Jeff Abbott - Do Unto Others

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.”

“Not enough that she tried to ban books. Not enough that she threatened to shut the library down. No, if she couldn’t have her way, she’d just torch it. Even the many books she didn’t object to, just to get rid of the few.” I jumped up from my chair and paced the kitchen madly. “She didn’t threaten to burn the place down to you?” Junebug asked in his relaxed drawl. “Never.” I stopped. “You know I would have reported any such threat to you. I’d have had you and the volunteer fire department on twenty-four-hour alert. And I’d have had Billy Ray throw a book she couldn’t burn at her skinny butt.” “Unless you decided to stop her yourself.” He said it as casually as if he were reading a high-school football score from the paper. I felt my lips tighten. “You know I wouldn’t kill her. There’d be no reason for me to. You’re the law. I would have come to you.” “I think you would have, too,” Junebug said. “But that’s not how Billy Ray sees it. He figures-” “Billy Ray couldn’t figure if you gave him both sides of the flash card,” I interrupted. “-that if you knew she might try something like that; but you didn’t have solid proof, you might just take it into your head to guard the library. Maybe keep a bat handy. A bat that has only your prints on it.” Only my prints. I gulped, but pressed on. “Does that sound as stupid to you as it does to me? Tell Billy Ray to unknot his lariat from around his ankles and try throwing again. Instead of dreaming up little scenarios between me and Beta, why doesn’t he get busy finding out about that money in her account?

Or why Bob Don had such a fight with her last week? Or why she accused Ruth Wills of trying to poison her? Or why Eula Mae was meeting her late at night last week? Or why she bothered to make that list in the first place?” I stopped. “Or why only my prints are on that bat? If some kid just left it in the lot, it’d have to have his prints on it, too. Right?” Junebug’s jaw wavered. “How the hell-” Open mouth, do not insert foot because of torrent of words that pour out in temper. I sat down quickly. A model schoolboy. “I guess you’ve been checking up on folks,” he said sternly. A model principal. “That’s my job, Jordy.

Mine and Billy Ray’s.” “Well, do your job, Hewett.” He’s not real crazy about being called by that name. How inconsiderate of me. “You know in your heart that I didn’t murder anybody. You know I couldn’t.

Get that schnauzer of a lawyer off of me.” The front door creaked and it wasn’t a schnauzer of a lawyer that came in. It was a chihuahua of a lawyer, little and hairless. Bidwell J. Poteet, attorney-at-law. My beloved uncle Bid. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, resplendent in his small-town lawyer’s light gray suit, smoking an obnoxious cigarillo. It fit him. He was short, like my father had been, and he’d lost most of his hair. What little remained was scraggly and white. A soul less charitable than myself would’ve said it looked like cat mange. His eyes were a deep lake blue, but icy and cool. The stub of that cigarillo popped out of his thin lips and his raspy drawl pervaded the room like the nauseating smell of the smoke. “I hope you’re not trying to intimidate my client, Chief,” Uncle Bid wheedled.

“He ought to have my representation if you’re trying to coax a confession out of him.” Junebug frowned. “This isn’t an interrogation, Mr. Poteet. Jordy and I are just talking.” “I’ll be the judge of that, sir.” Uncle Bid sat in the chair. He blinked at me, like a troll at a billy goat gruff. “Aren’t you going to be hospitable and offer your poor old uncle some coffee?” Soon as I find the rat poison for it, I thought, getting up and slopping coffee into a cup. “Your sister-in-law is doing fine, thank you for asking,” I announced. Bid made a hoarse reply that lacked concern. He’d done nothing to try to help Mama, the wife of his older brother. He’d dropped by only once before since I’d moved home, just to explain what an idiot I was to return to Mirabeau-and grieve that Daddy was spinning from his grave all the way to China on account of my giving up my career. Feel the love? “Mr. Poteet, let me assure you that I wasn’t questioning Jordy.

We were simply discussing when he could reopen the library. It is a crime scene, you know, and we can’t run the risk of tampering there,”

Junebug said. Bid sucked down boiling-hot coffee as if it was ice water. Those cigarillos must build up the scar tissue fast. “Well, then, if you two have concluded your business, I’d like to speak privately with my nephew.” Junebug arched an eyebrow, but didn’t argue. “Yes, we are finished, I believe. Jordy, I’ll let you know when you can reopen.” I nodded mutely and escorted Junebug to the door. He paused on the porch as he adjusted his hat and blinked into the morning sunshine. “It’s a nice day. Why don’t you spend it with your mother? Take her out to the park or out to lunch?” “I have other plans, Junebug.” “Remember, Jordy, I’m the law. I’ll handle the investigating around here. And one thing I might have to investigate is how you knew about that money in Beta Harcher’s account.” I didn’t want to get Candace in trouble for sneaking around bank-record confidentiality. But I didn’t want to lie to a police officer either.