1 Bless Her Dead Little Heart

by Miranda James

  “She would.” Benjy rolled his eyes before gesturing at Diesel. “What’s his name, and what kind of cat is he?”

  “His name is Diesel, and he’s a Maine Coon.” Dickce smiled fondly at the cat. “He is visiting with my sister and me while his family vacations in France.”

  “I’ve never seen a house cat that big before,” Junior said. “Does he have some kind of glandular problem?”

  “Your grandmother asked the same question. No, he’s perfectly healthy,” Dickce replied. “Maine Coons are generally larger than most breeds, but Diesel is exceptional, and not just because of his size.”

  The cat warbled, his gaze fixed on Dickce, and the two men laughed.

  “He agrees with you,” Benjy said.

  “He’s smarter than some people I know,” Dickce said. “He certainly seems to like you.” She found it interesting that the cat had taken to Benjy so quickly. Diesel had an excellent record as a judge of character, and Dickce hoped he hadn’t made an error in this case.

  “He can tell I like animals,” Benjy replied. “I want to be a veterinarian, if I can get enough money to finish college.”

  “He has two spiders,” Junior said. He shook his head. “They give me the creeps.”

  “They’re tarantulas, and they’re not poisonous,” Benjy said, his tone sharp. “How many times do I have to tell you?” He rolled his eyes at Dickce. “Bert and Ernie wouldn’t hurt anyone, as long as they’re left alone. At least my mother isn’t allergic to them, like she is with dogs and cats.”

  Dickce wasn’t that fond of spiders herself, but she admired Benjy’s willingness to care for such creatures. “You’ll probably find a few spiders here,” she said. She glanced at Junior and wasn’t surprised to see him grimace.

  “Don’t worry, Junior.” Benjy grinned. “I won’t let them bite you.”

  Junior muttered under his breath, and Dickce figured it was just as well she couldn’t make out the words. “You’ll need fresh linens for the bed and towels for the bathroom. If one of you would like to come back to the house with me, I’ll get them for you.”

  “We’ll both come,” Junior said with a stern glance at Benjy. “My mother and Aunt Bernice need help with their bags, and I have to get my own.”

  Benjy shrugged. “Might as well.”

  “Come along, then, and we’ll all have something cold to drink before you have to start carrying bags.” Dickce turned for the stairs. Diesel, ever alert, scampered down ahead of her.

  “That sounds great,” Benjy said from right behind her. “Any chance of a snack before dinner?”

  Diesel warbled, and Dickce giggled. “I’m sure we can find you something, Benjy,” she said as she stepped outside. “Diesel would like a snack, too. Wouldn’t you?”

  The cat chirped with enthusiasm, and the men laughed. Satisfied that Junior had shut the apartment door properly, Dickce led men and feline across the drive toward the kitchen door. In the kitchen, she found Clementine busy preparing dinner.

  “Something smells awesome.” Benjy sniffed appreciatively.

  Clementine glanced at the newcomers curiously but didn’t respond. An’gel, busy at another counter filling glasses with ice, stopped when she realized there was a stranger with Dickce.

  Dickce grinned at her sister. “An’gel, we have another guest. This is Benjy Stephens, Marla’s son. We found him in the garage apartment.” She paused. “Evidently his mother told him he should go there instead of coming into the house with her and her husband.”

  An’gel frowned as Benjy stepped forward, hand extended. “Nice to meet you, Miss Ducote,” he said. “Sorry if I caused any trouble.”

  An’gel accepted the young man’s hand. “Mr. Stephens, I don’t see how you could be at fault by simply doing as your mother told you. I trust my sister made you feel welcome.”

  “I brought them over to fetch fresh linens and towels,” Dickce said, her tone bright and cheery. “Mr. Pittman mentioned also that he wanted to help his mother and his aunts with their luggage.”

  “There will be time enough for that later,” An’gel said as she reached into the nearby cabinet for more glasses. “Why don’t you join me and your family in the front parlor? I thought we could all use a cold drink about now.”

  “That sounds good to me,” Benjy said, and Junior nodded.

  “May I carry that for you?” Benjy stepped forward and reached for the tray An’gel had picked up.

  An’gel smiled as she relinquished her burden. “Thank you. I’ll show you the way.”

  Dickce felt oddly pleased at this show of manners on Benjy’s part. She had taken a liking to this young man, despite his uncouth manner of dressing.

  “I’ll be along in a minute,” she said. She wanted to find a snack for Benjy. She knew young men his age often had voracious appetites, and she wouldn’t mind a few nibbles herself.

  Benjy, An’gel, and Junior left the room. Diesel stayed behind. He sat near her feet and stared up expectantly.

  Dickce grinned. “You know what I’m doing, you rascal. But I’m afraid there won’t be any tidbits for you.”

  Diesel chirped and then turned to sit with his back to her.

  Clementine chuckled. “Cats sure have a funny way of pouting, don’t they? My grandbaby Lawanna does the same thing.”

  “It’s so cute,” Dickce said. “Are there any of those oatmeal raisin cookies left?”

  “Should be, unless Miss An’gel got into them last night.” Clementine gestured toward the counter, where a cookie jar in the shape of a potbellied dog sat.

  “She didn’t, as far as I know.” Dickce walked over to pull off the lid and peer inside. Her sister had a weakness for Clementine’s cookies, but she had also been watching her weight lately. Dickce was pleased to see the jar was still nearly full.

  She found a serving tray and a paper doily, then arranged two dozen cookies on it. She noticed Diesel at her feet, gazing expectantly up at her. “No, sir, these are not for you. I think you’d better stay in the kitchen with Clementine so you won’t be begging.” She glanced at the housekeeper. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  Clementine smiled. “No, he’s fine here with me. Besides, he’s gonna be more interested in the fried c-h-i-c-k-e-n anyway.”

  Diesel warbled and transferred his attention to the housekeeper.

  Dickce laughed. “I have a feeling he knows how to spell.” She headed out the door and down the hall to the front parlor.

  She had neared the foot of the stairs when she heard a woman cry out from above her. Startled, she looked up the staircase in time to see Marla Stephens rolling down.

  CHAPTER 7

  An’gel found Maudine and Bernice in the front parlor near the fireplace when she ushered Benjy and Junior inside. Maudine had the Ming Dynasty goldfish vase upside down in her hands, peering at the bottom. “I’ll bet it’s a fake,” she told her sister in a waspish tone. “Or else they’re even richer than Mother has always claimed.”

  Bernice’s eyes widened when she caught sight of An’gel. She hissed at Maudine. “Put that down.”

  “Yes, please do put it back as it was.” An’gel strode forward, momentarily forgetting about Benjy and the tray he bore. Maudine grimaced but complied with her hostess’s request. Annoyed by her guest’s obnoxious comments, An’gel adjusted the position of the vase on the mantel until it met with her satisfaction, then stepped back. “When my great-grandfather purchased the vase in China on his honeymoon in 1853, he was assured that it was authentic. I have never had cause to doubt that, nor did the appraiser from Christie’s in New York twenty years ago.”

  Maudine appeared to wither under An’gel’s unyielding gaze. “I suppose you would know,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”

  Benjy cleared his throat. “Miss Ducote, where would you like me to put the tray?”

  An’gel, recalled to
her duties, turned to smile at the young man. “Right over here.” She indicated a side table next to one of the sofas, and Benjy set the tray gently down.

  “Please help yourselves,” An’gel said. If Maudine wanted tea, she could darn well get it for herself.

  Benjy complied with alacrity and had nearly drained his glass by the time Maudine, Bernice, and Junior each claimed their own. An’gel gestured for him to refill his glass, and he thanked her.

  “Maudie, Bernie, what are you two doing here?” Wade Thurmond nodded at his half siblings as he joined them beside the tea tray. “I see you found your way inside the house, Benjy. Afternoon, Junior. Marla will be down in a minute.” He helped himself to iced tea.

  Benjy shrugged at his stepfather, and Junior nodded in response. An’gel noted with interest that, although Wade spoke to the other two men, his gaze remained fixed on his sisters.

  Maudine glared at Wade. “We came to assure ourselves that Mother is well. I can’t believe she would simply take off in the night like that and drive across the country away from her family.”

  “Yeah, well, Mama is unpredictable.” Wade stared into his glass. “I think she’s getting a bit mental, if you know what I mean. All this goofy talk about somebody putting something in her food.” He shook his head. “Marla thinks Mama has developed a food allergy and needs to be tested. Of course, Mama won’t accept a rational explanation.”

  “I’m sure Marla would like us to believe it’s something that simple,” Maudine replied tartly. “But I wouldn’t put it past her to add something to Mother’s food just to make her sick. She hates Mother, even after all the kindness Mother has shown the two of you, letting you both live in her house rent-free.” She pointed at Benjy. “Not to mention letting that juvenile delinquent son of Marla’s live there, too.”

  Appalled at the spite in the woman’s voice, An’gel glanced at Benjy to witness his reaction to Maudine’s words. He appeared not to have heard. Instead he seemed to be engrossed in enjoying the view out the front window.

  “You stop talking like that right this instant.” Wade’s tone betrayed his fury. “You know as well as I do that house is rightfully mine. And the idea of Marla spiking Mama’s food, well, it’s just plain outrageous.”

  An’gel found it interesting that Wade did not defend Benjy in his impassioned reply. She glanced toward the window again. Benjy’s shoulders were hunched up, and she suddenly felt sympathy for the young man, despite the fact that she had no idea whether Maudine’s accusation was truth or hyperbole.

  “Pardon me,” An’gel said, suddenly tired of the squabbling. She needed to get out of the room for a few minutes. “I’ll check on Dickce and be right back.” Really, these people had no manners whatsoever. She would never dream of airing family troubles in front of a stranger the way Rosabelle’s children were doing. She wondered whether they would continue to behave this way in front of Rosabelle.

  As she headed for the door, Bernice spoke up. “Hush, you two, you shouldn’t be carrying on like this.”

  Too little, too late, An’gel thought. When she stepped out of the front parlor, she heard someone cry out, then saw a blur of motion as Marla Stephens landed with a loud thud on her back at the bottom of the stairs. One foot was bare, the other wore a spike-heeled shoe. Did she trip wearing those high heels? An’gel wondered.

  “Ms. Stephens, are you okay?” As she hurried forward, she raised her voice. “Mr. Thurmond, come quickly. Your wife fell down the stairs.”

  Wade responded immediately and came bustling out of the parlor. He brushed past An’gel to kneel beside the unmoving form of his wife. He grasped her left arm and patted her hand, his expression anxious. “Marla, honey, speak to me. Say something. Marla.” His breath caught on a sob.

  There was no response.

  Marla Stephens’s head was twisted at an unnatural angle, and An’gel couldn’t detect any signs of breathing. Was she dead?

  Suddenly shaky, An’gel looked up to see her sister standing nearby, food tray trembling in her hands. An’gel moved closer and placed an unsteady hand on Dickce’s shoulder. “Did you see what happened?”

  “She just came rolling down the stairs.” Dickce shook her head, her eyes wide with shock. “There was nothing I could do to stop it.”

  “Put down that tray before you drop everything,” An’gel said. She felt faint herself, and the hall seemed suddenly chilly. “Someone should call for an ambulance.” Her feet wouldn’t move when she tried to turn back toward the front parlor.

  Dickce quickly set the tray upon a small table against the wall between the parlor and the library. She took An’gel’s arm and began to lead her back to the parlor. “Sister, you look like you’re going to faint any second now. I’m not feeling all that steady myself.”

  An’gel halted for a moment to observe the scene continuing to unfold in the area near the foot of the stairs.

  Junior stood in the parlor doorway, cell phone in hand. Dimly An’gel heard him talking and realized he was conversing with the emergency operator.

  “Yes, a fall down some stairs,” Junior said, the impatience obvious in his tone. “No, I don’t know the address. I’m not from around here.” He paused. “The house belongs to the Ducote sisters. Yeah, Riverhill, that’s it.”

  Satisfied that Junior was handling the emergency call, An’gel glanced at the activity nearby.

  Wade Thurmond was performing CPR on his inert wife. From what An’gel could see, however, his attempts were fruitless. Maudine and Bernice remained nearby, their faces pale as they watched. They clutched each other, their breathing agitated. Benjy knelt beside Wade, his mother’s limp right hand clasped between both of his. He held the hand to his cheek, his eyes bright with unshed tears, as he watched his stepfather. An’gel could see his lips moving, perhaps in prayer.

  “What on earth is going on? Did she fall down the stairs?”

  An’gel looked up to see Juanita Cameron hurrying down the staircase to join Wade beside his wife’s body. “Here, let me take over,” she said. She pushed an unprotesting Wade to one side and went to work.

  Wade collapsed into a sitting position, his eyes, now streaming with tears, fixed on Marla. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it against his mouth.

  An’gel glanced up again. Rosabelle stood at the top of the stairs, both hands to her mouth, staring at everyone below. An’gel couldn’t read her expression from this far away. Rosabelle made no move to descend. Instead she appeared rooted to the spot.

  “Come on, Sister,” Dickce said, her tone agitated. “I don’t know about you, but I need to sit down.” An’gel tore her gaze away and allowed her sister to lead her into the parlor.

  Dickce got An’gel seated on the sofa. An’gel still felt shaky, and she could see that Dickce was as white as she no doubt was. She watched as Dickce headed for the liquor cabinet, pulled out the whiskey and a couple of glasses, then poured two healthy shots. She handed one to An’gel and urged her to drink. An’gel accepted the glass, eyed it for a moment, then knocked it back while Dickce did the same.

  An’gel felt the warmth spread through her body, and her head cleared. “Thank you, Sister,” she said. “I needed that.”

  “Me, too,” Dickce replied as she sank down on the sofa by An’gel. “That poor woman. So awful.” She paused for a steadying breath. “What the heck have we gotten ourselves into?”

  “Please, Lord, let it be an accident, and not murder,” An’gel said in response. “She simply tripped in those heels and fell.”

  Dickce squeezed her hand, but An’gel took little comfort from the gesture. She had the uneasy feeling that the horror had only just begun.

  From the hallway they could hear the muted sounds of conversation in short bursts. After a moment An’gel pushed herself up. “We’d better see what’s happening. The others are likely to need a restorative as well.” Dickce grimaced b
ut followed her sister to the hall.

  Juanita continued her efforts to revive Marla, but from what An’gel could see, Marla remained unresponsive. Benjy and Wade remained close by, their gazes focused on the motionless body. Maudine and Bernice still huddled together, several feet away.

  Junior, cell phone still stuck to his ear, spoke in low tones to the emergency dispatcher. “No, she’s not responding. How long is it going to take that ambulance to get here?”

  An’gel glanced up at the second-floor landing. Rosabelle no longer had her hands to her mouth, but her gaze appeared focused on the scene below. An’gel waved to catch her attention and then motioned for Rosabelle to come downstairs. Rosabelle stared at her hostess for a moment before she slowly began to descend, her body tightly against the right banister.

  When she reached the foot of the stairs, Rosabelle stepped around the supine form of her daughter-in-law, barely glancing at her granddaughter still hard at work. She ignored her daughters, even though Maudine held out her hand toward Rosabelle.

  She stopped beside An’gel and Dickce. “We need to talk. In private.”

  “Come into the parlor,” An’gel said. She figured Rosabelle was in shock and would benefit from a shot of whiskey as she and Dickce had. She took Rosabelle’s arm and led her into the room. She heard the siren of the ambulance as it neared Riverhill and was glad the professionals would soon be on the scene.

  An’gel seated Rosabelle on the sofa while Dickce went to the liquor cabinet to pour the whiskey.

  Rosabelle didn’t speak again until she had downed the liquor. She set the glass on the coffee table and leaned back. She turned to stare at An’gel, seated beside her.

  “That was supposed to be me out there, dead on the floor, not Marla.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “Does that mean you think Marla’s fall was no accident?” An’gel watched Rosabelle’s face intently even as her stomach began to churn from anxiety.

  Rosabelle nodded.

  “And that you were the intended victim of whoever caused her to fall,” Dickce said.