0425273059

by Miranda James

  Emile Devereux, a tall, stately man soberly dressed as befit his profession, walked into the room. He surveyed the group for a moment before he spoke.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I apologize for the delay in the viewing, but Mireille Champlain was a very dear friend, and I wanted to take the utmost care to ensure that everything was done properly, as befits such a wonderful woman.” He turned and gestured toward the doors across the hall, and his grandson stepped forward to open them.

  Richmond Thurston stood aside to let Horace and Jacqueline precede him, but he was close behind them. Lance appeared reluctant. Benjy propelled him gently, but firmly, toward the room. Trey trailed behind An’gel and Dickce with the banker, Farley Montgomery. Jackson had remained at Willowbank, where An’gel had encouraged him to stay for fear that the jolt of seeing Mireille still alive might be too much for him.

  An’gel was pleased to note the dim lighting in the room. She shivered when she glanced toward the casket. She admired her cousin for having the fortitude to play the most important part in the final act of the charade. An’gel was simply glad she wasn’t the one in the casket.

  “I’d like to go alone, if you don’t mind,” Jacqueline said to Horace in a clear voice that all could hear.

  “Of course, my dear, if you’re sure,” Horace said. He stepped back to stand beside the lawyer. Jacqueline nodded and approached the casket.

  She stood there for perhaps a minute, her back to everyone else in the room. She appeared to be praying. An’gel, from her vantage point slightly to one side, saw her goddaughter make the sign of the cross as she bowed her head.

  An’gel heard a faint rustle behind her, and she glanced toward the doors into the foyer. Bugg and Sanford stood there. No one else seemed to have noticed their presence, and that was good.

  Jacqueline stepped back from the casket after crossing herself again, and when she turned, An’gel saw tears streaming down her face. She dabbed at them with her handkerchief. When Horace reached out to her, she shook her head and motioned for him to take her place at the casket.

  Horace looked a bit queasy, An’gel thought. A sign of guilt, perhaps? He stepped forward and stared down at his mother-in-law.

  “She looks so life-like,” Horace said, loud enough for everyone to hear. He sounded surprised. He gazed at Mireille a moment longer, and then he turned to join his wife.

  Richmond Thurston glanced solemnly at Jacqueline. He said again, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Then after a short pause he added, “She was such a wonderful woman.” He sighed and then walked up to the casket.

  He stared down at Mireille as Horace and Jacqueline had done.

  An’gel held her breath. Any moment now.

  Suddenly Mireille sat up and yelled, “Thief! Murderer!” She pointed right at Thurston.

  Thurston screamed and stumbled backward into Horace. Horace pushed the lawyer away. “It was all his idea!” Horace yelled, the shock apparent on his face. “I didn’t want to, but he blackmailed me.”

  “Shut up, you fool!” Thurston was breathing heavily as he continued to stare at Mireille sitting in the casket. Her finger still pointed at him.

  “Thief! Murderer!” she yelled again.

  “He killed Estelle,” Horace said, wringing his hands. “Oh, lord, it wasn’t me, you have to believe me.”

  Thurston drew back his right arm and launched a vicious punch toward Horace’s face. At the last moment, Horace managed to duck, and the lawyer’s fist missed him.

  Bugg stepped forward, along with Sanford, and grabbed hold of Thurston. “Richmond Thurston,” he intoned solemnly, “I’m placing you under arrest for the murders of Sondra Delevan and Estelle Winwood.”

  Thurston struggled to break loose, but to no avail. “I didn’t kill Sondra, I swear to God. I was going to marry her, you idiot!”

  Bugg paid no attention. Sanford managed to get the cuffs on the lawyer, and the policemen escorted him out.

  “Will someone help me out of this thing?” Mireille demanded. “I want to get out now.”

  Emile Devereux and his grandson hurried to assist her out of the casket.

  Jacqueline, in the meanwhile, was berating her husband for his part in Thurston’s plan. “How could you, Horace? I trusted you, and this is how you repay me? How you repay Maman?”

  Whatever response Horace was about to make was drowned out by a loud yell.

  “Stop him.”

  An’gel turned in time to see Benjy and Trey lunging after Lance. They each managed to grab an arm before he got out the front door in the wake of the police. They dragged him back in the room, yelling, kicking, and trying to bite his captors.

  Mireille walked up to him and screamed his name. The moment he focused on her, she drew back her hand and slapped him so hard his neck snapped back, and he fainted. Mireille stepped aside, holding her hand gingerly.

  “That felt good,” she said.

  “Why did you do that?” Jacqueline asked.

  “To stop him from trying to get away,” Mireille said. “Also because he killed Sondra. I believed Thurston when he said he didn’t kill her.”

  “But he did kill Estelle,” An’gel said. “I’m sure Bugg will find some kind of evidence that she was trying to blackmail him.”

  “I’m sure he will, too,” Mireille said. “I imagine Estelle figured out he was the one behind the destruction of my treasures and then thought she could extort money from him. I don’t know if I could ever have forgiven her for that kind of betrayal.”

  CHAPTER 37

  An’gel looked at her sister. “What did you say?”

  Dickce grinned. “I said, I am so happy to be home, I could run through the house naked and screaming.”

  “Sister,” An’gel hissed. “Have you lost your mind? You shouldn’t say things like that where Benjy can hear you.”

  “Oh, pish tosh, An’gel.” Dickce waved a hand in a negligently dismissive gesture. “He was probably halfway to the kitchen with Peanut and Endora by the time that came out of my mouth.”

  An’gel knew when to give in, and besides, right now she was too frazzled to argue anymore. The drive back from St. Ignatiusville had tired them all out, especially after the events of the past few days. Peanut and Endora had been fractious in the car, requiring Benjy to devote attention to them every few minutes. The fact that Dickce, who had insisted on driving them home so Benjy could see to the animals, looked at speed limits as suggestions to be regarded at whim had done little to soothe An’gel’s frayed nerves. An’gel was seriously considering asking Clementine to serve Bloody Marys at lunch, which should be on the table in about twenty minutes.

  Her mind kept returning to the confrontation in the funeral home two days before like a movie reel that wouldn’t stop. She would never forget the sight of her cousin popping up in the casket to accuse Richmond Thurston. She could laugh now, but at the time she was too nervous to see the humorous side of it.

  She grinned. The lawyer had screamed like a toddler who had been frightened out of his wits. She also wondered if he’d had any other involuntary reactions but reprimanded herself for the unladylike thought. The main thing was, the thieving, murdering rat was in custody. She expressed that thought aloud to Dickce.

  “Yes, thank goodness, he is.” Dickce sighed. “I’m only sorry that he wasn’t responsible for Sondra’s death as well as Estelle’s.”

  “Why on earth would you say that?” An’gel demanded.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Dickce said. She slipped her shoes off and swung her feet onto the sofa. “Ah, that’s better. My legs are tired from driving for nearly six hours.”

  From speeding, you mean, An’gel wanted to say. “I offered to take a turn, and so did Benjy,” she reminded her sister.

  “Yes, and we’d still be on the road as slow as the two of you drive,” Dickce retorted.

  An’gel didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she said, “Back to what you were saying about the lawyer and wishing he had done both mur
ders. Again I ask you, why?”

  “I feel sorry for Lance, I suppose.” Dickce wiggled her toes. “The poor boy has such a limited intellect, do you think the judge will go easy on him?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” An’gel said. She also felt sorry for Lance, but she thought his general stupidity wasn’t an excuse. She expressed this thought to her sister.

  Dickce snickered. “I guess you have a point. I mean, how many killers are actually dumb enough to drive around with the murder weapon in the trunk of their cars?”

  The news yesterday that the police had found a missing andiron from the fireplace in Sondra’s bedroom in the trunk of Lance’s car had shocked everyone. The blood and bits of other matter clinging to it, along with Lance’s fingerprints all over it, were enough to keep him in custody as well until he could be arraigned along with Richmond Thurston.

  “Probably more than you realize,” An’gel said. “Dumb as the poor boy is, at least he didn’t try to harm Tippy, though he must have known she overheard his argument with Sondra.”

  Benjy came back from the kitchen, followed closely by Peanut and Endora. He bore a tray with a pitcher of lemonade, three tall glasses with ice, and two small bowls of fresh boiled chicken. He set the tray down, poured lemonade for the sisters, and then put the two bowls down for the animals. An’gel was relieved that he chose a spot not covered by the antique Aubusson carpet. The hardwood would be much easier to clean. Then Benjy poured a glass for himself and took a chair near the sofa.

  Benjy raised his glass. “I propose a toast to a safe return home.”

  “Hear, hear,” An’gel said, and Dickce nodded. They both raised their glasses, then all three took hearty sips.

  The cool liquid felt wonderful going down, and An’gel relaxed even further.

  “What were you discussing?” Benjy asked. “I thought I caught Lance’s name when I was coming down the hall.”

  “We were talking about him and how I felt sorry for him,” Dickce said. “An’gel, perhaps not so much.”

  “He is kind of sad and pitiful,” Benjy said. “Poor guy is the dumbest person I’ve ever met. Too bad he has such a violent temper.”

  “The ironic thing is that Sondra and Lance were so much alike,” An’gel said.

  “What do you mean?” Dickce said. “Sondra was much smarter than Lance.”

  “Yes, she was,” An’gel said, “but I wasn’t talking about intellect. I’ve been thinking about it. They were both beautiful, terribly spoiled, and intent on getting what they wanted, no matter how unrealistic their choices might be. Then Lance ended up killing Sondra because she was taking away perhaps his only chance to achieve his dream.”

  “If she hadn’t been so selfish, she might have saved herself, you mean,” Dickce said.

  An’gel shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  “That was the lawyer’s fault, though, wasn’t it?” Benjy asked. “I guess he convinced her somehow he was in love with her and she should elope with him.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” Dickce said. “We won’t ever know for sure, though, unless he decides to confess. I sure would love to know why he thought he had to kill Estelle.”

  “I figure she must have seen him around the house, without him realizing it, when he was vandalizing Miss Mireille’s treasures,” Benjy said. “She seemed to kind of pop up out of nowhere when you weren’t expecting her.” He frowned. “She spooked me a couple of times that way.”

  “You’re probably right,” Dickce said. “She did something similar to me. All the same, though, I know Mireille will miss her in an odd way.”

  “I’m truly sorry for Mireille and Jacqueline for their losses, and little Tippy as well,” An’gel said. “Though a part of me can’t help but think she’ll be better off in the long run without a mother like Sondra.”

  “I don’t know,” Dickce said. “Jacqueline and Mireille will be raising her, and they didn’t do such a great job with Sondra.”

  “Surely they’ve learned from their mistakes by now.” An’gel grimaced. “Though if Jacqueline is truly serious about taking Horace back after all this mess, she may not have learned anything after all.”

  “I think Mireille will talk her out of it,” Dickce said. “She’ll never forgive Horace for what he did, and I can’t say that I blame her.”

  “Well, we’re out of it, thank heavens,” An’gel said. “I am not planning on a return to St. Ignatiusville for a long, long time.”

  Benjy grinned. “That’s fine with me.” He shifted in his chair, and An’gel heard a crinkling sound. “Oops, I almost forgot.” He stood and extracted a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. He handed it to An’gel and then resumed his seat. “Clementine asked me to give this to you. This lady has been calling the house every day since we’ve been gone. Clementine says she’s having a hissy fit to talk to you.”

  An’gel opened the note and immediately wished she hadn’t. She knew why the caller was so insistent. It was almost time to start planning the Athena Garden Club’s spring show, and the caller was obsessive about each tiny detail.

  She told Dickce who it was. Dickce grimaced. “You’re not going to call her back now, are you?”

  An’gel shook her head as she folded the note and dropped it on the table next to her.

  “No, she can wait another day. Tomorrow will be better. It always is.”

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