Free Miss Julia Lays Down the Law by Ann B. Ross Page B

said with a patronizing laugh, “you’re nothing if not eager, aren’t you?” Which flew all over me, but I held my tongue. “But that’s good,” she went on. “I’m sure you need something to fill the time. The days get long with nothing to do, don’t they?”
    “Oh, Connie, you wouldn’t believe,” I replied, carefully holding down the sarcasm. “I’d be so grateful to hear your ideas, and, in return, I may have a few for you.”
    She laughed outright at that. “Maybe so. But I don’t mind your coming by about four this afternoon since you’re so eager. I am simply swamped till then, unpacking boxes that have just gotten here from Europe, and the front hall is crammed full. I’ll be working in the kitchen, so just park in the drive and come around to the back door.”
    After agreeing to that, I put down the phone with a growing sense of unease. How would I ever get through to such a woman? She wouldn’t
mind
my coming by, but she had no intention of interrupting her work in order to visit with me. If it hadn’t been for Emma Sue’s dire circumstances, I would’ve told Connie what she could do with a visit.
    Well, in fact, if not for Emma Sue, it would never have occurred to me to want a visit with Connie, much less to actually ask for a moment of her time.
     • • • 
    As four o’clock approached, I became more and more nervous. I admit it, and kept thinking as I prepared to leave that I should just sit down and stay home. But in the end, I told Lillian I was going to a meeting that would be short and sweet, which was all I could say, not wanting to divulge the pastor’s mission. Though the closer it got to four o’clock, the more I dreaded what could turn out to be a long and bitter meeting.
    I wished I could take Mildred with me. She tolerated no nonsense or silliness from anyone, and certainly would not put up with Connie’s brand of self-importance. But I didn’t have her, and furthermore, I couldn’t even have gotten her advice. Pastor Ledbetter had strapped me in tight, and I rued the promise I had made not to confide in anyone.
    Not even Sam, not even Lillian, who told me as I went out the door, “If you goin’ out this time of day, you better wrap up good. That wind go right through you.” I’d just nodded, told her I didn’t plan to be out in it long, and left.
    But let this be a lesson: don’t ever promise not to tell something without first considering the possibility that you might need to tell someone.
     • • • 
    As I drove the few miles out of town to the gated community known as Grand View Estates—a name more suited to a cemetery, if you ask me—I could feel the blustery wind against the car and hoped, for Coleman’s sake, that this would be a quickly passing cold front. The gray, lowering clouds and the fall time change had turned the afternoon dark earlier than usual—a good excuse to make this a short visit.
    I turned in at the gate near the golf course that was surrounded by hills dotted here and there with newly built homes, made mostly of stone and glass with hints of Tudor design. The security guard started to wave me through, then opened the window in the kiosk.
    “Ma’am, we’re gettin’ some limbs down on the roads. High winds, you know, so be careful.”
    Thanking him, I said I wasn’t going far, then continued on as the winding street gradually rose to the first level of scenic view lots, where the Clayborns’ house was located.
    I pulled up the steep drive and parked near the closed garage, set the emergency brake, and got out of the car, pausing a moment to survey the sweeping view as well as the leaf-strewn front yard. Holding my hair as I looked around, I could barely make out the side of another house some distance away through the thick growth of trees that bounded the yard. I realized that if one wished to build in the area, one would have to carve out a lot by cutting trees and removing stumps. A mint would have to be spent