A Manor of Murder

by June Shaw

  “I know.”

  Two women I recognized as residents moved away from a car one of them must have just parked. These ladies walked with springs in their steps and seemed just as spry as our mother. They were probably her age or maybe a little younger. Possibly they moved in here because of an ailment like our mother’s. Some people only chose to live in this pleasing environment because they were past their prime and decided on a place where their rooms were cleaned, their meals purchased and prepared, and their dishes and pots scrubbed. They didn’t need to worry about having the grass cut or attractive flowers planted outside. Everything worked, or if it did not, it was soon fixed. They had socialization with games and bus trips for anyone who wanted them and hairdressers who came in and religious services and lots of people to become friends with. All of this was provided in this charming building we walked into. The aroma of sweet jasmine growing right outside the door followed us in.

  “I think I want to move in here,” I said to Eve.

  She gave me a strange look, surely thinking here we were, angry with a man in this place, with residents much older than we were, and I wanted to live here?

  A few of Mom’s buddies sat around their space not far past the foyer. Mom was not one of them. A shiver of dread ran through me. I didn’t want to ask where she was.

  Eve obviously didn’t feel the same way. “Good morning, ladies,” she said and received many similar replies. “I don’t see our mother. Does anybody know where she is?”

  A couple of them shrugged and shook their heads, but the eyes of two of them darted to our right. Down there was a hall that Mom had emerged from the day we first saw the man she now thought she might marry. She had not told us where she was coming from but had hurried to the bank of elevators, insisting she needed to hurry because a good movie was about to come on. That would be a showing on a much larger television than most of them had in their rooms or suites. The viewing room was a nice size with several chairs. It was often used as a gym, though its two treadmills and all the weights stayed along the outer walls.

  At that time, right after our mother got into the elevator and its doors closed, a senior male we had not seen before came from the same hall where she’d come from. Dapper might be a word to describe him. Although that depiction wasn’t used much these days, it was my first thought. He looked lively and well dressed in nice clothes and holding a walking cane. He followed right behind where our mother went and looked happy waiting for the elevator.

  Mom had said the movie they were showing was about an older couple falling in love.

  A mild profanity left my lips.

  “What?” Eve said, leaning close to me.

  I rolled my thumb toward that hallway on the right. “You know Mac’s room is down there.” Our mother’s room was to the left and on the second floor. “She went out with him last night. What if—?”

  She shoved a hand across my lips to keep me from asking the rest.

  No, neither of us wanted to consider that our mother was sleeping with a man. The idea of that occurring sent shivers along my back and goose flesh sprouting on my arms.

  “You’re afraid?” Eve whispered, making me realize I had begun humming a Christmas tune.

  I quieted my throat. “I’m afraid for Mom. Having someone take advantage of her could ruin her life. She’s too old to start over again.”

  “I know.”

  Eve was the one who loved men and had surely done some things I would prefer not to think about. It was only that now we were talking about our mother. Our mother! And suppose this stranger drained her bank account and took all her savings? She had always been so trustworthy. We could take care of her if that happened, but she might be destroyed if that occurred. The medicine she took for her heart could only do so much.

  “Sunny. Eve.” It was Terri Hebert, the manor’s administrator who had stepped near. The hem of her long skirt still swayed when she stopped. “If you two aren’t busy right this minute, could I ask you to check out something?”

  “Of course,” we answered together. Anything that would draw our minds away from where they were going down that hall would be a pleasure.

  We followed her to the office area, where she raised the square section at the end of the countertop that ran across the room to keep every person with a question or complaint from rushing right up to the office doors to the rear. The square she lifted seemed a little wobbly. That square was only locked with a small sliding bolt, so actually anyone with agile fingers could open it and go back there. Most residents didn’t seem to know this, or maybe seeing the offices blocked, they got the message not to try.

  As usual, a secretary sat back there near the sign-in sheet. She would give answers to guests and direct visitors to residents they wanted to find.

  What seemed different this time was the open doors to all three of the offices—the nurse, administrator, and her assistant. Normally they kept those rooms closed off. One shut door wore a sign saying Supplies. The other shut door was unmarked.

  The nurse didn’t appear to be in her office that I could see, although I didn’t poke my head in the room to determine whether she was stooping at the bottom of a filing cabinet. If she left her door unlocked when she left her office, she mustn’t leave medicine out in the open. While I was considering this worrisome thought, she stepped out of the room with no sign on the door, and I could hear the sound of the final flushing of a toilet. I imagined she needed to go in a hurry and hadn’t taken time to lock her office or even shut its door. Or wash her hands?

  She walked into her office and shut the door. What attracted my attention before that was the trio of framed pictures of azalea bushes that hung on her rear white wall. The flowers were profuse, one bush filled with white blossoms, one with pale pink, and one with fuchsia, the most common color down here along the bayous. Seeing them made my stomach hurt, and I needed to turn away. I might have been the only person in south Louisiana, or possibly anywhere, who not only disliked azaleas but experienced anguish whenever I saw them.

  “Sunny?” The administrator had stopped walking and now stared at me.

  Eve looked at me, too, lifting an eyebrow.

  “Are you like some people who enjoy Christmas books or movies anytime of the year?” Terri asked with a small smile.

  “Or tunes,” Eve said, a flash of concern in her eye toward me. “Yes, my sister can sing those carols all the time.”

  Having them call attention to my problem of humming or singing a holiday tune when something brought up my fear got me to stop the sounds from coming out my throat. Seeing all those azaleas, I realized, had brought me back to the terrible long moments when I was little and stooped beside my dying sister on our driveway to wait for help to come for her. Momma’s azalea bushes next to the drive were bright pink and too pretty and shaking in a breeze—and I hated them. Nothing attractive should have been living.

  I needed to go back to counseling to deal with that problem.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got that concerns you,” I said. As we walked close to the room with a plaque above it saying Assistant Administrator, I glanced inside that office. Rita Picou was not in her office that I could see. My view automatically ran over the rear wall of the room painted pale blue to find photos of beach scenes. “Nice pictures in there,” I said without a song, and pointed. “She must love to go to beaches.”

  Terri nodded. “As soon as she can retire, she plans to spend most of her time there.”

  Reaching Terri’s office, I inevitably scanned her back wall first. Besides noting that it and the whole room were covered with dark paneling, I noted the floral prints were less clear, possibly with water lilies and some other flowers on land, although I would have needed to put my glasses on to tell. They were obviously Monet prints.

  Not surprising, she kept everything in place. No papers lay scattered on her desk, no file cabinets were
left open, no family pictures stood out, and nothing hung on the wooden coat hanger standing in a corner. We weren’t experiencing winter, but many women with offices had a tendency to keep a light jacket hanging in theirs in case they got chilly.

  “I’d like a change in here.” She swept her arm around the room.

  I didn’t see anything wrong with the space. It was functional with a nice large oak desk, a brown cushioned desk chair for her, and two side chairs for guests. A tall file cabinet stood beside the coat rack, but otherwise the room was bare.

  “Okay,” Eve said. “What kind of change were you thinking of?”

  “I don’t know. It’s too plain.” That was a statement I wasn’t going to argue with. “It looks sterile, almost like it belongs in a hospital, and I don’t want people who come in here to inquire about possibly living in the manor thinking of it like that.”

  “You want it friendlier,” I offered. “Maybe painted in a welcoming color.”

  She opened her eyes wider. “You can paint over paneling?”

  Eve nodded. “And it would help to add a few live plants in here. Greenery oxygenates a room, and the green reminds people so much of nature that it helps them relax.”

  She was nodding, looking from one to the other of us. “I didn’t know you knew so much about human nature.”

  “We continuously study about color and other things used in remodeling or making repairs,” Eve said.

  I pointed to her laminated floor. “That looks nice, but a pale short-napped carpet would capture sound and give warmth to your space.”

  She gave me a broad smile. “That’s a nice idea. Even if carpet isn’t used so much anymore, I love the feel of it under my feet.”

  “So would potential clients,” I said. And then while she was smiling and so agreeable, I needed to ask, “Ms. Hebert, what can you tell us about our mother?”

  She jerked her head toward the door. Eve and I did, too. Was Mom standing at the doorway, listening? She was not. Neither was anyone else. A few people moved past—some fast-walking staff members and some residents traveling at slower paces.

  Terri returned her attention to me. “It would be terrible if I would spy on our people who live here and tell about everything they do—unless we discover someone really has a problem and requires help. You know your mother’s a grown woman who can make her own decisions and choices. She also has her full senses, so you cannot claim she’s a person who doesn’t have her full faculties.” While I was frowning and shrugging, she added, “You’re aware that I should not be telling anything about her business, which I know is what you’re asking about. Whatever she does is her choice.”

  “But,” I said, pointing a finger at the woman running this place, “suppose it was your momma we were talking about. Would you feel the same way?”

  Her eyes rolled shut. Seconds later they opened. “I can’t tell you that. She died of cancer when I was three.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I uttered.

  “I am, too,” Eve said in a soft tone. “That must have been tough.”

  “It was. But now I’m a grown woman, and I need to get on with my life.” Her sharp words and pointed stares at each of us made it clear that any discussion about mothers had ended. “Now. Do you want to do some work here in my office?”

  My twin and I took only a moment to glance at each other. We needed no words to each other for approval. We had shoved back any other job offers, since we had expected to take much longer to finish work on Edward’s house. “Yes, we’ll do it,” I said.

  “When did you need it done?” Eve asked.

  Terri looked at something on her computer. “We have a number of things coming up soon, and I’ll be giving an address to the state Chamber of Commerce in a couple of weeks. I want minimal distractions so I can focus on my speech. I’ll let you know after that.”

  “Okay, we might have to work you in-between jobs by then, but that shouldn’t be a problem. This won’t take a lot of time.” Eve gave her a nod and walked out the door.

  I waited until I had left the office before speaking. “At least coming here to remodel her office will give us a good excuse for being around Mom and seeing what she’s up to.” My gaze darted from the seating area she normally sat in to the hall on the side. She wasn’t apparent. “We could go up to her room.”

  “But then what if she’s not there?” Eve spoke the rest of the words I was thinking. “Possibly we’d better just leave today. Maybe she’ll contact one of us later.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” My tone didn’t sound any more assured than hers had, but each of us was attempting to make ourselves and each other believe them.

  I drove my sister to her house and dropped her off, declining her offer to come inside. I wasn’t in the mood for chitchat and didn’t believe she was either. On the way to my house, I called to make an appointment I did not want to tell my sister about.

  To my satisfaction, Dr. Lesley could see me that afternoon.

  Chapter 9

  “Sunny, do you want to remain seated,” Dr. Lesley asked, “or would you prefer to lie down?”

  I tightened my lips. Yes, I would have liked to lie on her green velvet sofa with its soft texture, but I believed I would want to squirm more and feel like a bug under a microscope, especially with her staring at me with those slim rimless glasses perched at the tip of her nose. A light lavender fragrance from potpourri in scattered small dishes must help patients relax. I glanced around her room, which appeared cozier than last time. The lighting was different. This time instead of having bright lights overhead, there was more area lighting with a small unique lamp here and there on her desk and end tables. Another lamp, almost four feet tall with a slim tubular shade, stood on the floor not far from this sofa I sat on. She sat beside me on a cushioned matching chair.

  “I’ll stay here.”

  “That’s fine.” She peered down at the pad in her hands and made a small smile come to my lips. The part down the center of her jet-black hair made me imagine someone had poured a slim row of powder there. It looked funny with her bangs and ponytail and pencil skirt. She was a kind person. I liked for her to look good.

  Her eyes, which seldom missed anything, shifted up at me. “Why are you smiling?”

  “The top of your hair. You need a touch up.”

  Her hand went up to her roots. “Thanks for telling me. I appreciate it.”

  “I know.” I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t know she would want to be made aware of that fact.

  She lowered her hand. Her gaze grew steady. “It’s been awhile since you came to see me.”

  The urge to squirm wriggled inside me. “I’ve been busy.”

  She gave me that familiar tight-lipped knowing smile. “Haven’t we all?”

  I spread my hands. “Okay, I know. I should have been coming to talk with you more often, but I put it off. I thought I could get rid of the problem on my own.”

  “Has it gotten any better? Worse?”

  I flipped my hands around as though I could grab answers. “Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes I think I’ve got the whole singing thing under control and I’ve stopped doing it, and I’m normal. But then it flares up and happens again.”

  She nodded, jotted a brief note, and peered at me. “It’s still always Christmas carols?”

  I lowered my face. “Yes.”

  She was the first person who’d ever heard me blast out one of those tunes. When I was eight, Lesley Babineaux had been sixteen like my sister, Crystal. They were best friends. Lesley was the girl Crystal was talking with on the phone when someone shot Crystal. Lesley soothed me then, saying she would send help. Years later, I hadn’t been surprised to learn Lesley went into this line of work.

  She was a popular psychiatrist. I had seen others before her over the years. At first, they didn’t try to discourage the singing, since it was an outlet
for me after being with my sister when she was murdered. Combined with my struggles with dyslexia, they didn’t attempt to pressure me to change.

  “Sunny.” She waited until I looked her in the eye. “What’s been frightening you?”

  “Oh, Lesley, there’s been a death. A murder, really. You probably read about it or heard about it.”

  “You tell me about it.”

  I released a small cough. “Eve and I were remodeling the old Danos house on the edge of town that Edward Cancienne had bought and planned to move into once we got everything completed.”

  “But?”

  I went on a roll and told her everything that happened with Edward and how we had found him in his tub, but then we had become suspects in his murder. That had mainly been because so many people at the retirement home heard us arguing with him once we found he was pushing to marry our mother to his uncle even faster than they had considered before.

  Lesley knew our mother and looked pleased when I said she wanted to marry again. “But you and Eve don’t want her to.”

  When I told her about the man we barely knew also having a daughter, Lesley’s lips pulled down a little at the edges. Her lips made the slightest quiver, and she nodded.

  I ran out of words.

  She gave me a minute or two to relax. “How are you handing the dyslexia?”

  “I pretty much have that situation under control. I’ve worked at forgiving those teachers and classmates who didn’t understand that condition and made me feel I wasn’t good enough. Now I know I am, and I get Eve to check anything for our business that I’m not sure of.”

  “Good. It seems like you’ve handled it pretty well.” Her wide smile made me feel a mental pat on the back. “You can do it with the songs, too. Keep working at it. Try to pay attention to any Christmas carols that come to you and avoid singing them. I know it’s hard. But so is anything that’s worthwhile.”

  Protests came to mind. I didn’t voice them. “I’ll try.”

  “That’s all anyone could ask for.”