Someone's Mad at the Hatter

by Sandra Bretting

  “Stop right there!” he commanded.

  She stopped, but her coat continued to sway around her legs like a pendulum.

  Meanwhile, I turned to see Barrett, who remained standing at the table, with the dinner check in his hand. He seemed to be weighing his options. He quickly tossed the bill down and then he darted in the opposite direction.

  There was no time to react. Everything slowed as he zigged past the elderly couple and then zagged around the family of four. Just when I thought he’d pass us in a blur, Ambrose grabbed onto the edge of our table and stuck out his leg.

  Crash!

  Barrett never saw it coming. Once he smacked into Bo’s shin, he tumbled end over end, until his head struck the floor with a thwack. His body went limp and his face contorted in pain.

  My gaze flew forward again. Now Trudi stood with her hands pinned behind her back. The officer I didn’t know had widened her stance by nudging her feet apart, while Lance withdrew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. She didn’t resist when he slapped them on her wrists.

  Meanwhile, Officer Hernandez must’ve heard the commotion by our table, because he sprinted toward us. When he arrived, he bent over the carpet and grabbed something on his utility belt. Once he secured some handcuffs around Barrett’s wrists, he turned him right-side-up on the carpet and shouted something to me.

  “Who’s this?”

  “That’s Barrett Hudson, her fiancé.” I couldn’t look at the injured man. “They were both involved in the murder.”

  “Need any help, Officer?” Ambrose half-rose from his chair.

  “Nah. I’ve got this one.” The policeman hoisted Barrett to his feet, who reacted with a loud moan.

  All three policemen marched their prisoners to the front of the restaurant. When Trudi saw her fiancé in handcuffs, she snarled at him.

  Poor Barrett . . . he doesn’t stand a chance. She’d turn on him faster than a cobra strike.

  “What’s going on around here?” It was Odilia, who huffed up to our table, her cheeks pink from running. She clutched a wine bottle for a weapon.

  “We found out who killed Charlotte.” I spoke quickly. There was no time for a lengthy explanation, since she looked ready to bean someone. “I called Lance. They got them both in custody.”

  We all turned to stare at the spectacle. Somehow, Trudi managed to look haughty, even with a police officer on either side of her and the fur coat all askew.

  “But they’re our customers.” Clearly, Odilia had no idea who was dining in her restaurant that night. To her, Trudi and Barrett were like any other dinner guests, only ones who happened to be in handcuffs at the moment.

  “I’m afraid so.” I glanced at Ambrose, who carefully massaged his shin, obviously in pain. “Are you okay, Bo?”

  “Yah.” He continued to nurse the leg. “Just glad that guy didn’t get away.”

  “That was very brave of you.”

  “Brave, schmave. I figured there was only one way to stop that guy, and I didn’t want you to be the one to do it.”

  “Oh, Bo.” I thought about swatting his arm, but only for a moment, since he’d been injured enough for one night.

  “Who are they?” Odilia asked.

  “That’s Trudi Whidbee and her fiancé. She hired Charlotte Devereaux to plan her wedding.” I gently lifted Ambrose’s hand off his leg so I could take over. “Only Charlotte ended up having an affair with that guy.”

  “I knew it! I knew a man was involved somehow.” She sounded vindicated. “Two women like Bettina and Charlotte don’t go at it like they did unless it involves a man.”

  “You were right,” I said. “And this man was supposed to marry someone else.” I finished rubbing Ambrose’s shin. “Can we go home now?”

  “There’s only one problem.” He glanced around our empty table. “We never did get anything to eat, and you look ready to faint.”

  “Really? After everything that’s happened, you’re worried about me having dinner?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Lance has those two in custody, and we can’t do anything else until we go to the police station to give our statement.”

  Odilia broke in. “I know what to do. I’ll have one of my busboys send some food over to your house. You’re both goin’ to have a long night tonight.”

  “She’s right, you know.” Ambrose slowly rose and then helped me to my feet. “We’ll have to go down to the police station and it might take a while. It seems like we’ve been there way too much lately.”

  I managed a grin, even with the chaos. By now, Trudi and Barrett were gone; muscled through the front door by Lance and the other officers. The air around us began to buzz again, as people started to whisper about what they’d seen.

  I took it all in, my view tempered by exhaustion. “One thing you can say about our dates, Ambrose. They’re never boring.”

  He grinned and clutched my waist. We both waved good-bye to Odilia, and then we began to walk away from the table. Our steps were wobbly because of Ambrose’s injured leg, but we still managed to cover some ground. At the last moment, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Odilia place the wine bottle on the table.

  “Just a second.” I gently slipped out from his grasp and worked my way back to her.

  “Did you forget something?” she asked.

  “I figured we’d take that wine to go, if you don’t mind.” I pointed to the bottle on the table. “We could use it after the night we’ve had.”

  “Of course. Here you go.” She gave me the bottle, along with a wink.

  Did Odilia really just wink at me? My nerves were so shot, I couldn’t trust my eyes at this point. Regardless, she looked tickled to see me take the bottle and return to Ambrose, who waited for me by the entrance to the foyer.

  “So that’s what brought you back there,” he said, as soon as he noticed my hand.

  “I wanted to make sure we have everything we need tonight. There’s no telling how long we’ll be with Lance, but at least we can look forward to going home again.”

  We took a few more steps toward the exit when Ambrose suddenly stopped. “Do you hear anything?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Shhh. Listen. It sounds like music. Piano music.”

  I cocked my head toward the sound. Sure enough, a few lilting notes reached me, over the buzz of conversation. It was piano music and it was coming from the foyer. A familiar tune, maybe Bach or Beethoven.

  We stepped closer to the foyer. Definitely Bach. Someone was playing the opening strains of “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.”

  I peered around the corner. Prudence Fortenberry sat at the piano in the foyer, still in her faux-fur coat, which meant she must have just arrived. She used her left hand to play the lower part of the keyboard, while her injured right hand lay in her lap.

  A few folks milled around the upright and listened to her play.

  When she finished, I left Ambrose’s side and moved over to her. “Hello, Prudence.”

  She looked at me vaguely, her eyes bleary. “Hi, Missy. I didn’t even see you there. I kind of get wrapped up in the music when I’m playing.”

  “I could tell. It’s a beautiful piece. I’m sorry I ever told that bride it was overused. I apologize.”

  “Pshaw.” She casually waved her good hand. “To be honest, it is overdone. Almost a cliché now.”

  One by one, the strangers around us wandered away as Prudence and I continued our conversation. Even Ambrose kept his distance, no doubt to provide us some privacy.

  “So, what are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Testing the piano. Odilia wants me to start playing here on Friday nights. Said it’ll be a good way to entertain folks while they wait in line.” She waved again, but this time with her injured hand. “Of course, I can’t start yet. But, at least I could check out the instrument to see if it’s been tuned.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea! About you playing, I mean. I’ve been here on a Friday night before, and it’s packed to t
he gills.”

  “No one ever books me for weddings then, anyway. Might as well make some money on my downtime.” She swiveled around. “What brings you here?”

  “I was having dinner with Ambrose Jackson.”

  “Ooohhh . . . I’ve met him several times. You should wrap that one up and take him home.”

  “I know, right? There was a big commotion here tonight, and we were just leaving.”

  “Commotion?”

  “The police left a few minutes ago. They got the people responsible for Charlotte’s death.”

  Prudence gasped. “Do tell! Who in the world would do that to our sweet Charlotte?”

  “It was Trudi Whidbee, along with her fiancé. They’re on their way to the police station right now.”

  “I hate to say it, but it makes perfect sense.” Prudence leaned in. “That girl was downright ugly to me when she found out about my hand. She fired me on the spot. Said she couldn’t risk losing me for her precious wedding if it didn’t heal in time. Can you imagine? Talk about overreacting.”

  “Now that you mention it . . .” I leaned in too, since what I was about to ask wasn’t meant for others to hear. “Whatever happened to your hand? That’s a nasty injury.”

  “This?” She gave a forced laugh. “It’s kind of embarrassing, to tell you the truth. I got too close to the blades in the garbage disposal. Dropped my ring down the drain and just panicked.” She turned the injured hand over in her lap. “Could’ve been a whole lot worse, though. Turns out the blade only grazed it and didn’t cut anything major. Pretty much a surface wound, even though it looks nasty as heck.”

  “Whew.” My eyes widened. “You’re incredibly lucky. Who knows what could’ve happened.”

  “Tell me about it. That’s the first and last time I’ll ever dive after jewelry like that again.”

  By now, Ambrose had decided it was safe to enter the conversation, and he appeared at my side. He carefully took Prudence’s left hand in his. “Nice to see you again. You play beautifully. Even with only one hand.”

  “Pshaw. That’s sweet of you to say. Come back in a few weeks, and you’ll hear some real piano playing. I’ll be here every Friday night, from seven p.m. to midnight.”

  “Got it. We really should get going, though, Missy. Lance will want us at the police station soon.”

  “Do tell.” Curiosity blazed in Prudence’s eyes. “Were you the ones who caught them?”

  “No, not really.” I spoke quickly, eager to dispel any misinformation. Since Prudence knew almost everyone in town, she was an important cog in the rumor mill. “The police officers took them into custody. Let’s give the police all the credit for getting those two off the streets.”

  “I agree,” she said. “Makes me thankful for our boys in blue.”

  Ambrose shifted beside me, which meant he was growing impatient. But, something else nagged at my memory, refusing to be ignored. “One last thing. Remember when we met up in the parking lot this morning?”

  “Yeah, when I got your skirt all muddy, right? Didn’t I give you enough money for the dry cleaner?”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s something else. I kinda peeked inside your car when you ducked inside to get some money. It was packed to the roof. I thought you might be leaving us for a while.”

  She smiled. “Well, I can see why you’d think that. My car must’ve looked a sight. I had to clean house, and it turns out I have way too much sheet music. I like to donate my extras to the high school choir department. They’re so short of funds, you know.”

  “But, I also saw suitcases in there.”

  “Those were empty ones. I gave them to the choir director. He said they take an annual trip to a music festival—I think it’s Dallas this year—and not all the kids have decent luggage.”

  No wonder she carried so much stuff in her car. “I’m so sorry I badgered you, then. And, it’s wonderful you donate to the school.”

  “You didn’t badger me. I can see why you might be confused.”

  “Uh, Missy?” Ambrose took hold of my elbow again. “We really should get going.”

  “You’re right. We’ll see you soon, Prudence. Don’t let anything else happen to your hands. It sounds like Odilia needs you here at her restaurant.”

  We left her sitting at the piano, with her right hand still in her lap. By the time we walked through the exit, she’d begun one of Bach’s preludes, and music once more filled the foyer.

  Chapter 23

  As we drove away from the restaurant, both Ambrose and I retreated into silence. Every once in a while, he snuck a glance at me as we drove down Highway 18, which I pretended not to notice.

  Who knew he and I would visit Odilia’s restaurant for a quiet meal, only to watch the police apprehend the couple responsible for Charlotte’s murder? Not only that, but the culprits turned out to be a former client and her erstwhile fiancé, which made it even more surreal.

  I could only imagine what was taking place at the police station while we drove. By now, Lance would have Trudi sequestered in the nondescript interview room, a place clearly beneath her, which she’d tell him in no uncertain terms. She might even insist he release her this very instant. When Lance didn’t comply, she’d ask to call her daddy’s high-priced attorney, and then they’d wait, in stony silence, for the man to arrive.

  Meanwhile, Barrett would squirm in a different conference room down the hall, his physical pain nothing compared to the psychological wringer he was about to go through. He had to know his fiancée would rat him out. We all did. It was only a matter of time.

  After a few more minutes, Ambrose finally broke the silence. “That’s strange.”

  The Sweetwater mansion appeared in the windshield up ahead, its roofline dark against the night sky. Now, however, several lights blazed in the windows on the first floor, and the front door stood wide open.

  “You’re right . . . that’s really weird.” I forgot about everything else for a moment as the mansion drew near. Sure enough, I could see all the way from the porch into where the grand staircase stood.

  “Do you think Hank knows he left his front door open?” Ambrose asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t see any movement in the house.”

  He slowed the car and then pulled over to the shoulder of the road. Hank’s white pickup sat in its usual spot by the mansion, right next to the kitchen, but there was no sign of Hank.

  “He’s definitely home,” I said. “Could be he just forgot to close the front door.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Either way, we should tell him.” I quickly glanced at the clock on the Audi’s dash. Only ten minutes had passed since the chaotic scene at Miss Odilia’s Southern Eatery.

  “Are you sure Lance won’t mind?”

  “He’ll forgive us if we only take a second.” I knew at some point Lance would expect us at the police station, and we might as well get his questions over with. But that didn’t mean I could ignore Hank’s dilemma. He’d do anything for me, even donate the shirt off his back—albeit one in god-awful colors—and he’d do the same for anyone else in Bleu Bayou. I couldn’t pretend he didn’t need our help now. “C’mon, Ambrose. Let’s make sure he’s okay.”

  Ambrose reluctantly turned off the ignition and left the Audi. The minute I stepped outside too, a strange feeling washed over me.

  “Whoa.” I waited for it to pass, as I picked my way along the pea-gravel path to the mansion. “Didn’t see that coming.”

  Ambrose walked two steps ahead of me, but he slowed. “What now?” he asked over his shoulder. “Did you see something?”

  “No. But I had the strangest feeling of déjà vu. Like we were just here.”

  “That’s because we were just here. Remember? It was two days ago. We came to Mr. Dupre’s New Year’s Day breakfast.”

  “That’s right! It seems like weeks ago.”

  I hurried to catch up with him, my arms flailing as I jogged. That was when I remembered the wine bottle in my
hand, which I still held. “Did you say something else? I can’t hear you.”

  He came to a dead stop. “I said someone should’ve eaten the damn peas that day.”

  “Hold the phone. Are you telling me you think this is all my fault?”

  By now, we stood on the front porch, in a rectangle of light that poured through the front door.

  “Maybe. Would it have killed you to eat the good-luck peas?”

  “For goodness sakes, Ambrose. Just for that, I won’t share the wine with you.”

  I flashed the bottle at him before he could protest and hurried through the front door. Sure enough, a crystal chandelier above my head threw prisms of light around the empty room. My favorite part of the house actually lay beneath me: beautiful mahogany hardwoods that glimmered like pond water under my feet.

  “Mr. Dupre?” My voice echoed in the stillness.

  Ambrose arrived a second later. He looked befuddled too when no one answered my call.

  “Hhheeelllooo?” I tried again, my voice once more bouncing around the room. After a moment, I tiptoed to the end of the foyer and stuck my head in the hall.

  Several rooms branched off the foyer, including a dining room, sitting area and kitchen, way out in the back. I made my way to the dining room first, where I spied something by the fireplace.

  It was Hank Dupre, who had brought one of the dining room chairs close to the fireplace. His chin rested on his chest and his eyes were half-closed, as he softly snored by the flames. The fire that danced over the logs couldn’t compete with the bright orange golf shirt he wore.

  Footsteps sounded behind me, so I turned and pressed my finger to my lips. “Shhhh. He’s sleeping.”

  I inched closer to him and heard another snore. I was about to touch his arm, when his eyes flew open. “Wah?”

  “Hi, Mr. Dupre. It’s me. Missy DuBois. You left your front door open.”

  He quickly straightened. “Missy?”

  “Yes, and Ambrose Jackson is here too.” Thankfully, he didn’t tease me about calling him Hank this time. “We drove by your property and saw you’d left your front door open. We didn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”