He raised an eyebrow.
“And of course I remember I thought you did that,” I said. “To be honest if I hadn’t been the one to figure out who the real killer was, I might still believe you were the one who did it.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you’re so secretive.”
“I am not,” he said. “Ask me anything, I’ll tell you.”
“Do you have a home? Because you’re always at our place.”
“Yes, I have a home. Would you like to see it? I can take you there now.”
“No. I don’t want to see it. And don’t change the subject.”
“Sorry,” he said. “Next question.”
“Are you a spy?”
“No.” A slight chuckle erupted from the back of his throat. “Didn’t we have this conversation before, the day I helped paint your room?”
“You remember that?”
“I remember everything that has to do with you,” he said.
“Back to my questions.”
“Okay.” He made a solemn face, indicating he was going to be serious and cooperate.
“You’re not here in Roble to spy on my Auntie?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“What about me?” I said.
“What about you?” he repeated.
“Are you here to spy on me?”
“Not officially.”
“What does that mean?”
He smiled. “I plead the fifth. Next question, please.”
“Are you working undercover on a sting operation?”
“A sting operation?” He frowned and shook his head. “Why would I be here on a sting operation?”
“See,” I said. “You didn’t answer the question. You’re always sidestepping things.”
“I’m going to answer it, I just wondered where that came from.”
“It came from me. My mouth. My brain.”
“Oh. Well, for you, your mouth and brain, the answer is no.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“I’m hanging out with you until your roadside service arrives.”
“I mean in Roble.”
“Just like you,” he said and blew out a breath. “I’m running away from my life.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
I’d been up since the crack of dawn.
It was the day of the Bumper’s funeral, but Auntie didn’t want to waste one minute of daylight. She wanted to go over to Angel’s Grace to start getting it ready for the awards dinner during homecoming weekend. And her shrill voice flooding the air up the steps and into my room served as a zealous, annoying alarm clock.
“Why do you have to do it this morning?” I said, yawning. I stumbled into the kitchen to get a caffeine rush to kick start my day. “And what are you doing here?” Rhett was sitting at the table, doing his usual. Eating.
“Good morning to you, too,” he said, a lump of food in his jaw.
“Be nice to Rhett,” Auntie said. She was standing at the stove, stirring in a pot. “He came to help.”
“What other reason would he be here?” I asked. “Isn’t that his job?”
“Romaine Gabriela Sadie Heloise Wilder!” Auntie said. “By all that is Holy, I did not raise you to be so rude. Or, condescending.”
“It’s okay, Babet. I know she appreciates me.”
I couldn’t help but to smile because that was true.
“What are you two up to?” she said.
“I guess Romaine should tell you that.”
“What Romaine?”
“I had a flat tire last night.”
“It was a little more than that.”
I frowned. I didn’t want to worry her, plus maybe since it was dark and late, I might have thought I was in more danger than I had been. Even perhaps I thought a little more happened than really did.
“What happened, Rhett?”
“She got ran off the road by some anonymous truck.”
“I didn’t get ran off the road,” I said.
“Did she?” Auntie looked at Rhett.
“That’s what she told me,” he said, smiling. I guess he enjoyed having me and auntie at odds.
“That’s not exactly what happened,” I said. “I got a flat. And,” I wanted to turn the table on Rhett, “he showed up out of nowhere. I think he follows me, Auntie.”
“Well, I could think of worse things,” she said.
Rhett winked at me.
“I think it’s kind of scary,” I said.
“You need to lay off the coffee,” she said and pointed at my cup. “It’s making you paranoid.”
“Did you wake me up this early to abuse me?”
“No,” she said. “I need your help.”
“Need your help,” I said at the same time.
“We need to make a run over to Angel’s Grace. We need to take over the mums and meet the caterer so I can show her the kitchen where she’ll prepare the food.’
“You’re just now getting the caterer?” I said. “This close to the dinner?”
“We had to change caterers. The one I had was hired to do the repast after the services today, too. She said she couldn’t do both in one week,” Auntie said.
“Wasn’t she contractually obligated to you?” I said.
“And what did you suggest I tell her?” Auntie said. “That if she did the repast I was going to sue her for breach of contract?”
“I guess that wouldn’t be a good thing.”
We left and went over to Angel’s Grace. It was just me and Auntie, Rhett stayed at the house. I didn’t know why he had been there so early if he hadn’t come to help us.
Auntie met the Roble Belles there and the caterer. She had me walk the hall, while she dictated where the decorations would go, where to store the mums for the people on the dais, and showed the kitchen to the caterer.
I saw no reason I should be there.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Auntie Zanne wore her navy blue, double-breasted funeral service suit. She had donned her complete funerary attire—white cloth gloves, nude stockings and black one-inch heel pumps. She stood, back parallel to the wall near the front of the church. Hands behind her back, nodding without a change in her facial expression as people walked up to view the casket, even directing with a wave of hand if they faltered, indicating for them to move along. If one didn’t know any better, it was easy to believe that Ball Funeral Home had been put in charge of the arrangements.
And then there were her “lieutenants” the Roble Belles. They were peppered out among the congregation. Walking up and down the aisles, talking, smiling nodding—taking in information I guess. She had given her entourage their orders and they seemed to be on task.
No one said a word to her, tried to remove her from the post she’d taken, said a peep against her, or asked her to call down her Belles. That’s how much respect Suzanne Babet Derbinay commanded, even when her actions were dead wrong.
I sat in the back of the church at Auntie’s suggestion, I agreed it had the best vantage point. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be looking for, but I wanted to do a better job than I had at the wedding.
The first thing I noticed was the same organist that had been at the wedding. She had on the same white dress and white fascinator with a birdcage veil which covered her eyes. Her cane leaning against the side of her instrument, she had the same plastered smile and still looking as if she was going to keel over at any minute. Then I saw my cousin, Pogue.
Dressed in his sheriff’s uniform, starched and pressed, he stood in the back near the door. He seemed to scrutinize every person who walked past him. He saw me and our eyes locked. No smile for me, I guess that meant he was all business today.
He gave me a curt nod and then headed my wa
y.
“Oh shoot,” I mumbled, my heart skipping a beat. I didn’t want to talk to him, I was doing exactly what he’d asked me not to do—trying to solve the murder. What if he was there because he was on the same page as Auntie—he thought killers come to the funeral? It would make him more attentive and he’d noticed me talking, well interviewing, possible suspects.
“Hi Romie,” he said.
“Hey Pogue,” I said, trying to sound chipper, hoping he wouldn’t notice the nervousness in my voice.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
He would ask me that...
“Uhm... You know.” I hunched my shoulders. “Paying my respects.”
He squinted his eyes at me. “You didn’t know him or his family.”
“I did know Mrs. Hackett. Sort of.”
“Right.”
“She used to be in one of Auntie’s clubs. Plus, I came with Auntie. She’s feeling bad about everything happening at her place.”
“You’re not poking your nose in, are you?”
“Me?” I said and swallowed hard. I didn’t want to lie to my cousin and I had promised myself and made Auntie aware that anything significant I found out, I would share with Pogue. But I didn’t know anything yet, so need of upsetting him.
“Yes you. And Babet. I know how she can talk people into doing things.”
“I told you, she can’t talk me into doing anything I don’t want to do.”
Which was true, only thing was investigating the murder was something I did want to do.
“Okay,” he said. “Just remember, please, to let me handle this.”
“Handle away,” I said and let out a slight chuckle.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“I heard that the killer often comes to the funeral.”
“You think he, or she, is here now?” I said. I swung around to take a gander at the crowd.
“I would I know,” he said and let out a huff. “It’s a silly idea. What difference does it make if the killer does come when I have no idea who the killer is?” He shook his head. “It was a ridiculous idea.”
“I guess that makes sense,” I said, even though it was the reason I was there.
“I’m the law. I can have any of these people come down to the station and speak to me. I’ve been standing here watching people as they stream in, and for what? Is the killer just going to stand up and announce his deed?” He laughed out loud. “I’m leaving.” He touched my arm. “See you later.”
“See you,” I said.
Perhaps Pogue was right. How do you pick out a murderer in a room full of people? I turned and faced the room. I let my eyes scan the faces. Did any of them look like a killer?
I couldn’t tell.
Mr. and Mrs. Hackett were sitting on the first row pew. I knew they hadn’t done it. Leastways, I hoped they hadn’t.
Both had red eyes, but weren’t crying. They sat quietly and to themselves. It was the first I’d seen of Mr. Hackett since the day of the wedding. He wore the same expression, bewilderment, as if he didn’t exactly know why he was there. He didn’t sit next to his wife, but at the end of the pew and nodded at whomever came by without saying a word. Gaylon, the niece we’d met the other night, sat to one side of Mrs. Hackett, a box of tissue ready in hand, just in case the tears did start to tumble. On the other side sat Jorianne.
From what I could tell, Mrs. Hackett liked her son’s choice. I’d noticed how she referred to her as “Jori,” not a familiarity I’d heard others take. And Jorianne seemed to cling to Mrs. Hackett for comfort and support. Mr. Alvarez, Jorianne’s father sat next to her. And in the two rows behind them sat what had to be the future linemen for an entirety of future NFL teams. All guys. All big. All with red-rimmed eyes.
The next row didn’t yield any faces who were familiar to me. That brought my attention quickly around to where were Piper and Bonnie Alvarez? Seemed like they would be part of the family and sit up front.
The two of them were at the top of my suspect list, and two I felt I should keep my eye on. But they were nowhere in sight. I wondered would I be able to pick up any clues from them even if I could locate them. I didn’t have to wonder long.
Piper slid in the pew next to me, her mother next to her.
“We thought we were going to be early,” Piper leaned over and whispered to me. “There are so many people here.”
The church was packed and the service wasn’t scheduled to begin for another fifteen minutes.
I turned to Piper and smiled, then leaned forward and reached a hand toward Mrs. Alvarez. “How are you doing?” I said.
Mrs. Alvarez nodded at me, then pulled a fan from her purse and started to fan herself, not giving the slightest recognition to my gesture.
I pulled my hand back. It was going to take some effort to get a confession out of her.
“I saw Jorianne up with Mrs. Hackett,” I said to either one of them that cared to comment.
“Yeah, she rode in the family car.” It was Piper who answered. Guess I was going to talk to her.
“Oh,” I said. “Did your dad ride with them, too?”
“No. He rode with us. We went to the restroom before finding our seats.” She leaned in and smiled. “Didn’t want to have to go in the middle of the service, you know.” She nodded and sat back up straight. “But Jorianne was up at the crack of dawn,” Piper said. “Had everyone else up with her. She didn’t want to be late.”
“That’s understandable,” I said.
“First time in her life,” Mrs. Alvarez said. “Perhaps one good thing will come out of this.”
I leaned forward. “Excuse me,” I said, although I’d heard her, I just couldn’t believe her words.
Piper whispered, tilting her head toward me. “Probably the first responsible thing Jorianne’s done in her life.”
I saw Mrs. Alvarez give a curt nod and mumble, “I would do anything to see her more responsible.”
“So what do you think about it being murder?” Piper asked me.
“Shhh!” Mrs. Alvarez swatted at her daughter. “Not that conversation here.
“I wonder if it was someone at the wedding,” Piper said, ignoring her mother.
“Of course it was,” Mrs. Alvarez said, despite her warning. “But no one will ever catch whoever did it. The killer is properly long gone.” She nodded, her pronouncement making a search for the killer unnecessary.
“Can you imagine, coming to the wedding, knowing you were going to kill the groom? That’s got to give you a rush.”
“I don’t know if I’d think a rush...” I gave a little snort. “Who do you think did it?”
“Don’t answer that, Piper,” Mrs. Alvarez said. “That’s for the sheriff to figure out.”
Piper whispered to me. “It’s usually women who like to use poison.”
“How do you know he was poisoned?” I asked. That tidbit hadn’t been released.
“Don’t answer that,” Mrs. Alvarez said, then looked up at me. “Can’t you find something other to do than egg my daughter on about murder mysteries? It isn’t proper to discuss things like that at a funeral.”
I would stop asking only her questions, I thought, if I could get you to talk.
I sat back to gather my thoughts. I had plenty more questions and if Piper was the only one I could get to answer them, then I was going to continue with her.
Then I spotted the best man. Chase Turner. I needed to talk to him, too, but the sight of him reminded me of something Auntie had said.
I leaned close to Piper and tried to lower my voice enough that her mother couldn’t hear me. “Why was Chase,” I pointed toward him, “Bumper’s best man? He didn’t play football with him.”
“I don’t know why he picked him,” Piper said. “None of us hardly know him.”
“H
e was a better choice than those two ruffians he was always running around with.” I looked over at Mrs. Alvarez who evidently didn’t approve of Boone Alouette or LaJay Reid enough that she thought it was okay to speak about Bumper’s choice of Chase at the funeral.
Piper shook her head as if to say don’t pay her mother’s comment any attention. “Boone told me yesterday that he hadn’t been sure if he’d be able to get here because he’d already committed to be here for homecoming. He didn’t know if he could afford to make two trips. His family doesn’t have a lot of money.”
“Neither does yours,” Mrs. Alvarez said. “But you or Jorianne can’t ever seem to realize that.”
Piper rolled her eyes and leaned in closer. “LaJay has a thing for Jorianne.” She grimaced. “Probably wouldn’t have been a good idea to make him best man.”
“He was still in the wedding, though,” I said.
“That’s because Bumper foolishly wouldn’t believe that his friend would try to take his girl,” Mrs. Alvarez said. “Now if the two of you could be quiet, they’re ready to start the service.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bumper Hackett was one of Roble’s own and the outpouring at the service proved it. Everyone, so went the testimonials, had his back when he suffered from his asthma attacks, cheered him on since he started in football in the peewee league, and waited anxiously to receive their wedding invitation. And from the stories told, it evidently hadn’t been unusual for his mother to pass out inhalers to anyone around.
That made it easy for the killer...
The mayor, his high school coach, the Roble Belles, and even the JOY Club had provided Resolutions that were read during the service. All of them claimed to have taken part in all his undertakings and had been filled with immeasurable pride following news about him as he fulfilled his dreams and upon getting recruited to the University of Southern California.
“Hello, I’m Boone Alouette.”
“And I’m LaJay Reid.”
The two athletes, per the program, were the last two to speak about their friend.
“I knew Bumper better than anyone,” Boone said. “We’d been friends since we were kids.”
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