Do Unto Others

Billy Ray had tried to send me home, but Junebug said I could stay. He told Billy Ray that Eula Mae was a friend of mine and I could talk to her perhaps a bit easier than either of them. Eula Mae greeted us with her usual civility and charm. Today she wore some long dashiki-type of robe, speckled with bright purples, oranges, and blacks like the plumage of a tropical bird. Her eyes darted from face to face, as though we were predators of the rainforest. She bade us sit down in her living room, for which the operative word was wicker. I hadn’t seen so many swirls since my teenage job in an ice cream shop. Junebug and I settled on a couch with a back of dizzying arabesques, and Billy Ray perched next to us on a straight-back chair. “Y’all wait just one second and I’ll get us some tea,” she trilled, heading into the kitchen. “You ought to have someone watching the back door,” Billy Ray hissed at Junebug. “She might try and go over that rose hedge in the back.” “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Billy Ray,” Junebug said mildly. The cat I hadn’t befriended the other day wandered in and eyed our merry band. He regarded me with disdain, Junebug with curiosity, and-perceptively-Billy Ray with contempt. He hissed at the assistant D.A., arching his back (probably the only time Billy Ray has seen a back arch in his presence), and scurried from the room. I liked cats better all of a sudden. Eula Mae returned with a tray of iced-tea glasses, each topped with a sprig of mint from her garden. We made momentary small talk as she served us. Nervousness hit me like a rock and I sipped at my tea, for once not wanting to say anything. Finding Shannon wounded had dulled me; reading the letter by Eula Mae’s sister had stunned me; and now I sat in my friend’s parlor, with Law and Order on each side, to debate fraud and murder. God, I wanted a cigarette. Eula Mae sat in a comfortable chair next to the wicker sofa, across the coffee table from Billy Ray. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Junebug raised a warning hand to Billy Ray, and for once Billy Ray leashed his tongue. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard that Miz Harcher’s niece was shot today at her house,” Junebug said. Eula Mae’s face crumpled. “Oh, my Lord! No, I hadn’t heard.” She paused. “I didn’t even know Beta had kinfolks still around here.”

“Girl’s from Houston,” Junebug replied. “Someone shot her in the face.

Don’t know yet if she’ll live or not. Young girl, too, early twenties.” “How horrible.” Eula Mae shook her head, then looked uncertainly at me. “Jordy found Shannon Harcher,” Junebug said, as if that explained my presence. “He also found another witness that said, basically, that Beta was extorting money from folks to finance a church she planned to start over in Houston.” I saw the fight for control on her face. The wrinkled corners of her lipsticked mouth jerked, just once. Her silver bracelets, choking with charms, tinkled as she smoothed out her skirt. “And why are y’all telling me this?

Trying to give me the plot for my next potboiler?” She laughed, and it sounded jagged. “We think Shannon Harcher walked in on someone ransacking the house. Looking for something, maybe something Beta was holding over their head and using to get money,” Junebug explained.