When Did We Lose Harriet? Part 10

"He's going down at eight, they said. I came back now so we can get a bite to eat and get right back over there. What kind of trouble?"

"I'll show you." As I led her to the kitchen, I peered at my watch. Half-past six. I couldn't brag that I was getting much more sleep in Montgomery than I had in Albuquerque.

When Glenna saw the broken window and heard what happened, she went white. "Oh, Clara, what if you hadn't heard him? You could have been killed-or worse!"

"Oh, I don't think he came to kill anybody," I said more briskly than I felt. "I think it was that awful Ricky after Harriet's money. He probably thought there was n.o.body home. We'll need to call the police sometime today-I was just too tired last night."

"I'll call Carter Duggins, my cousin. He's a policeman."

I should have known Glenna would have a cousin who was a policeman. She has so many cousins in that neck of the woods that Mama told Jake on his wedding day, "You be nice to everybody you meet in Montgomery County, Jacob, until you find out how they're related to Glenna."

While she called, I rummaged in her closet looking for something else I could wear, but a skinny five-nine and a pleasingly plump five-three can't share much. I finally put on a bright figured Sunday dress of my own, with a pleated skirt I always hope makes me look slimmer. As long as I was wearing the dress, I went ahead and put on the big red earrings and necklace and the red pumps I usually wear with it. If I looked like I was waiting for church school to start as soon as surgery was over, so be it.

"What did Carter say?" I asked as we sat down to breakfast in the dining room. Neither of us could stand to eat on the sunporch that morning.

"He promised to come over right away to check for fingerprints."

"But we've got to get to the hospital!"

Glenna nodded and placidly b.u.t.tered toast. "I told him that. I said I'd leave him a key under the back doormat." I wondered if Montgomery police had a policy about using doormat keys to enter the scene of a burglary.

We stayed with Jake until he went down, then spent a while in the hospital chapel. I hoped her prayers were more coherent than mine. Whenever I tried to frame a sentence, it invariably came out Please, G.o.d, please, G.o.d, please! Finally Glenna rose and touched my hand. "That's all we can do. Let's go get a cup of coffee."

If you have spent a morning waiting for someone you love to come through surgery, I don't have to tell you about it. If you haven't, I won't. That's one experience there is no need to rehea.r.s.e.

I read my mystery novel and drank so much coffee I was considering going down to the hospital kitchen to teach them how to make it. The novel was good so long as I could keep my eyes on the page. As soon as I looked up and remembered where I was, I had a hard time breathing.

Sometime that morning I remembered to call the acting school in Atlanta again. They'd never heard of Harriet Lawson and didn't think they had a fifteen-year-old there under another name, but would check their records and call me back.

They couldn't call me back. Jake and Glenna not only don't have a cordless phone, they don't have an answering machine. If you want to figure out what to give somebody for Christmas, live in their house a few days. I told the acting school I'd call back later.

After an eternity or two, the surgeon came looking for us, beaming from ear to ear. "All done and done good."

Glenna's gray eyes shone and her hands trembled with joy. "He's going to be all right?" I hadn't seen her look like that since her wedding day.

"I think he's going to be fine. His color and signs are real good. But he's going to be in recovery most of the afternoon, sleeping it off. Why don't you all go home and get some rest, then come on back this evening when he's awake?"

We left feeling like two women who'd been run over by a Mack truck, slung in a pit, then suddenly and miraculously healed, and shown a sunlit open door.

"I think I could fly to the car if I tried," I told Glenna.

"I think I could just fly on home." She flung her arms around me and nearly cracked my ribs. "Oh, Clara, he's going to be all right! He's going to be all right."

At the house, we found a solemn little man in gray coveralls calmly reglazing the back window. "Officer Dug-gins called me," he told us. "Told me to fix this window and your back door and change all your locks."

Glenna thanked him, fixed all of us a gla.s.s of tea, and started making bread. "Sit down and rest," I urged her.

"I couldn't sit still right now, Clara. I feel like going dancing or something." She waltzed across her kitchen floor. Glenna? Waltzing? My baby brother must have more to him than I ever suspected.

After the man left, we had a bite to eat and stretched out for a while. I soon heard Glenna moving about in her room. "I can't rest," she protested. If it had been Joe Riddley, I would have felt the same.

"How about if we go to Western Union to get the money Joe Riddley is supposed to have sent me," I suggested, "then go to the mall and get me something to wear?"

"Oh, honey, let's do! I might buy a celebration dress of my own."

Joe Riddley had been more generous than I'd ever expected. I bought two skirts, three tops, a casual navy pantsuit, and a pair of navy flats with a pocketbook to match. Glenna splurged and bought not one but two very pretty dresses. "Even when you don't like shopping-and heaven knows I don't," I told her as we loaded our bags into the trunk, "it sure does occupy your mind."

But as soon as Glenna started the engine, she confessed, "I keep wanting to go on back over to the hospital, Clara. I know he's sleeping, but I'd like to be there."

"Why don't you go, then? If you'll give me a list, I'll stay home and call people to report on Jake. I can also answer the phone, do a load or two of wash, and maybe even hit your famous ironing basket. Come back to supper-I'll fix us a terrific Ain't-G.o.d-Wonderful dinner."

She'd barely left when the phone rang. The caller was male and sounded too young to be a police officer. He started out like the family member he is. "Cuddin' Glenna? It's Carter."

"h.e.l.lo, Carter. This is MacLaren, Jake's sister. Glenna's at the hospital-"

"Hey, Miss MacLaren! Jake's told me a lot about you. How's he doing?"

I didn't waste time asking what Jake had told him. Jake's opinion of my occasional involvement in little problems around Hopemore has never been high, and he'd probably told Carter all about them. "He's doing real well, so far, but keep him in your prayers."

"Yessum, I sure will. Listen, give Glenna a message for me. Tell her we dusted the windowsill for prints, but whoever it was didn't leave any. I called a glazier-"

"He's come and gone. Thanks, Carter. You didn't find any shoe prints beside the drive, did you?"

"No, ma'am. Why do you ask?"

"Because I saw the man run down the driveway."

"You saw the perpetrator? Why the d.i.c.kens didn't you call the police right then?"

I sighed. "It's a long story. For one thing, I was worn out, and I thought I recognized him. If so, I know where to find him if he left any prints."

"We didn't find any prints at all. Sorry. But we got some blood smears where he cut himself, so if you'll tell me where to find him, we can try for a match."

I gave him Ricky's name and where he lived, then added, "Carter, could you do me two big favors?"

"Why, yes, ma'am, if I can. What do you need?"

"First, I drove Jake's car yesterday without his permission, and it got stolen."

"Whooee! You are in big trouble."

"Not yet. Jake doesn't know. But I'm not sure the people down at the police station appreciate how much danger I'll be in if that car isn't back before he gets home. If you have any pull, could you stir them up a little?"

"It's not my department, and I don't have any pull at all, but I'll try. What else?"

"Could you look through the records for the past six weeks to see if an unidentified fifteen-year-old female has been found anywhere in the Montgomery area-either dead or injured? A woman I was talking to has a niece missing, but her husband is a stubborn old Bama grad who refuses to file a missing persons report. She's real worried." He sounded like the nice kind of young man who would not refuse a woman in distress.

"I can look, ma'am, but it may take awhile. We're pretty swamped right now. The family really needs to file a missing persons report, you know."

"You find somebody, and they will," I promised grimly.

By the end of that afternoon, I was prowling the house as restless as a cat in a carrier. I called the acting school in Atlanta and got the news I'd expected: Harriet was not and had never been there. I tried to call Dee to see if I could come out in a day or two to take her the money, but n.o.body answered. I couldn't read or find anything worth watching on TV, and it was too hot for a walk. I had just decided to call Lewis Henly to see if he'd learned anything from the girls at the center, when Josheba called me. "How's your brother doing?"

When I told her, she heaved a huge sigh of relief. "That's good. I tell you, Mac, all I've been able to think about all day was your brother's surgery and Harriet." She paused, then asked, "Did you call that place in Atlanta?"

"Yes. She isn't there. I've also asked the police to check for bodies or accident victims." That meant I had to tell her about the break-in, as well.

"Ricky!" Josheba exclaimed before I was halfway through.

"I think so, too. I just hope he won't try again."

"You need a gun, lady."

Her concern warmed me. I couldn't remember the last time I'd taken to someone as quickly as I had Josheba-which was odd, considering I'd never had a black friend (as opposed to acquaintance) before. However, I couldn't agree to her suggestion.

"Not on your life, Josheba. I'd rather face my Maker having been shot than having shot somebody else. Besides, I'd probably wind up shooting myself. The police have promised to request a patrol on the street for the next few days, though, and sent a man by to fix the damage and change our locks."

"Got any more ideas what we can do about Harriet?"

"I've decided to take the money out to her aunt's and let them worry about her. I don't have time to look for her right now. The only thing I thought I'd do first was call Lewis to see if the girls knew anything."

"I already called him," Josheba admitted a bit sheepishly. "He said Kateisha didn't show up today, and none of the other kids remember the last time they saw Harriet. One thought Harriet might have gone to see her mother."

"That's the third time we've heard that. I wonder if her other aunt-her mother's sister-would know?" I closed my eyes and tried to hear Nora saying the name the day before. "Eunice Crawley. She lives up in Chisholm. I think I'll give her a call."

We both searched our phone books, but neither of us could find her.

"Why don't I run by the library and get her address from the city directory?" Josheba offered. "Then, if you have time, we could drive up there."

I checked my watch. It was half past four. Glenna wasn't coming home until seven, and Eunice Crawley would probably be home from work by the time we got there.

"If you're working on a sainthood merit badge," I agreed.

Fourteen.

A truthful witness gives honest

testimony, but a false witness

tells lies. Proverbs 12:17

This is Josheba again. Mac says I was so clever that afternoon, I get to tell about it.

I'd barely hung up from talking to her when the phone rang again. "Who you been yakkin' with, dollbaby?" Morse asked as soon as I'd answered. "I tried you three times."

"Just talking to Mac," I said without thinking.

"Who's he?" he demanded suspiciously.

"She. The woman I took home yesterday." Morse always wanted to know everything I did and everybody I talked with. When we first started dating, he just wrapped me up in concern and reminded me of Mama, always asking questions about my life. Today I felt a bit smothered. I didn't want to explain what Mac and I were up to, so I asked quickly, "How's the river?"

"Wet. It's dumped rain ever since we got here, and there's so much lightning, they won't let us out in the rafts. All day we've done nothing but sit around."

Of course, that's not exactly the way he really said it. I mentioned earlier, Morse grew up rough. His language still is. When he talked, I automatically deleted his obscenities. Having grown up in a preacher's house, I figured obscenity was something you got used to in other men.

Sit around drinking beer, I thought. I could tell that from his tone.

"I'm so sorry, honey," I told him. "Maybe it will clear up tonight."

"It better, or I'll-Josheba, why don't you cut cla.s.ses these next couple of days and drive up here tonight?"

"It's tempting, Morse, but I've worked too hard this semester to throw it away. I've got an exam and a paper due Friday. If it keeps raining, why don't you come on back home?"

"Because this is my vacation. You work too hard, baby, and neglect old Morse. Can't iron my s.h.i.+rts. Can't come when I need you. What good's all that education going to do-"

There was no reasoning with him when he was drunk. I murmured a few sweet, soothing things and sent him back to his buddies. I needed to get on the road.

I picked Mac up and we drove to Chisholm in rush-hour traffic. "Harriet's other aunt," as Mac and I had started calling her, lived in a small frame house covered with green vinyl siding in a block that looked like some folks had lived there a long time. Several houses had the kind of additions people put on for themselves, and the yards were a hodgepodge-some carefully planted and some utterly neglected. Eunice Crawley's yard didn't have a single tree or bush except the kind with round blue flowers on each side of the bottom step. After I pulled up to the curb, Mac just sat. I wondered if she'd fallen asleep in the last block or two. "You ready to go, Mac?" I asked.

She gave a start, like she'd just remembered I was there. "Sure. I was just looking at Eunice Crawley's yard. She's got a bad case of chinch bug, and needs to prune those hydrangeas. They're getting leggy. We're in the nursery business, you know," she added.

"I didn't, but anybody seeing you go all googly-eyed over a bad case of chinch bug might have guessed." I reached for my door handle. "Welcome to Chisholm, where pickups and motorcycles outnumber people two to one." We climbed out into G.o.d's own blast furnace. "I sure hope Eunice Crawley has an air conditioner."

Mac paused to listen. "She does. I can hear it whirring around the corner."

This was a neighborhood of small houses with wide porches. Eunice's porch had two white rockers with faded yellow print cus.h.i.+ons, and they looked like they'd had a heap of sitting in their day. Twenty years ago, every porch on the street would have been full at that time of the afternoon, but not a person was in sight. "Some people blame TV for the rise in crime in America," Mac told me as we climbed the steep porch steps, "but I lay a lot of blame on air conditioning. People on porches keep neighborhoods safe."

"Run for office on that platform," I suggested, "but not in July." I gave the bell a good solid push.