Free Miss Julia Inherits a Mess by Ann B. Ross Page B

sure.”
    â€œI’m sure, and I’d be ever so grateful, and,” I added with a laugh, “to prove it, I’ll dance at your wedding.”
    â€œHa!” she said, her spirits improving by the minute. “How about at my debutante ball instead?”
    We laughed together for a minute, then hung up. Or at least, she did. I merely clicked the phone off, then back on, and punched in Mildred’s number before LuAnne could.
    â€œMildred,” I said, thankful that she’d answered so quickly, “LuAnne’s going to call you about Mattie. Be surprised, and don’t tell her you already know.”
    Mildred started laughing. “Okay, I’ll be properly stunned at the news, but keep in mind, Julia, that I intend to hold this over your head for just about forever.”

Chapter 12

    With Luanne in charge of spreading the word, I declared myself relieved of all legal and social obligations. I felt as free as a bird. In fact, I felt so free I had to sit down and think up something to do. Although I knew I had a tendency to talk things to death, I wished Sam were with me so we could discuss all that had happened, including the stunning secret stash in Mattie’s purse. How in the world had she kept such a secret from all the teetotalers she associated with? Maybe Sam would have some answers, but this was his Rotary Club day, so he was gone for lunch and probably for an hour or two more as he caught up with what was going on in town.
    I was left with time on my hands. I could’ve certainly used a student who wanted to learn to read right about then—what a constructive use of free time that would’ve been. As it was, though, I was still waiting to be taught how to do it.
    So I put that aside and began to think of Mattie. A wave of sadness swept over me, but mixed in with it was a deeply grateful feeling that my responsibility to her was over. Lord, what if I’d had to plan a funeral?
    I didn’t know who would get that job—Mr. Sitton, perhaps? If Mattie had planned ahead enough to anoint me with her power of attorney, maybe she’d gone a step further and honored someone else with the power of burial.
    LuAnne? Sitting there in the library by myself, I had to laugh.LuAnne would love being in charge. She’d do a good job, but she’d drive everybody crazy while she did it because LuAnne didn’t know the meaning of the word
delegate
. Not only would she decide the color of the flowers, determine what the soloist would sing, and designate the eulogists, but she would also tell Pastor Ledbetter the Scripture passages to use. Everybody would be mad at her by the time it was over, but she wouldn’t notice. Instead, she would fume for weeks about having been left with everything to do herself. At the same time, it wouldn’t surprise me if she didn’t come out of it so pleased with herself that she’d think she should start a funeral-planning business.
    People would run for the hills, though, if she tried to line them up for her services.
    Well, enough of this
. Surely, Mattie would’ve known better than to leave such momentous decisions to LuAnne, in spite of the annual loaves of banana nut bread.
    Then, my eye catching the large black pocketbook, safely clasped from prying eyes, still on the desk, I wondered what I should do with it. And its contents. I supposed it should go to Mr. Sitton. He would be the obvious recipient. If anybody was able to keep a secret, it would be a lawyer, and as long as he had been privy to Mattie’s most private concerns, he might already know what the pocketbook contained. And if he didn’t, it had been my experience that very little could surprise a lawyer of any note.
    Springing from my chair—as much as I was able to spring, that is—I realized that I had one more task to do for Mattie. I could take care of the mail that Sam and I had picked up the day before. I’d left it on the desk