Jeff Abbott - Do Unto Others

Maybe this was a list of people Beta could blackmail. But then why were my name and Mama’s on it? I’d been as virtuous as a monk since coming home, and Mama could only get into a limited amount of mischief in her condition. It didn’t wash. Sister rapped gently on my door.

She’d never done that as a teenager but she’d broken her filthy habits. “You have a visitor, Jordy. Beta Harcher’s niece is downstairs.”

The young miss Harcher wasn’t what I expected. Although I hadn’t given it much thought, when I’d heard Beta had a niece it wasn’t hard to imagine some tight-lipped, proper young clone of Beta. Apparently self-righteousness and primness aren’t in the genetic code. The girl was around five feet eight, with shoulder-length reddish brown hair and a finely featured face. Her eyes were blue as a jay, and they darted around with the same cunning and speed. Her figure was firm and shapely under the black T-shirt and faded, acid-washed jeans she wore.

She also wore large, funky turquoise earrings and black cowboy boots.

I guessed she was young, around twenty-three. Mark had come in from the backyard. As Sister and I came down the stairs, the girl laughed at something he said, a high, musical bell of a giggle. He blushed madly and kept gawking at her. I obviously needed to have a talk with that boy when all this calmed down. Had Sister explained the facts of life to him? Lord, all my responsibilities. I kept those facts of life firmly out of my head as I introduced myself. I’m not sure she did.

“Well, Mr. Poteet, you sure don’t look like any librarian I ever met.

I’m Shannon Harcher.” Her hand was cool and firm in my grasp. “Please, sit down,” I indicated the sofa. She did, neatly, and I sat next to her. I glanced at Sister, asking with my eyes for some privacy. Sister made herself comfortable in the easy chair. Mark leaned against the wall, trying to look older and nonchalant. It didn’t work. “My sympathies on your aunt’s death,” I said, not knowing what else to say. To my surprise, a hint of a smile tugged at her mouth. “You’re very kind, Mr. Poteet. But I know you and Aunt Beta weren’t exactly friends. She gave me updates over the phone about her book-banning efforts.” I opened my hands, then closed them back together. No use in denying that little fact. “No, we weren’t friends. I-” She raised a well-manicured hand to interrupt me. “Look, Mr. Poteet, there’s no need to explain. I know what kind of person my aunt was.” Shannon Harcher shrugged. “You don’t have to pretend with me that you liked her. I won’t hold you to all those small-town niceties.” “Okay, Miss Harcher-” “Shannon.” “Then call me Jordy. Okay, Shannon, your aunt and I weren’t friends.” I paused. “You’ve probably already heard that from the D.A.’s office and the chief of police.” Her lovely eyes narrowed.

“I haven’t talked with the D.A.’s office. The chief told me you’d found the body.” So Junebug hadn’t told this girl I was a suspect.

Maybe he didn’t consider me one anymore. I felt relief that she hadn’t talked with Billy Ray Bummel. She wouldn’t have come around me if he’d been allowed to paint my picture. “I did find the body.” I told her the story, quickly. I left out the part about Billy Ray wanting to nail my butt to the wall. While I spoke, Sister got up and fixed us iced tea with sliced limes. Shannon nodded her appreciation and sipped. She didn’t interrupt my story and sat thoughtfully for a moment when I finished. “A baseball bat, of all things,” Shannon finally said. “I still can’t believe it. I always thought that she’d go down frothing at the mouth, waving her trusty Bible.” “Not to be indelicate,” I said, “but I take it you didn’t share your aunt’s religious views.” One of her fine, high, arched eyebrows (which probably already needed a building permit) went up a little farther.

“No, I’m afraid I didn’t. I know you didn’t get along with her, Jordy.

Sometimes, I didn’t either. My folks died when I was seventeen in a car wreck in Houston. They didn’t leave me enough for college, and I didn’t have the grades for a scholarship. Aunt Beta gave me the money for college.” She smiled. “With provisions. As long as I went to Baylor. As long as I went to church regularly. As long as I majored in religion.” “Sounds like Beta,” Sister put in. Shannon smiled her gorgeous smile. I might have majored in religion myself to see that more often. “It turned out to be negotiable. I ended up majoring in music instead. I just told Aunt Beta I specialized in church music, and that made her happy.” “I’m glad someone could negotiate with her;

I never mastered that particular talent.” I shifted on the couch.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Shannon, but why are you here to see me? Surely not just to meet the man who found your aunt’s body?”

Shannon lowered her eyes, staring down into her iced tea. She looked soulful and lost. It was a pose that she seemed comfortable in, carefully made to tug at a man’s heart. I could hear Mark’s sigh across the room. “In going through some of Aunt Beta’s things, I found these library books. I was going to drop them off at the library, but it was closed. And I was curious to meet you anyway, after Chief Moncrief told me you’d found my aunt.” She dug into a book bag at her feet which I hadn’t noticed before. Pulling out four hardbacks, she offered them to me. I took them from her, scanning the titles. A Writer’s Guide to Getting Published. Drug Abuse: Traitor to Humanity.

Videotaping for Fun. Living with Alzheimer’s Disease. It made for a curious reading list. Shannon watched my face. “That book on Alzheimer’s made me wonder if she was coming down with it.” “Hardly.

My mother has Alzheimer’s, though, and she made that list of Beta’s.”

I set the books down. “I have no idea why Beta was interested in these other topics.” “My aunt never had a wide range of hobbies,” Shannon said dryly. I liked her even more. I ran a thumb along the book bindings. Alzheimer’s and my mother, and now Beta with a book on the painful subject. I wondered if some similar connection existed between Eula Mae and this book on writing. And what about the others? I couldn’t imagine Beta doing drugs-but I did know that Matt Blalock smoked dope. Maybe Beta knew, too (although I couldn’t imagine Matt caring). If she did know, she hadn’t turned him in. And I couldn’t picture Beta submitting an entry to America’s Funniest Home Videos. So why the videotape book? Shannon cleared her throat and stood. “Well, I appreciate your hospitality, Jordy.” She nodded to Sister. “Thanks for the tea, Mrs. Slocum. Nice to have met you, Mark. Now you stay handsome, hear?” Before Mark could burst a blood vessel, I put my hand on Shannon’s arm. “Stay for just a moment, please. I want to ask you something.” She shrugged and sat back down. “Your aunt had just deposited $35,000 in her savings account before she died. I understand that was an unusual amount for her to have.” Shannon examined one of her fingernails. “I’m not sure I should discuss my aunt’s financial situation with you. That was, after all, her business.” And now it’s mine was the unspoken ending to that sentence. I waited patiently for her to look at me. She did when I didn’t speak. “Those of us who are involuntarily involved in this case have thought that Beta might have been getting money. By extortion.” Shannon looked at me with wry amusement. “My aunt? A blackmailer? Get real, Jordy.” She sighed. “I guess I have to tell her secret, not that it matters now. She was hoarding that money for a long while. She was going to open up her own church in Houston.” Her own church? I was glad my jaw was hinged, otherwise my chin’d be scraping the ground. “Beta wasn’t an ordained minister.” I managed to say. Shannon laughed. “Oh, that didn’t matter.