Secrets, Lies, and Crawfish Pies

by Abby L. Vandiver

  “Tell. Me. What?” He spoke from between clenched teeth.

  “Tell him,” Auntie said and slung a finger toward him. “And hurry up.”

  I tried to do a quick recap of what had happened over the last four days while he was out of town, but he wasn’t happy with that.

  “Details,” he said. “And don’t leave anything out.”

  I backtracked and told him every detail. I recited it like I had done the autopsy report, not leaving out anything no matter how insignificant in case he saw something I hadn’t. But, by the time I’d finished my little spiel, reciting all the clues to him, I had somehow figured out who the killer was myself.

  Chapter Forty

  Pogue was walking in circles by the time I finished telling him about my and Auntie’s exploits while he was away at his conference, and about who I now thought the killer was.

  His hands dug deep inside his pockets and the creases on his forehead were double-folded. He kept snorting and shaking his head, a low moan ruffling his lips with each release. He stopped abruptly near one of the black cigarette butts, stooped, and without touching it, stared at it.

  “I need to get an evidence bag,” he said, seemingly to no one, then stood and took another lap around the small circle he’d etched into the dirt.

  “Nobody touch that,” he said when he finally stood still. “I’m going to my car to get my gun and handcuffs.” He looked at me. “I think I need to make an arrest. They’re in there, right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “With no idea we’ve figured it out.”

  “No idea that you’ve figured it out,” he said. Pogue gave me a look before he left. One that told me I shouldn’t have done so much without him, or at least without letting him know.

  When he got back, after what seemed like a good fifteen minutes, the three of us went to the tent that Auntie had had erected for the musicians to use before and during sets. All the zydeco players were there. And so too were Taralynn and Coach Williams watching over their daughter, Amelia, and the band’s roadie, Floneva.

  “Hey,” Rhett said, looking at me as I came in with that same stupid big smile on his face. “It’s almost time to show you what we’ve got.”

  “Before y’all go on,” Auntie Zanne said, “we have some law business to take care of.”

  “Law business?” Rhett stepped back and looked around. “What is it, Babet?” Rhett asked.

  “Pogue will tell you.”

  Pogue stood, feet shoulder length apart, and looked around the little tent. He moved in front of the flap–the only way out–then he looked at me. “You figured it out, Romie,” he said. “You tell it.”

  “You sure?” I said.

  He nodded. “I’m sure,” he said.

  “Figured out what?” Rhett asked.

  “We’ve figured out who left that body in Auntie Zanne’s funeral home,” I said. I looked at Taralynn. “Before I say anything, though, I think that Amelia shouldn’t be in the room.”

  “I agree,” Coach Williams said. “We’ll take her out.”

  “You stay, Coach,” Pogue said. He stepped to the side. “Let Taralynn take her.” He nodded at her, giving her permission to leave.

  Everyone turned and looked at Coach Williams.

  After Amelia and Taralynn left, I turned and looked at the people that were left. “I just said the other day that smoking wasn’t good for you,” I did a tsk, tsk, tsk. “And in this case, it sealed the fate of the killer.”

  “Who is it?” Rhett asked.

  “It’s Gus,” I said. No pomp. No circumstance. I just spilled it.

  “What?” Gus said, his voice going up a couple octaves. “What are you talking about?”

  “You killed Ragland Williamson because you thought that he’d come after you for a murder up in Houston.”

  “Who?” Coach Williams asked, jerking around to face me. “Who did you just say was killed?”

  “Your brother,” Auntie Zanne said. She hadn’t said anything else, but I’m sure she was happy to let him know she knew all about his secrets and lies.

  “My brother is dead?” he said, disbelief on his face. “I don’t believe it. How could you know about my brother?” He eyes were turning red and I could see them burning with tears.

  “We know who he is–was,” Auntie said. “And he’s dead. Gus killed him.”

  “No!” Coach Williams said.

  “Yes, Coach. He is,” Pogue said.

  “Just ask Gus,” I said.

  “You know those crawfish pies you make,” Gus said between clenched teeth, “ain’t good enough for me to sit ’round here and listen to you accuse me of murder.”

  “You mean of two murders,” Auntie said.

  “There was a black cigarette out there behind the shelter,” I said and pointed that way. “We have an eyewitness that will say he saw you smoking a black cigarette.”

  “What does that matter?” Gus queried. “Everyone here saw me. We all smoked together. It don’t mean nothing.”

  “Is that what you smoke?” Coach Williams asked. He went and stood by Pogue. I think he realized that Pogue asked him to stay in case he needed help apprehending Gus.

  “Yeah. So what if it is? Like I said, that means nothing,” Gus said.

  “The surveyor who went out to meet Ray saw you smoking them.”

  “And you left one at the hotel,” Auntie Zanne said. “We can match the DNA on all of those.”

  Auntie Zanne knew we didn’t have the one from the hotel, but I guess she needed to be dramatic, even if it meant she had to lie.

  “What hotel?” Gus wasn’t letting his guard down.

  “Don’t play dumb,” Auntie Zanne said.

  “Is that all you got?” Gus said, a chuckle erupting from his throat. “You’ll never prove anything with that.”

  “You’ve been dumping the formaldehyde from my mother’s funeral home for her,” Pogue said. “I’ll bet it’s the same kind that Romaine found during the autopsy.” Pogue swung around and looked at me. “Can you check that?”

  “Oh, you mean from the samples I collected?” I asked, acting like Auntie. I hadn’t collected any samples from the back of my Aunt Julep’s funeral home. But I was sure a lab could pull something off Ray Williamson’s clothes.

  Gus narrowed his eyes. “Your mother is Julep Folsom?”

  “That she is,” Pogue said.

  “And that lab report will be able to match the formaldehyde in that man’s body,” Auntie Zanne said, “to the formaldehyde that Julep Folsom uses at the Garden Grove Funeral Home.”

  I turned and looked at my auntie. I think this was the first time she ever said the name of Aunt Julep’s funeral home correctly.

  “Is that possible?” Gus asked. “There’s a test that can match the type of formaldehyde from two different things?”

  “Yes, there is,” I said and turned to Pogue. “Science is amazing. And, I’m sure that info is in the toxicology report I already requested.” I looked at Gus. “That makes two things that can unequivocally tie you to the murder.”

  “Anyone could have taken that formaldehyde,” Gus said. The burly little murderer was grasping at straws. “She left it in the backyard.”

  “True, Gus,” I said. “But there is one more thing.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Ray Williamson was looking for a man from Stowell for a murder he was investigating. He felt like the wrong man had gotten convicted.”

  “So?” Gus said.

  “So, he had evidence that you were the one that killed him.” I smiled as the lie tumbled out. We didn’t know of any such proof. “You told us the little town you grew up in was right next to the town of Winnie. So, I googled Winnie to see what was close by and it came up with a link that read ‘people also search for...’ That helped me figure this out.”

&
nbsp; “And what did people also search for?” Auntie Zanne said, helping me deliver my one-two punch.

  “Well, Auntie, it said that people that searched for info on Winnie also looked for info on a town called Stowell.”

  “And why would that be?” she asked. Neither one of us took our eyes off of Gus as we volleyed back and forth.

  “Because the two towns are just a three-minute drive apart.”

  “Well, don’t that beat all,” Auntie Zanne said. “Right next door, just like Gus said.”

  “Aren’t you from Stowell?” I asked Gus.

  “He didn’t have anything on me,” Gus said, not answering my question. “Because if he had he would have used it. He just kept harassing me.”

  “Or maybe he did have something, but he couldn’t find you because you’d moved to the Piney Woods. No address. No job,” Auntie Zanne said.

  “If he didn’t have anything on you,” Coach Chip Williams said, “why would you kill him?”

  “Yeah,” Pogue said. “Why would you kill him?”

  “And leave his body at Babet’s place?” the Coach said. “I just don’t understand.”

  “You knew,” Auntie said to Gus, “because I had invited you into my home, that I’d be gone. So, you put that body there. What happened? Someone heard you before you had time to put it in the furnace?”

  “He was going to put my brother’s body in your furnace?” Coach Williams screeched.

  “Did you really think that Josephine Gail wouldn’t notice it?” Auntie Zanne asked.

  “She’s a scatter brain,” Gus said. “She doesn’t even know where her land starts and where it ends.”

  “Looks like she knows more than you,” Auntie Zanne said. “She knew that body didn’t belong at my funeral home.”

  “It’s ironic, Gus, that you panicked when you saw Ragland Williamson, because Josephine Gail Cox was the reason that he was there,” I said. “Not you.”

  “What are you talking about?” he said.

  “What did you think? That he’d come looking for you?’ I asked.

  “I wasn’t going back with him,” Gus said. “He knew the truth. That meant he knew what I was capable of. He should have left well enough alone. Somebody had gone down for that murder. I didn’t care to make anything right.”

  “He didn’t come for you,” I said. “Not to drag you in. Your secret, at least at the time you shot him, was safe. He never even knew you were around.”

  “Then why was he in the woods by my place?” Gus asked.

  “That’s not your place,” Auntie Zanne said. “It belongs to Josephine Gail. My best friend in the whole world. And you were right. She doesn’t know where her land starts and where it ends.”

  “But even with that, she didn’t try to find the coward’s way out,” I said. “And shoot him in the back.”

  Coach Williams narrowed his eyes. “You shot my brother in the back?”

  “Probably about ten yards out,” Catfish said, the first time he spoke. But it seemed he remembered what we’d talked about when I did the autopsy.

  The coach lurched forward like he was going to pounce on Gus, fists balled and fire in his eyes, Catfish and Rhett moved quickly to hold him back.

  “You are a coward,” Coach Williams spat out the words. “And thank God that Texas law don’t hold too kindly to people who kill. But when they kill you, I’ll be there to look you directly in your face.”

  “C’mon,” Pogue said to Gus. “I think I have enough on you to take you in.”

  Gus kept a watchful eye on Coach Williams as Pogue handcuffed him. He didn’t give any resistance and seemed grateful for Catfish and Rhett holding him back. It made me wonder how tough this guy was and if he had shot his other victim in the back as well.

  “Wow,” Floneva said. “Gus is a killer?”

  “Puts a damper on your plans with him, huh?” Auntie Zanne said.

  “What?” Floneva said. “I don’t know what you mean. I came here for the music.”

  “Then you’ve come to the right place.”

  “I hate to say this at a time like this,” Rhett said. “But, I don’t know if we’ll be playing tonight. We don’t have a fiddler.”

  I saw Auntie’s eyes light up and I knew what was coming. I looked over at Catfish and he, knowing my little secret, started grinning.

  “You’re not screwed,” Auntie Zanne said. “You’ve got a fiddler player right here.”

  “Who?” he asked.

  “Romaine,” she said.

  “You can play?” Rhett asked, shock written into his face.

  “Oh, she plays a mean fiddle,” Auntie Zanne said.

  “And the piano, and violin, too,” Crawfish said.

  “So,” Rhett said with a sly smile, “you wanna do this set with us?”

  “Of course she does,” Auntie Zanne said.

  I drew in the breath. “I guess I could. But, I don’t have a fiddle to play,” I said. “And I’m not using that one.” I pointed to Gus’s instrument he’d left behind. For all I knew, the wood chips I’d found during the autopsy had come from when he made that thing.”

  “No need,” Auntie said with a big grin. “I have yours in the trunk of my car.”

  “You do?” I said and gave her a mean look. “Why?”

  “I just thought after hearing a little music tonight and seeing everyone on the dance floor, you’d get the bug and want to play. I had it tuned up for you and everything.”

  “You’re full of surprises,” Rhett said and walked over to stand by me. “I like that in you.”

  I sidestepped away from him.

  Rhett chuckled. “Okay, Babet, go get this lady’s instrument.”

  “On my way,” she said. “And for the record, Sugarplum,” Auntie Zanne said, turning to me and taking my hands in hers. “I never thought it was Julep who left that body at my funeral home. I just needed to create a diversion. I just couldn’t abide by anyone causing Josephine Gail more anguish than what she was already going through. I wanted to keep Pogue’s mind occupied while I tried to figure it out.”

  “You could have just let Pogue figure it out,” I said.

  “Now what would have been the fun in that?” she said and winked.

  Epilogue

  Sometimes in life, you get so focused on what you’re doing now, and what you want your future to be, that you lose sight of the past. Especially when you feel like you have to outrun it.

  That little revelation not only went for Gus, it went for me too.

  What was wrong with me coming from a small town? Losing all of my past just so I could make myself out to be something and someone else all of a sudden just seemed wrong.

  Playing the fiddle that night at the festival opened up a floodgate of memories. My parents. My love of playing instruments. My life in Roble. It all came swooshing back in with a jolt that almost knocked me over.

  I was still going to go back to Chicago, I hadn’t changed my mind about that, but it didn’t mean I had to forget the people at home who loved me. Or make them feel bad because I had them thinking, with all my hankering to hurry and get away, that I was ashamed of them.

  I mean what else could they think when I was always complaining and letting them know how fast I wanted to get back “home?” And then, not letting those people in Chicago, who I had yet to hear from, know the truth about me.

  I guess I had my own set of secrets and lies...

  But unlike Coach Chip Williams and his wife, Taralynn, I was contemplating coming clean.

  Chip Williams was devastated over the loss of his brother, yet he and Taralynn had gotten us all together after the last set and asked us to swear that we’d never mention to Amelia anything about her “uncle.”

  Was that her Uncle Ray or Uncle Chip?

  I didn’t like the thought of be
ing a part of any of it.

  The two planned to take the knowledge of Amelia’s real father to the grave with them. I didn’t understand how they thought that could be best for her. Perhaps they were more worried about what she’d think of them after their years of lies and deceit than they were about giving her the knowledge of who her biological father was.

  I believed that who we are is based on what we know about ourselves. We attribute our idiosyncrasies, habits, likes, and dislikes many times to whom we share our genes. How would I understand my love of music if I didn’t know about my father’s soulful guitar playing and my mother’s beautiful singing voice? Or appreciate my Louisiana French Creole heritage through my cooking and speaking the language if I didn’t know about it. No one wants their real parents’ identity kept secret. Still, I agreed with the rest of them not to say a word.

  It turned out that Gus wasn’t as good at keeping his secrets, though. He did a bad job cleaning up the crime scene. The wood chips in the motel room trashcan matched those on Ray Williamson’s shirt. Gus never emptied the formaldehyde in the back of Aunt Julep’s funeral home, and the lab was able to match it to that used on our squatter. And Gus’ DNA was all over the clothes he’d dressed Ray in–so sloppy.

  But Angus “Gus” Garrison didn’t wait for lab results to come in to convict him, he was too busy confessing long before then. It ended up that Ragland Williamson had kept a file full of information on the first murder and the Harris County DA offered Gus a deal to come clean. It appeared that the DA’s office had a conscious and felt bad it had convicted the wrong man, especially since Ragland had told them repeatedly that they had.

  And my Auntie Zanne had a new hat to add to her list of vocations: amateur sleuth. That made her poufed hair stand up that much higher. She couldn’t wait until the next time she had the opportunity to use her newly acquired skills.

  Meanwhile, she kept a teapot of boiling water whistling on the stove just in case she caught me off guard and could trick me into drinking a cup of her “staying” brew.

  About the Author