Miss Julia Stands Her Ground Read Online Free Page B

Hazel Marie sat back down, she propped her chin on her hand and said, “Have y’all ever noticed how fat men wear their pants?”
    My head jerked up. “What?”
    Lillian started laughing. “I never heard such.”
    â€œNo, I’m serious,” Hazel Marie said, “and thinking about Dub reminded me. When women put on weight, they just get rounder and rounder. But men get this big ole pot belly. You know, like Dub has. And some men pull their pants up over it, which means they have to buy a longer belt to fit, and that hikes everything up, so they end up with high waters. But other men wear their pants down below their stomachs, and that gives them baggy seats with the crotch hanging down around their knees.” She frowned, giving it serious thought. “I wonder how they decide. I mean, why some men go for over the stomach and some for under.”
    I stared at her, amazed at the things that people take up to think about. “I admit, Hazel Marie, that I’ve never given it much thought.”
    â€œWell,” she went on, stirring her coffee absently, “when they decide to go over or under, I guess it could say something about their personalities. But I don’t know what.”
    â€œNeither do I.” I prepared to rise and suggest we walk upstairs, where I intended to warn her of our impending troubles.
    â€œOh, my goodness,” Hazel Marie said, springing from her chair, “look at the time. I better jump in the shower and get myself dressed. I have a million things to do today.”
    And with that, she was gone, and I’d missed my chance again.

Chapter 4

    Just as Lillian was taking the yeast rolls out of the oven that Saturday evening, Mr. Pickens strolled in, smiling in the easy way he had, knowing he was welcome at any time. It was a wonder to me, though, how he always managed to get that welcome at dinnertime. I hurriedly set another place at the dining room table, while Hazel Marie and Lillian greeted him as enthusiastically as if he hadn’t been with us three nights running over the past week.
    â€œI’m so glad you’re back,” Hazel Marie said, clinging to his arm. “Did you have a good trip? How was Atlanta?”
    â€œDidn’t see much of it,” he said, smiling down at her. “It was just a good place to meet. Better than having to go all the way to West Palm Beach to see him. But when an old friend needs help, you do what you can.”
    â€œOh, I know,” Hazel Marie said. “And you were so good to go see about him.”
    â€œQuite commendable, Mr. Pickens,” I said, hoping that it had indeed been a him and not a her. “Is your friend sick?”
    â€œFrank Tuttle? Not exactly.” Mr. Pickens shook his head, then frowned. “Things aren’t working out for him here lately, but he’s a good man. Best investigator I’ve ever known.”
    â€œWell, I’m glad you could help him,” I said, not really interestedin another private investigator. “Lillian, if you’re ready, we’ll go to the table.”
    Sam and Little Lloyd showed their pleasure in Mr. Pickens’s return, for he was good company. He could keep us entertained, if not with his teasing manner, then with stories of his long involvement with law enforcement of one kind or another. He did seem to have settled down now, though, what with having his own investigative agency, to say nothing of his attachment to Hazel Marie and his addiction to Lillian’s cooking.
    As I sat at the foot of the table, picking at the food on my plate, I was doubly grateful for Mr. Pickens’s carryings-on. I would’ve been unable to keep a lively conversation going, as burdened as my mind was with the secret that I had to eventually share with Hazel Marie. She looked so happy, as she gazed with shining eyes at that black-eyed, black-haired, and black-mustached Mr. Pickens, that pity for what was hanging over