Do Unto Others

7

I got home, relieved to see that I wasn’t going to be policed, either by Junebug or Candace. The carport was empty. Inside, Mark sat close to the TV as Arnold Schwarzenegger shot his way through a group of extras in one of the Terminator films. The gunfire whispered with the sound turned low. Mama watched the movie, a sure sign of her illness. She’d never have countenanced one of those bloodfests before she got sick. “Hey. How are y’all?” I asked. Mark glared up at me from the couch. “Well, despite that I didn’t get to go to Randy’s house tonight, I’m trying to have just a little fun-” Mark started snidely, but I held up a hand. “Listen, Mark. Listen real good. Since you’re about to hit puberty, you’ll soon realize life isn’t fair. And you’ll realize that life is too short to listen to whiners. You’ve got about one-twentieth of the problems of everyone else in this house, so having to forfeit one evening isn’t going to kill you. Your grandmother’s sick, your mom’s busting her ass at that crappy truck stop to clothe and feed you, and I’m trying to figure out who really killed Beta Harcher so I don’t end up in jail. So, my dear nephew, just shut up.” His jaw fell as if the hinge had vanished. Mama certainly wouldn’t have cottoned to me chastising her adored grandbaby, but she wasn’t sure who Mark was. His eyes flashed again and then went back to the TV. I went into the kitchen and brewed some decaf. Leaning over the sink, I rinsed out my mouth with tap water, trying to clean out the sting of lime and tequila. I was buzzed from the drinks, yet I was too hyper to go to bed and plop down. Too many fingers pointing blame. Tamma pointing at Bob Don. Bob Don pointing at Tamma. Matt pointing at me. Eula Mae pointing at Ruth. Hally pointing at Eula Mae. Ruth pointing at Bob Don, giving him the early lead. And worst of all, Billy Ray pointing at me with the finger he’d chiseled off the statue of blind justice over at the county courthouse. I poured my coffee, then stirred in milk and some Sweet’N Low. None of that he-man black coffee for me; I’d rather chew barbed wire. I went past the onscreen carnage in the living room, wished Mama and a blissfully silent Mark goodnight, and took my coffee upstairs. In my room, I slid a Mary-Chapin Carpenter CD into the player and let her wistful lyrics croon in my ear. Country music has sure improved in the last couple of years, even bringing back fans like me who didn’t know there were other kinds of music until we were teenagers (when we jumped over to other parts of the jukebox). Most of my CD collection remains jazz and classical (I’d fallen for both in college), but the country stack kept growing with folks like Mary-Chapin, Lyle Lovett, Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Tish Hinojosa, and Rosanne Cash putting out beautiful, intelligent albums. I needed to put my thoughts in order. I wrote down the names of everyone on Beta’s list. It was the key to the mystery, I was sure. I also wrote down what questions remained, as far as I could see. I wrote steadily, trying not to lapse into the bad habit of chewing on my pen. I fought back the craving for a cigarette while I sat and thought over the day’s events. Mary-Chapin finished her songs and I replaced her with Lyle Lovett’s dryly witty mix of jazz, blues, and country. I made three trips downstairs for coffee.

The last time I helped Mama up to bed and got her settled for the night. Her medicine had relaxed her and she didn’t argue as I got her into her nightdress. She lay back on her pillows. Her eyes looked dull and listless compared with the highly intelligent eyes that I’d stared into during dinner. “You were gone. Did you have a nice time?” Mama asked. It was unusual for her to notice that someone was around or not. Maybe this was a sharper moment for her. “Yes, Mama, I did have a nice time. Thank you for asking.” “That’s good.” She patted my hand.

Might as well try. “Mama, do you remember Beta Harcher? She was a lady at the Baptist church. And she did work for the library.” Worked against the library, but that was too many details for Mama. Mama didn’t like questions; they frustrated her. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” “It’s okay. I just thought you might remember her.” “Ask your father,” she said sleepily. That advice wasn’t particularly helpful. I counted my blessings anyway; many Alzheimer’s patients spend their nights keeping their caretakers awake. Mama embraced sleep tonight. I kissed her cheek, turned out the lights, and went down to retrieve the cup of decaf I’d left when Mama asked me to take her upstairs. The television fell silent as I came down the stairs. Mark crouched on the couch, staring at his beloved high-top sneakers instead of me. I ignored him and picked up my cooling mug of coffee. “Sorry about before,” he muttered. I’m sure it’s the same kind of apology his daddy never bothered to give my sister. “Apology accepted.” I sat down next to him and lifted his chin so his eyes met mine. God, he was growing up quick. It’d only seemed like yesterday he’d been a baby that gurgled and cooed happily at his uncle Jordy. “Look, Mark. I’m not mad at you. It’s just that you have to understand the situation we’re all in. As you pointed out to me yesterday, your Mamaw is not getting better. She is never going to get better. I shouldn’t have kidded you that she’s ever going to improve. And we all have to do what we can to hold together as a family. We’re all making sacrifices. Your mother’s working ungodly hours. I gave up a good job and moved back here, where I have practically no career opportunities. So you have to help do your share, too. And sitting with your Mamaw when we need you to is not too much to ask.” “And how long till you get tired of it, Uncle Jordy?” Mark asked acidly. “I’m sorry I snapped at you before. But this noble act isn’t flying with me. Everyone’s saying how great you are for coming back here and helping with Mamaw. Well, big fucking deal.” He waited to see if the language shocked me. I stayed as still as stone. He continued, his words spilling out: “You’ll get tired of it sooner or later and you’ll haul butt back to Boston or wherever you damn well please. You’re not going to find any job in Mirabeau to make you happy. Living here’s going to wear thin and you’ll take your nobleness, say thanks to me and Mom, and you’ll be gone.” His thin face paled and those young, dark eyes dampened with angry tears. “Is that what you think, Mark?” “That’s what happens. It always happens.”

He got up and started up the stairs. “I’m not your daddy, you know.

I’m not going anywhere.” I would’ve called louder but I didn’t want to wake Mama. Mark’s steps paused for one brief moment on the stairs, then resumed their pounding. I heard his door shut. Maybe that explained the anger and the snotty comments. He was thirteen, starting that terribly awkward age, and he’d never known a man who stuck around. His father cut out when he realized Mark and Sister meant responsibility. My and Sister’s dad had inconsiderately died. Sister’s subsequent few boyfriends didn’t seem much taken with the idea of an ill mother-in-law and another man’s child. Why should this faraway uncle suddenly appear as the silvered knight of trust? I leaned back on the couch. I understood his worry. God knows I’d been tempted to leave. Sister still tended to treat me like a pesky little brother who foiled her plans. Mama could drive you crazy with her repetitive behavior, her restless nights, her lack of being the woman who raised me. Mark’s mouth outdid mine at his age. And Mirabeau didn’t offer much in the way of employment in my field. I’d gotten calls from friends at Brooks-Jellicoe, the publisher I’d worked for in Boston.

Seeing if I’d changed my mind. Seeing how Mama was doing and inquiring if I was considering coming back. They wouldn’t keep calling forever.

And what would I do after Mama passed away? That could be next week or in twenty years. I wouldn’t have a career left. That’s what being a caretaker did to you; stripped you of yourself and replaced it with a distorted mirror image of the sick person you sacrificed your life for. I’d look in the mirror someday and see Mama instead of myself. I groaned; I was turning into Norman Bates from Psycho. I warmed my coffee and went back upstairs. I’d nearly finished my notes. I turned off the stereo then read over what I’d written: QUESTIONS ABOUT BETA 1. Why did she make that list of names connected to the library, and why was she carrying it around with her? 2. Why was she dressed all in black? Not her usual attire. 3. Why was mud caked on her shoes? Had not rained in the past couple of days. 4. Why was she at the library at night? 5. How did she get a key? Tamma Hufnagel says Beta swiped Adam’s key. 6. Why did the killer use the bat in my office? Because it was handy or to implicate me? Handiness indicates that the killer came into my office; bat was behind my desk. 7. Where did that $35,000 in her account come from? Who benefits under her will? (Maybe this has nothing to do with the library after all.)

BETA’S LIST

1. Tamma Hufnagel-minister’s wife. Her quote is Numbers 32:23.

“Be sure your sin will find you out.” What sin had Tamma committed that Beta knew about? Something that could ruin her, or just something that Beta used to irritate her?

2. Hally Schneider-my third cousin, 17, son of library board member Janice Schneider, works part-time for Eula Mae. Claims he was on a date with a girl named Chelsea Hart last night at time of murder. Mirabeau native. His quote is Proverbs 14:9.

“Fools make a mock at sin.” Another quote related to sin. Did Beta think that Hally had done something sinful then hadn’t worried about it? Or joked about it? Hard to see how quote pertains to him. 3. Jordan Poteet-I can say categorically that I did not kill Beta Harcher! My quote is Isaiah 5:20. “Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil.” Beta’s death has brought me woe all right. Have no interpretation for her quote for me, unless it’s that I considered books she called evil to be good and worth keeping on the shelves.

4. Eula Mae Quiff-successful romance writer, known professionally as Jocelyn Lushe. Her quote is Job 31:35. “My desire is, that the Almighty would answer me, and that mine adversary had written a book.”

Beta objected to Eula Mae’s passionate little paperbacks, called them smut. Did she bruise Eula Mae’s considerable ego one time too many?

Why was Eula Mae meeting Beta late at night and why didn’t she mention it to me?

5. Matt Blalock-Vietnam vets activist, contract computer programmer for software companies in Austin. His quote is Matthew 26:21. “Verily I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me.” What betrayal had Matt committed in Beta’s eyes? Of God, Mother, or Country? Beta called Matt seditious for his vets activities that challenge the lightness of the war (she was so old-fashioned). This is the best interpretation I know so far. 6. Ruth Wills-nurse at Mirabeau Hospital. Claims to have witnessed a violent argument between Beta and Bob Don last Saturday. Her quote is 2 Kings 4:40. “There is death in the pot.” Guess is that it refers to Ruth’s alleged attempt to poison Beta. 7. Bob Don Goertz-local car and pickup truck czar.

His quote is Judges 5:30. “Have they not divided the prey; to every man a damsel or two?” Sounds like Bob Don had either reaped a windfall of women; or that he possibly had a mistress on the side? Could it have been Beta herself, if not now then in the past? Knew her since she was young and claimed she was wild then. 8. Anne Schneider Poteet-my mother. For whatever reason, her quote is Genesis 3:16. “In sorrow thou shalt bring forth children.” I have no idea what this means in connection with my mother. Probably the sorrow was to be that I (someone Beta loathed) was her child.

I closed my eyes as I finished reading my notes. Mama. This of all made the least sense. My mother hadn’t hurt a fly in her whole life.

She was caring, forgiving, loving. Yet she’d made it onto this list of Beta Harcher’s sinners. Perhaps Ruth was right; crazy people didn’t need motives. Putting my mother on that list was proof

enough. I paused, then realized I’d left something out. I scribbled again: BOARD MEMBERS NOT ON LIST

• Reverend Adam Hufnagel-preacher at First Baptist Church of Mirabeau (for past five years). I haven’t spoken with him regarding Beta’s death-must do soon. Why is his wife on Beta’s list? Why isn’t he? • Janice Schneider-homemaker, my cousin-by-marriage (married to my second cousin Harold Schneider). Mother of Hally and Josh. Perky, Stepford-wife, greeting card type. Had Beta baby-sit her son Josh on occasion-apparently tried to make up with Beta after library incidents. Why is her son Hally on Beta’s list? Why isn’t she?

I drummed my pen against the paper. Those ending questions were both damned good ones. Perhaps there was no reason to it; after all, Mama was on the list. Maybe Tamma and Hally were there as well to strike against imagined betrayers Adam and Janice. Janice had voted against Beta and Adam hadn’t argued hard when the board voted to remove her. That assumed this list was some sort of weapon Beta could’ve used against those she hated. Or maybe Hally and Tamma had been doing their own wrongs against Beta. I decided talking to Brother Adam and cousin Janice was a priority. There was one more addition to the notebook: BETA HARCHER Mid 40s. Never married, as far as I know.

Mirabeau native. Did not work; lived off trust left to her by family.

No close relatives in town; has a niece in Houston, according to Tamma Hufnagel. Do not know of anyone that she considered a close friend or confidante. Extremely religious; a zealot. According to Bob Don, got religion in her early 20s; previously had a reputation for being wild (whatever that means). Had served on library board less than six months when she began attempts to ban books she considered unwholesome. Ejected from library board by other members. Acted as though she operated by divine guidance; even stated as much when she assaulted me in the library. Deposited large, unexplained amount of cash recently in her savings account. Apparently argued with Bob Don Goertz (if Ruth is to be believed) and was having a late night meeting with longtime enemy Eula Mae Quiff in the week before she died. Eula Mae and Bob Don. A well-to-do writer and a prosperous car dealer. And $35,000 in Beta’s savings account. I wondered if for all her moralizing, Beta Harcher considered blackmail a sin. I switched out the light and considering the length and stress of the day I’d had, collapsed quickly into a deep sleep. Beta Harcher kindly stayed out of my dreams.