by June Shaw
The women all looked at each other with frowns.
The nurse spread her hands as if she was ready to solve the problem. “Okay, so we’ll get your mother assigned to a different table.”
“Not one closer to Mr. McCormick’s,” I said.
The head lady spoke up. “First, we’d have to find someone who’s willing to move to the place where she sits. You know people here get attached to a group. They don’t like change much.”
The nurse let out a sigh. “And the others at your mother’s table might not be pleased to have her leave and get somebody they don’t like very much take her seat. Most people here are really sweet, but some can be unkind, you know.”
“Yes, I do.”
The administrator stepped to the door and opened it, letting me know this discussion was over. “And even if we manage to achieve what was suggested in here, that still doesn’t stop Miss Clarice from going after your mother’s boyfriend any other place while they’re here.”
A lump sat in my throat. I managed to swallow past it. “No, but it would be a start.”
“Yes, it would.” The frown lines deepened outside her lips.
“And you can’t let Mom know why.” When deeper lines creased her forehead, I added, “At least don’t let her know I’m the one who suggested those moves take place.”
All of them looked at me with drawn faces, so I went on. “You could speak to her in private and tell her you know that Miss Clarice is being unkind to her. Tell her you want to be helpful and move her away from that lady.”
The administrator’s chest heaved. “This might take some time.”
“I know.”
She turned to her assistant. “Would you see what you can do to start taking care of it?”
The woman she’d spoken to didn’t look happy with that chore. None of them appeared pleased with this new problem I had brought them.
I called my sister while I drove away from the manor. “Eve, we’re old,”
“Do you think since I have a grandchild, that makes me an antique?” Her tone hinted of insult but held a suggestion that she smiled when she spoke. She smiled every time she mentioned her grandson.
“No, I’m just kidding. Kind of. I was just at the manor and talked with the people in charge about Miss Clarice wanting to take Mom’s beau, which seems to make Mom want to make a permanent commitment with him sooner. The nurse said that was how young kids acted.” I told Eve more about our discussion and how they were going to try to get Mom moved. “And Terri Hebert asked if I lived there, would I want changes.”
Her laugh was light. “You think the lady in charge of that place was saying you and I might be putting in our applications there soon?”
A car sped by in the opposite lane. That made me check my own speed. I was creeping along, driving like an aged person?
I shoved my foot against the accelerator. “I have to admit, she made me imagine us living there. I pictured you and I at a table surrounded by other old people.”
“But you know Mom. She’s intelligent. If they suggest that she might want to move to a different table, she’s going to suspect we had something to do with it.”
I sighed. It was a concern that had flared. “I know. But even if she learns I suggested it, I think she’d forgive me. She doesn’t seem too attached to the other ladies she eats with.”
“Right. The good friends she’s made all sit at other places.”
“Eve, how about if I call the manor and make reservations for us to have lunch there tomorrow? Then we could see what takes place with Mom and the others at mealtime.”
“That’s a great idea.”
The wobbly section of wood on the counter in front of the three women’s offices came to mind. “I’ll pick up some hinges and screws to do a little job at the manor. Maybe we can do it after we eat and Mom goes for her nap. There won’t be as many people moving around that we’d bother.”
I understood the people who ran the manor had a lot more pressing problems to deal with than the one I had given them. Romantic rivalry between a couple of women who lived there probably sat low on the list of what they needed to do.
“While I was painting little hearts, I thought of calling customers we’ve already worked with. Josie wants us at her diner again. I’m going to run by there and see for myself exactly what she wants done.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No need to. If you don’t have anything pressing for the rest of this afternoon, maybe you can come up with some ideas for ads. We could put something in the newspaper soon and maybe on the local radio station.”
I agreed and disconnected. We had spent months working with plans for Edward Cancienne’s house. We had done a lot of the work ourselves and hired subcontractors to fix up other things in that place he had wanted to move into. I was grateful that at least he had paid us some of the money upfront. But we still owed a lot to other people we had hired and companies where we charged flooring, lights, and kitchen fixtures.
Where was that money going to come from? Fear struck—everybody was going to sue us to collect for all those things and work done. My face muscles tensed. I thought of a song. Lesley’s certainty came that I could handle fearful situations in much more positive ways. I tightened my throat, not allowing a tune or a hum to come through it.
I was proud of myself for squelching that long-held instinct. That pride was short lived. We still had the problem of owing everyone. Our Twin Sisters Remodeling and Repair business was growing, but our account didn’t have anywhere near the money we would need to pay out if everyone sued us. Eve and I would probably need a lawyer to help us get out of this mess. Legal fees would add to our debts.
Was anything being done to the house Edward had us remodeling? Possibly it was up for sale. A sale of the place would cover much of its debt. Did Edward’s uncle, our mother’s beau, own it now? And if he did, wouldn’t he also possess all the debts Edward incurred? If too much money was owed, he wouldn’t have to accept anything. Yes, we would need to talk with a lawyer to sort through the situation.
I whipped my truck around at the next bridge. The small suspension bridge sank a little when I drove across it, and then I headed to the place my sister and I had spent the last few months fretting over. I would see whether anything was being done there, or whether a For Sale sign was out. Or better yet, a sign that said Sold.
And if no one was there, I could go around the house to look through the windows, since none of them would have curtains yet. I’d see if anything new had been done inside. If I was lucky, the key would still be where we left it, and I could let myself in. Possibly I could find some clue that the police missed, some small detail that might point to whoever murdered our client.
Chapter 14
Guilt crept through me like I was a thief when I drove onto Edward’s property. I had driven down this long drive many times over the past months, normally with hope, expectations, and visions of how my sister and I could take this large traditional house and mold it into a spectacular home. We had slammed walls out and opened spaces into more inviting rooms, like wide-open arms that might draw a person in.
Today, I wasn’t supposed to be here. The police or maybe Edward’s uncle would probably be the only people allowed.
I found myself shutting my truck door quietly so as not to draw attention, even though no houses stood near. The late afternoon shadowing of the sky wiped away the sun’s spotlight and lent an air of cover for me, although there actually was nowhere to hide.
Nothing appeared out of place out front. A few extra tire tracks created dents and small mud holes in the bright-green grass we had suggested that Edward plant to replace the weeds sprouting through what had been mainly Johnson grass. As this new grass grew, it would give the home an attractive frame.
I scurried onto the front stoop. To the right of the door stood variou
s types of ferns with leaves now drooping like dead octopus arms over the sides of their pots. Edward had kept them watered. An urge struck to do that, but I didn’t have time. Anticipation jamming my throat, I lifted the pot that held the asparagus fern.
Nothing was there except a little dirt. I went to all the pots and raised them, searching underneath. We had told Detective Wilet where to find the key to the front door. Surely the detective took it. Possibly after the police finished searching this place, he gave it to Edward’s uncle Mac.
Edward probably also had keys in his pocket when we found him in the tub. And what about that man Carl who had argued with him? Could he have been one of Edward’s lovers, a person Edward would have given a spare key to?
So far Detective Wilet had not discovered him that we knew of.
Not losing hope for getting inside, I tried the front door. It held tight. No one accidentally left it unlocked. I looked through the windows out front, expecting some item may be out of place. Possibly things could be strewn about as though someone had been searching for something that could prove important.
Little furniture had been placed inside. None of the pieces appeared overturned or removed. I didn’t want anyone in passing cars to see me standing in front of the house peeking in its windows. I ran to the side, noticed nothing new, and tried to open the backdoor. It was locked. I dashed to the other side and again found not one thing looking suspicious inside. If I could get upstairs into the bathroom where he died, that might be different even though police surely inspected that room more than any others.
Muggy air pushing my wavy hair onto my face made me recall branches I had noticed moving back here. A few thick sweet olive bushes and a few trees rimmed the large rear lawn. I stepped across the grass to the right. Even though Eve hadn’t seen any branches moving, my eye for detail made me certain I had spotted some soon after we discovered Edward dead.
I walked along the fragrant sweet olive bushes. My sinuses immediately protested and clogged, warning me to get away from them. Too late. I would need to pop an allergy pill.
The bushes were numerous, tall and thick, and I had no idea which ones a person might have walked through or if someone did. I stared up at the window to his bathroom that I must have looked out from. Doing that made me doubt myself. Had I really been able to see such a movement down here, especially when I was so unsettled from finding Edward?
Maybe I could. I walked close along the bushes, trying to determine where motion could have come from. The last two I looked between made my heartbeat quicken. A low branch of the one on the left had been snapped. Still connected, it bent back and leaned toward the ground.
Someone had run through here. My breaths stilled. That trespasser was the killer.
I stooped low and checked the grass, looking for any footprints, especially that might be in mud.
Disappointment flooded my chest when I found none.
Still, this discovery might prove fruitful. Detective Wilet answered on the fourth ring.
“I’ve found something that might help you find out who killed Edward,” I said without greeting. He would know my voice by now. I hoped what I’d said would excite him.
Instead, his tone was dull. “Ms. Taylor, I’m in the middle of something. I can get back to you.”
“No, this is important, and it’ll just take a minute.” Without waiting for a negative response, I continued. I told him about the snapped branch and that it was low, so maybe the killer was a short person, although while I was making this suggestion, other possibilities came to mind. A large dog might have gone through those branches. A child may have run after a tossed ball. The strong wind we experienced a few days ago could have done it.
My voice was less assured when I finished my statement. “Possibly you’d want to go out there and check it. I didn’t see any dried blood on the snapped branch, but maybe there is some. And there could be footprints that I missed but you might see down there.”
When he said nothing, I held my breath and felt the flush flooding my neck and cheeks like I had when I was in my third grade reading class and our teacher went down the rows, telling each student to read the next paragraph. She’d had no idea about my dyslexia and the difficulty that made me stumble over simple words and phrases. I could anticipate the laughter.
His exhale was loud. “Anything else?”
“No.”
“Please leave this case alone. Getting involved could be dangerous for you.”
“I’m already involved.” A shiver ran through me. “I found his body.”
“You did. Now leave the rest to me, okay?”
“I’ll try.” I was ready to hang up when he again spoke.
“Are you crying? I don’t want to be mean to you, Ms. Taylor, but you need to realize we’re dealing with a very dangerous person here. If that person believes you’re getting close to pointing him out, he could come after you.”
The compassion in his voice and his concern made the back of my eyes warm. “Thank you for everything.”
Once we hung up, I pulled a tissue out of my purse and used it for my sniffles. I’d hated to tell him they came from my allergy to the sweet olives. I dug an allergy pill out of my purse and swallowed that, wishing I had some water to make it go down easier. Thinking of water caused me to look up again at the attractive curved top windows we’d had installed in Edward’s bathroom. How he liked them and would have enjoyed looking out of them once he moved into the remodeled house. Or would a lover of his do that?
I got into my truck out front and started it, trying to recall what I was supposed to do this afternoon. Before I could remember, my phone rang. Seeing Dave as the caller, I smiled and answered, assured that my voice would portray my smile.
“What’s wrong?” he said. “Are you crying?”
I laughed. “Not at all. I have sniffles because I was close to a bush I’m allergic to. I just took my sinus pill, and it hasn’t had time to work yet.”
“That’s a relief.” Relief also sounded in his voice. How refreshing. “You know what else might help clear your allergies?”
“What?”
“Fresh air. And catching a couple dozen fish with me.”
Ah, anything with him sounded so much better than anything else I might do. I stared up at Edward’s house as I backed down the long driveway. “I’m coming to take that medicine right now.”
* * * *
The drive beside Bayou Boogie Woogie toward Dave’s fishing camp made peace start settling inside me. I lowered my windows to get the scent that could not be matched anywhere else. The algae-tinged water gave off a pungent, though tempting odor. The air smelled fresh with undertones of dried shells of crabs and shrimp. The white shrimp boats moored along the bank with large weathered bald cypress trees leaning their branches toward the water sprouted the assurance of being here in Cajun country. Tall lavender irises and fan-shaped palmetto lined sections of the shore. The sound of a large splash alerted me that either a fish jumped or a large bird landed. I saw it was the latter—a white pelican sitting on the water.
“Dave,” I said once I parked on his driveway and rushed out to him waiting for me with a wide smile. “I just saw a pelican. Not a brown one like our state bird. I’ve seen hundreds of those, but this was a white one. It was pure white.”
His smile grew even wider. “I’ve seen a number of them out here.” His lips met mine.
Still excited, I pulled my head back to talk. “Are you sure? Lots of white ones? Around here?”
“Yes. Come on, maybe you’ll get to see more of them while you’re waiting for a fish to grab your hook.”
He had my line ready and handed the pole to me while we walked to the rear of his camp and onto the wharf Eve and I helped him build after he bought this place. He had two folding chairs set up side by side. “Look,” he said and pointed.
I did just
in time to view a bald eagle swoop low, riding a ridge of air right above the water. I dropped into a chair. “I felt stressed before. Now I’m all healed.”
“I thought we were supposed to cure your allergy problem out here.”
“You’ve cured both. Thank you.” I glanced at the plastic bucket holding bayou water that sat beside his chair. “I don’t see that you’ve put any fish in there.”
“I haven’t caught any yet. I just got off work, changed clothes, and drove out here.” He did look good in those jeans. “I was waiting for you to get them to start biting.” He held out a pint-sized foam container. “Have one?”
I took it from him, removed the top, and dug in the mud. I found the gray tip of a worm’s tail and grabbed it. The slippery thing slid from my fingers and sank deep into the black muck.
“Need some help?” Dave asked.
I had shown him how to fish myself, since he wasn’t from the South but wanted this camp. I’d helped him buy the right kind of tackle for fresh water fishing, which is what he had here. Together we had searched and located the right kind of boat he could use for going into other nearby bayous and canals. It also seemed perfect for some of the brackish and salt water at the edge of the Gulf. The boat shop in town was making sure it was ready to go. We would try it out soon.
I was also the person who’d taught him to use worms. Replying to him with a grin, I returned my attention to digging around in the mud. I uncovered a small worm and drew it out before it could wiggle back down to safety. This little fellow could provide us with the start of a good meal.
“The neighbor said the perch were biting yesterday evening with only a white jig head and no live bait.” He nodded toward the camp that sat half a football field away. “Would you want to try like that first?”
I let go of the worm. Like a magician, it disappeared. After capping the container, I set it down and then wiped my fingers with the towel Dave held out for me. We cast our lines at the same time, me to the right and he a few yards to the left of mine. Our small round corks sat on top of the still water.