I had wondered all along why Hope Julius had been wearing her Sunday wig when Parnell had seen her working in her kitchen, yet it had been on the wig stand when Sally had been shown through the house the next day. And I had seen the everyday wig, its synthetic hair fluttering in the breeze on the roof. "How did you vanish?" I asked.
"It was my great-aunt who realized I had to. We sat down that night and figured it out. Harley had to go home like nothing was wrong. I had washed and dried his clothes by then, and he put them back on and we just put the ones of Daddy's he'd been wearing in a garbage bag ... Harley's hairs might be on them or something. And I got in the car with him, not taking hardly anything of mine, just one change of clothes, because Alicia said it had to look like I'd just been taken without notice. I put Mama's wig back on the wig form; my hair was enough like Mama's that I didn't figure it would matter if they found one of my hairs in it. Then Harley, on his way back home, dropped me off at a bus station. I had the key to the house in Metairie. We used all the cash Mama had in her purse to buy the ticket."
"The police checked all the bus stations within a reasonable radius," I said. "I wore an old pair of Mama's glasses, and I put a pillow in my front like I was pregnant," Charity said rather proudly. "That about knocked Harley over, he really laughed."
For the first time, I met Angel's eyes. She was looking as sick as I felt. I had completely lost my taste for this insider information. But she went on talking, though Harley was now stirring and moaning. She'd stayed in the Metairie house for a couple of days, eating only what was in the pantry and not going outside. On the third night, she'd slipped out of the house very late, gone to a pay phone at a convenience store a few blocks away, and called her great-aunt, asking her to get a message to Harley. Harley's parents might question a young woman calling their house. Harley could join her as soon as the investigation died down, maybe in a month, they figured. "I couldn't stay in the house that long, someone would see me, I knew," Charity said. "I was going crazy."
I was willing to bet that was true: shut in a house, forced to remain invisible, with her last memories of her family closed in that house with her. "So what did you do?"
"Aunt Alicia cashed one of my grandmother's checks and snuck out and mailed it to General Delivery, Metairie, and after I picked it up, I went to New Orleans and rented a room and found a job. I'd never done any of that before." She sounded rather proud. "I gave them Harley's name and Social Security number. I figured girls could be named Harley, too. And it was a real Social Security number. I had it written in my billfold. I knew everything about Harley." "And he came down when he figured it was safe?" Angel wanted to cut this true confession short. She (and Harley) were shifting restlessly. "And got a job at the lumber place. And then we rented this cabin. And here we've been for all this time. Until you found us. Who the hell are you two?" "I own the Julius house," I said.
"Oh, you're the one Alicia called about. The one Harley was supposed to get rid of. The one who was asking so many questions, with too much time on her hands." I could have done without Angel's cocked eyebrow. "But he said he screwed it up. And he was too scared, being back in that area where someone might recognize him, to try again. He was so mad... . Listen, I'll bet you don't care, but really I'm in awful pain." "Why didn't your great-aunt just sell her house and drop the phone number?" It was the last question I really wanted an answer to. "She and grandmother both had to be there for a house closing; they owned it jointly. And if Alicia cut off the phone, where was she supposed to be? People did call her from time to time ... and she had to get her mail somehow. So she got the idea of renting it to that tub of lard, her cousin's daughter, so she could get some money to live on till the estate was probated... four months! We almost made it!"
And her confessional mood changed suddenly to hatred, all directed at me. She actually managed to heave herself at me, despite the broken knee, despite bound hands. I found myself wondering if it were true that Harley had wielded the hammer in all three murders.
"I've had a thought," Angel said, unmoved by Charity's desperation. "If the forensic anthropologist examined those bones the day after you found them, he knew that one skeleton wasn't Charity. He must have told them it was an old woman. So who are the police going to question first?" "The woman they think is Mrs. Totino."
"Right. So why hasn't she called down here to warn these two? Why didn't she tell them the bodies had been found?"
I could tell from Charity's face she was asking herself the same thing. I was regretting not calling Sally Allison. I would have known so much more. I could have called the police anonymously, if I had figured out Charity Julius was alive; I wouldn't have been so shocked by a confrontation with a woman I thought was dead these past six years. And now we wouldn't be in the strange fix we were in now.
"They've got her in custody, or they're watching her so closely she thinks they're tapping her phone calls," I said. "I bet she never called these two from her own phone anyway."
"Think Alicia will break?"
"I bet she will. Not because she's fragile, but because she'll want company, someone to blame the actual murders on. Yeah . , . once they actually question her identity, she can't keep up the pretense that she's Melba Totino, at least not for long."
"This is going to be awfully hard to explain," Angel commented.
That was an understatement.
"I have to go to a hospital," said Harley clearly. He was badly hurt, and so was Charity, and damned if I knew what to do with them.
"Shelby's not gonna like it if I get arrested for assault," Angel said. I hardly thought Martin would enjoy my arrest either.
"Here's what we're gonna do," Angel told her two white-faced victims. "We're gonna leave, and we'll call the police from a pay phone." "What fucking good is that going to do us?" Harley asked. "For one thing, you ungrateful moron, they'll take you to the hospital. Now, I'd like to point out that we could just leave you here to rot, or we could kill you, and I guarantee no one would miss you."
I turned away so the two killers couldn't see the shock on my face.
"We'll tell them you did this," Charity spat. "You'll do jail time." "No I won't, and I'll tell you why," Angel said calmly. "Because we're not gonna tell the police about Harley trying to kill us. And we're both alive to tell about it, and positively identify him, too. But the minute you tell the cops about us, we tell them about you. At least this way you'll only stand trial on some old charges, with no evidence left to collect or eyewitnesses." It wasn't much, but it was something, and in the end they agreed. What choice did they have? We wiped my fingerprints off the fishing rod and anything else I might have touched in the closet, and Angel, I saw with some amazement, was wearing plastic gloves. I was feeling uncomfortably like a criminal myself. They didn't ask why we hadn't told the police about Harley's first attack, thank goodness.