Dickce wasn’t quite sure what to say next. Benjy was obviously distressed, but he was a stranger, and she didn’t know what would help him the most. Instead, she asked him the first thing that popped into her head.
“Benjy, how old are you?”
He glanced up, obviously startled. “I was nineteen in June. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I just wondered,” Dickce said. She had figured his age correctly, but she thought he sometimes seemed young for nineteen. “I’m sorry about your mother.”
To her dismay, he burst into tears. Diesel warbled anxiously, and for a moment Dickce didn’t know what to do. Then she got up from her chair and sat on the sofa by Benjy and pulled him into her arms. He sobbed on her shoulder while she held him and Diesel rubbed his head against the boy’s side.
CHAPTER 13
After a few minutes the storm of tears abated, and Dickce could feel Benjy trying gently to pull away. She released him, and he rose on unsteady legs to make his way to the sink in the kitchen area. Diesel followed him and twined himself around the young man’s legs. Benjy splashed his face with water, dried off with paper towels, then blew his nose twice.
Dickce moved back to the chair to allow Benjy his space on the sofa when he returned. He smiled shyly at her. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Guess I kinda freaked for a minute.”
“No need to apologize,” Dickce replied. Given the circumstances, she would have been surprised if the boy hadn’t broken down.
Diesel climbed onto the sofa beside Benjy, who rubbed the cat’s head and back. “You’re such a sweet kitty.” He looked up at Dickce. “He really seems concerned. Isn’t that funny?”
“He has a big heart,” Dickce said. Her throat tightened as she examined Benjy. With his red nose and pink eyes, he looked vulnerable and much younger than nineteen. He also looked a little bit lost right now. She wondered whether he had any family besides his mother. She hesitated to ask, because it was really none of her business. She couldn’t walk away now, however, and leave him on his own.
“I loved her,” Benjy said, startling Dickce with the sorrowful tone of his words. “Even though she was rotten to me a lot of the time.”
Dickce decided to venture the question she was burning to ask. “What about your father?”
“He walked out when I was two or three,” Benjy said. “So it was just my mom and me until a few years ago. That’s when she met the Wart.”
“It doesn’t sound like you think much of your stepfather,” Dickce said.
Benjy shrugged. “He doesn’t think much of me either. Couldn’t wait to get me out of his house when they got married, so he sent me to boarding school in New York. I was stuck in that place for three years, but I graduated last year.”
Dickce heard the pain and anger behind the pose of indifference. At a time in his life when Benjy needed a strong father figure, Wade Thurmond couldn’t be bothered and shunted the boy off to boarding school. Wart, indeed. Dickce could think of a worse name for him. She also didn’t think much of Marla for rejecting her son—because that was exactly what it amounted to—in favor of a new husband. That kind of woman disgusted her.
“So you’re on your own now, other than your stepfather,” Dickce said. A stepfather who obviously isn’t much interested in your welfare, she added silently. She wondered if Benjy would be left to fend for himself now that his mother was gone.
Benjy nodded.
He was obviously miserable and frightened, Dickce realized.
“I have friends in California,” Benjy said. “I think one of them will let me move in with him. He has his own apartment, and I have a part-time job.” He didn’t sound happy about the prospect, Dickce thought.
“I didn’t push her down the stairs,” Benjy said out of the blue. “I hated her sometimes, but I wouldn’t have done something like that.” He stared at Dickce, his eyes imploring her to believe him.
“I know you didn’t,” Dickce said gently. “You never went upstairs.”
“No, I didn’t.” Benjy’s face cleared. “That deputy woman was pretty scary when she asked me questions. Sure made me feel guilty, even though I knew I hadn’t done anything.”
“She’s tough and comes across as pretty intimidating,” Dickce said. “I’ve known her since she was a little girl. She’s smart, dedicated, and thorough. She’ll find out who caused your mother to fall down the stairs, and that will be the end of it. She knows by now that you couldn’t have done it.”
Diesel warbled, and Benjy smiled. “Guess he agrees.”
“He’s known Kanesha for a few years, too.” Dickce stood. “I’d better get back and help clear the table. Is there anything else you need?”
“No, ma’am,” Benjy said. He rubbed Diesel’s head. “Do you think it would be okay if he stayed here with me tonight? I don’t think Junior will mind. He’s an okay kind of guy.”
“I imagine I’d have a hard time keeping him in the house.” Dickce grinned. “He’s made it pretty obvious that he wants to stay with you, at least for tonight. If you think of anything you need, you be sure to let me know. Or if you just need to talk to someone. Okay?”
“I will.” Benjy smiled. “Thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome.” Dickce wagged a finger at Diesel. “You be a good kitty, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
Diesel chirped in response, and Benjy laughed.
Smiling, Dickce walked down the stairs and into the sultry evening. She didn’t particularly look forward to going back to the dining room. She’d had about enough of Rosabelle’s family for one day, if not for a lifetime. Was it too much to hope that they would all have gone upstairs to their rooms by now?
An’gel was glad that Dickce went to check on Marla Stephens’s son. She was worried about the boy herself, but since Dickce seemed to have established some sort of rapport with him, it was better that she dealt with him.
Even if it meant An’gel was now on her own with Rosabelle’s family. She was heartily sick of the lot of them but, at the same time, determined to see this thing through. Marla’s was the second violent death at Riverhill in less than a year and that was two too many. She wanted the murder solved and these people out of her house as soon as possible. The previous murder, which took place during a fundraiser for the Friends of the Library, had been resolved quickly. She prayed this one would be too.
There was not a morsel of food left by the time her guests finished their meals. An’gel reflected that at least it would make the cleanup easier. Before any of them left the table, however, An’gel had a few things to tell them.
“If I could have your attention for a moment,” she said. “I know you all must be tired and eager to get some sleep, and I suggest that you do so right away. I have arranged for a deputy to remain with us here in the house at all times until this dreadful situation is resolved. I’m sure we will all rest easier knowing that help is so close at hand.” She paused for reactions to this news and was surprised that no one chose to comment. She continued, “Breakfast will be served at eight, and if you should need anything during the night, please let me or my sister know.”
“I usually sleep until eight or nine,” Maudine said with a frown. “Will I still be able to get breakfast?”
“If there is anything left after the others finish, certainly you will,” An’gel replied in a pleasant tone. “The housekeeper, however, will not have time to prepare multiple breakfasts. I suggest you consider rising early enough to be downstairs at eight.”
An’gel could see that Maudine was peeved at her response but did not protest further. An’gel rose. “If there are no other questions or requests, then I will bid you all good night.”
Her guests muttered their good nights, and An’gel was not surprised that none of them volunteered to stay and help clear the table.
“Miss Cameron,” An’gel said, “if y
ou could stay a moment. I’d like to talk to you, if you don’t mind.”
Juanita, the last to exit, turned and came back toward the table. “Yes, ma’am, certainly.”
“How is Rosabelle?” An’gel asked. “Is there anything she needs?”
“Grandmother is distressed, naturally,” Juanita replied. “She is convinced that one of the family is trying to kill her, and I’m finding that hard to believe, even with what happened to Marla.” She shuddered.
“That was no accident,” An’gel said. “Rosabelle is right to be afraid, if she really was the intended target.”
“I know you’re right.” Juanita hesitated before finishing her reply. “It’s frightening to think that one of my relatives hates Grandmother so much.”
“Do you have any idea who is behind this?”
Juanita shook her head. “I wouldn’t have said any of them could be capable of this. I know my mother isn’t. I know she’s high-handed and rude, but she does love Grandmother in her own way.” She paused. “At first I thought Grandmother was making all this up because she wanted attention. Ever since her husband died, she’s been fretful. She’s used to having a man around to cater to her, and let’s face it, at her age, she’s not likely to find another husband.”
An’gel was struck by the young woman’s insight into Rosabelle’s character. Juanita evidently had few illusions about her grandmother.
Juanita stared hard at An’gel. “Miss Ducote, I’m really worried, and I have to confide in someone.” She hesitated for a moment. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I’m wondering whether my grandmother isn’t responsible for Marla’s accident.”
CHAPTER 14
An’gel wasn’t sure she had heard Juanita correctly. Then the import of the young woman’s words sank in. “That’s monstrous. Surely you don’t think your grandmother is a murderer?”
Juanita’s eyes widened, and she held up her hands as if to ward off a blow. “No, that’s not what I meant at all. Please, let me explain.”
“I surely hope you will,” An’gel said. She pulled out a chair and sank into it. She felt her pulse racing from the shock.
“I’m so sorry if that upset you badly,” Juanita said. “Can I get anything for you?”
An’gel shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine. Please explain what you meant.”
“First, let me say that I don’t believe Grandmother would have intentionally harmed anyone.” Juanita paused. “This is a difficult thing to say about my own grandmother, but I think she might have planned it so she could pretend to fall and continue with the charade that one of us was deliberately trying to harm her. She put the water on the stairs, but for some reason Marla got there first. And, well, the unthinkable happened.”
An’gel felt the tension radiating from the young woman as Juanita awaited her response. She was in no rush to respond because she needed to choose her words carefully.
Perhaps bothered by the silence, Juanita spoke again. “I know it must sound like I think she’s a terrible person, but I really don’t. Grandmother is impulsive and doesn’t always think things through. She’s a bit like a child sometimes. She does whatever enters her head without considering the consequences.”
An’gel had no trouble believing that part. Rosabelle had been exactly like that during their college days. An’gel and Dickce had helped the headstrong girl out of more than one scrape that resulted from lack of foresight. Age and experience apparently hadn’t taught Rosabelle much, An’gel reflected sourly.
Even so, she balked at the notion of Rosabelle’s having put water on the stairs so she could fake an accident. An’gel realized she had knowledge that could allay Juanita’s fears, but she couldn’t share it with the young woman. In An’gel’s mind, the use of the Vaseline on the banister was proof of intent to kill. She could see that Rosabelle might put water on the stairs, but she wouldn’t put the petroleum jelly on the banister. The risk would be too great.
An’gel knew she had to speak at this point. “I’ve known your grandmother for over sixty years, child. I can’t argue with you over Rosabelle’s need to be the center of attention all the time, because she has always been that way. I just don’t happen to think that this was one of her stunts gone badly wrong.” She paused to gauge Juanita’s reaction.
The young woman looked relieved for a moment, but then the full implications of An’gel’s statement appeared to sink in.
Juanita paled. “Then you think someone really is trying to kill Grandmother?” She groped for a chair and lowered herself into it.
“I’m afraid so.” An’gel touched Juanita’s arm lightly. “We have to protect her until Deputy Berry and her men get to the bottom of this.”
Juanita shook her head, as if she was still in shock. “I almost wish this was one of Grandmother’s little schemes for attention.” Suddenly she stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’d better get upstairs right away and keep an eye on her.” Without waiting for a response, she hurried from the room.
An’gel sat back in her chair and pondered the conversation. One possibility had struck her that she didn’t want to bring up to Juanita. It was a terrible thought, but one that had to be faced.
What if Rosabelle was responsible for the water and the Vaseline? What if she had deliberately set a trap for one of her family members? Even Rosabelle, who blithely tended to ignore the consequences of her actions, would have had to realize her target could be seriously injured or die as a result.
An’gel didn’t want to think her friend capable of such a terrible deed, but she had never been one to shy away from the truth, no matter how disturbing.
Dickce walked into the dining room and interrupted her reflections. “Sitting down on the job, I see. I don’t suppose any of them volunteered to help clear away?”
“Do you see one of them helping?” An’gel got to her feet and started piling plates.
“Well, who put the fly in your mashed potatoes?” Dickce shook her head as she began to help her sister.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” An’gel said in a milder tone. “Tired and upset, that’s all.”
“I know.” Dickce picked up her stack and headed for the kitchen. “These people are enough to make you want to put your head through a brick wall.”
An’gel followed behind her. “We need to talk, but I am just too tired to do it now.” She set her pile of dishes on the counter near the dishwasher. “Let’s leave all this for the morning.”
“I don’t feel right leaving it for Clementine to have to deal with.” Dickce opened the dishwasher and pulled the rack out. “You go on up to bed, and I’ll handle this.”
“You don’t have to,” An’gel said. “I talked to Clementine before she left, and she agreed we need extra help as long as Rosabelle and her family are here. She’s going to get her granddaughter Antoinette to come. Antoinette isn’t due back to college for another two weeks, and Clementine said she’d be glad of the money for schoolbooks.”
“All right then.” Dickce closed the dishwasher. “I wish I had half the energy that girl has. She makes that battery bunny look like he’s walking through molasses.”
“Being sixty years younger doesn’t hurt,” An’gel said wryly.
“Or in your case, sixty-four.” Dickce grinned on her way out of the kitchen.
“Touché.” An’gel turned off the kitchen light and shut the door. “I told our guests breakfast would be served at eight.”
An’gel decided they should leave a couple of lights burning downstairs, one in the hall and another in the parlor, where the off-duty deputy named Kilgore was keeping watch. “There are sandwiches and iced tea in the refrigerator for you,” An’gel told him. She was happy to see that he was young, tall, and muscular. He ought to be able to handle any situation that might arise.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Kilgore said, his voice deep and calm. “Y’all have a
n easy night. I’ll be moving around the house every so often, and I’ll do my best not to disturb anyone.”
An’gel and Dickce thanked him before they made their way upstairs on the left. An’gel averted her gaze as she neared the top. It would be a long while before she could look at the staircase without seeing Marla Stephens falling down it.
The second floor was quiet. Two lamps with low-wattage bulbs along the wall provided a dim but adequate glow as An’gel and Dickce strode down the hall to their rooms at the back of the house. No light shone under the doors as they passed, and An’gel hoped that meant all their guests were in bed and asleep.
At the end of the hall An’gel whispered “good night” before she opened her door, and Dickce responded in kind.
An’gel closed and locked her door. She didn’t fear for her safety—the lock was old and easily broken through—but at least the sound of a person attempting to get into her room would wake her up.
After she cleaned and washed her face and donned her nightgown, An’gel climbed into her four-poster bed with a grateful sigh. She couldn’t remember when she had been this tired. Having a houseful of guests—and unwelcome ones to boot—was exhausting.
She smiled in the darkness. She had thought having a cat as a houseguest would be a burden.
The cat.
An’gel’s heart skipped a beat. She pushed aside the covers and slid to the floor. Where was Diesel?
She turned on the lights and began a frantic search through her bedroom, closet, and bathroom. She had left him here before dinner and then forgotten all about him.
She called him, softly at first, then with increasing urgency. After five minutes she had to conclude that he was not in her room. Her heart skipped a few more beats.
An’gel’s legs trembled as she unlocked her door and stumbled across the hall to Dickce’s room. She called Dickce’s name as she tapped on the door, then tried to open it. Locked. She tapped again, harder this time.
1 Bless Her Dead Little Heart Page 9