Free Murder Carries a Torch by Anne George Page A

Debbie. “You squeeze it when you’re in labor. Philip says the doctors in Warsaw swear it cuts labor time in half.”
    “Give it here, Mama.” Debbie snatched the neutercal back, gave it a good squeeze, and laughed. “This is wonderful.” She squeezed again. “Oh, my, yes. I can see how this would work wonders.”
    “Let me try it,” Sister said.
    Debbie handed it over reluctantly. We were giggling when Tiffany came in. She had to have a squeeze, too, declaring it was just a fancy stress ball like Alabama midwives used all the time.
    “Nowadays?” Debbie asked.
    “I’m sure they do, cause they work. My grandmama was a midwife. She’d get everybody to save those little cotton tobacco pouches with the drawstring tops for her. You know, the ones for people who rolled their own cigarettes? She’d fill them up with grits. Put a marble in them.” Tiffany handed the neutercal back to Debbie. “Said it worked wonders.”
    “I never heard of them,” Sister said.
    Tiffany shrugged, a “city folks don’t know much” shrug.
    She was right. There was a lot we city folks didn’t know. About snake handling, for instance.
    “Where did you grow up, Tiffany?” I asked.
    “Tuscaloosa. My daddy teaches chemistry at the university. But my grandmama who was the midwife lived near Sterrett. She and my grandpa had a farm, raised peaches mostly. Why?”
    “I don’t suppose they ever ran into any snake handlers.”
    “What?”
    This time it was Sister who told the story. When she finished, Tiffany declared, “I can’t believe that. Poor soul.”
    I wasn’t sure whether she meant the redheaded girl, Monk Crawford, or Virginia. I guess it didn’t matter.
    “Somebody help me up,” Debbie said. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
    “She got that ball just in time,” Tiffany said watching Debbie waddle through the door. Then, “What are y’all going to do? Wait for the sheriff to call or go on up to Oneonta?”
    “I think we should go on up there and tell Luke,” Sister said. “I’ll put the phone on call forwarding in caseRichard calls. And we can stop by the sheriff’s office and see if he’s heard anything.”
    “Wear your purple boots,” I suggested.
    Sister giggled.
     
    Luke looked worse than he had the night before. Both eyes were black and he groaned when he saw us.
    “I’m seeing two of you.”
    “There are two of us,” Mary Alice said.
    “No. I mean I’m seeing four of you. Two each.”
    “Is that normal when you have a concussion?”
    Luke looked at the two Mary Alices and said, “Hell, no, it’s not normal. I think my eyes got jarred out of their sockets.”
    Sister sat down in the only chair and examined Luke’s eyes. “They look like they’re fitting okay. Not a good color, but straight.”
    “What did the doctor say?” Luke’s appearance was alarming. I wondered if the double vision was a sign of the swelling they had warned us about.
    “They’re going to do a CAT scan or an MRI or something in a little while. One of those alphabet things where they stick you in a tube.”
    “They’ll just stick your head in,” Mary Alice assured him. “The rest of you is working, isn’t it?”
    “I reckon. All I’ve had to eat is a banana popsicle.”
    “I love banana popsicles. Don’t you, Mouse?”
    I agreed that I did.
    “And lime and grape.” Sister leaned forward. “Luke, there’s something we have to tell you.”
    Something he was in no condition to hear. But Sister surprised me.
    “After they do the CAT scan and let you go, we’re going to take you to my house. In my Jaguar.”
    Luke smiled and clasped Mary Alice’s hand. Just at that moment the door opened and two orderlies came in with a gurney.
    “Gotta take you down to radiology, Mr. Nelson.”
    He was still smiling when he was wheeled out.
    “That was nice,” I told Sister.
    “Well, did you get a good look at him? There’s no way on God’s earth they’re going to let that man out today. Come on. Let’s go