I set the mug down and smiled. “Not yet, but I’m sure I’ll have one before the night is over.”
“Let’s at least make an attempt to be optimistic, ’tite amie.” She bent close to look at my shiner. “I heard you saved your stepson single-handedly last night. A real Clint Eastwood rescue.”
“It was probably more along the lines of Lucy Ricardo. Some punks were vandalizing Gabe’s truck, Sam rushed in, and one of them went at him with a knife. All I did was grab the guy around the waist and hang on.” I watched her face as I told the story, a small part of me wondering if she could have hired those guys. I remembered that she’d once worked at Trigger’s, a local cowboy and oil-field workers’ bar on the rough side of town and probably knew guys who would do anything for the right price. Yes, she could have, but why? I shook my head in disgust at my growing cynical nature. Next thing I knew I’d be suspecting Aunt Garnet of being involved.
Her face remained sympathetic. “Scary. How did Gabe take it?”
“Take a guess. He’s absolutely furious. What’s worse is it caused another argument between him and Sam. One I’m not sure is going to be easily mended. He lost his temper and really let Sam have it, and Sam responded predictably. I can’t picture either one giving in this time.”
“Bon chien retient de race,” she said, holding a palm up.
I raised my eyebrows in question.
Her musical voice was low with amusement. “Like father, like son.”
“I’ll drink to that.” I held up my coffee mug. “I’d like to say you oughta see the other guy, but unless my teeth managed to break through his cotton sleeve, Sam and I got the worse of it.”
“You bit him?” She gave a delighted laugh. “Good goin’, girl.”
“Are you all ready for your first session tonight?”
“All set. I’ll be taking the stage right after your welcoming speech.”
“My very short welcoming speech. Just the thought of people staring at me makes me want to hide under the bed. I just hope my cousin Rita’s makeup job holds up.”
“You know, there’s this great makeup that covers bruises like a dream. It’s called Dermablend. It’ll cover anything.”
“I’ll look for it. I have no idea how long this shiner will last.”
“About a—” She stopped abruptly. I waited for her to continue. She pulled at a loose strand of hair and gave a glittery laugh. “You can get Dermablend in any department store. I use it for stage makeup. Kind of an old thespian’s trick. Like Vaseline on the teeth. Well, gotta go. I promised Dolores I’d hear her story one more time. She’s as nervous as a wild turkey about her solo appearance tonight. Wait’ll you see her costume. It’s out of this world.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
I watched her walk out, mulling over our conversation. Especially the point where she paused—something Gabe said he always looked for when interrogating someone—that moment of hesitation. Something she’d said triggered a memory. I closed my eyes and willed the thought to form. After a few minutes it came to me. A segment on a television-magazine show about abused women disappearing into the underground. Some had children they were protecting, some were just trying to start a new life. All had the experience of being battered, some almost to death. They were sitting in a circle discussing with a frightening dispassion the different methods they used to cover up the marks left from their beatings.
“Dermablend’s great,” one had said. “They got a leg makeup that almost makes the marks disappear.” Was that why Evangeline and her father were here in San Celina? Was she hiding from an abusive husband? If Nora was mean enough to reveal that, it might be reason enough for Evangeline . . . or D-Daddy to kill her.
I unlocked the file cabinet that held the co-op members’ applications for admittance. Our criteria weren’t strict, but since we did have people on the premises working with dangerous equipment, we were required to carry liability insurance as well as a next of kin to notify in case of emergency. That meant we had to keep some kind of records. I pulled out her file, closing my office door before settling down to read.
In her large, curvy handwriting was her name, address, next of kin, doctor’s name and address, the type of art she worked on, and a paragraph telling her artistic goals and intentions. We really didn’t ask much information of our prospective co-op members. What we cared about most was their dedication to their art, their ability to work within the boundaries of the co-op, and willingness to lend a hand in our mostly volunteer organization.
I looked for her former address, something that was more a formality than anything, and Evangeline had simply written Louisiana.
There was only one way I could get any information about the southeast part of our United States. I picked up the phone and dialed Sugartree, Arkansas.
“Sweetcakes,” my cousin Emory said. “Y’all haven’t paid me for the last little bit of detective work I performed for you.” One year my junior, Emory Delano Littleton is somehow, in that complex Southern way, distantly related to me on both sides of my family tree. His grandfather and Dove’s father were first cousins by marriage, and his father, Boone Littleton, married my mother’s third cousin, Ervalean, who played the organ at my parents’ wedding, which is where she met Boone.
The job Emory was referring to was some investigating he’d done for me on my trip to Kansas a few months back. He was sort of a private detective/investigative reporter for the Bozwell Courier Tribune. Bozwell was a town just south of Sugartree, just north of Little Rock. It was a job his father finagled for him when Boone’s chicken business took a downturn ten years ago and Emory had to drop out of law school. Emory was actually pretty good at his unplanned-for journalism-detective career, being the sort of man who loves gossip and was almost as nosy as me.
I’d promised him a date with Elvia, whom he’d had a crush on since the summer of his eleventh year. He stayed with us at the ranch because his mother had just died and his father didn’t know what to do with him. Elvia didn’t know about my bargain with him yet. And for a very good reason. He had annoyed her from the very first minute she heard his molasses-tinged Arkansas drawl. Since Emory was terrified of flying, I’d been hoping he had forgotten all about my rash promise. No such luck.
“I’m waiting for your explanation, sweetcakes. When is Elvia, queen of my adolescent dreams, expecting me?”
I bit my lip, trying to think of a way to answer without actually lying.
“Albenia Louise! I know what that silence means. You haven’t even arranged it. Ingrate. Why should I help you again?”
“I’ll tell her the minute you make your plane reservation,” I promised.
He paused for a moment. “It might be even wiser to wait until I’m actually there,” he said, proving he was no dummy.
“I was thinking the same thing.” I leaned back in my chair and prayed his fear of flight would continue to overshadow his lovestruck libido.
“Okay, you’re off the hook,” he said. “For now. But I’ll be showing up on your doorstep someday, and you’d better be ready to pay up.”
“I will,” I said, trying not to think about all the horrible torture techniques I knew Elvia had acquired from growing up in a family of six brothers. “But now I need you to use your contacts to search for information on someone.” I told him about Evangeline and what I thought.
“If she’s in hiding she may not be using her real name.”
“It’s worth a shot. Do you have any contacts in Louisiana?”
“Sweetcakes, I’ve got contacts in places that would curl your toes.”
“All female, I bet.” Though I’d never tell him to his face, Emory was an extremely handsome, articulate, and amusing man with oh-so-polite Southern manners that could charm the . . . well, I’ll just say that even Aunt Garnet has trouble saying no when he wants something. Now, if I could convince Elvia—
“She works for the New Orleans Police Department. A lieutenant, I think now. Brightest red hair an
d the cutest little ole—”
“I don’t want to hear any more,” I interrupted. “Just get me the information.” Then an idea occurred to me. “Hold on a minute, Emory. I have someone else I need checked out.” I dug through the filing cabinet and pulled out Ash’s file. “Do you have any contacts in Mississippi?”
“Never dated a Mississippi woman, though I’ve heard they are as sweet as the magnolia of their state flower. But I do know a guy there who works for the Jackson Clarion-Ledger . Neil McGaughey. He reviews mystery books for them. Knows everyone who’s anyone in Mississippi. Comes from one of those old monied families. Has a rare-book collection that’s worth millions.”
“See if he knows or can find out anything about an Ashley Stanhill. Says on his file here his last address was Natchez.”
“Will do. Now, about my fee.”
“I told you I’d tell her as soon as you buy your ticket.”
“I mean for this little foray.”
“What do you want?”
“Elvia’s fair hand in marriage.”
“Emory, try something that is possible in this millennium.”
“Okay, fine. Pay for our date. And I don’t mean dinner at Carl’s Junior and a matinee at the Fremont.”
I considered his request. “Fifty dollars.”
“Oh, please, that wouldn’t get me to first base. Two hundred.”
“Emory, it’d take the Crown Jewels and a tank of nitrous oxide to get you to first base with Elvia. Seventy-five.”
“Hundred fifty. You’ve never seen me when I really want something.”
“One hundred, and that’s my final offer.”
“Sold. It’ll at least pay for the limousine. I’ll get back to you.”
“Hurry, Emory. I need this information yesterday.”
“Dear cousin, dare I ask? Does your hunka, hunka Latino love know about this?”
“Call me here at the museum. Otherwise, I’ll call you.”
“That answers my question. A bucketful of luck, sweetcakes. Sounds like you’re going to need it.”
After I hung up with Emory, I started to put away Evangeline and Ash’s files when the sound of angry male voices echoed from the main studio. I rushed out of my office and found Peter and Roy rolling on the floor while a bunch of quilters were backed up against the wall, clutching the quilt they’d been free stitching.
“You guys stop it,” a woman yelled. “Take it somewhere else.”
“For crying out loud,” I said. I ran into the kitchen, grabbed a pitcher of ice water out of the refrigerator, and dodging their rolling bodies, dumped it on them. The shock stopped them momentarily. They sat with legs intertwined, panting like dogs, water dripping down their faces.
“Get up,” I said, grabbing Roy’s wiry arm. They both struggled up, glared at each other, and started swinging again. I threw myself in front of Roy as he strained to reach for Peter, wondering if my other eye was going to be blackened in the process, when D-Daddy, Evangeline, and a couple of college kids rushed into the room. D-Daddy pushed me firmly aside and grabbed Roy.
“À ça oui! That’s enough.” He jerked his head at Peter. “Hold that one back,” he told the college kids who’d come in with him. He pulled Roy across the room. Roy struggled briefly, then gave in to D-Daddy’s steel grip.
The kids hesitantly approached Peter. He held up his hands and growled at them, “Don’t touch me.”
“Both of you, in my office,” I snapped. “Now.” I turned and told the crowd, “The fun’s over. I’ll take care of this.”
“I be waitin’ outside,” D-Daddy said.
“That’s not necessary,” I said.
“I be there.” His determined face dared an argument.
“Okay, thanks, D-Daddy.”
Inside my office, both the men had claimed an office chair, scooting them as far apart as they could in the small room.
I sat down at my desk, picked up a pencil, and didn’t say anything for a minute or two. They shifted in their seats, avoiding my gaze like guilty schoolboys.
“I should toss both of you out of the festival right now,” I finally said, running the pencil through my fingers.
An infinitesimal grunt came from both of them. Then Roy leaned forward in his seat and said, “I didn’t start it. Peter—”
Peter broke in. “Me? He’s full of crap. I—”
I slammed my fist down on my desk. “Both of you shut up. I don’t care who started it and I don’t care what it’s about. All I care about is this festival going off without a hitch. Now, you both are already on the schedule, and people are counting on hearing you, but one more incident like this and you’re both going to be escorted off the premises by a police officer and not allowed back on. And I’ve got the power to do that. Got it?”
They both started to talk.
I held up my hand for silence. “Got it?”
They nodded.
“Then get out of here and get ready for your performances. And stay away from each other. That’s an order.”
After giving each other a fierce look, they left. Once he saw I was okay, D-Daddy nodded and followed them outside.
“Is it safe to enter?” Evangeline poked her head around the corner of my doorjamb, her wide-cheeked face worried. “Are you all right?”
“Just another fun-filled day in paradise. Though Eden would certainly be a lot more pleasant without Cain and Abel.”
She made a sympathetic clucking noise. “What did you tell them?”
I lifted up my hands in exasperation. “What could I say? They are both featured storytellers. People are expecting to hear them, and it would really hurt the festival if I kicked them out. Not to mention it looking to Constance like I can’t handle my job. On the other hand, I can’t have them throwing punches at every turn of the hat.”
“Don’t worry, D-Daddy will be keeping a close eye on them now.”
“Easier said than done.” I took my purse out of my drawer. “I have to go down to the police station and see if I can identify anyone from the pictures they’ve pulled. Is there something you needed?”
“I just needed to use your phone, if that’s all right,” she said. “I know we’re supposed to use the public phone in the kitchen, but it’s to my doctor and I need a little privacy.”
“Sure, help yourself. If anyone asks, I’ll be back in about an hour.”
“I’ll pass it on.”
I was halfway to the police station when I remembered that, distracted by the fight, I’d left Evangeline and Ash’s files sitting on my desk in full view of anyone who walked into my office. I hit the steering wheel in frustration at my carelessness. Unless Evangeline was blind, it was going to be obvious I was looking into her and Ash’s backgrounds. I sat in the Taurus for a moment in the police station parking lot, rolling my shoulders, trying to get the tenseness out. If I was lucky, Gabe would be busy and I wouldn’t have to see him while I looked through the pictures. He’d sense my tension immediately and, before I knew it, extract out of me the reason why. Up till now I’d kept my promise to stay out of the investigation—the call to Emory changed that.
Luck was with me when I walked through the busy office and parked myself in front of Maggie’s desk.
“He’s up to his ears in meetings,” Maggie said. “He left orders for you to look through the pictures sent over from the sheriff’s computer.”
She sent me over to the detectives’ department, where a young man in an olive tweed jacket and new Levi’s sat with me while I studied the pictures. Like Sam, I couldn’t make a solid ID.
“They all sort of look like them,” I said.
“That’s the whole idea,” the young detective said. “We use your description and run it through the sheriff’s computer and see if we get a match. You sure none of them are the guys?”
“Pretty sure,” I said.
He sighed in frustration. “It’s always a long shot, but we have to try.”
I was on my way out when Maggie called
to me.
“I forgot,” she said. “Gabe also said to tell you that if you wanted to look through the stuff found with the John Doe body, it’s in the evidence locker. We’ll be tossing it out at the end of the month.”
I glanced at my watch. It was getting close to one o’clock. I didn’t want to stay away from the museum much longer and still I needed to get something to eat. “I’ll look through it real fast, and then you can toss it.”
She handed me a pair of thin rubber gloves. “Better use these,” she said. “You never know.”
The large navy gym bag was full of worthless junk as Gabe had told me. A strong smell of mediciny-mint assaulted me when I unzipped it. A small bottle of Listerine mint-flavored mouthwash had leaked all over the contents. I felt an incredible sadness as I picked through the Datebook Bum’s meager legacy—plastic cups from Mc-Donald’s and Burger King, a few paperback books with the covers ripped off, dozens of pens and stubs of pencils, a worn toothbrush with DR. GARDINER SAYS SMILE on it, a couple of old copies of the Freedom Press, a bar of soap in a plastic holder, two old shirts, and a pair of socks with a hole in one heel. The only thing that really intrigued me was a large Tupperware container of keys. Something in me told me to save those. I set them aside and zipped the gym bag back up. I stripped the rubber gloves off my hands and tossed them in a nearby trash can.
“You can dump it now,” I told Maggie. “It was just junk.”
Maggie shook her head and turned back to her typing. “We have a lot to be thankful for, don’t we?”
I drove through McDonald’s on my way back to the museum. The first thing I did in my office was check for Evangeline and Ash’s files. There they were, right in plain sight where I’d left them. I stuck them quickly back into the file cabinet and locked it, the barn-door analogy not lost on me.
After eating my All-American Big Three lunch of grease, carbohydrates, and sugar, I felt equipped to face the world again. A final, compulsive walk-through the exhibit assured me that everything was ready for the five o’clock opening. I became the first official visitor when a ticket seller attached a green plastic band to my wrist, an easy and inexpensive way to identify who’d paid admission for the three-day festival.
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