Veronica and I peered into the parlor, which was protected by a cordon. A gold-plated crystal chandelier, a large gilt mirror, and several bronze candelabra gave the room a sumptuous look. In front of the fireplace was a courting area with Empire-period seating covered in blue velvet. Above the black marble mantel was an enormous oil painting of a beautiful blonde woman with delicate features. She was dressed in coral pink and painted against a dark background of bluish black.
"Is that Evangeline?" Veronica asked, as though reading my mind.
"Yes," Delta said drily, clutching her pearls.
"She was lovely," I enthused. "Like a real-life Disney princess."
Delta scowled. "I'll take you up to her room."
We climbed a tall wooden staircase to the second floor.
"On either side of the hallway are the guest bedrooms," Delta said, "and the children's bedroom is in the middle. In keeping with the custom of the era, Evangeline and Knox had separate bedrooms in the front of the house." She turned to Veronica and me. "I don't know why we ever did away with that tradition."
I flashed a wry smile at Veronica as we followed Delta the length of the hallway to the master bedrooms.
"Those French doors lead to the front balcony," she explained, pulling a set of keys from her pocket. She unlocked the door to the left. "And this is Evangeline's bedroom, otherwise known as 'the pink room.'"
Veronica, a connoisseur of pink décor, gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. "It's pink perfection."
I had to agree that it was a beautiful room, but I'd always been partial to purple. "Can we go past the cordon?"
Delta raised an eyebrow. "Just don't touch anything."
I smirked and entered the spacious bedroom with Veronica in tow. On the right was a seating area with a pink armchair and matching chaise lounge. Between the windows was an imposing armoire with decorative wood inlay and a white marble bust on the top. But the most impressive piece of furniture in the room was a canopied bed covered with pink pillows and draped in sheer pink netting.
"Is this the original furniture?" Veronica asked.
Delta nodded. "Evangeline died in that bed."
"It's awfully small," I remarked. It reminded me of the dainty Princess furniture Veronica used to have before she redecorated her apartment like Elvis Presley's Jungle Room at Graceland.
"People were smaller back then," Delta said, eyeing my 5' 10" frame with evident disapproval.
I made a point of turning my back to her and began inspecting the area to the right of the bed, next to the windows, while Veronica searched the area to the left. On a white marble–covered night table beside the bed sat a stunning bronze snuff box adorned with a picture of Marie Antoinette.
"Is this box an original too?" I asked.
"Yes, it's from France. So is the trio of perfume bottles."
I looked at the delicate pink glass bottles with gold filigree. "I only see two."
Delta frowned and rushed to my side. "I don't understand," she muttered. "Where's the other bottle?"
"Could someone have moved it?" Veronica asked.
"That's impossible. I have the only key to this room, and no one has been allowed in here since the body was found." She knelt and looked under the bed.
I stared at the night table, deep in thought. "Are you sure the bottle was here that night?"
Delta stood up and brushed some dust off her navy blue dress. "I think so."
"Hold on," Veronica said, reaching into her beige and leopard-print Furla tote. "I have the police photos with me. There's one of the nightstand, remember?"
"That's right!" I said.
Veronica began flipping through the pictures with Delta looking on.
Meanwhile, I glanced beneath the table but didn't see anything. Then I pulled back one of the heavy, pink silk damask drapes and noticed a two-inch tear in the white sheer curtain underneath.
"It's not in the picture," Veronica said. "There are only two bottles on the nightstand."
"Wait a second!" Delta said, snapping her fingers. "That bottle was here on the day of the murder. I know it for a fact."
"How?" I asked.
"Because a French antique dealer on the same tour as Miss Jones made a comment about the trio. He said he'd never seen the full set intact."
I chewed my lip. I was starting to think there was a connection between Ivanna's death and the missing perfume bottle. "What about this?" I asked, pulling aside the drape to reveal the tear in the sheer curtain. "Did you know it was torn?"
"No, I didn't," Delta replied, her eyes smoldering with anger.
I stepped aside as she stomped up to the drapes and jerked them away from the window, causing a small object to propel across the floor.
Veronica bent down and retrieved the item. "It's a piece of pink glass!"
"That's part of the perfume bottle," Delta said, her pale skin blanching as white as the curtain.
"Was the room cleaned after the tour?" Veronica asked.
"No, the cleaning crew came the morning after I found the body, but the police had me send them away." Delta lowered her head. "I suppose it's possible that a member of my staff could have broken it, but I don't know what reason they would have had to go into the room after a tour, and especially to go behind the cordon."
I thought about the torn curtain and the broken bottle, and in my mind they added up to one thing. "I don't think that's what happened," I said. "There was a struggle in this room the night Ivanna Jones died, which means that your hunch about this being a murder is probably right."
6
Delta crossed her arms and curled her lips. "Of course I'm right. Like I told you, that girl was murdered in this house. The only thing you two need to worry about is finding out who did it."
"We're just covering our bases," Veronica explained.
"This isn't a damn baseball game," she snapped. "This is my business, and I'm paying you to find the killer. No more no less."
I narrowed my eyes and opened my mouth to reply, but Veronica silenced me with a shut-it look.
"And you'll do it soon," Delta added. "I'm losing money by the minute thanks to this disaster."
I'd had enough of Delta and her demanding demeanor. Mentally repeating the customer is always right with the intensity of Dorothy when she was trying to will herself and Toto back to Kansas, I exited the room and opened one of the French doors to take in some desperately needed fresh air. As I stepped onto the balcony, I saw an old rocking chair to my right. I took a seat and let my gaze follow the striking tree-lined walkway straight to the waters of the mighty Mississippi River. I wondered how many times Evangeline had done the same as she held her pink diamond and waited for Beau.
The door flung open giving me a start, and Delta popped her head around the side. "Sorry to intrude on your quiet time, but we have a tour starting in half an hour. So, if you're going to question my tour guide, you'd better get started."
I bit my lip to keep from saying something I would only partially regret and rose from my chair. Once inside, I glanced at the narrow flight of stairs leading to the third floor. "What's upstairs?"
"Storage. It was a walk-in attic even when the plantation was functional. Now it houses our document archives as well as some antique furniture and vintage clothes."
I was about to ask whether I had time to take a quick peek when we heard a dull thud followed by a woman's scream. It sounded like it had come from the end of the hall.
"What in the hell?" Delta exclaimed as she rushed toward one of the guest bedrooms.
I followed her with Veronica hot on my heels. When I entered the room, I saw a petite young woman in a waist-pinching corset and an old-fashioned white petticoat. She was kneeling and examining a large bronze pineapple.
"I'm sorry, Miss Delta," she said with a distinct Southern twang. "I dropped it on accident."
"Scarlett, you fool! That's a priceless antique!"
"I know, but I didn't realize how heavy it was." She pushed a loc
k of frizzy, dishwater-blonde hair behind her ear and started to lift the bulky bronze fruit.
"Leave it be!" Delta shouted as she scooped up the pineapple with a single hand. "Aren't you supposed to be getting dressed for a tour?"
"Yes ma'am," Scarlett said, rising to her feet and taking a step backward. "But I remembered that I hadn't dusted the stuff on the bed."
"Never mind that now," Delta said as she deposited the pineapple at the end of the bed next to a gray feather duster. "Where's your hoop skirt?"
"On the back of the door."
Delta stormed over to the door and pulled it back. She stiffened suddenly and turned to Scarlett with a look of pure rage. "What did I tell you about hanging up vintage clothing?"
"That I shouldn't use no wire hangers?" Scarlett ventured.
I felt my body tense in preparation for a Mommie Dearest moment.
"That's right," she said through clenched teeth. "No. Wire. Hangers!"
I halfway expected Delta to pull a Joan Crawford and start beating Scarlett with the hanger. Or with the pineapple.
Instead, she inhaled deeply and looked at Veronica and me. "Scarlett earns extra money doing some light cleaning here at the plantation," she explained. Then she turned to her and gave her an icy stare. "But if she continues to drop two-hundred-year-old artifacts, I'll have to relieve her of her duties, both as a maid and as a tour guide."
Scarlett lowered her head and began biting the fingernail on her middle finger.
I wondered whether she was discreetly flipping Delta off and smiled inwardly at the notion.
"At least nothing was broken," Veronica said.
"Not yet, anyway," Delta remarked, putting her hands on her hips. "Now, I've got to get downstairs to see that everything is ready for the tour. Scarlett, Ms. Maggio and Ms. Amato need to ask you some questions about the murder. You make sure you cooperate, you hear?"
"Yes, Miss Delta."
Delta frowned at her and left the room.
I looked at Scarlett and noted that her hands were trembling. I couldn't tell whether it was because of what had just transpired or because she was afraid to talk to us. Either way, I knew I had to try to calm her down to have a chance at getting any information she may have. "Scarlett is the perfect name for a plantation tour guide." I smiled. "I'll bet you hear a lot of Tara jokes."
She stared at me, expressionless.
Time to try another tactic. "What's up with the pineapple?"
"It's a symbol of Southern hospitality, isn't it?" Veronica chimed in.
Scarlett nodded. "Yes ma'am. But in the old South, if you were a guest in someone's home and you woke up and found one at the foot of your bed, it meant you'd overstayed your welcome."
"Awk-ward." I laughed.
She pressed her lips into a thin line. "Miss Delta said you had some questions about that woman that was killed?"
Clearly, Scarlett was in no mood for jokes. "Uh, yeah," I said. "Were you here between five p.m. last Friday and eight a.m. the next morning?"
"I came in at eight thirty on Saturday for the nine a.m. tour," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Why?"
"We're not accusing you of anything," Veronica began, "we're just trying to find out if you know anything that could help us."
"I don't," she said hotly.
It appeared that Scarlett had a scrappy side, like her Gone-with-the-Wind namesake. "Did you see the body after it was found?" I asked.
She nodded. "Miss Delta told me what happened when I came to work. I went into the room to see for myself."
"Did you recognize the victim, Ivanna Jones?" Veronica asked.
Scarlett glanced at the floor. "I seen her here before."
I felt my heart skip a beat. "When?"
"A week or so ago."
I remembered that Delta said she'd seen Ivanna two weeks before. I wondered whether Ivanna had returned to the plantation a week later. "Can you give us a more precise date?"
She tugged at the top of her corset. "Uh, actually, I think it was two weeks ago."
Veronica furrowed her brow. "You're sure?"
"You think I'm lying?" she asked, raising her chin.
"I want to make sure we have the correct information, that's all," Veronica replied.
Scarlett stared at Veronica and said nothing.
Changing the subject, I asked, "Was Ivanna on one of your tours?"
"Yeah." She paused and played with the fabric of her petticoat. "And…" Her voice trailed off as she looked out the window. Then her face clouded over. "I'd better go." She grabbed the feather duster from the bed and pulled her hoop skirt and a red dress from the back of the door. "It's almost time for my tour."
"Okay, but let us know if you think of anything else," I said.
Scarlett left the room without a word.
"Did you see that?" I asked as I hurried over to the window. "She was about to tell us something, but she changed her mind."
"Yeah," Veronica replied with a toss of her hair. "And from the way she kept messing with her clothes, I'd say she was lying about when she saw Ivanna."
I stared out onto the grounds below and immediately locked eyes with a stocky, thirty-something male standing near the back porch. He turned away and headed in the direction of the sugar mills. "I just saw a man looking up at this window. Let's go find out who he is."
I rushed downstairs with Veronica close behind. When I opened the back door, seven miniature pinschers rushed in and circled me with their teeth bared like tiny land sharks preparing for a foot-feeding frenzy. I immediately froze in my tracks and feared for my Dolce Vita wedges and my toes.
Veronica sprung into action. "Bad dogs!" she shouted, clapping her hands. "Shoo! Shoo!"
But the mini mongrels stood their battleground.
Using my best Southern canine speak, I yelled, "Go on, now! Git!"
Delta emerged from her office wearing her standard scowl. "What's all the damn fuss about?" she asked, waving an antique candlestick like a club. "We have a tour going on, you know."
"This pack of wild Dobermans!" I said, desperately wanting to gesticulate but holding my body mummy-style still.
Delta looked down as though she hadn't realized the dogs were there. Then she dropped to her knees and drew the dogs into a collective embrace. "Mamma's sweet babies!" she cooed in a manly maternal tone as she kissed each dog on the mouth.
I felt my jaw drop from the shock of Delta's unexpected display of affection.
She looked up, beaming with pride. "These are the seven dwarfs."
More like the seven deadly sins, I thought.
Veronica walked around me. "Delta, we need to identify a man who was staring up at the window when we were questioning Scarlett a few minutes ago."
She used her right knee to hoist herself back to her feet. "It was probably that good-for-nothing Miles McCarthy, our groundskeeper. He's always poking around in the bushes and whatnot, sticking his blasted nose where it doesn't belong."
I noted that Delta had made a quick recovery from her bout with maternal warmth. "Does anyone else help with property maintenance?"
"No, but our historian, Troy Wilson, gives tours of the grounds. He's not here today, though."
Veronica pressed a finger to her cheek. "Hm. We'd planned on questioning everyone while we were here."
"I told him that," Delta said as she began twisting the candle in its spiral-shaped metal holder. "But he said he had some business to attend to at Tulane, something to do with his PhD dissertation. You should ask him about his research, by the way. It's fascinating."
"When can we talk to him?" I asked, glancing down at the Disney-named demon dogs.
"The day after tomorrow," she replied. Then she unceremoniously deposited the candlestick in my hands. "Here. Hold the base while I pull this candle out."
"That's a funky-looking candlestick," I said.
"It's a courter's candle." Flexing the muscle she'd exhibited earlier with the bronze pineapple, Delta gave a hearty tug and the candle
slipped free from the metal spiral.
"What's that?" Veronica asked as I handed the candlestick to Delta.
"A courting timer. When a gentleman came calling for one of the eligible young ladies of the plantation, her father would light the candle. When the wax burned down to the top of the metal spiral, it was time for the young man to leave. If the plantation lord felt he was a good prospect he would turn the handle to raise the candle before he lit it to give the couple more time together. But if he didn't, he would lower it."
"Talk about getting the short end of the stick," I joked.
Delta raised an eyebrow and stared at me. She might have a secret human side, but she had no sense of humor.
Veronica peered around Delta's shoulder. "Why are you replacing the candle?"
"One of my staff lit the damn thing, and the wax dripped all over the holder. Probably Scarlett," she added, shaking her head.
"Speaking of Scarlett," I said, "what time does her tour end?"
"In about thirty minutes. There are only six people—foreigners who are blissfully ignorant of the murder, I'm sure."
"Okay, thanks," Veronica said, walking to the door.
I held back until Delta and all seven of the devil dwarfs had retreated into her office. Then I rushed out after Veronica.
"Let's go to the larger mill first," I said.
"Yeah, the smaller one is probably the storage shed."
Veronica and I walked past the slave quarters and the gift shop and veered left in the direction of the big sugar mill. As we approached the rickety old wooden structure, we saw four huge cast iron kettles arranged in order from largest to smallest in front of the building. The tallest kettle was at least five feet high and seven feet across, and the smallest was only about two feet high.
I walked up to the weather-beaten door and knocked. After a minute or so passed, I pressed my ear to the thin wood. "It sounds like a fan or something is running. Maybe he didn't hear me."
"Is the door locked?"
I pushed the door, and its rusty hinges creaked as it opened about a foot. "I'm going in."
Veronica nodded.
"Hello, Miles?" I called as I slipped inside. I followed the loud whirring, which seemed to be coming from somewhere in the back. I passed through a room equipped with several antiquated-looking machines with grooved rollers and arrived in an adjoining room with wooden worktables and shelving.
Franki Amato Mysteries Box Set Page 34
