by Jana DeLeon
“I agree,” I said, “but until we can alibi him for the night the body went missing, he stays on the list. What about Dylan Sims?”
“Midthirties, I’d say,” Gertie said. “Not a local. At least, he wasn’t born here, but he has an elderly aunt he moved here to look after about two years ago. He used to stay with her summers when he was young. I got the impression his parents didn’t like being bothered with kids even though they chose to have one, but his aunt doted on him.”
“Does he live with the aunt?” I asked.
“Yes,” Ida Belle said, “but I don’t think she could alibi him, even if he was there. She’s got dementia pretty bad. She wouldn’t know one night from the next.”
“Got it,” I said. “What does he do for money?”
“He worked construction with a commercial outfit in New Orleans, so he does similar work here,” Gertie said. “A much smaller scale, of course. There’s not really commercial building going on and he doesn’t have a crew to build houses or anything big like that, but he does remodeling work.”
“A couple of the Sinful Ladies used him to update their kitchens and bathrooms,” Ida Belle said. “He’s slow because he’s working alone but he does really good work, so people are willing to wait.”
“Any idea if he did work at the Roth house?” I asked. “It’s definitely been updated and the work was high quality.”
“It’s possible,” Ida Belle said. “I’ll check with the ladies. I’m sure someone knows who did the work there.”
“Okay, last up, Greg Bullard,” I said.
“Local man,” Gertie said. “Midfifties. Used to own a restaurant in New Orleans that did fairly well for a while, then ran into problems. I don’t know the details. Just that he lost the restaurant.”
“He lived here even when he owned the restaurant?” I asked.
“No. He’d moved away for a while,” Ida Belle said. “Then when he lost the business, he moved back here to live with his mother. Father died years ago. Took a job as a cook at the hospital and has been there ever since.”
“That’s a heck of a drop in status and pay,” I said. “Is the mother still around?”
Gertie shook her head. “She died a couple years back. He was an only child so he inherited everything. Not that there was much, but the house is paid for so at least there’s that. I imagine she had a small amount of money in the bank. She never worked and her husband was a hotshot driver so money wasn’t in abundance.”
“I wonder what happened with the restaurant,” I said. “I think we should dig into that a little deeper.”
“You really think it matters?” Gertie asked. “It happened a long time ago. At least ten years or so.”
“I think this beheading was personal,” I said. “Extremely personal. Whoever did this had to have a huge motivation and either no conscience or a ton of anger to actually get through the process of cutting a man’s head off.”
“What about Garrett’s murder?” Ida Belle said. “Assuming Meg and Wilkinson’s suspicions are right. If you’re going to behead him, then why not just do that to start with?”
“No opportunity, maybe,” I said. “I mean, if Francesca wasn’t involved then she definitely might have noticed someone carrying her husband out of the house. And he would have had to get through the security system. If she was involved, that’s not the sort of job you want to do on your own property.”
“But if someone other than Francesca killed Garrett, then they did breach the security system,” Gertie said.
“Unless they had the code,” I said. “Like maybe a contractor hired to update the house, or maybe someone paid off a housekeeper to get it. Even if Francesca didn’t give it out, it’s still possible someone saw her punch it in or found it jotted down somewhere. People get the systems, but they’re often careless afterward.”
“And of course, there’s the other possibility,” Ida Belle said. “That these are two completely separate crimes with two different motives and perpetrators.”
“I hope not,” Gertie said. “That will make it much harder to figure out. It’s already hard enough not knowing if Garrett was murdered for sure and if he was, how it was done.”
I nodded. “We have a big puzzle and not enough pieces. Everything is unfocused. So first thing tomorrow, we start collecting pieces. We’ll need the rundown on Kevin, Dylan, and Greg for starters, so think about it and let me know if you think there’s anyone we can get information out of. If not, then we’ll just figure out a reason to go at them individually.”
“And if it turns out the two are separate crimes?” Ida Belle said.
“I’ll add Meg, Francesca, and the butler to the list for the murder,” I said.
“I’ll give you Francesca and Meg for the money motive. Although Meg yelling murder and demanding autopsies alongside Wilkinson wouldn’t be the smart play if she was involved,” Gertie said. “But why the butler?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re always lurking around in the movies. I figure it’s the same in real life and that’s why Francesca didn’t have live-in servants. But yet, as soon as Garrett dies, he hightails it to the middle of the swamp to assist a woman who doesn’t want his help. Seems odd to me.”
Ida Belle put her hands in the air. “Hey, anything is possible at this point. It doesn’t hurt to get some background on the butler.”
Gertie clapped. “This is so exciting. A real roundtable meeting about an investigation.”
“You act like it’s the first time we’ve sat here and discussed who could be the criminal in our midst,” Ida Belle said.
“It’s the first time we’re official,” Gertie said.
I held up my soda. “To being official.”
The next morning came too quickly, but given that we’d finally gone to bed around 3:00 a.m. that was hardly surprising. I would have considered sleeping in but between my usual early-rising habits and the fact that Gertie and Ida Belle were still in residence, I didn’t figure there was any chance of that. Besides, we had too much to do. Too many people to investigate.
I took a quick shower and headed downstairs. Ida Belle had fired up the coffeepot and looked as if she’d slept an entire night and was ready to tackle the world. I hated her just a little. Until I looked at Gertie. Then I felt so much better about my own situation.
The swelling around her eyes had gone down some but they were still puffy, and she still had red splotches on her face and neck. But at least they were lighter. She could probably cover them with makeup. Except for the hands. Hard to keep makeup on your hands if you actually planned on using them. But hey, maybe there was some rule that said you could wear gloves after Labor Day on alternate Wednesdays.
“How’s the itching?” I asked.
“Better,” Gertie said. “The lotion and Benadryl helped. I should probably carry some with me. You never know what you might get into.”
“That’s true enough,” I said. “I’m glad I’m not allergic to poison ivy. That seems like a bad allergy to have in these parts.”
“Could be worse,” Gertie said. “I could be allergic to shellfish.”
Ida Belle sat us all cups of coffee on the table and slid into a seat. “Do you think the state police will be around again?”
“Not unless they have more to go on than suspicion,” I said. “They don’t want to speak to the Reaper, so we’re at a stalemate.”
“But they’re not going to let it go,” Ida Belle said.
“Definitely not,” I said. “They’re pissed and feel like fools. They can’t follow us around all day, but they’ll be waiting for any opportunity they can take advantage of.”
“So how do we investigate if they’re watching us?” Gertie said.
“We do what we always do,” I said. “We go around town talking and dropping in on people. You guys always have some charity or other reason to stop by someone’s house. They can’t attach nefarious intent to being nosy when that’s your status quo.”
“I prefe
r ‘informed,’” Ida Belle said.
“I was speaking from their viewpoint,” I said. “I have no problem with nosy or informed. So this morning, I say we head out to early breakfast and see if there’s anyone at the café we can pump for information. Ida Belle will put out a call to her ladies and we’ll visit everyone else with some excuse.”
“Sounds good,” Ida Belle said. “We’ll just finish this cup and head home to shower and change. I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes.”
Gertie stared at her. “It will take me at least fifteen minutes to cover all this red crap. Unless you want me to blow our cover for last night.”
“Fine,” Ida Belle said. “Forty-five minutes. And don’t even bother with your hands. Just put on those gel gloves you wear at night for your cuticles.”
“I’m supposed to eat with gel gloves on?” Gertie said.
“It’s either that or you stay at home and Fortune and I do all the investigating,” Ida Belle said.
“Whatever,” Gertie said. “You realize I’ll probably have these spots for a week or better.”
“Maybe you should put the lotion in the gloves,” I suggested. “It might speed things along.”
Ida Belle downed the rest of her cup and stood. “Hurry it up, woman. We don’t have all day. The best gossips are in the café early.”
Gertie pushed herself up from the chair with a sigh. “I’m going to have to start taking a multivitamin.”
“Really?” Ida Belle asked. “You think that’s the only thing you’re short on?”
They were still arguing when I shut the front door behind them. As I headed upstairs to put on clothes presentable for outside the house, my cell phone went off. It was Carter.
Are you awake?
Yep.
I’ll call.
The phone rang a couple seconds later.
“Did you get any sleep?” he asked.
“A little. What the hell was the deal with the state police?”
“Someone reported seeing lights coming from the maze. They were in the sheriff’s department talking to everyone’s favorite busybody when the call came in.”
“Celia. I knew she was behind this somehow. What the hell was she doing there that late?”
“Waiting for a time when I wasn’t there so she could complain about you not being arrested yet. While they were heading out to the park, she told them that the three of you regularly broke the law and were probably out there getting rid of evidence.”
“You mean all the evidence the storm left behind?”
He was silent for several seconds, then finally spoke again. “It’s rather hard for me to argue with her since I’d pretty much bet everything I own that it was the three of you in the maze. I don’t think you were getting rid of evidence, but apparently you thought there was something to find.”
“I plead the fifth.”
“That’s not applicable in this situation.”
“Okay, then I plead the Fourth of July or Beethoven’s Ninth. Whatever.”
“Is there anything you can tell me?”
“Not without putting you in a position to have to lie on the stand.”
He sighed. “I hate this. I could be helping. Don’t get me wrong. I think you’re good at this. Your instincts are excellent and Ida Belle and Gertie know more about the people in this town than anyone. But you’re still inexperienced and you don’t have access to the same tools that I do.”
“I will admit that the ability to run a background check would make life easier in some ways, at least in ruling people out.”
“Who do you need them on?”
“No can do,” I said. “You need to be completely in the dark.”
“I can make something up.”
I hesitated. It would be nice to have a background check on Dylan, Kevin, and Greg. Any of them could have a criminal skeleton in the closet. You never knew, right?
“What if they ask what you’re doing?” I asked.
“Then I make up a reason I’m running them that relates to something else. There is always something going on in this town—drunken idiots, petty theft, poaching—hell, even just neighbors complaining can be enough of a reason for me to run someone, especially if they’re not originally from here.”
“Some are. Some aren’t.”
“How many are we talking about?”
“Three. To start.”
“Give me the names.”
“Okay, but you have to promise not to ask me why those people. I mean it, not a single question. And you have to promise me you won’t look any further than doing the background check.”
“I promise.”
I wasn’t convinced. If I were in Carter’s shoes, I would be lying right now, then doing what I wanted later. But then, Carter wasn’t me. He had better restraint. I just wasn’t sure how far it went when he was the one on the hot seat.
“Kevin Broussard, Dylan Sims, and Greg Bullard.”
“That’s a strange list.”
“You said you wouldn’t ask. You just have to trust me.”
“I trust you. I’ll run them as soon as I have a minute of alone time.”
“Thanks.” The backgrounds might reveal something and they might not. But at least it would be more information than we had right now. I looked out the window and saw my neighbor opening the door to a man wearing a suit and frowned.
“There’s one more name, but if you think it will be a problem, don’t do it,” I said.
“What’s the name?”
“I’m not completely sure. Roth had a live-in butler in New Orleans who is here now. He said his name was Abrams, but I don’t know if that’s first or last.”
“You think the butler did it?”
“There’s something about him that’s strange. And I think his being here isn’t warranted, as Francesca doesn’t like having live-in help.”
“You just think he’s strange because he chose to wait on a man all day,” he said, and I could practically see him smiling.
“That’s definitely part of it, but there’s something else.”
“Okay. I’ll see if I can run down his full name and get a check.”
“But don’t get yourself in trouble with the state police poking your nose into Roth business.”
“I’ll be discreet.” He was silent for a couple seconds. “So were there any injuries sustained during your Magic Mike marathon?”
“Oh, you know. A little hyperventilating. Maybe a blush or two.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll swing by later. Hopefully with these background checks. Unless you guys are going to be watching naked men again.”
“We’re working today and I think we’re on festival duty tonight, but I can’t remember for sure. As of now, there are no naked-men-watching plans, but that is subject to change as our naked-men-watching needs shift.”
“Understood.”
I hung up and changed into street clothes before heading back downstairs to polish off the rest of the coffee. No sense letting it go to waste. I had just finished rinsing the pot when Ida Belle honked, and I hurried outside. I could see Ida Belle frowning before I got in the SUV and as soon as I hopped in, I knew why. The wig Gertie wore was a short bob with board-straight hair. It had sharp angles and was far too young and trendy for Gertie to pull off, but that wasn’t the worst of it.
It was hot pink.
Chapter Eighteen
“I don’t think it’s bright enough,” I said, still marveling at the glow the wig gave off.
Gertie perked up. “Don’t you love it? I completely forgot I had it but then I remembered going to a Halloween party as a pop singer years ago and dug it out.”
“And we’re all thrilled,” Ida Belle said. “I mean, PIs usually try to blend into the background and people in space can see that hair, but I’m sure it will be practically unnoticeable in Sinful, especially combined with your Madonna lace gloves.”
Gertie’s smile dimmed. “I didn’t think about the undercover thing. Maybe I should g
o back to the hat.”
“A ball cap would be a great option,” I said.
“And when I decide to give up all my estrogen and dress like the two of you tomboys, I’ll go that route,” Gertie said.
“You haven’t had estrogen since Eisenhower was president,” Ida Belle said.
“Can we just get inside and have a peaceful breakfast?” I asked.
“I doubt it,” Ida Belle said. “But we can give it a try.”
We headed inside and right off, we spotted someone we could pump for information. Dr. Wilkinson sat in the back of the café, right next to our regular table. And he was alone. Ida Belle and Gertie caught sight of him at the same time I did, and both perked up. We headed straight over and gave our morning greetings as we took a seat. Wilkinson was holding the newspaper but he appeared to be lost in thought rather than reading. Until he caught sight of Gertie’s hair. He frowned and stared for several seconds, then must have finally realized who she was.
“Ms. Hebert,” he said. “I trust you have recovered from that unfortunate incident at my office. You weren’t injured in any way, were you?”
Given the choice of hairstyles, I didn’t blame him for being confused.
“I’m fine,” Gertie said. “It was a bit of excitement, but then we’ve had plenty of that around here lately.”
He nodded. “I suppose that’s true enough.”
“I had a question, though,” Gertie said. “I know I need to do the tests and all, but it’s about medicine. I know this might come across as indelicate given the circumstances, but Meg Roth told us her father died of natural causes. I know he was taking medicine, and well, it has me a bit concerned. I mean, how can one be sure the medicine is working?”
Wilkinson frowned. “That situation is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. Garrett should have been fine if he took his medicine as scheduled, but sometimes things are beyond even a doctor’s scope.”
“He probably wasn’t taking them,” Ida Belle said. “You know men.”