Free Miss Julia Paints the Town by Ann B. Ross Page B

the side lawn to the gazebo that faced Mildred’s rose garden. Taking seats inside the latticed structure, we had a clear view not only of the formal plantings but also of the array of blooming azaleas that lined the edge of the yard.
    â€œOkay,” Hazel Marie said as she speared a forkful of asparagus casserole. “Let’s hear it. What else is going on? I mean, besides Horace missing and Richard missing and Leonard walking out and the mayor going off half-cocked.”
    â€œWell,” I said, somewhat hesitantly since I couldn’t remember how strongly Emma Sue had sealed my lips. “You can’t breathe a word of this, Hazel Marie…”
    â€œWait,” she said, looking past my shoulder, “here comes Ida Lee.” And indeed she was hurrying across the lawn toward the gazebo.
    â€œMiss Julia,” Ida Lee panted, “Miss Mildred needs you. She’s going up to the upstairs sitting room and wants you to come, too.”
    â€œWell, of course,” I said, rising with plate in hand. Hazel Marie took it from me, saying she would take care of it. “Has she heard anything?”
    â€œNot yet,” Ida Lee said worriedly, “but the sheriff’s office called to tell her that the lieutenant is on his way to talk to her again.”
    â€œOh, my goodness,” I said, stepping out of the gazebo. “That means he has news of some kind. Hazel Marie, I’ll see you in a little while.”
    I followed Ida Lee across the lawn and into the house, where we threaded our way between the knots of people gathered in the public rooms. Hurrying up the stairs, we gained the landing where Ida Lee led me to Mildred’s sitting room. I tapped on the door, then entered to find Mildred sitting in a bergere beside the Adams mantel of the fireplace. The room was an oasis of quiet tones of blue, from the grasscloth that covered the walls to the silk fabric on the sofa and chairs. The Venetian glass chandelier provided bits of color, along with the gilt frames of the mirrors and pictures.
    â€œMildred?” I whispered, hesitant to disturb her as she sat immobile, staring at the wall. “You wanted me?”
    â€œOh,” she said, turning with glazed eyes to look at me. “Julia. Yes, thank you. The sheriff is sending somebody over to bring me up-to-date, and I need somebody with a level head to hear what they have to say.”
    â€œOf course,” I said, taking a seat beside her. “They didn’t give you a hint of what they’ve found?”
    â€œNot at all, which means it’s too tragic to tell me over the phone. I’ve just been sitting here, trying to come to terms with widowhood.”
    â€œOh, now, Mildred, you mustn’t jump to conclusions. I doubt they tell anybody anything over the phone.” Besides, I thought to myself, widowhood, in my experience, hadn’t been all that bad. Of course, mine had been a special case and no comparison to the present one.
    There was a tap on the door and Ida Lee stuck her head in. “Lieutenant Peavey to see you, ma’am.” She opened the door wide to allow the large navy-uniformed man to enter. Then she stepped out, closing the door behind her.
    Lieutenant Peavey stood there in all his muscular glory, hat in hand, looking out of place in the silken room. It didn’t seem to bother him, though, as I recalled his supreme and distant professionalism in previous encounters. “Mrs. Allen, ma’am, sorry to bother you, but I need to go over a few more things with you.”
    Mildred had bestirred herself, leaning forward in the chair, anxious for news. “Have you found him?”
    â€œNo, ma’am, we’ve not. At least, not at the accident site.”
    â€œHave a seat, Lieutenant,” I said, standing to vacate the chair nearest Mildred. He glanced at me, then his eyes flickered just the least little bit. Lieutenant Peavey, I remembered, had a mile-wide streak of