A Fatal Romance

by June Shaw

  Even so, I couldn’t miss the black Hummer squatting in the circular drive out front like an army tank. Stan’s business must be doing well. No sign of any new break-ins. I probably shouldn’t tiptoe around her windows to make sure. Making a decision, I drove on.

  Who could have broken into Eve’s house, wanting something of a man’s? I had met some of the guys she dated since her last divorce, but after a while they looked alike. Their dark hair held touches of gray, and they appeared to work out in gyms. Energetic men, they kept their white smiles aimed at my sister, who resembled me—but she put out, and I didn’t. She gave them that bit of information right when they met me, which I felt was unnecessary.

  The store’s parking lot was almost empty. I marched inside and inspected bananas and homegrown tomatoes as well as I could without my glasses.

  “Sunny,” a deep voice called. Eve’s first husband, Jacques Thibodaux, stepped near and kissed my cheek. “How nice to see you.”

  “You, too, Jacques.” Was there a convention of my sister’s exes in town? Her most recent ex-husband lived forty miles away, but we never saw him. Jacques lived in Houston. His hair was thinner and grayer since I’d last laid eyes on him. He’d thickened in the waist. I glanced behind him, hoping to see the daughter he and Sunny had produced. “Where’s the little one?”

  His smile widened at my suggestion that their grown offspring was little. “She’s teaching those preschoolers. My wife Melanie came down with me a couple of days for my friend’s funeral.”

  A wretchedly thin high-heeled blonde sashayed near and flopped out her long hand. “Melanie,” she said with a Texas twang.

  Clasping her frigid hand made me want an overcoat. “I’m Sunny.”

  “The little one wanted to come but needs to save time off for when she has the baby,” Jacques said.

  That baby would make my sister a grandmother. Hard to believe, even though Eve’s daughter had gotten pregnant and married young, just like Eve did the first time around.

  “I saw you at Zane Snelling’s funeral,” I told Melanie. “You were using a broom.”

  “I was there, too,” Jacques said. “But I went out after his wife tripped. There was no way I could sweep up my buddy. Zane and I used to work together in the oilfield.”

  “I didn’t know him,” Melanie said, “but I wanted to help.”

  I smiled tight-lipped and wondered what Jacques might think if he knew I had parts of his friend at home in my pocket.

  He wrapped an arm around his wife. “This here’s a good woman. She doesn’t even mind those things I give your sister.”

  “I have you,” she said with a smile she froze in place and faced me. “I know Jacques pays your twin a nice alimony, even though he wouldn’t have to. And I’ve learned about the cars.” Those would be the Lexuses he sends Eve every couple of years.

  “We can still afford them,” Jacques said.

  “Jacques can give your sister anything he wants.” Melanie planted a kiss on his lips. “Except his heart.”

  Ugh, mush. “Please give my niece a big hug for me,” I told Jacques.

  “I sure will.”

  Melanie’s gaze raked me from head to toe. “I know his first wife is your twin. Does she still look like you?”

  I offered a bright smile. “Yes, she does.”

  Melanie pursed her lips. I waited for her to say something complimentary. Instead, she moved away and picked through cantaloupes.

  Jacques leaned near my ear. “Tell my gal I still miss her.”

  Stunned, I returned a wave to his wife when she came back to Jacques. Gripping his hand, she took him and her cantaloupe toward the checkout.

  Did he really still miss Eve? He had sent her those cars hoping to get her back and let her know how important she’d been to him, he’d always said. Eventually he gave up, met someone else, and remarried.

  And did his wife really mean she didn’t mind the cars and jewelry he sent my sister?

  My legs tensed. Jacques and Melanie were only in town a few days. Could she have broken into Eve’s house? But if she did, what might this young woman want? Eve’s latest car? She should figure it would be locked in the garage. Besides, she couldn’t just drive the thing away. Jacques would notice she had that beauty.

  Of course she could destroy it.

  What about Eve’s other two exes? As far as I knew, they only gave her nice gifts after their divorces to mimic what Jacques did. At least that’s what Eve determined. Neither of those men had remarried, but they might be in relationships with women who’d want … what?

  I grabbed cans of whole tomatoes and tomato paste. Stared at them in my hands. A large can, the whole tomatoes, like a large man. Or the small can—like a petite woman. Could she smash a sliding glass door until she got inside?

  Absolutely. A woman could also do all of that damage to the paintings.

  “I would have liked it,” a woman said from the end of the canned vegetable aisle. Her voice sounded somewhat familiar, so I paid closer attention. Daria Snelling walked past with an empty buggy. Again this morning she wore crimson—a short sheath with matching heels.

  She didn’t glance my way. A man on the other side of her wore a navy shirt, wide sunglasses, and a baseball cap, and didn’t appear to have a buggy. I may have seen him before, but wasn’t certain.

  I moved closer. Peeking into the rear aisle, I could see only their backsides. I sensed they were talking pleasantly. They didn’t pick up anything or seem to care about groceries. Understandable for her with just losing a husband. But why had she come into the store today? Only to amble? To talk to this person?

  I yanked up a couple more items and rushed to show up at the checkout when they arrived.

  Daria headed toward me, her buggy still empty. Had she even noticed? I shoved over to a checkout counter three away from hers, considering what to do next. The man with the cap stood behind her, a hefty teen cashier blocking most of his face. The man’s hand gripped a loaf of white bread. Not a diet person. Probably without a dieting wife. I didn’t spot a ring.

  I considered lining up behind him, but Daria might still be furious with me, and having her yell at me in a store couldn’t produce anything positive. I did want to know why she hadn’t responded to my message on her answering machine. Why wouldn’t a wife rush to call an unfamiliar woman who claimed to own something of her deceased husband’s?

  Plucking my groceries out of the cart, I set them in front of the cashier who asked if I found everything I needed.

  “I sure did.” I glanced again at Daria’s checkout.

  She headed for the exit. No buggy. Only a purse on her arm. The man striding behind her.

  I paid for my groceries, tossed them in plastic bags before the cashier could, and rushed outside. In the busy parking lot, I found no sign of her or the fellow who’d followed her. Disappointment sucked down my spirit. I didn’t care what she did. What I did care about was properly disposing of her husband’s remains that I unwillingly possessed.

  Along the highway, I made a quick stop at a squat building that formerly sold ice. Now two signs out front read Shrimp and Welding Supplies. I chose shrimp. Buying a couple pounds of medium peeled ones, I then swung down my sister’s street, hating that I did. I didn’t want to start checking on her, but this day was different. This was the day after somebody broke into her house.

  A few houses before hers, I stomped the brakes. My mouth went dry.

  The Hummer was gone from Eve’s driveway. A large truck took its place. A midnight blue truck. Why would another man be there right after Stan left? The person who drove it might have been the one who broke into her house. He may have just been waiting for Stan to leave.

  I hadn’t been able to save one sister. I needed to save this one.

  Chapter 3

  Knowing I could do whatever was necessary if Eve was in trouble, I mentally rummaged through my vehicle. I couldn’t reach the tire jack fast enough.
The tool was in the truck bed beneath boxes of ceramic tile we would soon use in a customer’s bathroom. The toolbox behind my cab held hammers and crowbars I could reach in a minute.

  Envisioning my plan to grab one of each and rush in yelling and wielding them, I was almost at Eve’s. Her front door opened. A man stepped out, followed by my sister. She wore spiky heels and a sky blue dress and wasn’t screaming for help or even looking unhappy. In fact, she nudged up to the guy and didn’t pay attention to the street.

  From what I could see of him as I passed, he appeared slightly younger than some men she normally dated. Of course Stan had just left her house from his overnighter while I grocery shopped. And a new guy was already there?

  I checked my rearview mirror. He stood a bit taller than Eve and looked thick in the shoulders and trim in the waist. The man pointed toward the front of her house while she smiled and kept nodding, looking at him, not where he indicated.

  I drove around the block to my own place, hauled groceries inside, and phoned her.

  “Hello,” she said like a happy sparrow.

  “Who is he?”

  “Who?”

  “The guy standing beside you. Or that you’re standing against. Who is he?”

  She took a minute in which I imagined she backed away from him and glanced around, expecting to see me. “Where are you?” she asked much softer.

  “In my house. Just like you should be since yours was broken into yesterday. You should have your doors bolted against guys like the ones you have streaming in and out of your place.” She didn’t respond, so I kept going. “You probably don’t even know the name of this new one who stopped by right after your other guy left.”

  What was wrong with me? I was being ugly and didn’t normally preach or pass judgment.

  But when I was a child, I’d watched our other sister murdered. Now I was grown. I couldn’t let anything happen to Eve.

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she said, tone snippy.

  “I’m fixing shrimp creole for lunch today,” I got in before she disconnected. I stomped through my kitchen, wanting to dash to her house and protect her, but she sounded okay, at least for the moment. Eve might not have replied when I told her the dish I’d planned, but she would come over. Shrimp creole was one of her favorites. She didn’t eat it often since she didn’t cook much, but if someone served her the dish, she almost kissed the preparer’s feet.

  With barely enough time to get everything ready, I filled a pot of water with a pinch of salt and turned the fire high. I chopped and smothered onions, bell pepper, and garlic—the trinity of southern cooking. When the salty water came to a rolling boil, I went for the rice and saw I hadn’t bought any.

  Why not? I mused and recalled I’d been heading for the aisle with rice when I spied Daria and went after her. Since returning to the store would take too long, I called a couple of my neighbors.

  At 11:59 a.m. my doorbell rang. One dong at a time. The front door. Eve wasn’t using her key and wanted to let me know she was still annoyed.

  “So glad you came,” I said, letting her in.

  She trotted past me, nose in the air. “If I hadn’t come here, you probably would have staked out my house. I figured this would be better.”

  Her sarcasm made me grit my teeth. I told myself everything would be fine. The money I’d missed out on at Fancy Ladies this week didn’t matter. Taking the time to shop this morning and prepare her special dish wasn’t important, either. I followed her to my kitchen.

  “You were pretty sure of yourself, believing I’d come.” She stood, fists on hips, and surveyed the table set for two.

  “Maybe I have a date planned.”

  “More likely you’d planned yourself a libido memorial.”

  Her smart remark made me almost sorry I’d cooked for her. She stepped near the stove, checking the largest pot. “I thought you’d have shrimp creole. These are noodles.”

  “I wanted to try something different.” And the only one of my neighbors who’d been home was also out of rice. “I know you like variety in your life.”

  She flitted her eyes at me. Eve spooned some of the shrimp dish over the pasta. She took sweet peas from a smaller pot, set her plate on the table, and grabbed soft drinks from the fridge—Diet Coke for me, Sprite for her.

  “Okay, I’m sorry.” She tasted the noodles coated with red sauce. “This isn’t bad.”

  “You’re forgiven.” I tried the shrimp dish, also deciding it was tasty. My secret ingredient for any tomato dish was a couple of heaping tablespoons of sugar. I normally cooked the sauce longer, but hadn’t had time today. “Why were two men at your house this morning?”

  “If you really must know, Stan left for his meeting in New Orleans. And no, we didn’t sleep together. After he was gone, Dave Price came over. He owns a burglar alarm company.”

  “So that’s why he was pointing, showing where you needed alarms installed.”

  She grinned, her empty fork aimed at me. “You really were in front of my house.”

  “I drove by. And I’m glad you’re finally getting an alarm.”

  “I didn’t say I would. I just had him come over and check things out. At the same time, I was checking him out.” She rolled her eyes expressively. “A good-looking guy, huh?”

  “Who notices?” I asked with a shrug. Picturing him, I found it difficult to keep from smiling. “Oh, something strange happened at the supermarket. I saw Daria with a man.”

  “What’s so strange about that?”

  “First, she never returned my phone call from yesterday. And she didn’t have a thing in her buggy. She looked happy with that guy.”

  “Who was he?”

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t see much of his face.”

  Eve dabbed her lips with her napkin. “She might have just wanted mints or to get out of the house. And looking happy with a guy isn’t strange, you know. I look happy with guys all the time.”

  “Exactly my point.”

  “Hmm.” She considered a moment, nibbling on a shrimp.

  We ate more in silence, minds maybe working in sync.

  “You could be the poster girl for women who never get happy around a guy,” she said.

  I ignored her comment. “Besides all that, Daria doesn’t even care about what I have of her husband’s? She must have heard my message by now, but she still hasn’t called.” I shoved my chair back and stood. “I think we need to go talk to your widow friend.”

  Eve carried her plate to the sink. “She isn’t my friend. I was only introduced to her.”

  “Right. Let’s go see what she’s made of.” I headed for the foyer. “I’ll wear the jacket and give her the rest of her husband.”

  My sister waited in her car she had driven over. The leather seats made a soft swish and caressed my hips. She glanced toward my jacket’s pocket. “How do you think she’ll get him out of there?”

  Unconsciously, I’d slid my hand in and instantly jerked it away, checking to make sure no trace of him lodged under my nails. “She can pour his ashes back in her urn.” I pulled my pocket open without touching anything inside, hoping by some magic turn of events, he would have evaporated.

  No such luck. Over the white tissue, ashy bits of a man resembled Eve’s abstracts. I’d found this pricey silk jacket at an end-of-season sale at Fancy Ladies. It was my favorite, lightweight with the rust color brightening some of my other outfits. I couldn’t afford another one anytime soon. Daria needed to remove her husband from it.

  “Eve, you might not want to think this of your dead friend’s wife, but she could have a lover, maybe that guy with her in the store. I hope when we get to her house, he isn’t with her in a compromising situation.”

  She drove, eyes toward the street. “That would be bad, but worse things have happened.”

  “Yes, she could have killed her husband to be with that man.”

  Eve pushed out a sigh. “You read t
oo many novels—people killing for romance. He was probably just someone who didn’t get to go to the funeral.”

  “Oh,” I said, remembering. “I talked to your first ex and his wife buying groceries.”

  “I noticed them across from us in the church. I’ve heard Jacques’s new wife doesn’t like me.”

  “Can you blame her? He’s sends you much more than he needs to.”

  “I knew they were coming to the funeral, but Nicole wasn’t.” She flashed a lovely smile. “I can’t wait for my daughter to have a baby.”

  “Maw Maw,” I called her as many in this area called their elderly grandmas.

  She pushed her tight lips forward in a pout. “Let’s think of something nicer for the child to call me.”

  We’d passed only a few other houses that trickled along this barren stretch of woods and grasses beside winding Felicity Bayou. The early afternoon felt like deepening dusk when we reached the Snelling home. The house was red brick with a black mansard roof, a rarity around here. The property sank into a thicket of trees shrouded with moss as though hiding from spying eyes. The scene, much darker than the area leading to it, emitted a sense of gloom. Daria had yelled at me the only time she saw me. How would she react now?

  Eve gave me a quick glance. “Apprehensive?”

  “A little.”

  “We don’t have to stop.”

  I glanced at my pocket. “Yes, we do.”

  A windowless sliding door for the attached garage was shut. Its red bricks brighter than the rest of the house told me someone enclosed the double carport awhile after the house was built. Eve parked in front of the garage.

  The minute I stepped along the slim path to the front entry, the tangy scent of pine trees and pungent swamp water activated my sinuses, making me sniffle. No one had planted flowers or shrubs to add a feeling of life to the grass out front. No music or noise came from inside. Drapes were shut.

  “Can’t tell if anyone’s home,” Eve said.

  I rang the doorbell. Maybe Daria was in her house. Possibly not alone. I shoved the bell once again. No sound or ruffled curtains. In case the bell didn’t work, I pounded on the door. We waited. Not even the whisper of a footstep.