Body of Evidence

by Stella Cameron

  “It wasn’t you.” She sniffed, dragged air into a sore throat. “He wasn’t as big as you, and even if he was, you would never do a thing like that. Finn…” She mustn’t say things she would regret later.

  “There’s always the chance that I’ve got the biggest syringe you ever saw somewhere at my place. Could be under my bed. Billy would check for you.”

  “What are you sayin’? Why would you tell me that?”

  “Because Denise died of a lethal injection. That’s what I had to tell you. And she was raped.”

  12

  “Cher, you know how I feel,” Angela said. “If one of you believes we can help someone, that’s good enough for me. I think you should bring Eileen Moggeridge with you next time, Emma. Are we all agreed?” She looked around the room.

  “Yes, bring Eileen,” the others murmured, crowding close to rub her back and shoulders, her arms, to stroke her hair. “Poor Emma.”

  Suky-Jo, who made the silk, satin and brocade sachets Emma and Sandy sold at Poke Around, took a sky-blue satin pillow from a paper bag. She gave it to Emma and said, “Rub your hands over it and the lavender smell will get more intense. Use it when you’re anxious or just testy. Take a nap and put it over your eyes. I made it for you, and put a few extra bits and pieces in there.” She winked a cheerful brown eye.

  “Now,” Angela said, “this is our poor dear Emma’s night. We’re all here to support her and bring her through her time of trouble.”

  Irritated, Emma turned to her benefactor. “You are a sweet lady, a tower of strength in hard times, but please don’t talk as if I’m about to be thrown in jail for credit card fraud. I should think we all need some reassurance at a time like this. We’ve all lost Denise.” She had intended to tell them how their friend died, but couldn’t do it.

  Holly Chandall’s mouth made an elongated O. “Emma, if you needed money, you could have come to me. It’s not so easy for me to get any out of Harold, but I’d have managed to do it from my business before the money went into the bank.”

  Emma peered at her, then smiled. “Holly, the credit card thing was only a joke.”

  “Oh.” Holly cheered up immediately.

  Even on an evening like this, when Emma had accepted that she hated her husband and was no longer sure who she could trust, Holly’s innocence could still make her smile.

  “Forgive me, Emma. I hardly know what to say for the best.” Angela nodded and smiled gently. “But this is so like you. Always thinking of others first. Very well. Let’s sign up, then, ladies. The book is by my chaise. If you don’t have anything pressing and you can give someone else your time just for this gathering, that would be so sweet. Did you want to have new tips, too, Emma, or not? Probably not, dear.”

  “Absolutely we want tips, too,” Emma said. “Let’s do whatever makes us feel good and supported. You’ve taught us well, Angela. A one-way conversation is like clappin’ with one hand, that’s what you’ve said.”

  “You have, Angela,” Holly Chandall said. “I’ve got a group butt-buster exercise you won’t believe. But I’ll wait my turn.”

  “Peace is power, then, my friends,” Angela said, holding out her arms and letting the full sleeves of her pink silk tunic flow. Each of them, dressed in their comfortable pink tunics, joined hands. Tonight they were seven, with Angela and Emma, and every woman present was dear to Emma. Angela said, “Denise, we miss you. You’re here with us, but we can’t hold you, and that makes our hearts empty. Tonight we celebrate you.” Her pale, ageless face, her deep blue eyes, grew still, and as Emma looked around the circle, she held her breath at the weight of sadness among them.

  Angela had not always lived in Pointe Judah, but she’d been there when Emma came home from New Orleans to be married. She remembered her mother saying that Angela had moved there from Georgia in search of a quiet place where she could mend after losing her husband. She never mentioned her own grave losses but poured herself into helping others.

  Slowly they released hands and went to put their names in the book. The room, used only for Secrets meetings, had been built onto the back of Angela’s house. She rented John’s second house and had poured a lot of money into the place, considering it wasn’t hers. Each member had a chaise, and these circled a deeply sunken pool the size of a very large hot tub. They called this pink-tiled room, with its soaring ceiling, The Chamber, and didn’t always go there. Often they met in a much smaller, cozier room inside the house, especially when the reason for being together was for simple sharing and exchanging ideas. Emma would have preferred to be there this evening.

  “We’ll start with you, Emma,” Angela said when they were settled. “If there’s time left over, we’ll move to other things.”

  Emma found she only wanted to rest, to be quiet. Several formal stands of white lilies stood about, and the funereal scent brought her mood lower. Her friends didn’t seem inclined to talk, either, and avoided her eyes whenever she glanced at one of them.

  “I have to divorce Orville,” Emma blurted out. “Now. Not now now, but soon, as soon as I can do it without makin’ myself a target for the kind of viciousness he’s capable of. I have a lawyer.” She stopped speaking, her lips parted, her heart pounding. “He’s the one Betty used. Over in Toussaint.”

  “Congratulations,” Frances said, her beaded braids clicking together as she tossed her head. “I am so happy for you. I would never have pushed you, mind, but you know how I feel. That is not a good man, not good at all. I reckon the night he was born someone fed his mama bat droppings and messed him up somethin’ awful. Why do you have to wait? Just go, girl.”

  “I have to make sure I protect myself,” Emma said, feeling a little ashamed for sounding tentative. “My husband is an ambitious man. He’s completely wrapped up in politics and becoming more important. I think he’s got a chance to become state governor, and if he does, he’ll be too busy and full of himself to hound me. On the other hand, an immediate divorce could hamper his expectations.”

  Holly snorted. “It sure could if it comes out he’s a sneaky, vicious abuser.”

  “You’ll have to be careful,” Sandy said. She stood up, stripped off her tunic and sat unselfconsciously on the edge of the pool. There was nothing amusing about her big breasts or small waist, or the flare of her firm hips. “Would the jets make too much noise?” she said.

  Angela flipped a switch, setting water the color of creme de menthe into almost silent motion.

  “Wait, wait!” Lynnette, who loved her nail and hair salon—Frances was the star hairdresser there—had never met a product she didn’t like at the beauty supply house. She rushed forward with a big white plastic tub, wrestled the top off, peeled back a foil safety seal and dug out a handful of orange goop. “This is going to make your flesh perk up and dance,” she said. “It says it takes ten years off your age, pops out cellulite dimples and makes those nipples take another look at the sky—and I’m tellin’ you, girlfriends, my nipples been lookin’ at my belly for years.”

  The first club members had met at Lynnette’s salon when Angela had ventured forth to buy hair spray.

  Smothered titters went through the members. Angela knelt beside Suky-Jo and helped smooth the miracle mud over Sandy. Once finished, she held up her hands and said, “Next? Emma?”

  “Not yet.” She noted Denise’s demise had slipped into the background quite quickly at the prospect of perky nipples, which was fine. She just loved being there with all of them. And she would not think about the disaster her life had become until she had to.

  Suky-Jo whipped off her voluminous tunic and sat with an expression of bliss on her face while Sandy and Angela ministered to her ample figure.

  “I think we should talk about Emma’s divorce,” Holly said. She never had learned to be subtle. “Threaten him, Emma. Tell him you’ll put up billboards with pictures of him in his shorts with his tummy hangin’ over.”

  “I should never have mentioned that,” Emma said, and meant it fervently. She c
ouldn’t completely forget that Sandy might have divided loyalties and it was too late to take back what had been said. “What I have to figure out is how to get started without Orville knowin’.”

  “Why?” Frances said. “Why are you tryin’ to make things easier for that no good…mmm-mmm, I gotta watch my mouth.”

  “I don’t want to make it easier for him.” Emma watched for Sandy’s reaction. “For once, I’m thinkin’ about myself. As soon as he finds out, he’ll have his lawyer buddies goin’ to town on me. I’ll get dragged in for lectures on how it’s my duty to make my marriage work. Then, when that doesn’t work, it’ll be the next world war. I can live at my parents’ for a few months, and I intend to start getting comfortable there right away, but I’ve got to make ends meet, so I want enough time to get a bit more by me. I’m not going to drag things out, just figure out how to support myself.”

  The only sound for several moments was the faint whir of the pool jets.

  “I’ve got money,” Sandy said. “I’ve certainly got enough to keep you till you get on your feet.”

  Relieved, Emma went to hug Sandy but looked at the orange frosting and changed her mind. “Thank you, doll. But no thank you. This one I have to do on my own. And can you imagine what Carl would have to say about you supporting his partner’s runaway wife?”

  “Let’s get practical,” Frances said. She began applying her own gravity-defying elixir, not that Frances’s lovely body needed any help. “Living at home is good. Your folks will like that. Next you need a job. You do need a job, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “What can you do?” Suky-Jo asked. “Apart from… Why are we having this conversation? Will someone explain that? You’ll keep on at the shop.”

  Emma shook her head slowly and deliberately avoided looking at the growing number of slimy women by the pool. “The lease is in Orville’s name. I didn’t have the money to rent it myself.”

  “When’s the lease up?” Angela asked.

  “About a month.”

  “Fine, so you tell Orville you’re giving up the shop, so he can cancel the lease, and then we’ll rent it for you until you’ve got your feet under you.”

  “Why do I keep crying all the time?” Emma said, her voice squeaking. “It breaks my heart to give up the shop, but I have to make it on my own this time. I’m going to get a job, any old job to begin with. And when I can, I’m goin’ back to school to study music again.”

  Frances stood still, her eyes wide in the middle of her mudded face. “I didn’t know you studied music. You gonna teach?”

  “I was a marketing major with a minor in music. How’s that for a combination? I’ve always wanted to finish my degree, only just in music now. But what I really think I want is to find someone to let me play jazz piano for a livin’.”

  “Jazz piano? Oh, my.” Frances capered and was a sight to behold. “Do you know what this one-horse town ain’t got? Music, that’s what. Strangest thing I ever did see, and I never even knew I missed it till I went out of Pointe Judah.”

  “There’s a jukebox at Buzz’s,” Lynnette reminded her. “And a band comes over for festival time.”

  “There’s a piano at Buzz’s, too,” Frances said, grinning with enthusiasm. “And there’s one at Ona’s Out Back. I’ll just bet my tunnel to paradise those folks would love to hire you.”

  The assembly groaned at Frances’s choice of words.

  “Well?” Frances balanced her slippery fists on her hips. “Don’t y’all think so, too?”

  “Sounds possible to me,” Sandy said.

  “Okay,” Suky-Jo hollered. “Wash off. I forgot to warn you how it burns off your skin if it stays on a second too long.” She winked at Emma, held her nose and cannon-balled into the middle of the pool.

  Screeches followed. The women cavorted, scraping the stuff off one another until they dissolved into a tickling, giggling mess and the pool looked like someone had mixed orange sherbert punch in there.

  “Orville knows everyone in Pointe Judah,” Angela said to Emma suddenly. “You realize that, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yes, I do. What I don’t know is how many people would listen to him if he told them not to hire me. They wouldn’t have to tell me that’s why they didn’t want me, all they’d have to do is say the position’s already filled, or they’ve decided not to hire after all.”

  “Folks here think your husband’s a fine, upstanding man.” Angela gazed at the women in the pool. “A lot of folks do, anyway. You’ve got friends here who believe every word you tell them, but how do you think someone like Lobelia Forestier would react if you talked negatively about the mayor?”

  “That woman’s an idiot.” Emma gritted her teeth in frustration. “Why should I have to care what people think? It’s not their business.”

  “You don’t have to care if you intend to go somewhere else.”

  With her feet, Emma made circles in water splashed from the pool. “I’ve had it!” Inside, she seemed to break apart. “I like this ‘one-horse town,’ as Frances calls it. I was born here and grew up here. Eventually my parents will come back and settle down here. I don’t know when or if I’ll go somewhere else—or for how long—but I’m darned if Orville Lachance is driving me out. Let him go, if he wants to.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Angela held out a hand, and Emma went to hold it. She bent to hug the other woman, and they started to laugh.

  Angela smelled faintly of camphor, and up close, she looked much older. Emma wondered how often the woman washed the white-blond hair that often didn’t look as if she combed it to the roots. Emma looked away and didn’t like herself for being so critical.

  “D’you know, Mrs. Lachance, that man manages to make people think they have to do what he wants, but all a person’s got to do is refuse,” Angela said. “I would like to be there when you tell him you’re leaving.”

  Holly climbed from the pool and went directly to the showers. Within minutes she was back, wrapped in a short terry robe and with a towel around her auburn hair. She pulled her chaise close to the two other women and stretched out. “I do believe we come here to behave like a bunch of children,” she said. “I never did do anythin’ like that when I was a child.”

  “Exactly,” Angela said. “We’re setting ourselves free. I’m not the frolic in the pool type, but I’m glad for those of you who are. You’re making your souls whole.”

  A whiff of the lilies reached Emma, and she said, “Did you order all those flowers, Angela?”

  “Heavens, no. They’ve been sent by kind folks who know we’ll be suffering over Denise. Patrick Damalis sent the biggest arrangement. Sadie and Sam. Buzz, of all people. And the folks at the Bayou Funeral Home. There’s one from Rusty Barnes, although I think that poor, sad man could use his own bouquet. Sandy’s husband, bless his kind heart, and John Sims. He must have ordered his right before he had to leave town. And I call that real nice of him to remember. I do think I’d rather they’d all waited for the funeral, though, if you know what I mean.”

  She got a chorus of agreement.

  “John left?” Sandy said, smiling. “Isn’t he the travelin’ man?”

  “Nice thing is, he’s been at his job long enough he always has appointments, none of that nasty cold calling. I don’t know what I’d do without that man.” Angela sighed, raising her considerable bosom. “Between him and my Mrs. Merryfield, I usually don’t have to worry about much. You know I have a little problem with going outside.”

  “I know how difficult it is for you,” Emma said. “Thank you for makin’ the effort to come to my house last night.”

  Angela’s eyes turned hard. “I would do anything for you, no matter what it cost me. I don’t think your husband was too pleased.”

  “I apologize for him,” Emma said. A mounting tension climbed her muscles. “John is a good man. He’s so sweet to get your groceries in and always check on you. I think he’d help anyone he could. Reminds me of Rusty Barnes. He’s like
that, too. Makes you wonder that two good men like that are all on their own. Rusty’s never been married. I don’t know about John.”

  “I think he may have been once.” Angela gave a wry smile. “It’s something I feel about him sometimes.”

  Suky-Jo came from the shower in time to hear the last part of the conversation. “Rusty loved Denise. I don’t know if he’ll ever get over it.” She squeezed her eyes shut, and tears slithered down her cheeks.

  Sandy hopped up and hugged her. “Shh. There, there. We’re all going to be crying when we least expect it for weeks, I should think.”

  “I wanted to ask you somethin’,” Holly said. The calm she’d shown so recently disappeared, to be replaced by the restless movement of her hands that they’d all come to recognize. Holly wanted to do something, and she didn’t think her husband would approve. There wasn’t much Harold Chandall approved of.

  “We’re all ears,” Emma said. She returned to her chaise.

  Holly turned very pink. “I want to thank you for hiring me to do your party.”

  “Who else would I hire?” Emma said lightly. “Who else can do the kind of job you do? I met Annie Duhon today—meant to say that. She’s a sweet thing.”

  “She’s going to help me branch out a bit,” Holly said. “She went to cooking school, and she’s accomplished. Anyway, I’ve got to expand my business, because I’ve made a decision, too. I’m going to divorce Harold.”

  Emma looked at Angela and saw a rare pucker on her forehead.

  “You do think it’s a good idea, don’t you?” Holly said. “All he wants me for is to cook his meals and wash his clothes and service him in bed. He gets in there and climbs on top of me, does his thing and climbs off. I swear, ten seconds and he’s snorin’. Never says a word. It’s almost like he’s ashamed of touchin’ me.”

  “I think we’d better be careful how this is done,” Angela said. “If two of you—Secrets members, that is—up and divorce your husbands without warning and at the same time, it could give ammunition to those just looking for a way to prove we’re a bad influence on women here.”