George, Anne (16 page)

By this time, Fred was looking over my shoulder. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Well, we're into her program, but I don't have any idea how it works."

"Damn," Mary Alice said. "Does that mean we can't use the disk?"

"It means I'll have to work on it a while," Philip said. "Hand me another disk, Haley."

This time when he slipped the disk into the computer he said, "Okay, this one is different. There are sixty-two files, probably created by a word processor."

"Try WordPerfect," Haley said. "It's on my hard drive."

Again, Philip typed some directions. "You're right. Look, ladies."

The ladies, plus Fred, looked at a letter written to someone in Richburg, South Carolina, on January 12 requesting a genealogical newsletter.

"Reckon all sixty-two are like this?" I asked.

Philip shrugged. "That's what genealogists do. Dig into every source of material they can find." He picked up the third disk. "Let's look at this one."

A new list came up on the screen. "Okay. All these files have a 'gen' extension. Must have been generated through the Genie program, the one she wrote."

"See what's on them," Mary Alice urged.

"He can't," Haley explained patiently. "He's got to figure out how Genie works."

"You mean we're stuck?"

"We can read the letters," Haley said, smiling.

Philip inserted the first disk into the computer again, and studied it. "Tell you what," he said, "my big computer is an IBM. How about I take this home and see if I can figure it out. I'd like to see what kind of program she's written. And then I can read the 'gen' files."

"And I'll print out the letters and bring each of you a copy of them," Haley said. "You could each read half of them. If Meg put the disk in your glove compartment so you would find it, there may be something important there."

"Your mama's not getting messed up in this," Fred said. "Leave her out."

Philip hit some keys that made what looked like comic book curse words come up on the screen.

"Look at that," Mary Alice said. "My feelings exactly."

Ten We e had a very nice supper. I put the cartons of Chinese in the middle of the table, and we passed them around. But we ate with my good Rose Point silver. It matched the beer in the glasses better. I don't think Haley and Philip knew what they were eating. It was nice, but disconcerting.

"Just like his uncle," Mary Alice said as we watched them go down the walk to Philip's car.

"Old," Fred agreed.

"My Philip would have been one of
People's
Sexiest Men Alive if they had just known about him. Which reminds me." Mary Alice turned to Fred, who was having difficulty absorbing this disturbing information. ""Buddy wants y'all to go to New Orleans with us in his jet this weekend. Actually, just Saturday night for dinner. Only takes an hour. You're not going to believe that plane. The bathroom's the best part about it, I swear. You remember the bathrooms on that plane we went to Europe on, Mouse? On Buddy's plane you have room to turn around."

I said that I did, unfortunately, remember the bathrooms on the plane we went to Europe on. My only
... 138 ...

trip to Europe. With Sister. Chernobyl blew up while we were there. Why was I not surprised?

"And you can sit in the bathroom and use the phone. Buddy says he does that a lot. Would Gala-toire's suit y'all?"

"What?" The sudden jump in locations had confused me.

"Would you like to eat at Galatoire's? It's still my favorite restaurant in New Orleans. Lord, what they can do to soft-shell crabs. I don't think it matters to Buddy. He's easy to get along with."

Fred agreed that that sounded great. After Sister left, though, he said he hoped Buddy made it until Saturday. "Keep Mary Alice away from him much as you can."

"Not funny," I said. But I laughed anyway. It was wonderful to see Fred in a good humor again.

Sometime during the night, I woke up looking for the Maalox. Almond chicken and shrimp fried rice sat like a chunk of lead in my stomach. So I wouldn't wake Fred, I ended up on the sofa reading, and when I woke up again, it was eight-thirty. An empty cereal bowl in the sink assured me that Fred had had some breakfast. He had also made coffee and left the pot on "warm." I drank a quick cup and went out to get my dog, who was waiting patiently for me.

The rain from a couple of days before had washed the pollen down and made the grass grow. The sound of mowers permeating the neighborhood attested to this fact. The only clouds in the sky were a couple of jet trails, and on the mountain, Vulcan mooned us mightily. Mitzi Phizer, my neighbor, was already out in her yard working with her flowers. , "You need one of these." She pointed to the large straw hat that shaded her face.

"I've got on sunblock. Factor one hundred, or something like that." I leaned over her fence. "What kind of flowers are those?"

"They're peonies, Patricia Anne. Just plain old peonies. I swear, you ought to join my garden club now that you're retired. I can't imagine anybody who lives in the South not knowing a peony when they see one."

"I'm so ashamed." Mitzi and I grinned at each other.

"It meets the third Tuesday. I'm serious."

I shook my head. "Not only do I not know a peony, I can hardly tell a caladium from an elephant ear. They'd kick me out. Spare yourself the humiliation."

"You're probably right. That's scandalous." Mitzi pulled off her hat and wiped her forehead with her sleeve. "It's already hot. Just think about July."

"Won't do to think about." I untangled Woofer's leash from my leg.

"Arthur and Fred both need to retire, so we can go somewhere cool in the summer."

"God's truth."

"There's not a ghost of a chance that will happen though, is there?"

"Not anytime soon." Woofer lay down across my feet patiently. "You remember Philip Nachman?" I asked Mitzi.

"Mary Alice's second husband? Sure. Nice man. Why?"

"Well, his nephew, Philip the Second, acted as father of the bride at Debbie's wedding. Remember I told you about him? Anyway, I think Haley's fallen for him."

"That's wonderful, Patricia Anne! Haley's been a lost soul since Tom died."

"I think it's wonderful, too. But he's about twenty years older than she is."

"So what? You like him?"

"Very much. He's a widower with grown children. An ear doctor."

"An ENT? Lord! Tell her to marry that guy."

"That part pleased Fred, too." We smiled at each other.

"Is he as smitten as she is?"

"Seems to be."

"Sounds good to me. Is the age difference really bothering you?"

"Well, I keep thinking if he were her age, they would have a whole lifetime to spend together."

"Tom was her age," Mitzi reminded me. "There are no guarantees, Patricia Anne."

"True." I moved my feet so Woofer would get up. "Thank-you, Dr. Peale."

"Norman Vincent to you, honey. And any time."

I finished my walk feeling very chipper, gave Woofer his treat, poured myself a bowl of Cheerios, and settled down to read the paper. Mistake. I was in the dumps in about two seconds. Three fatal shootings, an airplane crash, and a multiple pileup on 1-59 -had made the front page. I put the paper down and turned on
The Price Is Right.
In a few minutes, I felt better. Bob Barker was as good for my mood as Mitzi had been. By the time a plump old lady with "One of Barker's Beauties" on her T-shirt won a Lexus, I was fine.

"The world is too much with us," I muttered, heading for the shower.

There were three phone messages waiting when I got out: a company wanting to do home repairs, Geor-giana Peach saying there was something she would like to discuss with me, and Sister having lunch with Bonnie Blue and I could come if I wanted to.

I deleted the home repair message but listened to Georgiana's again. Her wispy voice had a strained, shaky quality to it, as if she weren't feeling well. I called the number she had left, but got her answering machine. Phone tag.

As for Mary Alice, she was going to the Big, Bold, and Beautiful Shoppe to buy a new outfit for Saturday night, and I needed one, too, she informed me when I called.

"I'm going to wear my red suit," I said.

"That red suit is shiny in the butt and the shoulder pads are too big. They don't wear shoulder pads that big anymore."

"Maybe 'they' don't, but I do."

"We're getting testy, aren't we? What about the outfit you wore to the wedding?"

"Too dressy. I told you. I'm wearing my red suit."

"Well, all right. Good heavens." Mary Alice paused. "Bonnie Blue and I are having lunch at the Blue Moon. You want me to pick you up?"

"I'm busy this afternoon." Actually, I was cross. There was not a damn thing wrong with my red suit.

"What are you doing?"

"I have an appointment," I lied.

"With a doctor? Are you sick, Mouse? What hurts you?" Sister sounded so alarmed, my conscience hurt me. A little.

"Not with a doctor. I'm fine."

"A lawyer? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"No. I am not in any kind of trouble. I'm just going to the library," I admitted.

"You have an appointment at the library? What kind of an appointment would you have at a library?"

"To discuss a program," I lied again, with the first thing that came into my head.

"What kind of program?"

Lord, when would I ever learn that lying to Sister is just too much trouble. Sixty years certainly hadn't been long enough.

Somehow I extricated myself from my tangled web enough to satisfy her. I fixed myself a peanut butter and banana sandwich for lunch, got the notes I had made yesterday, and headed for the library.

Emily, the cheerleader, was reading a
House Beautiful
today. She recognized me and informed me that Ms. Murphy was there again today, in the reading room. Did I want to see her?

I thanked her, said it wasn't necessary, that I would be working in the Montgomery County section.

"You got it." The girl leaned forward and showed me a picture of an ornate Georgian flower arrangement on a huge mahogany dining room table. "You like this, Ms. Hollowell?"

"Too fancy for my taste."

"Hmm." She studied the picture. "I kind of like it."

Some young man, I thought, had better fasten bis seat belt.

I located the section where I had worked the day before, and put my notebook on the table. One table down, I noticed, Camille Atchison was poring over a book. I moved down and sat across from her, startling myself more than I did her.

She glanced up coolly, and then looked back at her book.

"Tell me about Meg Bryan," I said in a low voice.

"Who are you?" Her green eyes appraised me.

"I'm Patricia Anne Hollowell. You were at my niece's wedding Saturday."

"Oh, yes. Debbie has done some pro bono work for the Symphony Association. I'm on the board. She's a nice woman."

"Yes, she is. What about Meg Bryan?"

"She was a bitch. I believe that's what I called her at the wedding, and I stand by it. Did she kill herself? No way. What's more, if I'd had the guts, I'd have been the one shoved her out the window. But I wasn't." Camille Atchison's cool expression hadn't changed. "Does that answer your question?"

"She did your family history for you, didn't she?"

"Wrongly and deliberately." Camille's face flushed. "Fortunately, I've been able to repair the damage." She pulled another book toward her. "If you will excuse me, Mrs. Hollowell."

I got up, started to another table, and then turned back. "I'm sorry," I said, reminding myself of Col-umbo, "but you really don't think there was any way Meg's death could have been suicide?"

Camille's green eyes narrowed. "I hope not. Somebody deserved the pleasure."

Well, I had asked and I had my answer. I moved to the other table and opened my notebook. Noah Hollowell, Winona Hughes Hollowell. It was fun to read about them and see what they had done with their lives, but I couldn't imagine the obsessive passion that Camille Atchison had just shown. "A dog-eat-dog world," Meg Bryan's words echoed.

I got to work. In
Death Records from Montgomery Newspapers: The Civil War Years,
I found an Oscar Hollowell as well as James and Bernard Hallowell. Oscar had died at Antietam. James and Bernard were killed in a neighborhood grudge. Actually, by the number of deaths listed for this reason, these feuds seemed to have been fairly common at the time. Their name was spelled with an "a" instead of an "o," but I decided to write it down.

"You finding what you want, Mrs. Hollowell?" Cassie Murphy was standing beside me in a coral-colored knit dress that not only brought a glow to her skin but also outlined every curve. And Cassie had, indeed, "grown up."

"You look spectacular today," I said.