Miss Julia Inherits a Mess, page 1
Also by Ann B. Ross
Miss Julia Lays Down the Law
Etta Mae’s Worst Bad-Luck Day
Miss Julia’s Marvelous Makeover
Miss Julia Stirs Up Trouble
Miss Julia to the Rescue
Miss Julia Rocks the Cradle
Miss Julia Renews Her Vows
Miss Julia Delivers the Goods
Miss Julia Paints the Town
Miss Julia Strikes Back
Miss Julia Stands Her Ground
Miss Julia’s School of Beauty
Miss Julia Meets Her Match
Miss Julia Hits the Road
Miss Julia Throws a Wedding
Miss Julia Takes Over
Miss Julia Speaks Her Mind
VIKING
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
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New York, New York 10014
penguin.com
Copyright © 2016 by Ann B. Ross
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
ISBN 978-0-698-15800-9
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Also by Ann B. Ross
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
This book is for Carolyn Carlson with deep gratitude for the many years of superb editorial guidance, perceptive suggestions, constant encouragement, and general handholding. Miss Julia and I wish you the very best.
Acknowledgments
Last year, the Blue Ridge Literacy Council of Henderson County, North Carolina, offered at auction to the highest bidder the naming of a character in a Miss Julia book. This is that book.
Although I do not know Diane Jankowski, whose most generous bid won her namesake a prominent role in Miss Julia Inherits a Mess, it was a pleasure to work with my version of her. I have given that character a professional background as an accredited furniture appraiser and, as such, she is a great help in extricating Miss Julia from the mess in which she finds herself.
Through the many months of working with “Diane Jankowski,” I have come to know that character quite well. I can only hope that the real Diane likes her as much as I do.
My thanks to you, Diane.
Chapter 1
“Julia!” Barely catching her breath, LuAnne Conover started talking as soon as I answered the phone. “Have you heard? Everybody’s talking about it—it’s all over town. I can’t imagine what she’s been through, can you?”
“Well, no, LuAnne, I can’t. Who’re we talking about, anyway?”
“Why, Miss Mattie Freeman, of course. Who else would we be talking about? I mean, Julia, who else do we know who fell and broke her hip and couldn’t get help no matter how long she cried and screamed, and had to lie sprawled out on the floor all night long?”
“Oh, my,” I said, abruptly sitting down. “No, I hadn’t heard. Is she all right? What happened?”
But LuAnne wasn’t finished with what she’d started. “It’s beyond me to understand how you miss everything, Julia. It’s not as if you live out in the sticks or anything. In fact, I live farther out than you do, and I heard about it more than an hour ago. I would’ve called you sooner, but my phone’s been busy.”
Yes, and I knew why—she’d been on it. But I said, “Well, I don’t get out and around like you do.”
“That’s because you have Lillian to run your errands and do your shopping and everything else, while I have to do everything myself.”
Every now and then, LuAnne had to take a little jab at those of us who had household help. Not, I assure you, that she couldn’t afford it herself, although I concede that she might’ve had to compromise on other things. But still.
“That’s neither here nor there, LuAnne,” I said, unwilling to apologize for my good fortune. After all, I’d had to put up with Wesley Lloyd Springer for forty-some-odd years to get it. “Tell me about Miss Mattie. Is she all right?”
“Who knows?” LuAnne said, almost in a shriek. “Nobody’ll tell me anything! I’ve called the hospital and I’ve called Dr. Hargrove and they won’t tell me a living thing! They ask if I’m a member of the family—they’re the only ones they’ll talk to. And, Julia, I’ve known her for years, which I think ought to count for something.”
“Well . . .”
“I even called Sue, and would you believe she said I knew more about it than she did. Now, I just don’t believe that, because she’s the doctor’s wife. Who else would know something if not her?”
“When did this happen, LuAnne?”
“Not fifteen minutes ago. And she said she had something on the stove and couldn’t talk. Hurt my feelings, too.”
“No, LuAnne, I mean when did Miss Mattie fall?”
“Oh. Well, sometime last night or maybe yesterday afternoon. I can’t get a straight answer out of anybody. Do you think the EMTs would tell us anything?”
“I don’t think I’d bother them. They’re probably under orders not to give out information. But does that mean they were called out for Miss Mattie?”
“Julia,” LuAnne said with just a touch of impatience that meant I was being uncommonly slow. “Who do you think they’d call? Miss Mattie had been lying on that floor in horrific pain all night long. She had to have somebody who could get her on a stretcher or whatever, and somebody who had an ambulance to get her to the emergency room.”
“Oh, of course. But who found her?”
“The postman! You know how they have all the tenants’ mailboxes in the hall of her building? Well, he was delivering the mail right beside her door, and he heard her moaning, so he called for help. And thank goodness he did. But I can’t believe her mail comes so early in the day. Can you? If it’d been me, I would’ve been lying there till suppertime, practically.”
“So she’s in the hospital now?”
“Surgery. They’re still operating on her.”
“Oh, my,” I said again. “Should we go over? I mean, maybe a group of us could sit in the waiting room to show our concern. She doesn’t have any family, does she?”
“Not that I know of,” LuAnne said, slowing down as she thought about it. “It’s strange, isn’t it, to know someone so long, yet know so little about her? But I’ll tell you something else,” she went on, gathering steam, “if you get a group together to go over there, don’t bother calling Helen Stroud.”
“Well, she’s probably busy.”
“Busy, my foot. She’s just not interested, and I don’t think she gives a flip about Mattie. When I phoned to tell her what happened, all she said was, ‘That’s too bad. Thank you for calling.’ Now, is that cold, or what?”
“Well, you know how Helen is. She expects people to do what they say they’ll do, and Mattie . . . well, Mattie’s not the easiest person to get along with.”
To tell the truth, Mattie Freeman could be downright disagreeable—abrupt and outspoken—with little thought of the feelings of others. She also had a tendency to volunteer for anything that came up, then to either forget it or just not do it. Helen, on the other hand, was the most efficient and organized person I knew—when she said she’d do something, you knew it would be done. She’d probably washed her hands of Mattie years ago and felt no n eed to manufacture a great concern for her now.
Not wanting to discuss those thoughts with LuAnne, though, I picked up on her earlier comment. “I think it’s strange, too, that no one seems close to Mattie. I’ve known her since I first came to Abbotsville as a bride, yet I can’t really say I know her. But what do you think? Should the two of us go over?”
“Well, I will if you will, but Leonard will want his lunch before I go. And there’s really not much use in our just sitting around if she’s still in surgery. Why don’t we think about it for a while?”
I agreed, knowing that Miss Mattie would spend some time in the recovery room after the surgery anyway, and would be unlikely to feel up to receiving visitors anytime soon.
I put down the phone after LuAnne’s assurance that she’d keep me up to date on Mattie’s condition. I had no worries on that score, for LuAnne kept everyone up to date with anything and everything she heard, knew, or even thought of.
I sat down on the leather Chippendale sofa there in our library, which had once been the downstairs bedroom, to think about what had happened. Miss Mattie Freeman, bless her heart, what would she do now? As far as I knew—and I knew enough—she wouldn’t have too many options. It was a settled fact, though, that she would need round-the-clock care for some time to come. Whom did she have to make those decisions and those arrangements if she was unable to do so herself? Which, at her advanced age, was highly likely to be the case.
Thinking of Miss Mattie’s present, uneasy situation, I recalled the day a few weeks after Wesley Lloyd’s passing—this was years ago now—when Binkie, my curly-headed lawyer, called me to her office.
“Miss Julia,” she’d said, holding out a frayed, much-used ledger, “you may not know about this, but you should take a look. It’s a list of people who owe money to Mr. Springer—well, to the estate now. It shows how much they borrowed and how they’re repaying it.”
“Oh, you mean bank loans?” Wesley Lloyd had been the owner of one of the last independent banks in the state, a situation in which I’d wanted no part. I’d sold out as soon as I profitably could.
“No, not bank loans—personal loans. You’ll forgive me, Miss Julia, but Mr. Springer was running his own operation and charging a pretty penny for it, too.”
I hadn’t needed to forgive her for anything she had to say about my first husband. I’d had plenty to say about him myself.
As I glanced down the list of names in the ledger, I realized that I knew most of the people who were indebted to my husband, and now to me. I smiled to myself as an idea began to form in my mind. Hazel Marie Puckett, my late husband’s paramour and mother of his little son, who up to that point had been thoroughly snubbed by the town, would, I decided, soon be welcomed in some of the finest homes in Abbottsville. Or else I would see that a certain number of loans on that list would be called in forthwith. Then I saw Mattie Freeman’s name. I closed the ledger and handed it back to Binkie, feeling as embarrassed as I would’ve if I’d walked in on Miss Mattie in the act of disrobing. I told Binkie to cancel that debt, but none of the others.
It was days later that Binkie told me that Mattie had been highly offended at the cancellation, saying that she didn’t need charity from anyone, much less from someone she had to see in the Lila Mae Harding class every Sunday that rolled around. I’d left all further decisions about Wesley Lloyd’s loan sharking up to Binkie after that and never mentioned the matter to Miss Mattie. For many people who run out of funds, pride is the only thing left, and I respected that.
Chapter 2
When the phone rang again, I hurried to it, hoping there would be news of Mattie’s condition.
“Julia, it’s me,” Mildred Allen said, although I instantly recognized her voice. Mildred lived next door in what was the largest house in Abbotsville or, if not the absolute largest, pretty close to that distinction. “I guess you’ve heard from LuAnne about Mattie Freeman.”
“I have, and I was just sitting here wondering what Mattie will do, now that she probably won’t regain her mobility anytime soon.”
“Well,” Mildred said, “I say it’d be a good thing if she doesn’t. Julia, she can’t hear and she can’t half see, yet she drives that old car like she’s the only one on the road.”
“Oh, I know. I pull to the side when I see her coming.” We laughed a little at the thought of Mattie’s age-old Oldsmobile barreling around town. “I don’t think they make those things anymore, and I keep hoping it’ll die on her. I doubt she’d be able to get parts for it, so she’d have to park it.”
“We’d all be safer if she did, but let me ask you something,” Mildred said. “I’ve had her on my mind all morning and started wondering about this. Have you noticed how Miss Mattie’s teas keep getting smaller and smaller? I can remember when she’d have about a dozen guests every spring to repay her obligations for the past year. Her teas were always lovely—especially those luscious finger sandwiches she served. But last year there were just a few of us there. Are people turning down her invitations or is she just not inviting many?”
“Oh, Mildred, I finally figured that out. It took me awhile, but I think I know the answer. You’re right, years ago she always invited eleven ladies, making twelve counting herself. That’s about all her living room will hold at one time anyway.”
Miss Mattie had lived in a two-bedroom apartment in an old but substantial building near town for as long as I’d known her. The tall, spacious rooms with medallioned ceilings, designed by an architect unaffected by modernism, were filled with furniture of a size and quality that indicated a decline from more gracious surroundings. She entertained once a year—always in the late spring when it was warm enough for her guests to expand into the sunroom through the French doors in her living room.
“Yes, I know,” Mildred said, “but what I’m saying is that she hasn’t had that many guests in a number of years. Last spring there were only five of us, six counting her.”
“Well, hold on. I’m telling you why. You know that lovely china she has?”
“Meissen, isn’t it? I don’t know the name of the pattern.”
I started laughing. “I don’t think anybody does. Remember the time LuAnne raised her cup over her head to look at the mark on the bottom?”
“And tilted it so she spilled tea on herself? I sure do—funniest thing I’d seen in ages.”
“Well, anyway,” I went on when we stopped laughing. “It’s a beautiful set—so thin you can practically see through it and quite old. It’s probably been discontinued by now. But that’s the problem. Mildred, I think that over the years, Miss Mattie has suffered some cup and saucer breakage, and as they break, she’s had to cut down on the number of guests she invites.”
“Why, that’s right. I should’ve figured that out myself. I remember thinking—what was it, three years ago?—how strange it was that Mattie had invited only seven guests. Such an odd number, but that meant she was down to eight cups and saucers. And last year she must’ve been down to six. Oh, bless her heart, that’s so sad.”
“It is,” I agreed, “but you have to admire her for keeping up appearances in spite of it.”
“She certainly does that. And woe be to anyone who leaves her off a guest list. Ever since she started using that walker, though, she’s a danger to have around.”
“Oh, I know. She almost crippled a visiting preacher one time when a rubber-tipped metal leg of that walker landed on his foot. How old do you think she is, anyway?”
“Older than we are, that’s for sure.”
“I guess that makes her fairly close to ancient—speaking for myself, of course.”
“Of course,” Mildred said, laughing. “But, Julia, do you think she’ll have to go into a hospice or a retirement home or what? She won’t be able to stay by herself, will she?”
“I wouldn’t think so, and the way hospitals discharge patients so quickly these days, something will have to be decided fairly soon. Does she really have no family at all?”
“I’ve never known her to mention any, although generally there’s a distant cousin crouching in the background somewhere just waiting for a death notice.”
“Oh, don’t even think that. Besides, I expect that even if a distant cousin shows up, he’d be sorely disappointed.” We let a few seconds pass in silence as we thought of Miss Mattie’s dire straits. “Mildred, you and I may have to step in if it comes down to it.”
