0425273059

by Miranda James

  “Okay,” Tippy said. “Mommy wikes it when I wook pwetty wike she does.”

  An’gel and Benjy exchanged stricken looks while Dickce found Tippy’s hairbrush and began to work gently on the tangled light brown strands. “Why don’t y’all go on down,” she said, a slightly noticeable catch in her voice. “We’ll be down in a minute.”

  “Peanut, come,” Benjy said. In an aside to An’gel, he explained that the dog probably needed to go outside.

  “What about Endora?” An’gel asked when they were in the hallway with the dog.

  “Here she is,” Benjy said. “Watch this.”

  An’gel watched while Endora leapt onto the dog’s back and then quickly launched herself onto Benjy’s shoulder. “You’re so clever,” Benjy told Endora. The cat thanked him by rubbing her head against his ear.

  “She is clever,” An’gel said. “Not to mention agile. I didn’t realize cats could jump like that.”

  Endora rode on Benjy’s shoulder all the way down to the first floor. “We’ll be back in fifteen minutes or so,” Benjy told An’gel. “I’m going to let Peanut burn off some energy after that nap he had. Then I’ll put them in my cottage until I eat. They’ll be fine there for a little while.”

  “That sounds good to me,” An’gel said. “I’ll go to the kitchen and see whether Estelle has done anything about lunch.”

  She turned down the hall, and Benjy went out with the animals. An’gel listened as she neared the kitchen, but she didn’t hear any sounds of food preparation. With a sigh she walked through the open door, wondering what on earth she would find to prepare for lunch. She had not spent much time in the kitchen over a stove for years. Dickce was a better cook than she was, but both sisters had been spoiled for years by their housekeeper, Clementine, who was a very fine Southern cook. Just thinking of Clementine made An’gel hungry for one of the housekeeper’s amazing desserts. Her particular favorite was Clementine’s carrot cake.

  Stop thinking about cake. That’s not going to get lunch ready for anybody. An’gel checked the refrigerator and found several pounds of ground beef. There was a bundle of asparagus in the crisper, a head of iceberg lettuce, and several tomatoes. Satisfied that she could cope with what she’d found, An’gel went to the sink to wash her hands.

  When she pushed the sleeves of her dress up to keep from wetting them, the scrap of fabric she had found earlier fluttered to the floor. An’gel retrieved it and stood staring at it. The white satin brought the memory of that terrible scene, when Sondra stood upstairs, gleefully ripping the antique gown and throwing the swatches of fabric down to the first floor.

  An’gel rubbed the scrap between her fingers. It was warm from having been tucked in the sleeve against her arm. It was also soft, but something about it didn’t feel quite right. She held it under the fluorescent light over the sink and examined it more carefully. She quickly came to the conclusion that the piece of fabric she held had not come from an antique wedding gown. The weave was not that of old satin. Instead, it looked like a blended material, perhaps silk and rayon, the kind used to make drapes.

  Where had it come from? Had Sondra not destroyed the antique gown after all and instead cut up a piece of drapery?

  An’gel shook her head as if to clear it. She tucked the scrap back into her sleeve. There were two answers to this particular puzzle, she decided. Either this was a random piece of material that had somehow found its way to the spot where An’gel discovered it, or Sondra had cut up something besides the dress.

  The first answer seemed too bizarre a coincidence, like the freakish accident that supposedly claimed Sondra’s life. The second answer was just as bizarre, but for a different reason.

  An’gel recalled what Jacqueline had told her and Dickce earlier, about Sondra’s care for clothing and how she wouldn’t have gone out onto the gallery during the storm wearing her blue gown. Had that care extended to the antique dress? Perhaps Sondra had wanted to punish her grandmother by cutting up fabric that only looked like it came from the dress.

  There was one way to answer at least part of the question, An’gel realized. Look for the dress.

  She was about to head out of the kitchen when she realized she had no time to hunt for the dress right now. Tippy would be downstairs soon asking for something to eat. She had better focus on putting together a meal for the child and for herself, Dickce, and Benjy.

  Before she finished seasoning the ground beef, however, preparatory to forming it into patties, Estelle turned up and informed her that she would take care of lunch. “You can go back to whatever you were doing,” Estelle said. “I don’t need any help.”

  “Very well,” An’gel said. She went to the sink to wash her hands. “Tippy will be down shortly. She’s hungry, and we promised her food.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Estelle said. “She likes hot dogs and macaroni and cheese. I’ll have them ready for her in a few minutes.”

  An’gel nodded and left the kitchen, relieved that she wouldn’t have to cook after all. Instead, she could go in search of the wedding dress. The likeliest place would be Mireille’s room, she decided, because her cousin would have wanted it to hand to prepare it for the wedding. Moreover, Mireille probably wouldn’t have trusted Sondra to handle it properly in her absence.

  As she neared Mireille’s door, An’gel heard Dickce and Tippy on the stairs above her. She didn’t want to have to explain to her sister what she was doing and ducked quickly inside her cousin’s room and shut the door. She would share whatever she discovered later on.

  She flipped the light switch but left the curtains closed. She stood by the door and surveyed the room to determine the likeliest place to look. Her eyes settled on the old chifforobe in the corner. Its doors were open, and An’gel noted the two long drawers at the bottom, under the compartment for hanging clothes.

  She doubted her cousin would keep the dress on a hanger because of its age. The drawers were likelier. They were low, and An’gel had to squat to open them. She started with the bottom drawer, grasping the elderly drawer pulls and sliding the drawer gently out.

  There it was. An’gel, even though she had halfway expected to find it, was still a bit surprised. She knew it was the wedding dress because she had seen both Mireille and Jacqueline walk down the aisle in it. The fabric looked fragile, and An’gel wondered why Mireille had been so insistent that Sondra wear it. Surely any damage would have been irreparable.

  An’gel slid the drawer closed and slowly got to her feet. Her muscles protested, and she leaned against the chifforobe for a moment to rest.

  Sondra had not destroyed the antique gown. So what had she destroyed instead?

  CHAPTER 26

  Other questions followed quickly. Did Jacqueline know the wedding dress was still intact? And who cleaned up the mess Sondra made?

  The answer to that last question was Estelle, An’gel reasoned. Sondra wouldn’t have, and Jacqueline had gone with her mother to the hospital.

  When Estelle picked up the scattered pieces of fabric, had she realized they did not come from the antique gown?

  An’gel wanted to talk to Jacqueline first. Given the loss of her mother and her daughter, Jacqueline might not care in the least about the survival of a piece of clothing. Still, An’gel thought it better to tell her now than have her find it on her own and get a potentially unsettling surprise.

  After she talked to Jacqueline, she would confront Estelle. This time she would demand some answers, even if Estelle tried to stonewall her with her usual rudeness.

  Once lunch was over, An’gel decided. She left Mireille’s room, making sure the door was securely closed behind her. She walked downstairs. When she heard voices coming from the front parlor, she turned that way instead of toward the dining room.

  Inside she found Horace and Jacqueline. Horace had his cell phone to his ear while Jacqueline watched him from her perch on one of the armchairs.

  “That’ll be fine,” Horace said. “Soon as you can get somebody h
ere.” He ended the call and snapped his phone into a holder attached to his belt. “They should be here in about an hour, Roy said.”

  “That’s good,” Jacqueline said, “though I wish someone had thought to call them earlier.”

  “Hello, my dear,” An’gel said. She nodded to Horace. “Are you feeling any better?”

  “A little,” Jacqueline said. She still appeared drawn and tired to An’gel, but perhaps the nap had helped.

  “Miss An’gel, I’ll have to be heading back to town in a few,” Horace said, “and Jackie’s got things to do. I got a crew coming to do the cleanup upstairs. Would you mind showing them where to go when they get here?”

  “I’ll be happy to,” An’gel said. “Anything to help.”

  “Thank you, Tante An’gel.” Jacqueline smiled briefly. “I’d rather not be here while they’re up there.” Her voice faltered on the last two words, and for a moment An’gel thought her goddaughter was going to break down. Jacqueline rallied, however, and asked An’gel to have a seat. “Estelle won’t have lunch ready for another ten minutes or so.”

  An’gel chose a seat on the sofa near Jacqueline. She wished Horace would depart because she was eager to question her goddaughter about the dress.

  “I’ll grab something in town.” Horace moved close to his wife, leaned down, and kissed her cheek. “You take it easy, sweetheart, and I’ll see you later.” He ducked his head in An’gel’s direction. “Miss An’gel.” Then he strode from the room, pulling his cell phone loose from its holster as he walked.

  Jacqueline stared after him with what An’gel thought was a curious expression. Affection, An’gel decided, but laced with doubt. Did Jacqueline suspect her husband was responsible for Sondra’s death?

  “I’m glad we have a few minutes alone together,” An’gel said, gently claiming her goddaughter’s attention. “I have something to tell you, and I’m afraid it’s a bit startling.”

  Jacqueline appeared alarmed. “It’s nothing to do with Tippy, I hope.”

  An’gel shook her head. “No, Tippy is fine. Dickce and Benjy are taking turns looking after her. She’ll be safe with them.”

  Jacqueline sighed. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am. There’s so much to do, but I can’t take her with me. I haven’t even explained to her about Sondra.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “How do I tell her she’ll never see her mother again?”

  “Oh, my dear.” An’gel got up from the sofa and went to her goddaughter. She bent down and wrapped her arms around Jacqueline, who leaned against her. An’gel rocked her goddaughter gently.

  Jacqueline sighed. “Thank you. I’ll be okay.” She gently loosed herself from An’gel’s grasp, and An’gel resumed her seat.

  “If you’d like one of us with you when you tell her, all you have to do is say so,” An’gel said.

  “I’ll think about it,” Jacqueline replied. “Now, what is this startling news you have?”

  An’gel pulled the scrap of fabric from her sleeve and leaned forward to hand it to Jacqueline, who looked at it blankly.

  “What is this?” she said.

  “I thought it was a piece of cloth from the antique wedding dress,” An’gel said. “I found it in the hall under a table. When I examined it more closely, however, I realized the fabric wasn’t old enough, nor is it satin.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jacqueline said. “If it didn’t come from the dress, what is it?”

  “I don’t know,” An’gel said, “but I aim to find out. Once I realized it wasn’t from the dress, I wondered if the dress was still intact. I suspected, you see, that Sondra might have cut something else up. I confess I went snooping in your mother’s room, and I found the dress, unharmed, in the bottom drawer of the chifforobe.”

  To her surprise, Jacqueline laughed. She stopped abruptly, however, and dropped the scrap onto the coffee table.

  “Do you know what it came from?” An’gel asked.

  Jacqueline nodded. “It must be from the replica Maman had made of the gown a few years ago. The last time I saw it, it was hanging in her closet.” She shook her head. “I suppose when Sondra went looking for the gown, she must have found the replica instead. Probably didn’t realize it was not the original.” Her eyes filled suddenly with tears.

  An’gel started to get up, but Jacqueline waved her back. “I’m all right. I’m happy the gown wasn’t harmed, for Maman’s sake. She’ll—” Jacqueline halted abruptly.

  “Yes, I know,” An’gel said. “It’s hard to realize she’s gone.”

  “I still don’t understand why Sondra would do such a thing.” Jacqueline picked up the scrap of fabric and stared at it. “It wasn’t like her to do something so cruel.”

  An’gel was taken aback. From her own assessment of Sondra’s character, the girl’s act of destruction wasn’t all that surprising. She decided not to say this to her goddaughter. Instead she settled for a blander statement. “She was terribly angry over Mireille’s refusal to deal with Estelle. Perhaps she was so enraged she acted out of character.”

  Jacqueline shook her head. “She was angry, certainly, but I’ve seen her that angry numerous times, and she never did anything like this.” She brandished the scrap. “I’d almost swear someone put her up to it, but I can’t imagine who would.”

  An’gel could imagine it. The person who killed Sondra might have incited the act for reasons of his own. Then Sondra might have repented of it in the wake of her grandmother’s collapse and threatened to confess. There was a twisted mind at work here, whatever the answer.

  “If someone talked Sondra into doing it,” An’gel said, “it would seem to me that person wanted to hurt Mireille. Perhaps not to the extent of having her collapse, but to upset her if nothing else.”

  Jacqueline must already have come to that conclusion, An’gel thought, because she didn’t appear at all surprised by the idea.

  “I think you may be right.” Jacqueline looked troubled as she deposited the fabric once again on the coffee table. She took a deep breath and faced An’gel squarely. “There’s something neither Maman nor I told you and Tante Dickce. We probably should have, but Maman didn’t want to worry you.” She smiled briefly.

  An’gel decided to let that statement pass. Mireille should have confided in them, and perhaps all this could have been averted. She didn’t want to upset her goddaughter by telling her that. Instead she said, “What didn’t you tell us?”

  “There were a few other little incidents that upset Maman,” Jacqueline said. “At first we thought they were just coincidences, but then they got a bit ugly.”

  “Tell me about these incidents,” An’gel said.

  Jacqueline leaned back in her chair, her eyes closed. “A set of Dresden figurines that Papa gave her on their tenth wedding anniversary were broken. Maman thought either Estelle or Jackson had done it and were too embarrassed to admit it. She didn’t want a confrontation, so she said nothing about it to either of them. Especially because Jackson is rather shaky sometimes, and Maman didn’t want to upset him.”

  An’gel nodded. Typical of Mireille, she thought, to refuse to confront someone.

  “A couple of other small, treasured possessions got broken,” Jacqueline said. “Maman still refused to say anything, and she wouldn’t allow me to. I was surprised, frankly, that nobody owned up to it. Jackson, in particular, because he’s always been so honest. Because of that, I decided it had to be Estelle. She can be spiteful sometimes, and she’s angry whenever Maman doesn’t give in to her and do things her way.”

  “I think I would have said something to Estelle anyway, no matter what your mother wanted,” An’gel said. “That kind of behavior can’t be allowed to go on unchecked.” Because it may have escalated into something far worse.

  “I argued with Maman about it, but she wouldn’t listen. She said she would handle it in her own way. The incidents stopped for a few weeks, and then a couple of days before you arrived, the worst one happened.” Jacqueline shuddered.
r />   “What was it this time?” An’gel asked.

  “One of Papa’s gifts to Maman,” Jacqueline said. “Probably the one she valued above all, a beautiful seventeenth-century French prayer book, still in its original binding. Maman found it cut loose from the binding, and the binding destroyed. I swear I thought she might have a heart attack then.”

  An’gel felt sick to her stomach. “That was wicked. Mireille should have called the police.”

  “I tried to get her to,” Jacqueline said. “Nothing I said could convince her. She kept insisting she would take care of it. I asked her point-blank if she thought Estelle was the culprit, but she just shook her head.” She paused. “I knew it couldn’t be Jackson, because he’s as devout a Catholic as Maman. Estelle isn’t devout by any means.”

  “I agree with you about Jackson,” An’gel said. “He would never do something he would consider blasphemous. If it wasn’t Estelle, however, then who do you think it was?”

  Jacqueline looked ready to burst into tears again. “I don’t want to think it, but I’m afraid Horace did it. He was trying to talk Maman into lending him money, but she refused. He wasn’t happy about it.”

  CHAPTER 27

  An’gel’s heart went out to her goddaughter because she could see how troubled Jacqueline was and how much it cost her to admit that she suspected her husband of such a vile act.

  “Horace has always seemed like such a confident, successful businessman,” An’gel said. “Has he been having financial problems recently?” She began to suspect that this was more than a minor cash-flow issue.

  “Horace has been very successful,” Jacqueline said, a note of pride in her voice, but it quickly turned bitter. “Horace also likes to gamble. Not at the casinos, mind you, or card games. He gambles with the stock market and investments in business ventures.” She looked angry now, An’gel thought.

  “And lately those haven’t been going too well.” An’gel knew from her own experience as an investor that things could quickly turn against a person. She and Dickce, however, always exercised caution when considering any kind of new venture.