by Jana DeLeon
“So we keep poking around into Garrett’s death?” Gertie asked.
“Of course,” I said.
Ida Belle gave me a grateful look. “Thanks. I wish I had something concrete…”
“Your gut is good enough for me,” I said. “So what’s next?”
“Interview with the widow,” Ida Belle said.
“The much younger, now likely wealthy widow,” I said. “You know, if this were television, our work would pretty much be done right there.”
“No one’s saying it’s not,” Gertie said.
I frowned. “And yet it’s too easy. Things in Sinful are never that easy.”
“So true,” Ida Belle said.
“So what’s our entry excuse to get in to see the widow?” I asked.
They both looked at me.
“Someone’s dead in the South,” Gertie said. “That and a casserole is all that’s required to get in the front door.”
Chapter Thirteen
The Roth house was even more impressive up close than it was from the road. As we drew closer, I could see all the historic detail in the woodwork. And unlike a lot of historic homes outside of a well-regulated district, this one hadn’t fallen into a state of disrepair. In fact, if you’d told me the entire thing had been built just months ago, I would have believed it. Everything was that pristine.
“The house is gorgeous,” I said.
Gertie nodded. “Garrett spared no expense in maintaining it, either. I know he did some updating on the inside to bring kitchens and bathrooms into the correct decade, but he’s kept most things as original as possible, even on the inside.”
“It’s a bit surprising, really,” Ida Belle said. “Usually when an older man marries a much younger woman and brings her into the family home, the first thing she wants to do is put her stamp on it.”
“And it’s always a tacky stamp,” Gertie said. “Animal print and sequins everywhere. They always manage to turn historical beauty into a Vegas whorehouse.”
“I wonder what kept Garrett from falling prey to the usual,” I said.
“His mother would have come back and haunted him,” Gertie said. “I mean it. That woman was a piece of work. No one was even allowed inside the house unless invited, and that invitation was never good for more than an hour because she didn’t want people to use her restroom. She even required you to take off your shoes and put on those plastic booties when walking inside.”
“She vacuumed my shirt once,” Ida Belle said. “It had some cat hair on it from my neighbor’s house.”
“A bit OCD?” I said. “Maybe Garrett inherited some of his mother’s bend and that’s why he’s been so meticulous about the house.”
“Could be,” Ida Belle agreed.
She parked in the circular drive in front of a large set of steps that led up to the porch. We all climbed out and made our way up to ring the bell. A proper-looking man wearing a suit answered the door.
Midfifties. Six foot two. Two hundred ten pounds. Proportionate but I’d bet anything there was more fat than muscle under those layers of cloth. Regardless, he wasn’t fighting anyone in those clothes or chasing anyone in those shoes. Threat level extremely low for physical harm. High if you counted being vacuumed as assault.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Yes,” Gertie said, and held up the casserole. “We’ve brought this for Mrs. Roth. We hoped to have a minute of her time to pay our condolences.”
The man nodded and stepped back so that we could enter.
“She’s in the library,” the man said. “This way.”
“I didn’t realize Garrett had hired staff for the house,” Ida Belle said.
“I was Mr. Roth’s butler at his place in New Orleans,” the man said. “Due to the circumstances, I thought Mrs. Roth could use some assistance here until things are more settled. And without Mr. Roth working in New Orleans, my services aren’t needed there.”
“It’s very good of you to be here for Francesca,” Gertie said. “I imagine all of this has been upsetting.”
“It’s definitely been a trying situation,” the butler said. “Both his unexpected demise and the sordid actions after.”
He stopped in front of a huge carved wooden door. “As expected, Mrs. Roth has been very upset about all of this. I trust that you’ll avoid any talk that might upset her more.”
He gave us all a hard look. His expression when he looked at Ida Belle and Gertie was one of confidence. He gave me a bit of the side-eye. It made sense. Two older ladies were expected to have experience and know the correct protocol when dealing with the bereaved. The younger generation, unfortunately, had less decorum.
He had no way of knowing that his generalizations didn’t apply to Gertie and Ida Belle. I had no doubt they knew how to conduct themselves around a grieving widow, but one who was a murder suspect was open game.
“Of course,” Ida Belle said, reassuring him. “We won’t be long, but Southern duty calls.”
He nodded his understanding and took the casserole from Gertie. “I’ll put this in the kitchen. I’ve just brought tea into the library but if you’d like something else just have Mrs. Roth ring for me. My name is Abrams.”
Ida Belle waited until he’d started walking away before knocking gently on the door and then turning the handle. She eased it open and we all peered inside. The room was large and magnificent. Oak bookcases stretched across every wall, reaching from floor to ceiling. The only gap in them was the enormous solid glass windows that slotted in between the bookcases at ten-foot intervals. A fireplace stood on one end of the room, flanked by more bookcases, and multiple seating areas adorned the enormous space. A woman sat in a chair at the end of the room in front of one of the giant windows that looked out over a lush backyard, complete with a spa-like pool and cabana.
She looked up as we entered and blinked, as if trying to bring her focus to the here and now, then she rose from her chair.
I already knew she was fortyish but she was a very well-kept forty. Five foot seven. One hundred twenty pounds. Regal facial features. Real boobs. Long, luxurious black hair. Only a threat if she was after your husband.
“Francesca,” Gertie said as we approached her. “We’re so sorry to intrude, but we wanted to pay our respects.”
She gave Gertie a small smile and nodded. “Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you ladies.” She gave me an expectant look.
“This is our friend Fortune,” Gertie said. “She visited Sinful over the summer and decided to stay on with us. She bought Marge Boudreaux’s house.”
“That’s nice,” Francesca said, although I could tell her thoughts were far away from my arrival in Sinful or Marge’s old house. “Please sit for a bit.”
“Are you sure?” Gertie asked. “If you’d rather be alone, we understand.”
“I’ve been alone for so long,” Francesca said. “Normally I enjoy the silence, but now it’s almost deafening. I figured people were avoiding me at first—you know, younger wife, not a local. You never really get past that, but then after this…this other thing, I think they’re afraid because no one knows what to say.”
She waved at a group of chairs arranged in a circle and we all sat.
“Abrams just brought in tea,” she said. “Can I interest you in a cup? I’m afraid I don’t have anything stronger to offer. I’m not a drinker and Garrett’s favorite was a cheap whiskey that would strip the lining from your stomach.”
“That seems an odd choice for a man who had access to finer things,” Gertie said.
“He had odd sinus problems,” Francesca said. “Couldn’t smell anything hardly and said everything tasted the same as well. So he ate healthy and drank cheap, claiming there was no point in doing it differently as he got no enjoyment from it anyway. At least, until this heart thing. I didn’t think he’d ever give up the whiskey but a couple weeks ago, he stopped that as well.”
“Practical,” Gertie said. “You have to respect that.”
Francesca poured everyone a glass of tea. “I appreciate your visit. I know this situation has made it difficult for people to go about societal norms.”
“I’ll be the first to admit,” Ida Belle said, “that I have no idea what to say. This falls a bit out of old-Southern-lady scope.”
“I think it falls out of every person’s scope,” Francesca said.
“Abrams appears to be competent in an old-school way,” Ida Belle said. “I’m sure that helps.”
“I suppose,” Francesca said. “Garrett loved him. I think he reminded him of his grandfather, who I understand had a manservant. Isn’t that what they were called?”
“Or butler or valet,” Gertie said. “I guess it depends on your location.”
“I take it you’re not as enthralled?” I asked. Something about her voice said as much.
Francesca sighed. “I suppose not. I mean, I appreciate his reasons for being here and he is a help, but I was never the type of person who wanted live-in servants. They’re always there. You know?”
“His being here makes you uncomfortable?” Ida Belle asked.
“Not in that way,” Francesca said. “It’s not like he hasn’t stayed over before, but he was here to tend to Garrett then. I’m not used to being the focus of his attention. He said he has to head back to New Orleans tomorrow to take care of personal business, so I suppose I’ll get a reprieve from constant hovering, at least for a day.”
“I don’t think I’d like it, either,” I said. “But then I’ve always been a very private person.”
Francesca gave me a grateful look. “Thank you. That’s it exactly. I don’t want to complain because it sounds petty and unappreciative, which I’m not. But I do rather feel under a microscope. Garrett used to get frustrated with me because I insisted on keeping our bedroom locked. I won’t even let the cleaning staff in there. I prefer to do it myself, even the linens. I think everyone should have at least one place that hasn’t been intruded on by others.”
“I can see that,” Ida Belle said. “Having live-in help wouldn’t suit me, either. I don’t think any of us would have done well as the lady of the manor back when they had entire staff underfoot. But I suppose Abrams will be here only for a while. Until you decide what to do next, anyway.”
“What to do next…” Francesca stared out the window, her expression slightly fearful. “If only I knew. I never thought…I mean, Garrett had a bit of a heart problem, sure, but Dr. Wilkinson said as long as he took his meds he’d live to be a hundred if he wanted to. I wasn’t prepared to make these sorts of decisions. Not yet.”
“It is rather worrisome,” Ida Belle said. “I don’t have heart issues myself but Gertie has been having some symptoms that we’re looking into. It’s disconcerting to think you can do everything the doctor suggests and still be surprised.”
“Are you sure he was taking his meds?” Gertie asked, clutching the top of her purse. “I’ll do whatever the doctor suggests once my results are in, but I have to tell you, I’m more than a little concerned about my chances, even with the meds. I mean, given what happened to Garrett.”
Francesca gave her a sympathetic look. “I completely understand why you would worry, but I think Garrett’s case must not be very common.”
“Why do you say that?” Ida Belle asked.
“Because Dr. Wilkinson called me yesterday in a huge snit, demanding to know why Garrett wasn’t taking his pills. I told him that I’d personally seen Garrett take them when he was here, and I knew for certain he took them to New Orleans when I wasn’t with him. I packed them myself along with his vitamins in those day-of-the-week dispensers so he’d always know for sure he’d taken them that day. He could be forgetful when he was focused on business.”
“I do that with my supplements,” Ida Belle said. “When I’m distracted, I can’t remember half the things I’ve done that day, especially if they are routine.”
Francesca nodded. “I always included an extra day in the dispenser, in case he got delayed. I told Dr. Wilkinson all of that, but he kept pushing, as if I weren’t giving it to him straight.”
“I’m sure he’s just frustrated,” Ida Belle said.
“And maybe a little scared,” Gertie said. “I mean, he thought he had Garrett’s health under control, but he might be worried now that he made the wrong call.”
Francesca nodded. “I’m sure that’s it, but he sounded so peeved. Like he was convinced I was lying to him. Why would I lie? If Garrett hadn’t been taking his pills, I would have called the doctor myself. And I always checked his pill container when he returned.”
“How much time did Garrett spend in New Orleans?” Ida Belle asked.
“He was usually there weekdays,” Francesca said. “Leaving on Monday morning and returning Friday afternoon.” She frowned. “Except last week. He wasn’t feeling well and came back home on Wednesday. I asked him to see the doctor, but he insisted it was a bug of some sort. I feel horrible now. I should have hounded him until he went.”
“You had no way of knowing,” Ida Belle said. “And besides, even if you’d harped on him all day long, he probably still wouldn’t have gone.”
“I know you’re right,” Francesca said. “I keep telling myself the same thing. He was a very stubborn man.”
“‘Stubborn man’ is redundant,” Gertie said. “What happened is not your fault. It’s just one of those things.”
“Thank you,” Francesca said and gave her a grateful look.
“So what did Garrett do when he was home?” I asked. “I saw the barn. Do you have horses?”
Francesca shook her head. “His mother kept them, but Garrett said he was never interested. He preferred to spend his free time reading.”
“It’s rather incredible,” I said. “I’ve been admiring it since we walked in.”
“It’s part of the original house,” Francesca said. “Garrett told me his great-great-grandfather was a bibliophile and spent every extra dime he had on books. He insisted on a huge library when the house was constructed.”
She sniffed and tears formed at the edges of her eyes. “Garrett was a lot like his ancestor. He loved this room more than any other place in the house. I think that’s why I’ve been sitting here. Part of me keeps thinking he’ll appear in that chair over by the fireplace, just like the whole thing was a bad dream.”
“I’m so sorry,” Gertie said.
Francesca nodded and rubbed her nose with her finger. Ida Belle motioned to Gertie and me and we rose.
“We’re going to let you get back to your grieving,” Ida Belle said.
“I gave Abrams a chicken casserole,” Gertie said. “I know it’s easy to forget things like food, but please make an effort to eat.”
“Thank you,” Francesca said. “And thank you for stopping by. I really appreciate it.”
“Please call if you need anything,” Gertie said. “Anything at all. I’m sure Abrams is more than capable but it’s not the same as having other women around.”
“No. It’s not,” Francesca agreed.
“How is Meg doing?” Ida Belle asked.
“I…I’m not sure,” Francesca said. “I’ve tried to talk to her but she makes an excuse to get off the phone. She has yet to come to the house. She says she can’t handle it. I’m afraid our relationship isn’t what it could be.”
Ida Belle nodded. “It’s always difficult being a stepparent, especially when the biological mother passed away. And girls are tougher than boys in that situation. I’m sure Meg will come around once she’s had time to process everything. It’s been such a shock to everyone.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Francesca said. “I just have to be patient. Everyone grieves at their own rate and I don’t have the right to tell Meg how to feel. It was her father, after all. I assume you’ll be visiting her as well?”
“Yes,” Ida Belle said. “Maybe later this afternoon, assuming she’s available.”
“Will you please tell her I inquired abo
ut her?” Francesca asked. “Maybe suggest that I’m worried and she should call? I hate to ask it of you, but I really don’t know what to think with her being so silent, and I don’t want to just show up at her house.”
Gertie squeezed her arm. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll make the suggestion. Hopefully she’ll take us up on it.”
We headed out and climbed into the SUV, keeping silent until Ida Belle started up the vehicle and pulled away.
“So?” Gertie asked, looking at me.
“So, what?” I asked.
“What was your impression?” Gertie asked.
“Shouldn’t you and Ida Belle be answering that?” I asked. “You guys are the ones who know her.”
“I think she wants an unbiased opinion,” Ida Belle said. “It’s actually a good idea. Your instincts are excellent, so getting your observations before we fill in the blanks might be beneficial.”
I nodded. “Okay. Well, first off, she’s very pretty but I expected that. I didn’t expect her to be as nice as she was. I guess I was thinking more the evil-young-hoochie-stepmother thing. Are those manners normal for her?”
“Yes,” Ida Belle said. “She’s always been very pleasant even though she’s never really made an attempt to be part of the community.”
“She’d show up for big events,” Gertie said. “The ones Garrett donated a hunk of money to, but she’s never attended church, hasn’t joined any of the local women’s groups, and according to the postman, does all of her shopping online.”
“Yeah, I don’t get that part,” I said. “Garrett was in New Orleans all the time for business, but I got the impression she didn’t go with him.”
“Not very often, I don’t think,” Ida Belle said.
“Which is weird, right?” I asked. “I mean, a young woman, no friends, only the General Store and a computer to shop with. But New Orleans has a ton of stores and I’m assuming she had a healthy budget.”