Miss Julia Rocks the Cradle Read Free

Lillian and Latisha, her great-granddaughter, both of whom spent more time at my house than their own. And thank the Lord they did. I couldn’t have handled all the comings and goings by myself.
    My worst fear not so long ago had been that Hazel Marie would pick up and move off, taking Lloyd with her, to have those babies by herself. It was only Mr. Pickens coming to his senses long enough to marry her that had prevented that catastrophe. So far be it from me to complain about having so many under my roof—that’s where I wanted them even if you could hardly stir us all with a stick.
    Lillian had told me once that if I didn’t have one thing to worry about, I’d look around until I found two more. She may have been right, because it’s my nature to take on the burdens of those I care about. But I’d been trying to let the rest of the world take care of itself, and so far I’d been doing a fairly good job of it. Now, though, someone had died under unknown circumstances practically on my doorstep, and I wasn’t sure exactly how I could manage to stay above the fray. I mean, I couldn’t help but be curious about it.
    Going to the kitchen window, I saw Sam, bundled up in his overcoat, come walking down the driveway. As usual whenever I saw him, my heart gave an extra thump, and I smiled. I saw him take notice of the open garage door and, making a detour around the car, walk toward it to see what was going on. Lillian and Lloyd met him and they stood talking a few minutes. Then, as Sam started toward the house, I quickly turned from the window, patted my hair, and stood by the door to greet him.
    As soon as he came in, I reached for his coat and he reached for me. He smelled of cold air and a hint of lemony aftershave.
    “Hello, sweetheart,” he said. “You know what those two are doing out there?”
    I laughed. “Yes, I do. Have they found anything?”
    “Lots of spiderwebs and junk. I suggested they clean the place out while they’re at it, but that didn’t go over too well. Oh, and here, Julia,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “You left your checkbook in the car. I saw it on the seat as I walked by.”
    “Well, my goodness, I hadn’t even missed it.” I flipped through the pages. “It’s my household account. It must’ve slipped out of my pocketbook when I was rummaging for the Texaco card the other day.
    “But sit down, Sam,” I said, as I tucked the checkbook behind the telephone, then hung up his coat. “I’ll pour us some coffee, and you can tell me what you’ve heard.”
    “Well, that’s the thing,” Sam said, pulling out a chair from the table and sitting down. “What they told me is news to me. I haven’t heard a word, but then I’ve been holed up all day working on my book. I haven’t talked to anybody.”
    Now that he was retired from the practice of law, Sam spent most days at his house—the one he’d lived in before we married—writing a legal history of Abbot County. It seemed to be taking him years to get it done because facts had to be meticulously checked and rechecked to avoid lawsuits for libel by all those lawyers he was writing about. Lawyers are so litigious, you know. I wasn’t sure Sam would ever get it written, but it was all right with me if he didn’t. He was enjoying the process, feeling creative and productive—and what would he find to do if he did finish it?
    “Lloyd is certainly exercised over it,” I said, putting down two cups of coffee and taking a seat. “But his teacher is involved, so I’m not surprised. It’s a shame, though, that the deputies had to come to the school to get her. I expect that upset every child there, and the term’s barely started.”
    “Hazel Marie and Pickens not back yet?” Sam asked, abruptly changing the subject. It was as if he had no interest in pursuing any speculations about the who, what, and how a dead body ended up in a teacher’s toolshed, which suited me because I was determined to keep my mind on our