by Jana DeLeon
“I think some of the things that aggravated your knees had nothing to do with the festival,” Ida Belle said.
“That’s true enough,” Gertie said. “But I still stand by my original statement.”
I snagged a cupcake and took a seat next to her. I’d been eyeballing them all night but hadn’t had a chance to test one. It had been a slow torture but it was finally going to pay off. I looked down at the cute decoration on the top. It was almost sad to ruin it. Almost. It was a graveyard scene, complete with a tombstone and ghost, the white figure rising up out of the frosting like an oversize Tic Tac.
I lifted it to my mouth, then stopped. All the revelations of the day had been running through my mind ever since Carter had told all at the General Store, but they’d remained as hazy later on as they had been when I first heard them. But all of a sudden, something in the back of my mind sharpened a tiny bit.
I jumped up from my chair. “I need to talk to Francesca.”
Ida Belle and Gertie, sensing my urgency, jumped up as well.
“Deputy Breaux is on first shift at the sheriff’s department tonight,” Gertie said. “He’s not going to let you just walk in there. He can’t. The state police would have a stroke. Myrtle said they laid down the law—no one is allowed to speak to Francesca outside of asking basic questions about food and such.”
“I’ll figure something out,” I said. “But we have to go now. The prosecutor will have her moved to New Orleans tomorrow. Then it will be too late.”
We hurried outside and I practically ran up the street to the sheriff’s department. Myrtle was at her desk when we burst in and Deputy Breaux was sitting on the couch in the waiting area. He jumped up and gave us a panicked look when we ran in.
“I need to speak to Francesca,” I said. “It’s urgent.”
Deputy Breaux shook his head. “No way. She is officially in the custody of the state police. No one is allowed to speak to her.”
He stepped up to us and ushered us toward the door. “You have to get out of here. If the state police see you here, I’ll be in a ton of trouble. Carter too.”
We stepped outside and followed Deputy Breaux in between parked cars to the street where the light was not as bright. He stopped next to the back of Ida Belle’s SUV and gave us a pleading look.
“Please just go back to the church before someone sees you,” Deputy Breaux said. “The state police are just over at the café.”
He wasn’t going to budge. He couldn’t, really. And I didn’t blame him. His job and Carter’s were both on the line.
I looked over at Ida Belle. “I need ten minutes.”
Ida Belle sighed. “You owe me.”
Before Gertie could even ask what was going on, I whirled around and my foot connected with the rear blinker on Ida Belle’s SUV. Gertie gasped and Ida Belle flinched. If she had been Catholic, I’m pretty sure she would have made the sign of the cross.
She turned to Deputy Breaux. “This woman has damaged my personal property. I want her arrested.”
Deputy Breaux stared at her in dismay. “Seriously?”
“Of course, seriously,” Ida Belle said. “You know how much I love my vehicle. Now, get to it before the state police come out here to see what the fuss is about.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Deputy Breaux said, and pulled out the cuffs. “Ms. Redding, you have the right to remain silent—”
“I lack the ability,” I said. “You don’t have to go through the whole thing. I won’t tell Carter. I understand my rights, now throw me in the clink.”
Deputy Breaux hustled me into the sheriff’s department and stopped in front of Myrtle’s desk.
“I need to book Ms. Redding for destruction of private property,” he said.
“So?” Myrtle asked. “What are you waiting for? Go get the paperwork started and I’ll haul her lawbreaking butt down to the cells.”
“Carter is going to be really mad,” Deputy Breaux said, fidgeting. “I’m supposed to have this under control.”
“So take a break first and maybe give him a call,” Myrtle said. “See how he’d like this handled.”
Deputy Breaux looked even less enthusiastic about calling Carter than booking me, but the break part did elicit a bit of interest. “Maybe I’ll just make some coffee and think about the best way to handle this.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Myrtle said. “Can you bring me a cup? Lots of cream, two sugars.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and shuffled off.
Myrtle grabbed keys to the cells and hurried down the hall with me rushing behind.
“I’ll keep him stalled on the paperwork,” she said. “Once things are in the system, it gets harder to get them out. And until the state police have left town, I’d rather keep your name out of the official records.”
“You and me both. Thanks!”
She opened the door to the cells and I followed her in. Francesca was in the first cell. Fortunately, the drunks hadn’t fired up for the evening, so we were the only people in residence. Francesca looked up when the door opened and stared in shock as Myrtle locked me in the cell next to her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As soon as Myrtle closed the door behind her, I rushed over to the bars. “I don’t have a lot of time, and I need you to level with me. With everything the state police have you up on, you’re looking at the death penalty.”
Francesca’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Why would I tell you anything?” she asked.
“Because I don’t think you killed Abrams, and I might be the only person in this town who doesn’t. I’m a private detective. Former CIA. You could do a lot worse than having someone like me believe you. The state police are looking for the easy answer so they can jet out of town. Your affair and Garrett’s will exclusion for cheating have given them just that. You have nothing to lose by talking to me. It’s not admissible because I’m not even supposed to be here and once I’m gone, there won’t be a record that I was.”
She gave a bit of a start when I got to the part about former CIA and her expression shifted from reluctant to a tiny bit of hopeful, but I could tell she still wasn’t sure.
“I’ll ask the questions,” I said. “All you have to do is answer. Did you put cyanide in the whiskey bottle?”
“Of course not!”
“Was Abrams blackmailing you about the affair?”
She shook her head. “He didn’t know about it. If he had, I’m sure he would have asked for more.”
I frowned. This wasn’t the answer I’d been expecting. “Then why were you paying him?”
She stared at me for a bit and I thought she was going to refuse to answer. Finally, she sighed. “Because he knew who I really was. The person who…died was the brother of a friend of his. He recognized me on a rare trip of mine with Garrett to New Orleans. What are the odds, right? I’d remained hidden all these years and then that horrible man threatens to out me to Garrett.”
“The police found a copy of Garrett’s will in Abrams’s things. I’m sure he lifted it at some point, but why would he have it?”
“To get more money out of me?” she suggested. “He said he knew I was coming into a lot of money because Garrett died. He wanted a cut of it. A big cut.”
“Did he say why?”
“No. But I wasn’t lying to the cops about the conversation I overheard. Someone was threatening him. I’m sure of it.”
“And you think whoever threatened him killed him and framed you?”
She threw her hands in the air, clearly frustrated. “What other explanation is there? You don’t think I know how it looks? How this sounds? But the one thing I know for certain is that I didn’t put poison in that whiskey bottle. That means someone else did.”
“Why did Abrams come here?” I asked.
“Money,” Francesca said. “I gave him everything I had, but he still wouldn’t leave.”
“Maybe he was hiding from someone,” I suggested.
“Wouldn’
t this be the first place the people who were after him would look for him?”
Because I agreed with her, I shifted gears. “How did you get the money to Abrams in the past?”
“When Garrett was in New Orleans, I’d drive there and meet Abrams outside of town with the cash. He kept asking for more. It was getting harder to come up with.”
I nodded. What she was saying fit with what we knew about Abrams’s owing a lot of money to the wrong people. And that was just the wrong people that we were aware of. It was possible his debts stretched further than Carter’s friend with the NOLA police department was aware of.
“So he never came to Sinful to collect?”
“No.”
“But he’d been to your home here before.”
“Yes. Sometimes business documents were delivered to the New Orleans residence. Several times, Garrett needed them right away and Abrams brought them.”
“How long did he stay?”
“Hours usually. A couple times overnight. Long enough for Garrett to review whatever he’d brought and send him back to deliver it wherever.”
So plenty of opportunity to put cameras in the house. But Abrams hadn’t been blackmailing her over the affair. And he already had something even more damaging on Francesca, so why would he need more? Then there was the anonymous phone call to the state police.
“Who else knew about you and Sims?” I asked.
“No one.”
“Someone did. The state police searched his place because of an anonymous tip about your affair. It wasn’t Abrams because he was already dead. And given that he knew the terms of the will, he’s the last person aside from you who would have wanted that information to come out.”
Francesca frowned. “I don’t know. We were careful. We met here and only when Garrett was in New Orleans. Dylan had a viable reason to be here and the work was getting done to Garrett’s satisfaction, so he never suspected. At least, he never gave any indication that he did.”
“What about the housekeepers? The pool company? Lawn people? Anyone else who might have seen something? It only takes a single slip. Like a romantic kiss by the pool…”
Her eyes widened. “You were spying on me? Why?”
“Because I don’t think your husband died of natural causes, despite what the autopsy says, and the spouse is always the primary suspect.”
Her expression flashed with anger. “You’re no better than the rest of them then. Coming in here, saying you believed me, but you think I killed my husband even though two different medical examiners said differently. I suppose you think my lover cut off my dead husband’s head and put him in that maze. And for what? What purpose would it serve?”
She walked up to the bars and looked me right in the eyes. “I didn’t kill my husband, but I wasn’t sad he died. I thought marrying Garrett would keep me out of prison, but it was just a prison of a different making. He was a hard man, often cruel. Emotionless about everything but money and critical of anything that was outside of his realm of perfect.”
“Then why did you stay?”
“Penance, maybe. I killed someone. I didn’t intend to, but I did. Maybe I thought I deserved the way my life had turned out. Hiding from the law. Denying the family of the man I killed their closure. Their satisfaction in seeing the person who ruined their life stand trial. Then I met Dylan and more than anything, I just wanted to disappear again. Be the person I always wanted to be.”
“One who runs from responsibility and consequences?”
“It’s easy for you to judge. Your entire life isn’t measured by one stupid thing you did when you were eighteen.”
“Who else knew about the affair?” I asked again.
“I honestly don’t know. I guess someone could have seen, like you did. I suppose we were arrogant, thinking no one would find out. That’s what love will do. Well, we’re paying for it now, right? Paying for all the things we did and all the things we didn’t do.”
All the facts of the case were swirling through my mind like a tornado. Garrett’s death, not taking his meds, cyanide in the whiskey, Francesca’s secret past, Abrams the blackmailer, the clause in the will, the body in the maze, the cameras in the house, love and hate. And then it all ended with one visual.
The cupcake I’d eaten at the festival.
And suddenly, it all made horrible sense.
“Myrtle!” I yelled.
The door flew open and she rushed in and unlocked my cell. “I was just coming to get you,” she said. “Ida Belle has changed her mind about pressing charges. You’re free to go.”
“Wait!” Francesca called as I walked by. “What about me? What are you going to do?”
I didn’t even bother to answer. There was somewhere I needed to be, because if I was right, one last person was in danger.
I ran down the hall and grabbed a shocked Deputy Breaux. “I need you to call Carter and tell him to get to the hospital right now. Then call the hospital and tell them to check on Kevin Broussard. Now!”
I grabbed Ida Belle’s and Gertie’s arms and dragged them out of the sheriff’s department. “We’ve got to get to the hospital.”
They jumped in the SUV without question and Ida Belle tore out of the parking space, tires squealing. She glanced over at me as she turned onto the highway and floored the vehicle.
“What are you thinking?” Ida Belle said.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe I’m wrong, but it’s the only thing that fits. There’s just so many things…I think we were looking at this all wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“Who benefited the most from Garrett’s death?” I asked.
“Francesca and Meg,” Ida Belle said.
“And Abrams,” I said. “He wasn’t blackmailing Francesca about the affair. He knew about her real past.”
“So if Francesca came into a lot of money, then he could collect a bundle,” Gertie said.
“You think Abrams killed Garrett?” Ida Belle asked. “But how? We still can’t get past the natural causes thing. There was no cyanide in Garrett’s system.”
“It wasn’t the cyanide that killed him,” I said. “It was the lack of necessary medication.”
“But that was up to Garrett to take,” Gertie said. “And since it appears he didn’t, then his death is all on him.”
“It appears he didn’t,” I said. “But Meg and Francesca both swore he was taking his pills. Dr. Wilkinson said Garrett was determined to live to a ripe old age, and I think Garrett loved himself so much that’s exactly what he intended to do.”
“So why didn’t he take his meds?” Gertie asked.
“I think he did,” I said. “Or at least, he thought he did. It’s just that whatever he took wasn’t actually medicine. It was something that looked like his pills.”
“Wouldn’t he know if he was taking the wrong thing?” Ida Belle asked.
I shook my head. “He probably wouldn’t do more than glance at it for appearance as he was taking it along with other vitamins that Francesca put in his daily container. And he couldn’t taste well, remember? So he wouldn’t notice a change there either.”
“So you think Abrams switched his meds so he could collect a bunch of money from Francesca,” Ida Belle said. “Why now?”
“I think whoever Abrams owed was making serious threats, and I think Francesca overheard one, like she claimed. Abrams was getting desperate, and the quickest way to a huge payoff would be to collect a lump sum from the widow—a woman who wasn’t in a position to refuse to pay him.”
“So Francesca killed Abrams,” Gertie said.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I think Abrams’s dying was an accident. I think he just made the mistake of drinking some of Garrett’s whiskey.”
“Then who put the cyanide in the whiskey?” Ida Belle asked.
“The only other person with easy access to the house,” I said. “And who knew Garrett was the only one who drank that whiskey.”
Gertie gasp
ed. “Not Meg.”
Ida Belle’s expression turned to dismay.
“Think about it,” I said. “Meg poisoned the whiskey thinking Garrett would drink it and die. Then the autopsy would reveal he was poisoned, and Francesca would be the one to go down for it, especially once news of her affair came out. It was Meg who put the cameras in the house to try to get something on Francesca. Meg was behind that anonymous tip.”
Ida Belle’s eyes widened. “Garrett had stopped drinking recently. Francesca told us that but Meg didn’t know.”
I nodded. “So when Garrett died and the ME said it was natural causes, Meg lost it. She assumed the ME was so incompetent that he’d overlooked the poisoning. So she stole the body and put it in the maze, knowing Wilkinson would be back from vacation and would be so outraged by what happened that he’d demand an autopsy. Remember, I kept asking what the body in the maze accomplished. The answer was right there in front of us.”
“She couldn’t have done it without help,” Ida Belle said and shot me a worried look.
“Kevin helped her,” Gertie said, her voice grim.
“And now that she’s gotten what she needed,” I said, “she’s cleaning house. Kevin is the last bit of dirty laundry that needs cleaning. I think if the doctors take a closer look, they’ll find that Kevin didn’t hit his head falling. He was probably struck from behind.”
“But he lived,” Gertie said.
“Not for long if she gets to him,” I said. “And I’ll bet she tries tonight when visiting hours are over and everything is quiet.”
Ida Belle glanced at her clock and pressed the accelerator harder. “Visiting hours are over in five minutes.”
It took us eight minutes to get to the hospital. Ida Belle had broken pretty much every traffic law, and I suspected a couple laws of physics, to make it happen. She pulled right into the emergency room porte cochere and parked to the side to leave room for an ambulance if one came. I jumped out before she’d even come to a complete stop and ran inside. The nurse at the front desk looked startled when I slid to a stop in front of her.
“Kevin Broussard,” I said.
“I’m sorry, but visiting hours are over,” the nurse said.