He strolled away with Richard, and I rode the escalator to the main floor, then headed toward the lobby, looking for a signal or a side entrance as I walked. The broad corridor was mostly deserted, but there were a few people around. I hadn’t gone far when a laughing couple came through a set of glass doors a few feet in front of me.
I veered toward it and checked to make sure I could get back inside—I’d learned my lesson at The Shores—then let the door shut behind me and moved away from the building until a couple of bars showed up on my screen. I punched in Sullivan’s number—or at least the first four numbers. That’s as far as I got before I spotted Judd and Susannah leaving the hotel by an entrance about thirty feet away.
Judd strolled slowly, hands in his pockets, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Susannah’s movements were more furtive. She glanced over her shoulder twice in thirty seconds, and she held one arm in front of her, her evening wrap tossed loosely over her hand.
I had a bad feeling about what I was seeing, so I finished punching in Sullivan’s number and waited impatiently for him to answer. “Get over to the Belle Grande Hotel,” I said when I heard his voice. “Susannah Boudreaux has a gun. I think she’s about to kill her brother-in-law.”
Sullivan didn’t waste time asking annoying questions, which is one of my favorite things about him. He asked exactly where they were, ordered me to get back inside, and put out a call to dispatch.
I had no desire to get between a crazy woman and her gun, but I couldn’t just go back inside and leave Judd on his own. Besides, if I went back into the hotel, I wouldn’t be able to call for help if things got worse.
Scarcely breathing, I moved a little closer, keeping to the shadows so they wouldn’t see me.
“They know,” I heard Susannah say. “They know! And they’re demanding the money back. They’re threatening to destroy Bradley—and me in the process.”
Judd sat on the edge of a raised flowerbed. “How can they destroy you, Susannah? You had nothing to do with it.”
“Do you think I can hold my head up if this gets out? Do you think anybody in this town will invite me to anything? I’ll be a laughingstock. Or worse, they’ll feel sorry for me.”
Judd smiled sadly. “Now that would be a shame.”
“Well, it’s not going to happen,” she said, her voice growing a little louder. “I’m not going to let it happen. You’ve embarrassed this family for the last time.”
“I sincerely doubt that,” Judd said. “Embarrassing the family is the one thing I’m truly gifted at.”
Susannah shook her head. I could only see the side of her face, but I thought she was beginning to look a little wild around the eyes, so I moved closer still. “I don’t know how I’m going to manage it, but I’m going to get that money back to the krewe. I’ll sell one of the businesses if I have to. But I won’t do this again. Big Daddy carried you all these years. He protected you from yourself. He bailed you out, using all of our money to do it.” She swung her hand and the wrap covering it fell away.
“You’re going to leave. Tonight. And you’re never coming back. Do you understand me?”
“Why not just let me confess to what really happened the night of the party? They’ll lock me up for the rest of my life, and you’ll be finished with me for good.”
Wait a minute. What? My heart stopped beating for an instant and then hammered in my chest so hard I couldn’t hear anything else.
Susannah leveled the gun at him. “Never. I’m tired of the pitying looks on my friends’ faces when your name comes up. I’m tired of everything always being about you and your sickness.”
Judd ran a slow glance over her hand and the gun she held. “You’d rather kill me than turn me in?”
“In a heartbeat.”
He held out his arms, daring her to take a shot. “Then do it, Susannah. I know I panicked when Bradley died, but this week has been hell and I’ve realized I can’t go through this again.” She shifted uncertainly and he pushed harder. “Come on, Susannah. Do you think I care what happens to me now? Life in prison or no life at all, it’s all the same to me.”
She shook her head and refocused her aim. “I think you’re the only person you care about, you selfish bastard. I think you used your brother up for his whole life, and you never gave one single thing back to him.” Anger twisted her features, making her pretty face almost unrecognizably ugly. “He didn’t love you, you know. He took care of you because he had to.”
Pain seared Judd’s face. Her hateful words had found their mark.
“If you cared about him at all, you’d leave,” she shouted. “Let me salvage his name. Let me keep this story from getting out. Let me protect his reputation the way you never would.”
Judd dropped his head and stared at the ground. When he lifted his head again, he looked different. Resigned. “Why don’t you just tell them the truth? Why don’t we just get it over with now?”
“Because the truth won’t help anything,” Susannah shouted. “Do you really think I want to be known as the woman whose husband was murdered by his own brother?”
She’d almost convinced me that she cared about her husband, but that question snapped me back to reality. This wasn’t about Big Daddy. It had always been about her.
“I told you, it was an accident,” Judd said, but his voice was so low I almost missed it.
“Oh, I know. You didn’t mean to. You never mean to, Judd. That’s the problem, but you still ruin everything for everybody.”
I hated knowing that Judd had killed Big Daddy, and I hated Susannah for caring more about herself than she did about either of them. But knowing that she’d tried to throw my uncle to the wolves to protect her reputation made my blood boil.
Sirens split the night, and Judd lifted his head to listen. “Someone knows we’re out here,” he said. “Looks like I’m not going anywhere.”
Panicked, Susannah raised the gun. I didn’t have time to think about what I did next. I’ll never know whether she intended to shoot him or not, but I threw myself on her before she had the chance.
I stumbled a little as I grabbed for her hand, and I lost my balance. We fell to the ground together. Pain shot through my knees, and the pavement tore the skin from my arms. My elbow throbbed, but I stayed focused on Susannah’s hands and the gun. I just had to keep her from using it until the police arrived.
I expected Judd to run, but he didn’t move.
Susannah surged upward, trying to shake me. I jabbed an elbow into her stomach and heard the breath rush from her lungs. Judd still didn’t move.
“What’s the matter with you?” I shouted at him. “Either get out of here or help me with her. Don’t just stand there.”
That seemed to rouse him. I could hear the heavy footsteps of New Orleans’s finest pounding as help came. I could hear Sullivan shouting my name. But I couldn’t tear my eyes from the sight of Judd walking away and leaving me to fight Susannah on my own.
Thirty-six
The news of Judd Boudreaux’s fatal accident hit the news early Sunday morning and spread like wildfire. He’d been drunk when he drove his car into a tree. The police estimated his speed at around ninety miles an hour.
Everyone said it was inevitable. The way he drank, they’d been expecting something like this for years. I couldn’t prove it, and I didn’t even want to try, but I suspected it was no accident.
With Big Daddy’s murder solved, Sullivan cleared Uncle Nestor and Aunt Yolanda to travel, and they wasted no time booking their flight. My heart was heavy as I drove them to the airport. It had been a hectic week, but it had been great to see them again. And at least they were on speaking terms again.
I pulled into the passenger drop-off and we kept busy unloading their bags from the trunk, avoiding “good-bye” for as long as possible. When we couldn’t put it off any longer, I hugged Aunt Yolanda tightly and blinked back tears.
“Are you sure you want to leave this morning?” I said, trying to laugh around the
lump in my throat. “You should stay until after Mardi Gras.”
“You might be able to convince me,” she whispered, “but Nestor is anxious to get home again.” She pulled back and I could see that her eyes were shimmering, too. “We’re going to miss you, mija. Come home for a visit soon.”
“I will,” I promised. I sniffed. Dug in my pocket for a tissue.
And looked up just as Uncle Nestor pulled me into his arms. “I am so proud of you, Rita. Never forget that.”
I couldn’t see his face. My own tears blinded me. “I love you, Tío.”
And then they were gone. I watched them walk across the lanes of traffic and into the airport before sliding behind the wheel of the Mercedes and driving away. As painful as saying good-bye was, I still didn’t regret the choice I’d made to stay here in New Orleans.
That was good to know.
Memories of the confrontation with Susannah, and Judd’s subsequent death, had sparked one of life’s clarifying moments for me. I wanted to laugh more and worry less. I wanted to dare more and fear less. I didn’t think that was too much to ask. And there was no better time to start relaxing and having a little fun than right then.
I’d spent the past couple of days immersing myself in the Mardi Gras experience with Miss Frankie, Bernice, and the Zydeco crew. Despite Big Daddy’s murder and Judd’s suicide, Musterion put on a great parade on Sunday. Even the scandal of Big Daddy’s embezzlement wasn’t enough to dampen Mardi Gras spirits.
I was learning that New Orleans moves to its own unique rhythm, and that’s never truer than during Mardi Gras. The music, the crowds, the noise and laughter, the unlikeliest costumes on the unlikeliest people can almost lead to sensory overload. There’s nothing subtle or understated about Mardi Gras. The louder, brighter, and more garish the costume or float, the better. It’s all about self-indulgence during carnival and self-denial once carnival is over and Lent begins.
I’d had a great time, but I think mostly I enjoyed feeling as if I’d belonged in our little group and being part of a tradition that dates back hundreds of years. I’d spent some time on Bourbon Street, with its beautiful old buildings and iron lacework standing side-by-side with neon signs advertising XXX entertainment. It’s an experience, but not my favorite.
I’d been happier at the Uptown parades, where people lined up six or seven deep, and the back rows were made up of people standing on ladders to see over the crowds. I’d loved watching the delight on the kids’ faces when someone on a passing float tossed a trinket or stuffed animal their way. And I’d been completely charmed by the people on the West Bank, who’d thrown their arms wide and welcomed me as if I’d always belonged there.
After the intense revelry of Fat Tuesday, I woke up to a quiet, empty house on Ash Wednesday morning. It was the first time I’d been alone in my own home for a long time, and I was enjoying the solitude. For a few hours, nobody needed me and even I couldn’t work up anything to worry about. I rolled over and pulled the covers over my head, settling down for another hour of sleep.
The entire staff at Zydeco had been out late the night before, so I’d given everyone the morning off. Which left me free to putter around the house and catch up with some of the chores I’d let slip for weeks. Aunt Yolanda had taken care of the most pressing issues, so I started a load of laundry, whipped up some French toast with cinnamon, and made coffee—strong and black—to kick-start my morning.
Just as I carried my plate and a mug to the kitchen table, the doorbell rang. I cinched my robe around my waist and opened the door to Sullivan. I can’t say I was surprised to see him. Along with the rest of the police force, he’d been working double shifts throughout the celebration, but I knew he’d pay me a visit when he could.
He looked good. Strong. Handsome. Steady. After I’d spent the better part of Saturday evening dancing with Gabriel, my reaction to Sullivan confused me. But then, so did my reaction to Gabriel. I’d always been a one-man woman.
I didn’t waste time dissecting my feelings. I invited Sullivan in, poured coffee and made him a plate, and then sat across from him. I like my time alone, but I still had unanswered questions, and I hoped Sullivan could clear those up for me. And besides, he’s easy on the eyes. “So,” I said, “what brings you here?”
He dug into the French toast like a man who hadn’t eaten in days. “I thought you’d like to know that Susannah Boudreaux has been charged with two counts of aggravated assault. With your testimony, we should be able to make the charges stick.”
“So she’ll go to prison? Good. It seems only fair.”
He lifted one shoulder and mopped up some syrup with a wedge of toast. “If all goes well. I wouldn’t be surprised if her attorney tries an insanity plea, though. She’s…disturbed.”
“Ya think?” I grinned and settled back in my seat, cradling my mug in both hands. “Has she explained how she knew that Judd killed Big Daddy?”
Sullivan nodded. “Apparently, she and Tyson stumbled upon the scene as Judd was running away.”
“Who is Tyson, anyway?”
“He’s the general manager at one of Big Daddy’s car dealerships. That’s how he met both Susannah and Violet.”
“So was he sleeping with both of them?”
Sullivan shook his head. “As far as I know, just Susannah.”
“So he and Susannah were together when they found Big Daddy? But they just left him there?”
“That’s right. They both say that they didn’t actually see Judd hit Big Daddy, but it was pretty obvious what had happened.”
“So instead of turning her brother-in-law in, Susannah tried to throw suspicion on Uncle Nestor? The woman really is certifiable, isn’t she?”
“I think she was desperate to protect the Boudreaux family, and by extension, her standing in the community. She liked her life, and she saw Big Daddy’s name and reputation as her key to keeping it. And I’m pretty sure alcohol was a factor. She’d been at that party for several hours by that time, and the witnesses I’ve talked to have all said she was drinking heavily. She had a knee-jerk reaction when she found her husband dead. After that, she was afraid to come forward with the truth.”
Somehow I thought her decision had been more calculated than that. “Judd said Big Daddy’s death was an accident,” I said. “Do you think it was?”
Sullivan nodded. “I do, but without Judd’s testimony we’ll never be able to prove it.” And with his past, Judd’s memory would probably always be under a cloud of suspicion. I shook off the slight melancholy that settled on my shoulders at that thought and told Liam about Uncle Nestor and Aunt Yolanda and how Susannah Boudreaux had kissed him at the party. “I still don’t understand why she did that,” I said. “I even asked her about it, but she claimed that my uncle kissed her. I know she’s lying.”
“She and Big Daddy had a twisted-up relationship,” Sullivan said. “They were both sleeping around, and yet they both seemed to genuinely care about each other in an odd way.” He held up both hands to ward off the argument he could feel coming and added, “Hey, I don’t get it either. I took a statement from Susannah’s friend Tyson the other day. He claims that Susannah was trying to show Big Daddy that she meant business. Apparently, she used to threaten to leave him on a regular basis. This time, she wanted him to believe she was serious. So she kissed your uncle right in front of Big Daddy just to prove a point.”
“What a crock. Do you believe that?”
“I believe that’s what she told Tyson,” Sullivan said with a shrug. “But I don’t think she had any intention of leaving Big Daddy.”
Neither did I. I hated her for involving Uncle Nestor in her mess. He’d had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it had come very close to destroying his own marriage, not to mention his life.
“If you ask me,” I said, “Big Daddy had already tarnished the name. Other than the way he took care of his brother, he didn’t have a lot of redeeming social value.”
“He wa
sn’t all bad,” Sullivan said.
“He wasn’t all good either.”
“Who is? If it makes you feel better, I heard from the Boudreauxes’ attorney this morning. Susannah had assumed she was going to inherit Big Daddy’s estate, but it turns out he left a will dividing almost all of it between his children. He also left some property a few miles north to Judd. I guess the kids—meaning Mellie, since none of the children is yet of age—have decided to turn that land into a treatment facility: the Judd Boudreaux Memorial Rehabilitation Center.”
The melancholy lifted a little further. “I like knowing that,” I said.
Sullivan finished his breakfast and sat back with a sigh of satisfaction. “You sure can cook.”
I actually felt myself blush. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Would you like more?”
He patted his stomach and shook his head. “Thanks, but I shouldn’t.” He glanced around the kitchen. His gaze landed on a pile of sequins and feathers, the costume I’d worn on Bourbon Street. He arched an eyebrow and grinned, leaning over to hold it up in front of him. “New outfit?”
I laughed and nodded. “Yeah, but it was a one-time-only deal. That thing will never again see the light of day with me in it.”
He ran another glance over it and looked back at me slowly. “So your aunt and uncle are gone?”
I swallowed. Hard. And tried not to overreact to the way his eyes suddenly turned smoky gray. “They flew out on Sunday. Aunt Yolanda would have liked to stay for Mardi Gras, but Uncle Nestor was ready to get home. He’s not really into crowds and noise. They make him nervous.”
“I’m sorry their visit was ruined by the investigation,” Sullivan said. “I really did try to find someone who could provide him with an alibi.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” But that was all water under the bridge. The important thing now was that they were speaking to each other when they left New Orleans. As long as they were talking, I trusted they could work through anything.
Without another word, Sullivan got up and came around the table toward me. He pulled me out of the chair with more gentleness than I would have imagined for a man his size, and put his arms around me tenderly. “I’m glad you called me the other night, but you had me worried sick. Don’t do that again, okay?”
Cake on a Hot Tin Roof Page 24