Hallelujah, Lance didn’t feel the need to keep up the chatter now, although, every once in a while, I caught him sneaking a sideways glance at me.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he finally asked.
We’d arrived at the restaurant, where a steady stream of cars cruised in and out of the parking lot.
“There’s not a whole lot to say. I feel like I’ve missed something. The right clue is out there. I just can’t put my finger on it.”
Lance made a hard left and pulled up behind an SUV waiting to enter the lot. “At least we can eliminate two suspects. That’s something.”
“I suppose.” I’d waited for him to rib me about my mistake sometime during the drive. But he’d said nothing. Zip. “What’s with the silence? I thought you’d give me a hard time.”
He shrugged. “Can’t say, really. But you seem to be beating yourself up pretty good all on your own. No need for me to do it too.”
“Here’s the thing: I’m worried I disappointed you.”
“Disappointed?” Lance maneuvered the car into a parking space in the last row. “No, of course not. I’m not disappointed. Why would I be disappointed in you?”
“Because I’ve totally botched it. Here I thought I’d give you the answer about Mellette’s murder all wrapped up, like a shiny present, for goodness sakes. Ta-da! Only it didn’t turn out like that.”
He set the car in park and slowly withdrew the keys. “There’s your problem. Working an investigation isn’t about making the clues fit what you think happened. It’s the other way around. And sometimes even the clues can be wrong. Wasn’t it Maya Angelou who said sometimes the facts obscure the truth?”
I arched an eyebrow. “You’re quoting poets now? When did that happen?”
“Hey, I read.” He unbuckled his seat belt. “Maybe it’s time for a fresh perspective.”
“But it’s been three whole days.” I reluctantly unbuckled my seat belt too. “Don’t you think that’s a long time for her family and friends to wait?”
“Not really. People have waited a whole lot longer than that.” He swung open his car door and then stepped onto the pavement.
I did the same, lifting my feet over my purse and smashed hat that lay on the floorboard. Thankfully, the air outside had cooled, and a light breeze wafted around me as I slammed the car door shut. “So where do we go from here?”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m getting something to eat. I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”
Lance met me at the back of the Olds and took my arm. “Plus, you already said you get a little crazy on an empty stomach.”
I couldn’t fault his logic, so I walked with him through the parking lot and into the restaurant. Once again, a line of people snaked up to the hostess stand. Two teenaged girls stood there tonight, both dressed in black.
“You know,” Lance said. “I could pull rank and get us a table right away.”
“No thanks. I’ve been there and done that. I don’t mind waiting.”
“At least let me grab you a menu. My mom adds new things all the time. She’s been going on and on about something called hummingbird cake.”
He left to find a menu, and my eyes swept over the people ahead of me. Most of them were young couples, with not a baby, toddler or even a preteenager in sight. Which wasn’t surprising, given that it was already past seven.
Lance returned a moment later, his hands empty. “Sorry, but she’s not giving me a choice. The hostess up there knows me, and she wants to seat us right away.”
Not again. “Seriously? Aren’t you gonna be embarrassed to walk past all these people?”
“She said she’ll take us the back way.” He shot me a funny look. “Said you already know how to get there. What’s that about?”
“She’s right.” The girl must’ve been working on Tuesday night, when I trailed behind Charles as he led Ambrose and me through the kitchen. “Okay. Sounds like I don’t have any choice.”
We waited for the hostess to find us, and then we followed her out of the restaurant. Thankfully, only a few people noticed us leave.
Once we navigated the stoop, we passed the pretty flower boxes on the wall, and then we turned the corner. A fan of light spread evenly over the grass by the employees’ entrance, thrown there by a motion detector.
“Hey, that’s new.” I pointed at it.
“Sure is. I told you, she adds new things all the time.”
Also new was the back door to the restaurant, which stood half open tonight. At least that meant the hostess wouldn’t have to fight with it, like Charles had done. He’d been so hard-pressed to wrangle it open, I’d wondered if maybe he would give up.
A lone figure loitered by the new door. Caught between light and shadows like that, though, I couldn’t quite see who it was.
A few more steps and I had my answer. Especially since the woman wore her gray hair in a messy ponytail, which she’d feathered over one shoulder.
“Hey, it’s Ruby Oubre,” I whispered loudly.
“So it is.”
She looked disheveled tonight, her apron rumpled and stained.
“Hello there, Miss Ruby,” I said.
She glanced up. “Evenin’.” She sounded unsure, but her eyes widened when she saw Lance. “That you, Lieutenant?”
“Sure is, Miss Ruby.”
“Whatcha doin’ here?”
“We’re trying to get inside. It’s my mom’s restaurant.”
She suddenly pulled away from the wall. “Hey, I know ya two.” She held a lit cigarette between her fingers, which she pointed at me. “You da one done tole me not ta worry ’bout ma dog. Gah-lee . . . ya was right. He came back!”
“That’s great!” The last time we met, both Ruby’s dog and her grandson had gone missing. “Did Hollis come back too?”
She nodded eagerly. “Shore ’nuff. Dat boy gonna be da death of me yet. ’Less I kill him first.” Her chuckle was raspy and dry.
“So glad to hear they’re both back.”
The hostess waited for me to finish, no doubt eager to seat us and get back to work.
“Here, I’ll take the menus,” I told the girl. “I know how to get to the dining room from here.”
“Cool.” She gratefully passed them to me. “I’ve gotta get back up front or the manager will think I’m goofing off.”
“Where do you want us to sit?”
“Table twelve. It’s on the wall, about halfway back.” She turned and began to hurry away, speaking over her shoulder. “Should be the only one open.”
“Thanks.” I tucked the menus under my arm and eyed Ruby again. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Are you working at Odilia’s now?”
“Yep.” She took a long, slow drag from the cigarette. When she exhaled, a wisp of smoke curled away. “Deys need help wit da dishes. Ain’t ma cuppa tea, but whatcha gonna do?”
“Good for you,” Lance said. “I wondered what would happen to you when we closed off Sweetwater. I’d hoped you’d find another job.”
“I’m jus’ here for a li’l bit. Ma neighbors done take up a collection for some fancy lawyer outta Baton Rouge. He’s gonna help us wit’ da land. Gotta pay ma fair share.”
She must’ve been talking about that “acquisitive prescription” thing Hank Dupre had explained as he sat on a stool in my studio. The way he told it, a group of locals had banded together to convince the government to give them some land. And not just any land: the land along the Atchafalaya. “I heard all about that. Hank Dupre said you guys are staking a claim to the riverbank.”
She nodded at the name. “Dat’s da fella goin’ ta help us. Lotsa other folks wouldn’t. Deys tole us we outta back off.”
“How do you think it’ll end up?”
The longer I talked, the more Lance drummed his fingers against the leg of his trousers, no doubt impatient for me to wind things up. But table twelve could wait, the way I figured it.
“Hard ta say. We gonna fight, though.�
�
Finally Lance gave up and moved to the kitchen door, which he opened all the way. A wash of bright light overwhelmed the slimmer glare cast by the security device. “You do that, Miss Ruby,” he said. “I’m afraid we need to get inside now, or they’re gonna give away our table.”
“Let me know how it turns out, though,” I said. “And I’m so glad your grandson—and your dog—came home.”
She nodded her thanks. “Shore ’nuff. An’ I made a gris-gris for dat lawyer up in Baton Rouge. Jus’ in case.”
No doubt. I patted her elbow as I walked past her and into the kitchen. Like before, I heard the sounds of people working long before I actually spotted them. Plates clattered, serving spoons thunked against metal, and voices barked out orders. A server in a crisp white dress shirt finally rushed past me, lightly grazing my elbow with a steaming plate of grits.
Lance was already in the thick of things, working his way past the prep area, toward the swinging door. I started to follow him, when I noticed a familiar face.
There, at the edge of the hubbub, stood Charles, wearing faded jeans, an LSU T-shirt, and running shoes. Whatever was Charles doing at the restaurant without his apron, not to mention the dish towel he always wore over his shoulder?
“Charles?” I practically yelled, but he didn’t hear me. He looked confused as he vaguely studied the room. “Charles?” I repeated.
That did the trick. His gaze locked on mine as he stepped away from the wall. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
He looked haggard again. Blue-black shadows ringed both eyes and his hair fell greasy and lank.
“I’m having dinner here. The hostess insisted we take a table right away.”
“Well, I don’t have time to talk.” His eyes dully roamed the kitchen. “I just came to pick up my last paycheck.”
“Don’t tell me you’re leaving the restaurant?”
He nodded vaguely. “Yeah. It’s not really my thing. Too many hours. You know how it goes.”
“Sure,” I said, although something about Charles seemed off tonight. He looked distracted, confused. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” His gaze returned to me. “Though I could use your help with something.” He tentatively reached for my elbow, before easing me to the back of the kitchen, where another door stood. He stopped there. “I need you to give someone a message.”
He motioned to the door and I followed him into a short hall, which was obviously part of the original house. Unlike the kitchen, which was hot and bright and raucous, the hall was cool and dim.
When first built, the hall led to three different rooms. Two of the doorways had been plastered over, although faint ridges remained under the drywall, while a third door was still in use.
Charles dropped my elbow and made his way to the closed door. After flinging it open, he reached for a ball chain that dangled from a bare bulb, which he pulled. I peeked into the space to see wire racks filled with cleaning supplies.
I remained in the hall, though. He seemed confused tonight and I couldn’t imagine what Charles would want to ask me.
His hand waved around listlessly. Everything from gallon jugs of Dawn dish soap to packs of snowy water-softener pellets and paper-towel rolls packed the shelves. The top one even held a neon bucket with pink gloves draped around its lip like flower petals.
“This is where Ruby has to get her stuff. Not much to look at.”
“Did you say something about a message?”
His hand fell to his side. “Look, a lot of people don’t know this . . . but I’m going away. I need you to tell Beatrice something. She was supposed to meet me here tonight. Guess she never checked her phone.”
Beatrice? True, the two of them had worked together at Morningside and they’d dated off and on for a few months, but Beatrice had insisted she never wanted to see him again. Something about him being too moody. I didn’t push her for an explanation and she never did offer one.
But first things first. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out here. How did Odilia take the news?”
He shifted his weight impatiently. “Fine, I guess. Anyway . . . tell Beatrice I had to go, but I’ll call her soon.”
“I thought you two weren’t dating anymore.” As a matter of fact, Beatrice went so far as to make up a plan in case Charles ever showed up at our studio unannounced. She was going to hide in the workroom and wait for me to stomp my foot three times to signal the all-clear. I thought she was being silly at the time.
“She’ll come around. She doesn’t know what she wants right now.” Charles’s eyes narrowed and I could see why Beatrice might need that plan, after all.
Before he could say more, a noise sounded at the end of the hall. Someone had banged open the door to the kitchen, and their shadow fell across the floor as they entered the hall. A whiff of cigarette smoke preceded Ruby, who paused and clasped her hand against her heart.
“Zut alors! Ya done scare me ta death. Didn’t expect nobody ta be back here.”
“Hello, again,” I said. “Charles and I were just having a little chat.”
“Are ya now?” Ruby exhaled loudly. “Shame on ya for scarin’ an ol’ lady like dat.”
“I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to frighten you. But Charles had something to ask me, and you know how loud that kitchen is.”
She eyed me suspiciously. “I didn’ even know ya two was friends.”
“We met back at Morningside Plantation,” I said. “Charles was my waiter. Probably the best one I’ve ever had.”
“Look, I gotta go.” Charles spoke quickly now. “My plane—”
“Dat’s right.” Recognition sparked behind Ruby’s watery eyes. “You two was together at Sweetwater da other mornin’.”
“Other morning?”
“Monday,” she said. “Member dat? I saw ya and thought ya was bad news ’cuz ya come callin’ on da first a da week and women bring da bad luck den. Da look on your face.” She gave another raspy chuckle. “Gah-lee.”
“How could I forget that?” I echoed her laughter. “You wouldn’t even let me in the front door. Thank goodness Mellette was there to open it for me.”
“I never tol’ Charles here.” She cut her eyes at him. “But dat’s when I saw ya both. Ya was lookin’ around on yer own, but I done figure ya come together. So I knew ya was friends.”
Come to think of it, I remembered standing in Ruby’s dusty living room, back at her mobile home, after Ambrose and I had stumbled upon Mellette’s body in the garden shed. Ruby told me she’d seen me with a man at Sweetwater that morning, but I’d always assumed she meant Ambrose.
“I brought my friend to Sweetwater for a tour,” I explained. Poor Ruby must have been so confused by the murder she mistook Ambrose for Charles. “That’s probably who you saw me with that day.”
She shook head adamantly. “I know what I’m talkin’ bout. No way ta miss dat head of hair.” She jerked a thumb at Charles.
The longer we talked, the closer to us Charles had edged, until now he stood in the hall with us. Ruby was right: that salt-and-pepper hair was gray enough for a man twice his age. “Charles?”
He lunged forward. Before I could move, he shoved his palms against Ruby’s back and sent her sailing toward me. Together we toppled into the closet, and a wire shelf bit painfully into my shoulder. Buckets, gloves, and bottles rained down as the shelf banged against the wall.
I barely had time to raise my arms over my head before an enormous bottle of Dawn came crashing down. The hailstorm continued for a few seconds, while Ruby shivered against me.
Everything seemed darker by the time it ended and then I realized why: Charles had slammed the closet door shut. The falling debris must have muffled the sound. We were trapped inside the jumble of overturned buckets, sprays of dishwashing soap, and scattered paper-towel rolls.
I gently pushed Ruby aside and reached for the doorknob . . . which was locked.
What was worse: Feeling Ruby cower next to me in fear, or the shock of
realizing I’d forgotten my cell phone in Lance’s car?
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” I said. “You know what this means, right?”
Ruby whimpered instead of answering me.
“It means Charles is the one who killed Mellette Babineaux.” I steadied my voice for her sake, but my heart beat faster now. “He knew I figured it out and he panicked. Think about it—he was there that morning. He told me he hated some of the Realtors around here. The ones who wouldn’t help the locals. I should have known. I should’ve . . .”
Beating myself up wasn’t going to do anyone a lick of good. What we needed was a plan; a way to get out of the closet and find Lance before it was too late.
I grasped Ruby’s shoulder. “Okay, we need to think. There must be a way out of here.”
She flinched when I touched her. “But dere ain’t no other way.”
“What about a vent? Maybe an air-conditioning vent that leads outside?”
“Dis room be hotter den a stove. Dere’s no vent.”
Quickly I scanned the room. Heaven only knew how far Charles had traveled by now. He could be halfway across town while we cooled our heels in a ransacked storage closet.
After a moment, Ruby straightened. “But dere’s sumptin’ else.”
“What? What did you say?”
“Dere’s another way.” She stepped out from under my grasp and peered at the shelf, now leaning all catawampus behind us.
“What way?” I knew better than to yell, but we were running out of time. “Tell me what way!”
She pointed at it. “Behind dere. ’Bout as high as yer head.”
I followed her eyes. Most of the shelf lay bare, since everything had tumbled to the ground, but a box of rubber gloves, some Clorox bleach, and a toilet plunger with a wooden handle, all of which I pushed aside to clear a path to the wall.
Like the two doors in the hall, someone had drywalled over an opening here. Only this opening was much smaller: maybe two feet wide by two feet high, at the most. Which would give me just enough room to wiggle through it, if I could only knock out the drywall.
“I found it!” I turned around again. “What was it?”
Something Foul at Sweetwater Page 18