Читать книгу A Manor of Murder - June Shaw - Страница 11

Chapter 5

On the way across town Eve contacted her daughter, Nicole, who lived with her husband and baby Noah in Houston. With the widest smile I had seen on her face lately, she kept her cell phone on speaker so I could hear everything on the other end. Soon Noah was babbling and so was my sister. Eve called his name and kept repeating ga-ga-ga and da-da-da and ma-ma-ma in a singsong rhythm until he was making similar sounds back to her.

Eve and I went to our own homes, both in better spirits. I dropped her off at her place, where she wanted to change clothes and then go to the gym to work out. “I might get to talk to someone there who knows more about Edward or possibly even his uncle,” she said.

“I hope so. We can use all the help we can get.”

At home, I exchanged my low heels for flats. In my kitchen, I worked to clear my head and open it for ideas on how to proceed with Mom.

Edward’s body might have been removed from the casket by now and what? I asked myself, inspecting the pecans I measured. I’d bought these even though I had a bag of others in my freezer that I had picked this past winter in a local graveyard where two large pecan trees grew. I’d cracked their shells and peeled them, but many had broken into small pieces, which was fine for including in fudge or cookies or snacking. Pralines, I thought, came out best with pecan halves.

I gathered the other ingredients and swiped a wet washcloth across my table to keep in place the waxed paper I pressed against it. In a large pot, I mixed sugar, margarine, large marshmallows, evaporated milk, and a teaspoon of vanilla. I stirred the mixture over a medium fire until everything melted.

Why would anyone murder Edward? I asked myself, adding the pecans.

My doorbell’s ring startled me, making my hand jerk and splash some of the hot mixture from the wooden spoon I was using on my opposite wrist. The burn on my arm almost made me forget to turn off the fire, but I did it, I hoped not for long, and plunged my wrist under cold running water in the sink. The burn started to ease a little until someone gave my doorbell an incessant ring and then a hard pounding came from the door. I turned off the water, patted my arm dry, and went none too happily to discover who the caller was.

A frown bit Detective Wilet’s face.

My instinct was to shut the door. Instead I asked, “Detective, what are you doing here?” When he didn’t respond, I said with no enthusiasm, “Do you want to come in?”

The moment he stepped into my entry, his face turned toward the kitchen. His tense face relaxed a pinch and his nose lifted a little when he sniffed.

“It’s going to be pralines for the gumbo kitchen. I can save some for you if you’d like.”

He shook his head. “No, thanks.” His gaze at me hardened, his tough cop face back. “Ms. Taylor, I didn’t discover the person you described and said was at the rear section of the hall of the funeral home. And I never located the car you said he drove, although you didn’t give me much to go on.”

I felt my shoulders drop. “I’m really sorry you missed him. He seemed to be having a big argument with Edward when Eve and I went to Edward’s house.”

He said nothing, eyes intense, severe gaze not leaving mine. “Or maybe there was no man.”

Frustration shot through me. That and having my wrist burn as much as it did when the hot candy mixture struck it made me raise my voice. “Oh, come on, Detective. You already thought my sister and I were guilty of murder when we weren’t. Why in the world wouldn’t you believe me this time?”

“I spoke with other people while I was there and discovered you and your sister had a big argument with Edward Cancienne before he died.”

“We—?”

Before my mind could return to whatever he was talking about, he said, “At the retirement home, Ms. Taylor. There were a number of residents and staff members around when you and your sister got into an extremely heated argument with the victim not long before you two say you found him dead.”

“That’s ridiculous. We weren’t arguing with him about anything that we’d kill for.” I realized how that sounded and amended my words while his hardened face did not relax. “Not that anything would make us kill another person. We just raised our voices at him because he wanted to try to get our mother to hurry and marry a man who recently moved in there. And we don’t know anything about him.”

I didn’t realize how my hands were flailing around until his eyes turned to my hurt wrist. A red spot the size of a quarter had formed.

He stared at my face. “I don’t know all the details about the older gent you’re speaking about. Yet.”

“We don’t either. That’s the thing.”

“But I have learned that the deceased was his nephew, his next of kin.”

“Yes. And?”

“And possibly that relationship to someone you two don’t want around added to his pushing to rush a wedding with your mother could be—”

“What? A motive for murdering him?” I spread my arms in the air, causing his gaze to momentarily shift to the red spot on my wrist and then back at my face. “We didn’t kill him.”

“You had the means. The opportunity.”

“So did everybody else in town. Eve and I and all our subcontractors used a key to get in the house that we all put under a pot of fern in front of Edward’s house. Any of them could have gotten inside.” And what? Waited to kill him? A shudder ran across my shoulders, and my mind shifted to the subs we used. Could they, would any one of them do something like that to Edward or anyone else? I didn’t think so, but what about all the fellows who worked for them? Many of them weren’t local. Some came from out of state for any job or two they could get and then left town.

“I’ll want a list of all of the subs your company used.”

“Eve has the most detailed information on her computer program, but she isn’t home right now. We can get it to you later today.”

Detective Wilet stared at me. “Instead of a worker there retrieving the house key, someone could have gone into the house at the same time as Mr. Cancienne.”

“That’s possible.”

“And maybe it was someone working for him.”

My breaths slowed. Again he was trying to turn the blame on Eve and me. “Detective, you must be certain it wasn’t an accident. How was he killed?”

He glanced toward the kitchen. “We don’t have all of that information yet. But it shouldn’t be long.” His hard eyes nailed me in place. “You might want to finish your pralines. Get them to the community center while you can.”

He whipped around and was out the door before I could think of a comeback. The most ridiculous thought came to mind—I hadn’t even offered him coffee or to sit down. Giving my head a shake as though I could get that idea out, I drew a deep calming inhale through my nostrils and stepped into my kitchen.

My instinct was to call my sister and let her know what just went on, but she was probably running on a treadmill or pulling and shoving on some other heavy gym equipment that I sometimes promised her I would join her on soon. My soon and hers had two different timeframes.

Should I tell Dave? He had offered to help if we needed anything. I did need something. It was peace from considering what the detective just came and said. But how could Dave help with that? He couldn’t erase the experience or the police officer’s words or insinuation. The only thing that would destroy any belief that we were guilty would have to be from them finding the person who was.

Suppose Edward really wanted to take a bath. He could have decided to try out the new tub we’d chosen. He would have had a tub or shower or both at the house he lived in while the other was being remodeled. But he loved the large windows with rounded tops we had put in that bathroom and most of all, he’d been thrilled when Eve and I suggested that chandelier right above a freestanding tub. He was lying face up when I found him floating in it fully dressed.

Could he have started running the water? He could have planned to undress but then maybe he slipped. I envisioned him standing beside the attractive tub with his back toward it, his fingers going to the top button of his shirt. And then maybe he fell back. Something startled him. Maybe his phone’s ring. And he slipped backward, knocked his head. The water kept running. He remained in it.

We came in. I walked in first and found him dead. The water was still running.

Reliving that fearful experience, I found myself humming “Silent Night.” Then instead of sticking my finger in the candy mixture to find whether it was still hot, I touched the side of the pot. Feeling the heat remaining there proved the detective’s interrogation had not taken nearly as long as it felt.

I reheated what was in the pot. Then, even if the recipe didn’t call for it, I beat the mixture. I beat the hell out of everything, imagining it was all the detective’s blame that he shoveled on us.

The pralines came out stiffer and more sugary than the smooth creamy ones I normally made, but I felt a slight release of my anger. I dropped them by tablespoons on the waxed paper.

While they cooled, I entered my dining room and made notes about all the subs we’d used on Edward’s house. My sister would have more detail about them, like if they had ever worked with us before.

We didn’t get to make all the revisions we had planned since he fired us—and died, I thought, intense sorrow once more swelling inside.

I wrote everything I could think of about the people we had hired and the men and few women who’d come around Edward’s house with them. A couple of guys seemed somewhat suspicious, or was I thinking that only because of their long ponytails or the way they wore their pants slung too low for my style? Those who carried in light fixtures or flooring or bathroom fixtures or other equipment could have watched the people they worked for getting the key for the front door from under the pot of asparagus fern. Any of them could have returned inside or even told others of the place it was supposedly hidden. Edward had wanted us all to put it there.

Mentally exhausted, I left my notes. In the kitchen, I lifted each cooled praline and placed it with others in a large plastic container I didn’t mind parting with.

Carrying the pralines outside, I took a moment to suck in fresh air. I looked at the blue sky, saw a large white cloud, and remembered how as a child, I enjoyed watching clouds and deciding what they looked like with my older sister who had died. This one reminded me of a bathtub.

I threw myself and the gift into my truck and took off.

Soon I arrived at our community center that had turned into a soup kitchen we called a gumbo kitchen because that’s what was served most to the needy. Lots of other southern dishes were prepared, and I’d never heard of anyone who ate there complaining about the food. A light crew worked every weekday and on holidays and fixed meals. Some of us locals often brought in an extra item or two.

“Oh, your yummy pralines,” Amy Mathews said when I walked inside and told her what I was carrying. Her skin was the attractive color of a rich cappuccino, and she wore flamboyant reds and yellows and purples as always. My friend since high school gave me a squeeze and took the container. “Maybe nobody else will get any.”

I laughed with her, knowing the most she would take of my candy might be a pinch that broke off. She cared too much about the less fortunate to take any food that was meant for them. It was probably also the reason she became my friend. Even if most of my classmates knew by the time we’d reached high school that I took longer than most of them to complete work because of my dyslexia, most of them still didn’t understand the disorder. Add to that my compulsion to blurt out or hum carols when I was scared, some of them just stayed back. I was mentally slow, some decided. If their minds hadn’t changed, so be it.

Amy was always my friend. She carried the sweets I’d brought to a long table. A few remains of cakes and other desserts stretched out past the table that had held large containers of redfish court bouillon. Mainly a little of the brownish red sauce and chopped bell pepper and celery remained, along with small chunks of fish. The large dish of rice held only a little left for anyone wanting seconds or any hungry latecomer who walked inside.

Voices rose and lowered from the dozen or so people who had finished eating and were playing cards. Most were probably enjoying Hand and Foot, a game some could play all day and didn’t like to be disturbed from.

Hey, y’all,” Amy called to them, “Sunny brought pralines.”

The few women but mainly men scrambled from their benches and rushed to where we stood. “Yum. Thanks, Sunny,” some said. Each grabbed a praline, a few going for another but holding back, waiting until every person had one. Then a couple of men lifted their eyebrows to Amy as though asking if they could have more.

“Go ahead. Help yourself,” she said.

They took them and returned to their card games. In the end, Amy and I were left with sugary crumbs that flaked off large pieces.

“These are nice, but not as good as your usual ones.” Amy spoke to me as only a true friend should.

“I know.” Pulling my thoughts back to Detective Wilet’s interruption of my candy-making process, I inwardly shuddered. “I needed to stop for a few minutes while I was cooking.”

Her large eyes kept contact with mine. “You looked bothered from the minute you stepped through the door. What’s wrong?” She leaned close and cocked her head with her chin lifted like she always did when she seemed like a psychiatrist about to probe my soul. “Problems with your boyfriend?”

“Oh no, not him.” I took her hands. “Amy, somebody we worked for died, and Eve and I seem to be suspected of causing his death.”

A brief laugh left her mouth. “Well, if that’s the only problem…” She grinned, then looked serious. “Who died?”

“Edward Cancienne.”

She quirked a brow. “I don’t think I knew him.”

“That S.O.B.!” The man seated behind me threw his cards on the table. His back was toward us, but he turned his slim body to face us. His forehead was wide, his lips thin and twisted in anger. “Edward Cancienne screwed my cousin out of so much money it put him out of business!”

I hadn’t meant for others to hear us, but since this man had, I was truly interested in what he told us. “What happened?”

“He messed around with my cousin so much he lost his company and started drinking again. His wife and kids left him.” Fury made large veins stand out on the man’s forehead. His face became edged with red.

I didn’t want to urge his anger on but wanted to know more. “Who is your cousin?”

“Emery Jackobson.” He shook his head. His teeth pressed tight together, revealing an overbite.

“Come on. Let’s get on with the game. What’s your bet?” the fellow seated across from him said.

“Okay.” Emery Jackobson’s cousin slapped the table and glanced back at me. “If you killed Edward, then good for you.”

Returning his attention to the card game, he didn’t see me shaking my head and didn’t seem to hear me saying, “No, I didn’t do it.”

Amy grabbed my arm and pulled me away from all the others. “He’s going to believe what he wants to. For now, you’re his hero.” She grinned. “Or heroine.”

“Who is he?” I needed names for the detective.

“All he says is Nelson. They have to sign in when they come here, but that guy hasn’t been coming for long. A first name is all he writes.”

“Or maybe it’s his last name.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Anyway, it’s what I’ve heard a couple of them calling him.”

So maybe it was a first name, I figured after I shared a hug with Amy, told her good-bye, and drove off. I got Eve on the phone. “Are you home?” I asked, and when she said yes, told her I was coming over.

At her place, I had lots to say. “I had a visit from Detective Wilet. He seems to think we might have murdered Edward.”

Eve’s hands shot up as though blocking a basketball slammed at them. “Can’t he find somebody else to blame? Good grief, you’d think he could come up with someone else in town—or maybe somebody from away from here.”

“I know. First, we need to bring him all the information we can gather about the subs that we used on the house. And I made notes about all of their helpers I could think of.”

She was nodding. “Great. I’ll do a printout of their contact info.”

“I’m also going to let him know about somebody I just learned had a motive to kill our client.”

“Tell me about it while I gather the other information.”

The sun was shimmering toward the west when we rode to the station and carried our papers in to the detective. We told him tidbits about people we had worked with on the deceased man’s house and then I gave him the bombshell. “We know all of those men and the few women went around his place sometimes. But what I just found out was a person who could have wanted to kill him.”

This officer who had made me feel like a criminal earlier today now looked at me with interest. Giving him a person with a motive for murder made him sit straighter, and lift his thick eyebrows at the edges. He wrote and asked questions of me and wrote more. When he inquired about whether Eve had anything to add, she shrugged her trim shoulders. She looked a bit younger than normal with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She still wore her attractive emerald green workout suit.

“I didn’t see anybody I knew today, but I’ll try to learn more soon,” she said.

Detective Wilet gave me a nod. “Did this fellow Nelson say what kind of business his cousin had?”

“No, and I’m sorry I didn’t ask.”

“But he goes to the gumbo kitchen. I’ll check it out.” The detective set down his pen.

Relief washing through me, I stood beside Eve. “You know we’re happy to get you any facts that might help solve a case.” What good citizens we were, I told myself, mentally patting my back and my twin’s.

The detective’s lips formed a half grin. He knew the main thing we were doing was trying to find somebody else for him to blame instead of us for that murder.

We also cared about who killed our client. “Let’s keep in touch,” I told the stout officer rising from his desk and coming to walk us out of his office.

Away from his stifling building, we decided a nice trip to visit our mother seemed in order. She had been pleased with us for attending Edward’s funeral. Now she would probably still be in a better mood with us.

“We’ll be able to decipher whether his murder made her decide to delay wedding plans,” Eve suggested, and I agreed.

We hurried to the manor, cheerful since we’d shared incriminating information with the detective.

Not far inside, Mom’s friends sat gathered. Those in the Chat and Nap group who took daily naps must have already enjoyed them, although Mom wasn’t with them yet. These all appeared lively, their chatter echoing through the foyer. We exchanged greetings with them.

A woman at the outer edge of one sofa wiggled her fingers at us. “Hello, I’m new here. Y’all are so pretty.”

We both thanked her.

“I imagine in time I’ll learn which one is which of you. I’m Thelma.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Eve and I said.

“And this is my husband, Bud.” She held up a brown urn I’d thought was her purse.

I swallowed, not knowing whether I should tell Bud hello. I decided not to, while Eve obviously did the same. “Where’s Mom?” I asked. “Still napping?”

“She needed to go to her doctor for a checkup,” the pearl lady said. “Mac and his daughter took her.”

I exchanged a grim look with Eve. Our good moods were dead.