Do Unto Others

What was her quote?” Ruth’s was easy to remember, especially in light of this revelation. It was 2 Kings 4:40-to wit: There is death in the pot. When I read it earlier, I had no story such as this to relate it to. Now it sounded like Beta considered Ruth as Mirabeau’s own Lucrezia Borgia. I repeated the quote to Eula Mae and enjoyed the momentary silence. “Well, my Lord. Sounds like Beta still held a grudge.” “Great. I have a dinner date with Ruth tonight.” My enthusiasm waned. “Mind your cocktail, sweetie.” Eula Mae laughed.

Then her merry face darkened and grew serious. “Well, what if it’s not bullcrap and Beta was right? Maybe you shouldn’t go.” “For God’s sake, even if it was true, she’d have no reason to poison me.” I stood and watched Hally fill a trash bag with pulled weeds. “Hey, maybe Hally’s pulled up a toxic plant I can take with me for defense.” “Don’t joke, Jordy.” I turned and looked at her. The pretend drama was out of her face. “Someone killed Beta. Maybe someone on that list, maybe not. But it’s for the police to handle. Let them.” “Ruth called me. She can’t think that I’m snooping into her life.” I brightened. “Maybe because of Beta’s earlier accusation, the police’ll think of Ruth as a bigger suspect.” “Now you sound guilty,” Eula Mae reproved. “No one looks more culpable than the fellow who goes around trying to prove his innocence.” I stood and rested my forehead against the porch pillar.

“Thanks for the catch-22. Look, if you saw how Billy Ray guns for me-”

“You were panicked this morning, sug.” Eula Mae rested her knobby hand on my arm. “You found the dead body of someone you know in your workplace. That’s a profound shock. I think you’ve borne it quite well. But you’ve got to quit thinking that you’re going to be arrested in the next ten seconds unless you find the killer. It’s not healthy to worry so.” I hated to admit it, but she made sense. Junebug surely wouldn’t arrest me-or anyone else-without hard evidence. He was a professional, after all. I kept picturing him as the boy I’d grown up with and not as the responsible police chief he was. He’d done a good job for Mirabeau. Billy Ray was another story. “Thanks, Eula Mae. I appreciate that.” “Yeah, yeah, right.” She wagged crimson fingernails at me. “Just give me first rights to be your biographer from the hoosegow.” “Deal.” I nodded toward her scattered pages and then toward Hally, who was drying the sweat from his firm body with his shirt.

“I’ll let our beloved Jocelyn Lushe get back to work.” “Have a good dinner. Don’t let Candace know. She might poison you even if Ruth doesn’t.” You could always count on Eula Mae for moral support. I headed back down the walk, watching Hally toss open another trash bag for the mound of weeds he’d pulled. I suppose Eula Mae was right. Even distantly related as third cousins (still considered kin in this part of the country), there was a family resemblance. We both stood tall with thick blondish hair and green eyes, and we had the distinctive stubborn Schneider cheekbones that could freeze into refusal and mulishness at a moment’s notice. But where I was lanky from running and idle reading, Hally was thickly-built from years of football and work. I’d been a much gawkier kid. Hally was a senior at Mirabeau High and was probably years ahead sexually of where I’d been at that age. I just hoped he wasn’t ahead of where I was now. I shook his hand, ignoring the dirt on his palms. “Hey, Jordy. How’s Cousin Anne doing?” he asked. I admit surprise; the Schneiders live no more than three houses down from us but they’ve only shown a passing interest in Mama’s decline. Hally’s annoyingly peppy mother Janice boasted a better attendance record at library board meetings than she did in checking up on her neighboring kinfolk. “She’s about the same, Hally.”

He shook his head. “Damn shame. I know Mom keeps meaning to come over and see you and Arlene and Anne. I see Mark in the neighborhood, but I get the feeling that he doesn’t care to discuss his grandmother.” I suspected that Hally didn’t do much to curry a friendship with Mark.

Hally was a senior, a popular athlete from a perfect family; Mark was a moody freshman loner stuck with a mouthy mother, a mouthier uncle, and a diminishing grandmother. I sighed. I halfway felt like telling Hally that the Schneiders had been crappy kinfolk, but I decided it wasn’t the time or place. “It’s hard. Listen, Hally, I wanted to see you about something else.” He looked bemusedly at the porch. “Hope it’s not about Miz Quiff. I assure you my intentions are honorable.” I laughed. “No, not about Eula Mae.” Curiosity couldn’t resist though.

“She hasn’t acted, uh, inappropriately toward you, has she?” It was his turn to laugh. “Not at all, although I’m sure she thinks I never see her looking at me. I kind of like older women, but Eula Mae’s not my type.” “No, I need to discuss a different topic with you. I guess you heard about Beta Harcher.” Hally’s smile faded. “Yeah, I heard.