A Grave Mistake

by Stella Cameron

  “I can’t think what Cyrus would know.”

  “Me, neither. There’s somethin’ goin’ on with Wazoo, too. Somethin’ to do with Marc Girard’s sister, Amy.”

  He studied Jilly briefly, but not so briefly he missed the sadness that flitted across her features. Later would be soon enough to find out what that was all about.

  The drive to town wasn’t long unless you were in a hurry to get there.

  When Guy finally pulled into the forecourt at the old station house, not far from the town square, his stomach jumped and he could see the glisten of perspiration on Jilly’s brow. It wasn’t that hot.

  A gnarled sycamore spread its branches over the parking lot at the single-story sheriff’s building. The surface of the lot, most likely poured when the original construction was done, reminded Guy of the inside of a dormant volcano when old lava cooled into cracked veins all over. Three official units crowded under the tree in the only available shade.

  A motorcycle cop roared in and parked before gathering bulging envelopes from a pannier and making his way inside. Guy had his window rolled down and he could hear the trooper’s boots creak with every step.

  Madge’s secondhand white Toyota was there. Her previous car had given her nothing but trouble so Cyrus insisted she make a change. She must have brought him here today, and there could be no mistaking Nat’s black Corvette. A nondescript van, so old it was more rust than paint, hugged a wall of the building.

  “Know the van?” Guy asked.

  “Uh-uh.”

  “We’d better get inside.”

  “I sure don’t want to.”

  He squeezed her hand. “But you want this over and so do I. We’d like to catch this guy before he spatters someone else’s… We’d like to catch him.”

  Jilly said, “This has sure made me realize how fragile we are.”

  Guy walked behind Jilly toward Spike’s office at the far end of a corridor inside the building. He admired the slight sway of her hips in white cotton pants, and the way her hair glinted where it lay around her shoulders.

  “Hey, you two.” Deputy Lori caught up. If anything, since the birth of Baby Tippy she was slimmer than she’d ever been, and she glowed. “Word of warnin’.” She pulled them aside down a corridor where the toilets were.

  “What is it?” Jilly got concerned if Lori was ever anxious. She was one woman who might have invented the word cool.

  “No biggie. Just want to fill you in a bit before you walk in there and feel ambushed. Father Cyrus and Madge are there. And Nat Archer. So is Laura Preston. I feel sorry for that woman—she just wants a simple life but she’s human and can’t make herself get out and leave the money behind. Leastwise, that’s how I see it. Those two who live in the trailer at St. Cécil’s are here, as well—waiting in another room. Reckon they’ve got something to get into the open. I don’t know about those two, but they should probably be watched.”

  “Why?” Guy said.

  Jilly studied his expression. He wasn’t happy with current developments.

  “They’ve got all kinds of things to say about Mrs. Edith Preston.” Lori glanced at Jilly. “Sorry. I forget she’s your mother.”

  “You don’t need to be sorry,” Guy said before Jilly could respond. “Mrs. Preston forgot she was Jilly’s mother for years.”

  She saw he knew his mistake at once. He rubbed the space between his brows hard. “Sorry. That was uncalled-for.”

  Jilly didn’t answer. He was right. “What kind of things are they saying about Edith?” she asked Lori.

  Lori chewed on a fingernail. “Most of it doesn’t make sense. It sorta sounds like that voodoo stuff. They’re worried about her. About her life. Someone’s trying to kill her and she needs protecting. That’s what they’re suggestin’. It was strange how they wanted to talk to Spike alone.”

  A cold shell encased Jilly. She worried about all kinds of nameless horrors when it came to Edith. “Thanks for warning us.”

  “That’s it, then,” Lori said, backing away. “I hope I didn’t talk out of school.”

  “You didn’t,” Guy told her. “I’d just as soon not be ambushed.”

  “Spike’s not in yet but he’s on his way,” Lori said. “So is Lee O’Brien. Not that she doesn’t stop by most days to see what’s goin’ on in town. She’s not so bad and I hope she makes a go of the paper. She’s startin’ a campaign in town to get the Christmas decorations out of the square during the year and just put ’em up at Christmas. Says it spoils the impact when you can see the wires hangin’ there all year—and the blow-up Santa gradually losin’ air.” Lori laughed and when she was gone, Jilly and Guy regarded each other for several seconds.

  “Do you get the feeling there’s a lot of stuff that doesn’t mean a thing but it’s muddying the waters over what’s really wrong?” Jilly asked.

  “I couldn’t have put it better.” Guy took her by the arm. “Much as I’d like to get to the Pratts now, we’d better see what’s going on in Spike’s office. Is that okay with you?”

  When Guy showed sensitivity it didn’t surprise her anymore. “I don’t think we can put much stock in what they say, but thank you for askin’.”

  Spike’s door stood open. Since his promotion he’d graduated to a larger space, just as sickeningly pea-green as the previous office and with the same bad linoleum on the floor, but with a larger desk, a bigger window and a rug on the floor. His visitors sat silently around, waiting for him.

  “Get yourselves in here,” Nat said. “You’re holding back progress.”

  “We haven’t stopped movin’ since we left for New Orleans yesterday mornin’,” Guy said.

  Jilly could have sworn Nat sniggered, but his straight face suggested she’d imagined the sound.

  “I don’t know what this means,” Cyrus said, getting up and giving a folded map to Nat. “To be honest, we don’t have the faintest. But it’s interesting, and given some of the recent history we’ve dealt with I thought I should show it to you—and Spike. Most of all Spike, since this is his stomping grounds.”

  “This place is starting to scare me,” Laura Preston said. Today she wore all gray and gave a subdued impression. “Every place scares me. I wouldn’t know where to go to try to be safe. Not New Orleans, that’s for sure.”

  “You’re okay, Laura,” Jilly said, not at all certain of that.

  “I’m out in that big old house on my own. Wes dropped me off in the chopper and carried on. Business, he says. Just me and the servants—and the men startin’ on the new pool. I hate it. Father Cyrus must think there’s something to be scared of or I wouldn’t have been invited here.”

  “This has nothing to do with being scared,” Nat said. “This is Cyrus’s meeting, but he wants folks prepared, not scared.”

  “Prepared for what?” Laura’s voice tightened. Today she seemed pale and, yes, scared, and Jilly wondered just what she’d been through since their last encounter in New Orleans.

  “This isn’t my meeting,” Cyrus said. “I’m just sharing some information I got by accident. If Lil hadn’t been cleaning out the hymnal cupboard we’d never have found it.”

  Spike walked in and looked around with eyebrows raised. “To what do I owe this honor?” he asked.

  A trestle table stood under one of the fluorescent lights. Nat opened a map there. “This was found at the church.” He gave Spike a sloppy salute, but he was another one with doom in his eyes. “It’s pretty old.”

  Spike went directly to the table and smoothed the old map carefully. It had been so tightly folded that he weighted the creases down with empty glasses. “Quit keepin’ us in suspense,” he said. “What’s the deal with this?”

  “It’s about Parish Lane,” Nat said. He looked sharply at Guy. “Among other things.”

  A circle of blank faces looked at him.

  “Tell me where the lane goes,” he said.

  “Will there be a test?” Guy asked.

  “It runs behind Main and Conch.” />
  “Right,” Nat said. “Where else?”

  Jilly turned to Guy and frowned.

  “Do you mean, where else does Parish Lane run?” Guy asked. “That’s it, just that short strip.”

  “Wrong,” Nat said. “Take a look at this.”

  They all crowded around him while he put a nail on Parish Lane and followed it on the map. “It keeps going on the other side of Main Street, not much more than an unpaved alley there, then way out here—”

  “See how it curves around and heads for the bayou?” Cyrus interrupted. “That whole track above the water is Parish Lane. I called up the surveyors office and they checked it out. Sure enough. That lane makes its way past houses on the outskirts of town. The ones close to the bayou. It eventually goes by the rectory and St. Cécil’s and keeps right on going. There are any number of properties on that lane.”

  “I always thought of it as the trail by the bayou,” Jilly said. “I didn’t know it had a name there.”

  “Interesting,” Spike said, but he looked at them as if they were wasting a valuable part of his day. “Got some news for you this mornin’, Cyrus. They reckon they’re goin’ to have that wreck of yours ready for the road in a couple of days.”

  A group groan went up and Madge said, “Spike Devol, you know he shouldn’t drive those wheels of death again. You just add to his bad behavior and that’s all it is, y’know. Bad behavior. He hangs on to the Impala just to vex me.” She turned glowing red.

  Spike’s visitors became Madge and Cyrus’s audience. Guy didn’t miss how the others in the room watched them while trying to appear as if they weren’t.

  “Madge,” Cyrus said. “They’ve fixed the Impala. That’s good news. Why would you think I’d drive that vehicle to vex you?”

  Her blue eyes were too shiny. “Of course you wouldn’t. I can’t imagine what I was thinkin’ of to say a thing like that.”

  “Well I can,” Jilly said. “And you’re right. Men have a way of tryin’ to worry people who have their best interests at heart. That Impala should have been buried years ago.” She wished the body shop would give her the verdict on her Beetle.

  “You do have a point about this Parish Lane thing?” Spike said. If he thought his change of topic subtle, he was mistaken.

  “Point is,” Nat said, his fedora on the back of his head, “until we get more feedback from forensics and manage to tie it to a suspect, any suspect, we don’t know if the murder at Jilly’s shop was something Pip Sedge knew might happen. If he did, and he’d lived, he could have intended to warn someone. But his deal could just as well have nothing to do with Rathburn. Sedge had his troubles but he was never connected to any crime.”

  “You didn’t talk through that far with me,” Guy said. Sometimes Nat presumed Guy could read his mind. “Gimme a second to work my way there. Anything else on the matchbook yet?”

  “Just Pip’s prints,” Nat said, looking fed up. “A couple of others but no matches on record. And who knows who wrote on the thing? It doesn’t help that it was raining that night and the thing got damp.”

  “I wonder if you ladies would mind waiting in another room,” Spike said. “I understand the Pratts are somewhere around. Maybe you could join them.”

  Madge started to move at once, but Cyrus stopped her. Laura was slower to react.

  “Sure,” Jilly said, thinking how thickheaded men could be. Did Spike think she wasn’t up to her neck in all of this?

  “No need for you to go, Cyrus,” Spike said.

  “I’m not a pro here, either,” Cyrus said. “I’ll keep the ladies company.”

  Jilly’s heart took a little twist. Cyrus had a way of drawing lines in the sand when it came to fair play. Surely, Spike didn’t realize he was treating all the women present like poor little souls to be protected from reality—that or as if they were too stupid to keep their own counsel. But he did give that impression. Cyrus wasn’t having any of that.

  “Okay, okay,” Spike said. “Everyone stay, but remember that what you hear is privileged information. And if you hear anything that curls your ears, ladies, don’t complain to me.”

  Guy smiled with one side of his mouth. How nice that he was amused, Jilly thought.

  “So,” he said. “What you’re suggestin’ is that Rathburn’s deal could have been random and we may still be waitin’ for the main event?”

  “Rathburn probably thought his event was pretty main,” Jilly said.

  Spike scowled at her.

  Jilly gave him an innocent look. “You said I wasn’t to open my trap outside this room, you didn’t say I couldn’t make a comment while I was here.”

  Both sides of Guy’s mouth curved up.

  Spike blinked rapidly. “Let’s get on with this.”

  “It’s possible Rathburn’s death was incidental,” Nat said, and added quickly, “as far as our case is concerned.”

  “I see what you mean,” Cyrus said. “There are yards with walls or fences that back onto the lane all the way.”

  “Yep,” Nat said. “Including Edwards Place and the Green Mansion, although that house is pretty far from the water there.”

  “We aren’t far away,” Laura said. “The wall is real close. You wanted me here because you think something terrible will happen at the house.”

  “No,” Nat said. “We thought someone from Edwards Place should be here is all. Everyone in town will have to be warned to watch out for intruders.”

  “This changes everything,” Guy said. He bent over the map again, then looked up sharply.

  When he didn’t continue, Nat said, “What?”

  Guy shook his head.

  Spike shied his Stetson at a peg on the wall and made a clean hit. He went behind his desk, rested his elbows and covered his face, except for his eyes. Guy didn’t like the way he watched first one, then the other of them.

  “Look,” Cyrus said. “I’m an amateur. That’s an understatement. But what if it was Edwards Place Pip scribbled about on that matchbook? Rathburn could have been diverted so the perp could finish what he started. Then Rathburn was killed because he might know too much.”

  “Perp?” Nat sniggered. “You’ll be ready for the force anytime soon. What do you mean by ‘what he started’?”

  “At Edwards Place,” Cyrus said. “You don’t think Edith had an accident, do you, Guy? I could tell you didn’t when we were there.”

  Jilly swallowed hard. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re right,” Guy told Cyrus. “Although I think everyone was trying to believe she did. But it didn’t make sense. The first thought I had was suicide. I may have been right.”

  “She was happier than she’d been for ages,” Jilly said. “She kept saying so.”

  “Rathburn took the Hummer to Jilly’s,” Laura said in a shaky voice. “I knew about that because it was delivered late in the afternoon and he said he’d been told to take it over after the shop closed—so Jilly would be surprised. I’m not sure when he left because there was so much going on.”

  Guy frowned. “Looks like Rathburn was the intended victim—for all the reasons already mentioned. But I doubt if he was at risk before Edith was attacked—if she was.”

  “And the instructions on the matchbook were to Edwards Place?” Jilly said. “For someone going there to do harm.”

  “Like kill Edith,” Laura muttered.

  “I wish I’d been there that night,” Nat said.

  “That makes two of us,” Spike muttered.

  “Do you believe someone tried to kill Edith?” Cyrus asked Guy.

  Madge drew in a loud breath and Jilly wished she could sit down without breaking anyone’s concentration.

  Guy walked to sit on the edge of Spike’s desk. Every eye followed him. “Could be, if I follow Nat’s reasoning, that Rathburn interrupted someone with Edith,” he said. “She said he saved her, but she was told that. She was unconscious at the time. But that does make one thing clear.” He pointed to the map on top of the tr
estle table. “At some point Rathburn left, or was told to leave and deliver the Hummer. The two events are connected. Edith’s episode and Rathburn’s death. Think, Laura. You were there. When’s the last time you saw him?”

  “I don’t know.” Laura sounded distracted. “He was there while I called Daddy.”

  “Why not 911 first?” Spike said.

  She trembled visibly. “Rathburn told me to call Daddy. I never thought of doing anything else. We all rely on one another. Cook showed up while we were waiting for the chopper, but there was nothing she could do—except cry—so we sent her away. Then the house was full of people—Daddy, the medical personnel.”

  “It’s all speculation,” Jilly said. “If Rathburn was still there when Mr. Preston arrived, there wasn’t a killer around, or not one who had an opportunity to touch Edith. Why would anyone try to kill her, anyway? She hasn’t done anything to anyone.”

  Guy narrowed his eyes at her but had the sense to keep his mouth shut.

  “Excuse me,” Spike said, slowly standing up. “I hate to interrupt all this constructive thinking, but what goddamn matchbook are you talkin’ about?”

  23

  “Helluva day,” Spike said aloud, slamming the door of his unit. “Helluva night, too.” How had it got to be after midnight?

  And how much had he still not got done?

  He hadn’t managed to see the Pratts, but they’d seemed okay with that and said they’d catch up with him early tomorrow. Wonderful.

  Laura Preston needed some individual attention—he wanted to be sure she didn’t know anything useful—and she deserved reassurance. Not that he was convinced she didn’t have a reason to be nervous. Too bad Cyrus had mentioned Parish Lane and the Pip Sedge evidence in front of her—obviously thinking she already knew. Spike guessed if Cyrus hadn’t waded in he might still be in the dark himself. He closed his eyes and worked his aching jaw. Nat and Guy had pleaded that they thought they had told him everything. They had forgotten he’d been unable to make it to New Orleans with them when they talked it through with Jack Charbonnet. Maybe it was the truth but he was still mad enough to spit.