“Well, I would like for you to come over right now and give a statement about finding Shannon Harcher.” “Okay,” I said. “Let me make a couple of phone calls and I’ll be down.” We both hung up. I called the hospital. They wouldn’t provide information about Shannon’s condition. I asked for Ruth, but they said she was on duty in the emergency room. I had a feeling she was working on Shannon. I called Adam Hufnagel. His wife Tamma answered, sounding like she’d caught a bad cold and had just woken up. “What did you say?” she asked after I’d asked for Adam. I sighed, trying not to sound impatient. “I need to speak with Adam.” “He’s trying to take a nap, Jordy. He’s had a hard day.” “Well, maybe you can help me, Tamma. Do you know, did he keep his appointment with Shannon Harcher today?” There was a moment’s silence. “Yes, he mentioned he saw her. Why do you ask?” Her voice held the edge of suspicion she’d shown when she confronted me in her husband’s office. “If you have an extension, please put him on it,” I said. “I have news he needs to hear-you both need to hear.” There must’ve been something in my tone, because she didn’t argue. I held while she roused him. When he came on the line, I waited until I heard Tamma pick the phone back up. “Shannon Harcher was shot today at Beta’s house. Junebug and I found her. She’s in critical condition at the hospital. They’ve arrested Eula Mae,” I said. Adam wheezed and Tamma was silent. “Why Eula Mae?” “I don’t want to get into that, but apparently I was right. Beta was profiting from her involvement in your church’s activities, like your rummage sale. Just thought you’d like to know. You might want to be a little more choosy with your volunteers.” I hung up, not wanting to further my conversation with those two. I called Candace, told her what all had happened during the course of the afternoon (including Eula Mae’s confession-I trusted Candace to keep a secret to the grave), and asked her to open up the library. I asked her if she’d mind working late so folks could use the library a bit longer than usual, since it’d been closed for two days.
She didn’t mind a whit and kept inquiring as to my well-being. I told her I’d see her shortly. I finished eating and told Sister I’d be home later than usual. We went upstairs and checked with Mark. He’d laid in a big supply of borrowed videos and wasn’t averse to taking care of Mama. I put the VCR on pause and told him about Shannon. Mark’s dark eyes grew wide. “Can we go down to the hospital to see her?” I shook my head. “Not now. She’s in intensive care, I’m sure. Maybe later.”
“Is she going to die? Was it gross? Do you think she’s in a lot of pain?” “I don’t know, Mark, and yes, it was gross.” I glanced at the videotapes he’d borrowed from friends, every one a bloodbath. “I don’t think I’ll ever want to see one of those movies again myself.” Mark looked at the collected Arnolds and Dirty Harrys with new eyes. He pushed the off button and the VCR fell quiet. “Maybe not these, tonight. Maybe I’ll just read a book for a change.” I went to the police station and made my statement. It was fairly short and simple.
Billy Ray wasn’t around to taunt me this time; he was too busy arguing with Eula Mae and the lawyer from Bavary I’d hired. Apparently she and her lawyer were getting along just fine; they could both yell you deaf. I nearly felt sorry for Junebug. I picked up my notes on the case and shuffled through them. I thought a lot of questions were still unanswered by Eula Mae’s arrest. I stuck my notebook under my arm and headed out. I parked in front of the library. It was nearly four and we usually closed at six on Thursdays. I suppose it was hardly worth opening for two remaining hours, but I figured Candace and I could wrap up any loose ends from having been closed for a while. Plus, we might stay open a bit later, let the curiosity seekers get it out of their systems. Going in was a little harder than I thought it would be. My hand froze as I reached for the door. Beta’s bludgeoned face, eyes wide open in death, wasn’t waiting in there for me this time. But I couldn’t erase her easily from my thoughts. I made a concerted effort and instead of Beta’s battered head, I saw Shannon’s bloodied face. My fingertips massaged my eyes. Too much death, too much suffering for one little town. I heard the door open and Candace was there, wrapping her arms around me. “You okay?” she breathed against my chest. “Yeah. God, what a week,” I said, then chortled nervously. My own laughter sounded tinny in my ears. We put arms around each other and walked into the library together. The air had the same dense quality about it that Beta Harcher’s house had. I told myself that it was just from the library being shut up for two days, not death lingering in the air like some foul fog. The old air-conditioning system sputtered and cranked away, but it hadn’t yet dispelled the foreboding, pressing atmosphere. She’d brewed coffee, in the only brewer we had-back in the room where Beta’s body had lain. I set my notebook on the counter and I went back there. The tape outline was still down, etching where she fell. I didn’t know if I was yet allowed to pull the tape up, but I did, yanking it up violently. I wasn’t about to velvet-rope this section of the library and charge a quarter a peek. I felt mad-mad that Beta had hurt people, mad at what I’d been through, mad that Shannon was lying near death, even mad that little Josh Schneider got an awful early introduction to what death meant. Candace watched me, waiting for me to talk. “If Eula Mae killed her,” I finally said, “that means Beta died for $10,000. I never thought of a life in monetary terms.” I realized I was lying as soon as I said it. I’d thought of how much money Mama would need to live her limbo existence over the next twenty years. I closed my eyes, feeling more anger and shame. I got up, poured coffee, and went back to my tiny office. I sat down and Candace sat across from me. She was watching me with a concern that made me uneasy. I wondered-not for the first time-what it would be like to kiss her. Instead I coughed. “I suppose we should reshelve and check in books in the drop slip,” I said, attempting to sound professional. “Doesn’t look like we’re going to get any takers today.” Candace shook her head. “’Fraid so. I felt creepy when I got here, and I didn’t know how long you’d be at the station. So I called some of the regulars. Old Man Renfro and Gaston Leach both said they’d be over shortly.” “Followed, undoubtedly, by the town curious who’ll want to tour the death scene. Shall you be the docent or shall I?” I said. I sipped at my coffee. I kept thinking about Eula Mae, in jail and accused of murder and attempted murder.
Something niggled at my mind, something in all this that didn’t fit. I thought of Matt Blalock and simmering hatred. I thought of Ruth Wills, an accusation of poisoning that didn’t stand up. I thought of Hally Schneider, who had been right about a secret connection between Beta and Eula Mae, yet still seemed awfully nervous for an innocent bystander. I thought of Bob Don, who seemed to want to help me and fought violently with Beta less than a week before her death. I thought of the Hufnagels, and how their church wasn’t good enough for Beta’s ambitions. And I thought of my mother, her presence on Beta’s list still unexplained. Billy Ray thought he had his woman now, but I wasn’t convinced. I went over to the local-authors shelf. Eula Mae was currently the only Mirabeau resident with fulfilled literary aspirations, and her collected works sat in a row. I plucked her first novel from the shelf; the copyright was in Eula Mae’s name. I’d thought for a moment that if it was copyrighted under the Jocelyn Lushe pseudonym that Eula Mae would have had an easy out; no one could have necessarily accused her of lying. But it wasn’t so. She’d claimed each book as her own. I replaced The Rose of San Jacinto on the shelf and went back to Candace. “There’s still $25,000 that was in Beta’s savings account that didn’t come from Eula Mae,” I told Candace. “So where the hell did that come from? She embezzle from the Girl Scout cookie fund?” The bells above the front door jangled, and from my office I saw Old Man Renfro and Gaston Leach come into view. I couldn’t have conjured up a more unlikely pair. Old Man Renfro always wore a threadbare suit; he must’ve had a whole armoire of them. Snowy white hair topped his dark, wise face. He was retired from the post office and when he had tired of reading people’s addresses, he’d ended up spending his days at the library. It would not be unreasonable to guess he’d read everything in the library at least once. Even the children’s section, reading them to his several grandchildren.