The Pecan Man(32)

“I’ll have my secretary call you Monday. She’ll have all the details on posting Mr. Mims’ bail.”

“That will be fine, Harley,” I said, “and I appreciate what you’re doing for the man.”

“Well, I’m not sure how much you gonna appreciate the rest of the deal, but I really have no choice.”

“The rest of the deal?”

“Get your guest room ready, Ora. He’ll be staying with you.”

I was too stunned to speak and ol’ Poopsie was apparently counting on that. He tipped his hat and strode off my porch with surprising agility for a man his size. He was in his car and backing down my driveway before I found my voice. There was no one there to hear me talking to myself.

“Well, my Lord, Ora. What have you gotten yourself into now?”





Seventeen





Clara Jean Munderson called me at 10:00 sharp on Monday morning. I was sitting at the kitchen table updating my Christmas list for next year when the phone rang.

“Mornin’, Mrs. Beckworth,” a soft, pleasant drawl greeted me. “This is Clara Munderson at Judge Odell’s office.”

“Yes, Clara Jean, I recognized your voice,” I responded affably.

Another of my Sunday School members, the only child of Clarice and Bill Munderson was the consummate professional. Never one to play noisily with the others in her class, Clara Jean was always amiable, always respectful, but not in the least a pushover. It was amazing how she had handled herself as a child and how that translated into the position she had held for the past twenty years. She was gentle and compassionate and a good listener, which led many of her friends to confide in her on a regular basis. And she’d have died before she ever broke a confidence.

I was on the Baptist Women’s Prayer Chain for many years before I got kicked off for telling them to stop using God as an excuse to gossip. I can assure you, if Clara Jean ever betrayed a word of what went on behind Harley Odell’s closed door, I’d have heard about it. And if the door was closed, it stayed closed. God Himself wouldn’t get through to the judge if He didn’t have special clearance or an appointment. Clara Jean never married, leading half the self-righteous old biddies on the chain to speculate that she was keeping far more than Poopsie’s professional business a secret. I knew better than to contemplate such a thing. The thought of ol’ Poopsie in the throes of passion was just more than I could stand.

“Judge Odell wanted me to give you some information about posting bail for Mr. Eldred Mims. You have something to write with?”

“Matter of fact, I do, Clara Jean. Go ahead.”

I took her instructions carefully, repeating them back to her to make sure I had them straight. I could hear Blanche go quiet at the kitchen sink. It’s funny how I did not notice the noise of dishes being washed and the low wordless tunes Blanche hummed until both were abruptly stopped. As I finished my call and hung up, Blanche sat down at the table, drying her hands on the dish towel that hung from the waistband of her wide apron.

“What’s goin’ on with Mr. Mims?” Blanche could be downright blunt when she wanted to know something.

“Well, I was going to tell you about that this morning,” I replied, in no real hurry to do the telling. I braced myself for her reaction and dove right in.

“I’m posting bail for Eddie tomorrow morning.”

“You go'n do what?” Blanche exploded.

“I’m getting Eddie out of jail,” I repeated.

“I heard what you said,” Blanche replied. “What I want to know is what in the world you think you’re doing!”

“I’m helping a friend is what I’m doing,” I looked her dead in the eye and silently dared her to argue with that. Apparently dares didn’t worry Blanche one little bit.

“Eldred Mims ain’t no friend of yours, Miz Ora, and you know that plain and true. Now I want you to tell me what is goin’ on here.”

I stood then and pulled myself up to my full five feet plus three very short inches.

“I am posting bail for Mr. Mims tomorrow morning, after which he will be staying in Walter’s old room. If you have a problem with that, I’ll be happy to get the room ready myself. Otherwise, I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

I turned my back on Blanche then and left the room. I could still hear her muttering as I went upstairs to do some paperwork. Bravado aside, I planned to stay out of her way as much as I could that day.



The next morning I stopped by Citizen’s Family Bank and picked up a Cashier’s Check for $50,000, as Clara Jean had instructed. The head teller was Seeley Graves. She’d been at the bank for ten years and was the president of the Junior Woman’s Club. I knew her well enough to know she was a gossip of epic proportions. Seeley repeated the information I gave her with a quizzical arch of one perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“It’s none of your business, Seeley,” I said without humor. “Just cut the check and quit wondering.”

She sniffed disapprovingly, but presented me with the requested instrument in good time.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, Mrs. Beckworth?” Her sincerity was overwhelming.

“As a matter of fact, yes, there is.” I looked her straight in the eye. “You can remember the confidential nature of this transaction and keep it to yourself.”