

Goodness,
I thought as I hung up,
what I'm willing to do to care for my friends.
I just hoped that Mildred would come to her senses before I lost mine.

Then I called Norma, gritting my teeth as I did so. The woman got under my skin worse than anybody I knew.

“It's Julia Murdoch, Norma,” I said when she answered, and that's all I needed to say.

“Hold just a sec, Miss Julia,” she said in her most professionally clipped manner. “Pastor Ledbetter wishes to speak with you.”

Oh, Lord, what now?
I held for more than a second and almost hung up. I had too much to do that afternoon to be kept on hold for somebody else's convenience.

But finally Pastor Ledbetter picked up, and at the false heartiness of his voice, I knew that trouble lay ahead. “Miss Julia! How
are
you? It's been a while since we've had a good sit-down together, and I thought this afternoon would be the perfect time for it. Why don't you walk over so we can catch up with each other?”

The only times he'd ever asked me to walk across the street to the church were when he had something he wanted from me or for me to do. This would be no exception, because the pastor wasn't in the habit of merely keeping in touch with his parishioners. He always had an agenda.

“Well, I'm sorry, Pastor,” I said, “but my afternoon is
completely taken up. I'm meeting a furniture appraiser at Mattie's apartment in just a few minutes, and then LuAnne's coming by to select Mattie's funeral ensemble, and I have to be there for both. After that, I'll need to go to the hospital to check on Mildred Allen. She's having a few tests done.”

“Oh, yes, I intend to look in on her, too. She's an Episcopalian, but”—he stopped and chuckled—“I don't let that stop me. What about early tomorrow? I want to go over the funeral program with you.”

“LuAnne is in charge of that. Maybe she can meet with you, but I assure you that whatever you and she decide will be fine.”

“I'll tell you what,” he said, not at all put off by my unwillingness to hop to and get across the street. “I have a fairly busy day coming up, so why don't we have a few words at the visitation tomorrow evening? I'll be there early and stay until it's over—the least I can do for such a faithful member as Miss Mattie. We're going to miss her, aren't we?”

Maybe so,
I thought,
but so far I've been too busy looking after her affairs to feel any kind of loss
. Not wanting to hear a minisermon on my lack of compassion, though, I agreed to see the pastor at the funeral home the next evening, hung up, and went to Mattie's apartment, ready to once again tackle the job she'd left in my hands.

Helen and Diane Jankowski pulled into the gravel lot beside Mattie's apartment building about the same time I did. Helen introduced us as we walked to the entrance, and I must say that I approved of Ms. Jankowski right away. For one thing, she was just the right age, whatever it was—young enough to be able to bend and stoop and get around easily and old enough to know her business. And for another thing, she had come dressed ready to work, from which I assumed that Helen had told her not to expect a neatly arranged assortment of furniture.

She was wearing khaki pants that were full and loose for ease of movement and a pink polo shirt that matched her pink tennis shoes. She was carrying a large Lily Pulitzer tote bag—which I
identified by the pink and green paisley design—filled with notebooks and reference books.

Not only was she ready to work, she was quite professional in her greeting and in her immediate attention to business matters.

“Before we begin, Mrs. Murdoch,” she said as we approached Mattie's door, “let me just say that I can charge by the hour if you just want a walk-through to get a general idea of value. But if you want a thorough inspection and evaluation of certain pieces, along with help putting them up for auction or contacting dealers, then I get ten percent of whatever the furniture brings. Is that agreeable with you?”

In any other situation, I might have thought her abrupt and too interested in what was in it for her. But at the moment, I was relieved to place the furniture problem in her capable hands, and even more pleased to know what she expected to get from it. To me, that indicated that she knew her own worth. She wasn't letting me go blindly into something that would turn around and bite me, or rather, bite Mattie's estate.

“Perfectly agreeable, and while we're on the subject, Helen, why don't we say that you will get five percent of whatever it brings?”

“Oh, Julia,” Helen said, “that may be too much.”

“I doubt it,” I said, inserting and turning the key in Mattie's door. “For all we know, the furniture is worth next to nothing. I may end up paying somebody to haul it away. Here we go.” I pushed the door open and motioned them in. “Diane, give it a quick glance and see if any of it is worth a closer inspection. There are some pieces in the bedrooms, too.”

“Oh, my,” Diane said, her eyes lighting up. “I see why you needed help. I can tell you right now that if that's a butler's desk in the corner, you need to think of contacting an auction house, maybe one in Atlanta. And look at the carving on that sofa! It's early Victorian and will bring a pretty penny if we can get it to New Orleans. Oh, my,” she went on as she upturned a large ornate vase to see the marking, “French porcelain of the Aesthetic movement, I believe. Very nice.”

Helen said, “Wait till you see the handkerchief table and the cellarette.” Then, turning to me, she went on, “Oh, Julia, this is exciting. Who knew that Mattie had such treasures?”

“Well, hold on,” Diane said, smiling as she pulled out a notebook. “I'm not promising anything yet, but it's certainly worth a closer look.”

Feeling considerably lighter of heart at Diane's reaction to her first glimpse of the furniture, I said, “I'll have to leave it to the two of you. I thought I'd go ahead and empty Mattie's closets. LuAnne is coming by in a few minutes to select something to take to the funeral home. When she's done, I'll take everything else to Goodwill, and that will be one more job completed. Call me if you need help, or, Helen, you might want to see if Mr. Wheeler is around.”

Helen gave me a quick glance, then looked away. I didn't know what that signified, if anything, but I figured she could call on him or not, whatever she was inclined to do.

I walked back to Mattie's bedroom, opened the closet door, clasped an armful of hanging clothes, and laid them on the bed. Then I took out several shoe boxes, opened them, and sighed. Mattie had had trouble with her feet, her knees, or her hips, or maybe all three, for so long that I doubted she had bought a new pair of shoes in years. Each pair I examined had run-over heels, scuff marks, and Dr. Scholl's gel inserts.

Well,
I thought,
even if LuAnne insists on an open casket, at least her shoes won't show
. We could just let her wear the rubber-soled moccasins that she usually wore.

I could occasionally hear Helen and Diane talking to each other, but I was too intent on emptying dresser drawers to pay much attention. It wasn't until the doorbell rang and LuAnne bounced in full of the importance of dressing the dead that I started toward the living room.

By the time I got there, she and Diane had recalled an earlier meeting at a book fair, and Helen had walked down the hall to call in Mr. Wheeler.

“I'm all ready for you, LuAnne,” I said. “Just a few more drawers to empty and everything will be out for you to look through.” Turning to Diane, I asked, “How's it going? Have you found anything interesting?”

“Oh, yes, several things. I'm making a list and tagging each piece that should go to auction. I'm also making an estimate of what I think each one might bring. But please don't hold me to it, because you never know how an auction will go. It all depends on who's there and what they're looking for.”

“So you think we should auction it, rather than selling to a dealer?”

“At this point, maybe both,” Diane said, smiling. “I'm making two lists.”

I smiled back at her. “Good. I need all the help I can get. LuAnne, let's decide what Mattie's going to wear.”

Just then, Helen and Mr. Wheeler came in, so he had to be introduced to LuAnne, and of course she had to stand around and ask him a dozen questions—how long he'd lived in Abbotsville (not long), where he was buying new appliances (Lowe's), what church he attended (none at the moment), which brought on an invitation to the First Presbyterian. LuAnne took every opportunity she had to learn whatever she could.

Finally, as she and I walked down the hall to the bedroom, she whispered, “
Where
did that good-looking man come from?”

“I have no idea,” I said, too anxious to get done what had to be done so I could go to the next thing. “Now, LuAnne, everything Mattie has is here on the bed. See what you think might do, while I check the closet in the guest room.”

She wrinkled her nose at the pile of what could possibly be called vintage dresses if you wanted to be kind. Actually, they were merely old and well worn, and each one looked pretty much like all the others. LuAnne began snatching them up, one after the other, holding each one out to study it, then throwing it back on the bed.

“By the way,” LuAnne said, stopping me on my way out of the
room, “I have five pallbearers lined up—Leonard, Sam, Mattie's lawyer, Dr. Hargrove, and Jim Armstrong, but I need one more. You have any ideas?”

“Why don't you ask one of the elders.”

“
Because,
Julia, they're all so decrepit, they'd have a heart attack halfway down the aisle.”

“In that case,” I responded, “ask a deacon. They're generally younger. Besides, I don't think they actually carry a casket. They bring it in on wheels now.”

“Oh. Well, I'll ask Thurlow Jones then, even though lightning might strike him if he enters a church.”

I laughed and went to the guest room for an armload of clothes and almost gave up. They were crammed in so tightly that I could barely lift even a few of the hangers off the rod. I wondered if Mattie had ever thrown anything out. Unhappily, none of them would offer more choices for LuAnne. Mattie had kept her winter things separately, and I doubted that any of the guest room woolens would be suitable for a June funeral. I decided to leave them for another day and returned to see how LuAnne was doing.

“Julia,” LuAnne said as she plopped on the bed next to the pile of clothes, “I could just cry. I didn't know that Mattie was so hard up, but there's not a decent thing here. What are we going to do?”

“We're going to find something,” I said firmly. “Look, LuAnne, she'll only be seen from the waist up, so we don't have to worry about a skirt, whether it's too long or the hem is out or there's a stain on it. Just think from the waist up.”