Do Unto Others

I drummed my pen against the paper. Those ending questions were both damned good ones. Perhaps there was no reason to it; after all, Mama was on the list. Maybe Tamma and Hally were there as well to strike against imagined betrayers Adam and Janice. Janice had voted against Beta and Adam hadn’t argued hard when the board voted to remove her. That assumed this list was some sort of weapon Beta could’ve used against those she hated. Or maybe Hally and Tamma had been doing their own wrongs against Beta. I decided talking to Brother Adam and cousin Janice was a priority. There was one more addition to the notebook: BETA HARCHER Mid 40s. Never married, as far as I know.

Mirabeau native. Did not work; lived off trust left to her by family.

No close relatives in town; has a niece in Houston, according to Tamma Hufnagel. Do not know of anyone that she considered a close friend or confidante. Extremely religious; a zealot. According to Bob Don, got religion in her early 20s; previously had a reputation for being wild (whatever that means). Had served on library board less than six months when she began attempts to ban books she considered unwholesome. Ejected from library board by other members. Acted as though she operated by divine guidance; even stated as much when she assaulted me in the library. Deposited large, unexplained amount of cash recently in her savings account. Apparently argued with Bob Don Goertz (if Ruth is to be believed) and was having a late night meeting with longtime enemy Eula Mae Quiff in the week before she died. Eula Mae and Bob Don. A well-to-do writer and a prosperous car dealer. And $35,000 in Beta’s savings account. I wondered if for all her moralizing, Beta Harcher considered blackmail a sin. I switched out the light and considering the length and stress of the day I’d had, collapsed quickly into a deep sleep. Beta Harcher kindly stayed out of my dreams.

8

The next morning started off as most mornings did, except I kept wondering whether or not I could open the library and whether Junebug still considered me a prime suspect. I fixed breakfast for Mama and Mark and checked on Sister; she snored in her room, worn from an evening of cooking up homestyle food for wayfarers. I’m not nearly as good a cook as Sister, but Mama and Mark didn’t complain. Course it’s hard to mess up toaster waffles and Rice Krispies, but I do pride myself on my ability to coordinate every part of the meal so it reaches the table simultaneously. Junebug didn’t disappoint. He showed up about eight-thirty and I was glad to see that Billy Ray wasn’t in tow. “Hey, Jordy. Good morning,” Junebug held his Stetson in his hands, as if sparking Sister rather than grilling me. “Good morning, Chief Moncrief.” I kept my tone formal. He frowned. “I’d like to speak with you for a minute, Jordy.” “Don’t you need a backup, Chief? After all, I’m a dangerous suspect.” “Come on, Jordy,” he sounded like the Junebug of old, asking for his baseball back when we’d disagreed about a hit being foul. “Quit being pissy about this. I got a job to do. I’m not here to arrest you.” I relented. “I just made some coffee. Come on in.” He came awkwardly into the kitchen, watching Mama. “Good morning, Miz Poteet, Mark. How y’all doing?” Mama stared at Junebug, as if she feared he might be here to escort her to a nursing home. She smiled cautiously in his direction. Mark once again put himself first. “I already told you what I know, Chief,” he said, sounding like a prepubescent version of a Bogart-movie thug. Junebug regarded Mark critically. “Yes, son, I know. Thanks again for your cooperation. I’m here to see your uncle, though. Would y’all mind giving us some privacy?” “Mark, please take Mama upstairs. Then go outside and play,”

I said. Do thirteen-year-olds still play? Mark’s eyes widened like drops of ink in water. “Are you going to arrest him?” “No, son. Good to see you again, Miz Poteet.” Junebug nodded politely at Mama as Mark escorted her out of the kitchen. I poured Junebug black coffee and set it before him. I decided to act like what I was, just a bystander to all these nasty little events. “So when can I reopen the library?”

“Not today,” he said in his slow voice, sipping the brew. His blue eyes flicked at me. “You make good coffee.” I sipped my own in response. “Is that what you came by to tell me, that the library has to stay closed? You could have phoned.” He set the mug down. “Jordy, I think Beta might’ve been in the library to burn it down.” I felt the heat of the mug in my hands, but it paled next to the heat in my face.

Burn the library? Bum my library? Junebug read my expression. “I didn’t get into this with you before, because we didn’t know. Her fingers smelled of gasoline, and the coroner found traces of gasoline on her clothes. And there was a pack of matches in her skirt pocket.”

“Did you find gas cans?” My voice sounded stunned. “In her car. It was parked down the street from the library. Found it there yesterday.”