0425273059

by Miranda James

  Thurston wasn’t the only trustee of Sondra’s trust, An’gel recalled. There was a banker, a man that Jacqueline referred to as a fussy pants or something similar. An elderly man who kept a tight rein on the money and wouldn’t let her borrow against her own income. An’gel wished she knew his name. She would like to talk to him.

  Well, why shouldn’t she talk to him? She ought to be able to find out easily enough his name and his address. She glanced at her watch. It was only a few minutes past four. More than time enough to go into town and talk to the banker.

  Jackson might know, she decided. She went back into the house to track down the butler and ask him. She found him in the kitchen. Evidently the police had finished using it for questioning witnesses. Jackson stood forlornly at the sink, staring out into the yard behind the house.

  “Hello, Jackson,” An’gel said. The butler started, then turned to face her.

  “Something I can do for you, Miss An’gel?” he asked.

  “Yes, there is,” she replied. “Do you happen to know the name of the banker who is one of the trustees for Jacqueline and Sondra?”

  “Yes’m, that’d be Mr. Farley Montgomery at the bank in St. Ignatiusville,” Jackson replied. “You need to talk to him about something?”

  “Actually I do,” An’gel said. “Do you have any idea what kind of hours he keeps? I’d like to see him this afternoon, if at all possible.”

  Jackson smiled. “He’ll be at the bank till at least six o’clock, Miss An’gel. He’s been keeping the same hours ever since he started there fifty-three years ago. Hasn’t ever missed a day that I recall hearing of.”

  “That’s impressive,” An’gel said. “He sounds like a dedicated man.”

  “He sure is that,” Jackson said. “You know where the bank is?”

  “No, I don’t, so I’d appreciate directions.”

  Jackson explained that the bank was on a side street off the highway that ran through St. Ignatiusville. “You can’t miss it. It’s going to be the second street to your left, after you pass the light in front of the big Baptist church.”

  An’gel nodded. She remembered the church. “Thanks, Jackson. Now I just need to find my purse and keys and I’ll be on my way.”

  “They’re in your room, Miss An’gel,” Jackson said. “I found your purse in the dining room earlier, and I put it in your room.”

  An’gel thanked him again and vowed to herself to do a better job of keeping track of her purse. “When you see my sister, please let her know I’m running an errand in town. I should be back by six at the latest.”

  Jackson said he would inform Dickce, and An’gel hurried out of the kitchen to retrieve her purse. As she reached the second floor, she spared a thought for Benjy upstairs, still watching over Tippy. Perhaps Dickce would go and relieve him. Right now, she was determined to get to the bank and get in somehow to talk to Farley Montgomery.

  A few minutes later she was on her way to St. Ignatiusville. She checked the brakes before she left the property, the thought having occurred to her before she had gone five feet. The killer had no reason to tamper with her brakes, she thought, but she didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances.

  She drove more slowly than usual, just in case. The brakes seemed fine, however, and within minutes she was in town. She watched for the church and, when she spotted it, concentrated on a left turn on the second street past it.

  She had to wait for more than a minute before she could turn left because there was a steady stream of traffic. Finally she saw an opening and took it. She hit the gas, and the Lexus jumped through the intersection.

  The bank sat on a corner a block from the highway. An’gel found a slot right in front of the doors and parked.

  Inside the building she surveyed the scene for a moment before deciding whom to approach. Her gaze settled on a young woman at a nearby desk who didn’t appear to be busy at the moment. An’gel walked over to her and greeted her. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Montgomery, please.”

  The young woman looked up at her. “Do you have an appointment? He’s pretty busy this afternoon.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.” An’gel gave her a rueful smile. “It is urgent that I talk with him. If you’ll tell him I’m here on behalf of Mireille Champlain, I’m sure he’ll see me.”

  The Champlain name was evidently the magic word, because the girl immediately picked up the phone and punched in a number. After a brief conversation, the girl hung up the phone. She stood. “If you’ll come with me, ma’am, I’ll show you to Mr. Montgomery’s office.”

  An’gel nodded and followed the girl to a discreet door in the corner. Moments later, down a short hallway, the girl ushered her into an office with floor-to-ceiling windows at the back and a view of a park. In front of the window, at a large desk, sat the thinnest man An’gel had ever seen.

  He rose and dismissed the girl. After she had closed the door behind her, he spoke to An’gel. “Good afternoon, madam. I am Farley Montgomery. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

  An’gel was so fascinated by studying the man’s appearance that she failed to respond immediately. Then she realized he was waiting, and she introduced herself. “I am An’gel Ducote. I am Mireille Champlain’s cousin, and I have come to talk to you about matters affecting my cousin and her family.”

  The banker’s face did not betray any hint of emotion at her announcement. He waved a hand with long, exceedingly thin fingers, and bade her be seated. He waited until she had done so before he resumed his own seat.

  “You must understand, Miss Ducote, that I am not at liberty to discuss details of my client’s affairs without her permission,” Montgomery said in a sententious manner.

  “Yes, I understand that, and under normal circumstances I would not have sought you out. Because of the events of the past two days, however, I felt I had to consult you.”

  “I presume you are referring to the sad demise of Mrs. Champlain’s granddaughter.”

  “Yes, I am,” An’gel said. She thought it odd that the banker hadn’t mentioned Mireille’s death. Surely Jacqueline would have informed him? “There is also the matter of my cousin’s death as well. Surely you are aware that Mireille passed away as well?”

  “Yes, of course,” Montgomery said hastily. “Yes, Jacqueline did call to tell me.”

  An’gel regarded him in silence for a moment. Something about his response struck her as odd, but she couldn’t figure out why. She’d think about it later. She decided to get straight to the point.

  “I need to ask you some questions about the trust funds you help administer for both Sondra and her mother. I know you will think this is none of my business, but I have to tell you frankly that I believe Sondra’s murder is connected directly to her inheritance. Someone is anxious to get his hands on that money.”

  An’gel knew she was taking a risk in confronting the banker like this. Despite what Jacqueline had said about him, there was a strong chance he was in cahoots with his fellow trustee, Thurston. They might be embezzling together, and here she was, letting him know she suspected what was going on.

  But, she thought, sometimes you had to rattle the cage to make things happen. She waited for the banker’s response to her rattling.

  Montgomery maintained his calm, reserved manner. He didn’t appear to be fazed in the least by her statements.

  “While I cannot discuss the details with you, Miss Ducote,” he said in his dry, precise manner, “I can assure you that there has been no malfeasance with the trust funds under my purview. By the terms of the trust, both my fellow trustee and I have to agree on any disbursement of funds. And as those funds are deposited in this bank, and as my signature is required before they can be released in any way, I can assure you the trust has not been violated.”

  An’gel took a moment to absorb the meaning of the banker’s stilted language, and then she was baffled. Montgomery sounded convincing. But if there had been no embezzlement from Sondra’s inheritance, what was t
he motive for her murder?

  CHAPTER 34

  “Ordinarily, you understand,” Montgomery continued, “I would not tell you as much as I have. But as you said, the circumstances are indeed unusual because of the sad loss. Losses,” he added quickly.

  An’gel was too distracted by her own thoughts to pay much attention to the banker. Had she and Dickce been so obsessed with the money angle that they were overlooking a more obvious answer? Was Sondra’s death a crime of passion instead?

  Trey had a violent temper. An’gel had seen evidence of that. He hadn’t wanted Sondra to marry Lance Perigord. Had he struck out at her during an argument and killed her by accident? Or even deliberately? She would have to go back to Dickce and share the banker’s words with her.

  “Miss Ducote, is there anything else I can assist you with?” Montgomery said.

  An’gel surfaced from her thoughts to find the banker observing her with a puzzled expression. “I do beg your pardon, Mr. Montgomery,” she said. “I thank you for your time and for answering my questions.”

  The banker rose and inclined his head. “I’m pleased to have been of assistance. I regret only that I could not assist you more.”

  An’gel was about to bid him good-bye, but another question occurred to her, and she was sure he would know the answer.

  “I do have one more thing to ask,” she said. “Jacqueline has been busy in town most of the day, and I haven’t wanted to disturb her. Could you tell me the funeral home that will be handling the funerals?”

  “I believe Emile Devereux and Sons are in charge of the arrangements,” Montgomery said.

  “And where might I find them?” An’gel asked.

  “Another two blocks down this same street,” Montgomery said. “Might I inquire whether you are intending to go there this afternoon?”

  “I thought I might,” An’gel said. She actually hadn’t intended to; she had simply wanted the information in order to arrange for flowers. Something in the banker’s manner, however, piqued her curiosity. “Thank you again, Mr. Montgomery. You’ve been most helpful.”

  “Again, you are indeed welcome.” The banker inclined his head once more.

  An’gel headed for the door. She opened it and stepped through, pulling the door almost shut behind her. She peeped through the crack to see whether the banker was in her line of sight.

  He was not, but his arm reaching for the phone was.

  “May I help you?”

  The voice at her back startled An’gel, and she turned to see the young woman who had helped her earlier standing there with an annoyed expression.

  “No, thank you,” An’gel said as she pulled the door gently closed. “I’ll see myself out.” She strode down the short hallway, head held high, as if she hadn’t been trying to eavesdrop on the president of the bank. And if her cheeks were slightly red, well, one might suppose it was because she was walking rather fast.

  In the car, she glanced in the mirror. Her color was back to normal. She felt foolish. She shouldn’t have tried to eavesdrop, but she had been curious to see what the banker did after she was out of the room. There was something odd going on, but she had no idea what.

  Perhaps the banker was in cahoots with Thurston and had lied to her about the state of Sondra’s inheritance. He didn’t seem the type to embezzle, though. He emitted an air of rectitude like the sun in the sky.

  She headed down the street, looking for the funeral home. She found it two blocks down on the other side of the street. Jacqueline’s car occupied one of the parking spaces, and An’gel pulled in beside it. The building took up at least a third of a block.

  Emile Devereux and Sons, Mortuary Services, occupied a house that An’gel decided must date from the late nineteenth century. She mounted the steps to the porch and opened the door. When she stepped inside, she found herself standing in a spacious and impressive foyer. An ornately carved wooden staircase mounted to the second floor about a dozen feet or so in front of her. There was a small reception desk to her right. Beyond that, a parlor. There was another like it to her left.

  A heavy floral scent filled the air, but there was an undertone of another scent, a chemical one. An’gel recognized the faint whiff of embalming fluid. She walked over to the parlor on the left side and found it empty. She turned back and went to the right-hand one. Empty also. There was a large sign with removable letters near the stairs, but it was blank except for the name of the funeral home.

  A voice coming from behind her startled An’gel.

  “How may I assist you, madam?”

  An’gel turned to see a handsome young man, black hair slicked back, dark suit, dark shoes, and an unctuous smile, regarding her.

  “Good afternoon,” An’gel said. “I am looking for my goddaughter, Jacqueline Mims. I need to talk to her.”

  The young man shook his head. “I’m sorry, madam, but she is not here.”

  An’gel responded tartly, “I parked beside her car just moments ago. Did she abandon her car here for some reason?”

  The young man, whom An’gel assumed was one of the sons of Devereux and Sons, didn’t bat an eyelid. “Ah, my mistake, dear lady. Mrs. Mims must still be here.” He gestured with his right hand and arm. “If you will wait in here, I will locate her and tell her you wish to see her.”

  “Thank you,” An’gel said. She walked into the right-hand parlor and seated herself on a Victorian-looking divan. “Tell her Miss An’gel Ducote would like to speak to her.”

  The young man bowed. “Certainly, madam.” He disappeared, and An’gel thought she heard him on the stairs. From where she was sitting, she could not see into the foyer.

  She supposed Jacqueline was upstairs in an office or a showroom, making decisions about the two burials. She didn’t really want to intrude on her goddaughter at this time, but An’gel wanted to see the two murder cases brought to a swift conclusion. She needed to ask Jacqueline a few questions. There were missing pieces, and she hoped her goddaughter could help her fill them in.

  “Tante An’gel, why did you come all the way into town?” Jacqueline was bearing down on her. “I was getting ready to leave and would have been home soon.” She seated herself near An’gel on the divan.

  “I was restless, feeling cooped up,” An’gel said, “and I decided to get out and come to town. Have you heard the latest news?”

  Jacqueline shook her head. “No, I haven’t talked to anyone except Mr. Devereux and his sons. I think I left my cell phone in the car. Why? What has happened?”

  Bugg might be annoyed with her for telling Jacqueline about Estelle’s murder, but he would just have to be annoyed, An’gel decided.

  “Estelle is dead,” she said. “I was with her when it happened.”

  “Her heart, I’ll bet,” Jacqueline said, looking stricken. “She was devoted to Maman and all this has been too big a strain for her.” She glanced up, as if to heaven, and sighed heavily.

  “No, it wasn’t her heart,” An’gel said. “She was poisoned.”

  Jacqueline shot up from the divan. “Poisoned? Oh, dear lord.” She sank back down. “That’s horrendous. Why would someone murder her?”

  “Because she knew something that Sondra’s murderer didn’t want her to tell anyone else.” An’gel leaned toward Jacqueline. “Estelle told me at least twice that she knew things, and she said it in a way that led me to believe she was planning to blackmail someone. For all I know, she tried, and the murderer poisoned her.”

  She went on to explain the figure she thought she had seen, and she repeated what Jackson had told her about Estelle’s allergy to peanuts.

  Jacqueline nodded. “Yes, she was deathly afraid of peanuts in any form.” She covered her face with her hands and said something, but it was too muffled for An’gel to understand.

  “What did you say?” she demanded.

  Jacqueline dropped her hands and clasped them together in her lap. Her expression one of anguish, she stared at An’gel. “I said what an awful mess this is. Wh
at a nightmare.” Tears rolled down her face.

  An’gel reached over and squeezed Jacqueline’s hands. “Yes, dear, I know. That’s why we need to do whatever we can to put an end to this. There is something evil at work, and it has to be stopped.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” Jacqueline said. “But how? I’m terrified of what might happen next. Is someone staying with Tippy? Maybe I need to get home and look after her myself.” She half rose from the divan but then dropped down again.

  “Tippy is safe,” An’gel said. “Either Dickce or Benjy will be with her at all times, and they won’t let her out of their sight. They will protect her. There’s also Peanut. He has apparently taken a shine to Tippy, and you can bet he won’t let anybody hurt her if he’s anywhere nearby.”

  “Thank you,” Jacqueline said. “If something happens to her, I don’t know what I’d do.”

  “She’s going to be fine,” An’gel said firmly. “We are going to figure out how to put an end to this, and you and she will both be safe.”

  Jacqueline nodded. “What can we do?”

  “The first thing we have to do is establish the motive for Sondra’s death,” An’gel said. “Once we know that, everything else should fall into place.”

  Her goddaughter stared expectantly at her, so An’gel continued. “In my mind, there are two possible motives. One is passion, the other is greed. Until a little while ago, I was convinced, as was Dickce, by the way, that greed was at the root of this. We were certain that someone was in desperate need of money and killed Sondra because he wanted access to her inheritance.”

  “You mean Horace, don’t you?” Jacqueline said sadly.

  “Possibly,” An’gel said. “He is in deep trouble financially, probably far deeper than he’s told you. But he’s not the only one we considered. Dickce and I are highly suspicious of your lawyer. I even went to the bank just now to talk to Mr. Montgomery because he is the other trustee.” She sighed. “But he assured me there was no way Thurston has embezzled any of Sondra’s money. If he’s telling the truth, then I think we have to look at passion as the motive.”