by Jana DeLeon
“Sounds riveting,” he said. “No wonder you’re asking about my life.”
I shook my head. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a really big ego?”
He grinned. “Not to my face.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”
“I didn’t,” he said.
“You didn’t what?”
“I didn’t return to Sinful when I left the military—at least, not right away.”
“Oh. Where did you go?”
I expected him to say “the beach” or “the mountains” or whatever variation of locale that he found interesting, but I was wrong.
“Indiana,” he said.
“Okay, I’ll bite. Why Indiana?”
“Because that’s where Lance Corporal Stephen Taylor’s widow and newborn son live.”
I lowered my fork, a heavy feeling settling over my chest. “He was in your unit?”
“He was under my command.”
My heart clutched and I took a long, slow breath. No matter the situation, if you were in charge of another human being, and they died on your watch, you felt responsible. I’d been fortunate that only two agents had died during joint missions. And even though I couldn’t have done a single thing to prevent what happened, I knew I would carry the weight of their deaths with me forever.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally.
He nodded. “Me, too. So I spent some time there, doing what little I could to help, then I came home. After everything I’d seen and done, I needed grounding. Sinful may be strange, but it’s still home.”
Grounding.
It was a concept I was familiar with in theory but couldn’t say that I’d experienced myself. Maybe because after my mother’s death, my life contained no stable ground to return to.
“You look confused,” he said.
“No,” I said, breaking myself out of my trance. “I was just thinking that I don’t really have a place to ground.”
“Why not?”
“My father died when I was young, and we always lived in big cities with no community feel. I went away to college and moved to another state for work. When my mother died, I suppose I lost the last thing that really tied me to New England.”
“So why don’t you leave?”
I frowned. “I guess because the life I have back there, as stark as it may be, is the only one I know.”
“Maybe it’s time to learn something new.”
His words were still hanging in the air when his cell phone rang. He answered it and his face immediately shifted from personal to professional, and he didn’t look happy. After shooting out a couple of clipped answers, he rose from the table and picked up the folder.
“I appreciate the meal, but I’ve got to run,” he said.
“What’s wrong?”
“Mark Bergeron just confessed to murdering Pansy.”
My mouth dropped. “Who is Mark Bergeron?”
“A guy I went to high school with. Married Joanie, a local girl.” He shook his head. “I thought they had it together.”
“Oh.” My mind flashed back to the couple I’d seen arguing on their way out of the Catholic Church the night Pansy was murdered.
“You’ve got a look on your face like you know something,” Carter said.
“No. I mean, I think that’s the couple I saw arguing Friday night at the beauty pageant rehearsal.”
“Did you hear what they were arguing about?”
“About some woman who was calling Mark. Joanie didn’t appreciate it.”
“Did they say this woman’s name?”
“No. Just that she was recently back in town, and Mark swore he hadn’t had anything to do with her since high school and wasn’t going to. Ida Belle said he was one of Pansy’s many conquests.”
Carter sighed. “I would never wish anyone dead, but for the life of me, I don’t understand why people like Pansy exist. She caused more trouble in this town than Ida Belle and Gertie could ever dream of, and the difference in her case was that the intentions were never good. I thought when she left, it was over.”
“Apparently it was…until she came back.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry to leave in the middle of dinner, but I have to go arrest a man I’ve been friends with since we were babies.”
I followed him to the front door and watched as he crossed the street and got into his truck. I’d never seen someone look so defeated.
Chapter Nineteen
As soon as he pulled away, I raced back to the kitchen and called Ida Belle and Gertie to fill them in on the development. They said they’d check their network and come over to my house as soon as they knew something. Apparently, their network was faster than DSL because they were at my front door ten minutes later.
“That was fast,” I said as I let them in.
“One of the Sinful Ladies is Joanie’s aunt. She’s been over at Joanie’s house with Joanie’s mother for the last two hours. Joanie is beside herself.”
“Of course she is,” I said. “Her husband just confessed to murder.”
“But that’s just it,” Gertie said. “Joanie is insisting that Mark couldn’t have done it. She says they left their daughter at her grandmother’s for the night so they could hash out the Pansy problem. They fought for a couple of hours, then Mark drank a six-pack of beer and passed out watching television.”
“He could have sobered up enough by midnight to kill Pansy,” I pointed out.
Ida Belle nodded. “True, except that when Joanie gets mad, she can’t sleep. So she turned on the house alarm and went to the kitchen to bake. She has a clear view of the front and back doors from the kitchen, and the only panel for the alarm is next to the front door.”
“So he’s lying?” I asked. “Why?”
“The only reason I can figure is to protect someone else,” Ida Belle said.
The obvious answer hit me at once. “His wife.”
Gertie nodded. “That’s what we figure.”
“You guys know her,” I said. “Is Joanie capable of this?”
“Anyone is capable of murder,” Gertie said.
Ida Belle sighed. “I think she means is she physically capable of this particular murder, and the answer is I’m not sure.”
“Pansy had a good thirty pounds on Joanie,” Gertie pointed out.
“Thirty is being charitable,” Ida Belle said. “But sometimes the lanky ones are strong.”
“True.” I was one of those strong lanky ones. “And as mad as she was, that would have made her stronger.”
“We have to do something,” Gertie said, looking more distressed by the second.
“Actually,” I said, “I don’t think we have to do anything. I mean, at least not about Mark. That part will fix itself.”
“How?” Gertie asked.
“Because the first thing Carter will ask Mark to do is describe how he killed Pansy so that he can take a statement.”
“And Mark won’t know Pansy was strangled because the police never released that information,” Ida Belle said.
Ida Belle’s cell phone rang. She took the call and immediately, her expression shifted to worried. “We’ve got to get over to Marie’s. Something is happening at Celia’s.”
We jumped in Gertie’s car, me flat on the backseat, and Gertie practically drag-raced the two blocks to Marie’s house. She parked around the corner and we hurried down the block, staying in the shadows of the hedges and away from the dim glow of the streetlights. I could see the faint outline of Sheriff Lee’s horse standing on Celia’s front lawn.
When we got to Marie’s house, we slipped into the backyard, where Marie was already waiting to let us in the back door.
“What’s going on?” Ida Belle asked. “I saw Sheriff Lee’s horse in the front lawn.”
“I don’t know,” Marie said. “I was in the living room watching television when I heard screaming coming from next door. I grabbed the phone and called the police.”
“Someone’s-killin
g-me screaming or angry screaming?” I asked.
Her eyes widened. “It sounded like angry screaming to me. I mean, there were cuss words, and it sounded like someone was throwing glass. Oh my God. What if I was wrong?”
Gertie patted Marie’s arm. “Don’t worry, honey. Not even Celia has the balls to cuss someone out while they’re trying to kill her. I’m sure it’s something else.”
Ida Belle nodded. “You need to go find out what.”
“Me?” Marie shook her head. “I’m not good at this sort of thing.”
“Well, you better get up to speed,” Ida Belle said, “if you expect to join the SLS. We tend to specialize in this sort of thing.”
Marie sighed. “What am I supposed to do—knock on the door and ask what’s wrong?”
“Exactly,” Ida Belle said. “Tell Celia you’re the one who called the police and you want to make sure everything is all right or see if there’s anything you can do to help. Celia loves people attempting to serve her.”
Marie didn’t look remotely convinced, but she allowed Ida Belle to shove her out the door and trekked across the lawn to Celia’s, looking back every couple of steps.
“You sure she can do this without passing out?” I asked.
Ida Belle nodded. “That damned husband of hers convinced her she wasn’t capable of anything. I aim to change all that. She’s a smart woman and can do a whole lot more than sit in this house, knitting and baking.”
I couldn’t argue with Ida Belle’s intent, especially as I’d already heard plenty of stories about Marie’s deceased husband, and none of them good.
A stream of light appeared in front of Celia’s house, signaling us that someone had opened the front door. I crossed my fingers that Marie was able to get anything out of the surly Celia. A minute later, the light disappeared and a couple of seconds later, we saw Marie heading back to her house.
She hurried through the front door, her cheeks red and breathless with excitement. “Someone broke into Celia’s house,” she said.
“She was robbed?” I asked.
Marie shook her head. “They tore up Pansy’s room—literally tore it up. The drawers are pulled out of the dresser. Everything was pulled out of the closet. The mattress has been cut.”
“What in the world for?” Gertie asked.
“Somebody’s looking for something,” I said.
Ida Belle nodded. “Maybe Ally isn’t the only person who knows about Pansy’s scorebook habit.”
I looked over at Marie. “Did she say what time the break-in happened?”
“She’d been home all day until an hour ago, so sometime in the last hour.”
Gertie looked relieved. “That puts Mark and Joanie in the clear. Mark was already down at the sheriff’s department trying to convince Myrtle to call Carter so he could confess, and Joanie’s mother and aunt were with her at her house.”
Ida Belle frowned. “But that puts Fortune on the hook.”
“Why would Fortune want to steal Pansy’s scorebook?” Gertie asked. “She didn’t sleep with Pansy.”
“And Joanie already knows that Mark did,” Ida Belle pointed out. “Whoever broke in is probably someone whose wife doesn’t know and he doesn’t want her to know.”
“But is he our murderer?” I asked. “Or just some poor guy worried that someone will find the scorebook and air his dirty laundry?”
“That’s a good question,” Ida Belle said and sighed. “Logical or no, nothing is going to stop people from accusing Fortune of the break-in.”
“Actually, I’m good,” I said. “I spent the past hour eating dinner with Carter.”
They all stared, and Ida Belle raised her eyebrows.
“There’s an interesting development,” Ida Belle said.
“Not so interesting,” I said, not wanting them to get the wrong idea. “I saw him parked across the street for stakeout and went over to talk to him. He looked exhausted and frustrated and all he had was a protein bar and coffee. I had Francine’s chicken casserole and cobbler and I felt sorry for him, so I invited him to eat.”
“Is that all you invited him to?” Gertie asked, smiling.
“Of course! Look, it’s my fault he had to sit out there, so I figured it was the least I could do.”
“It wasn’t the least you could do,” Ida Belle said, “but I’m not sure it gets you a pass, either.”
“Why not?” I asked. “If the deputy is not a solid alibi, who the heck is?”
Gertie cut her eyes over at Ida Belle, a worried look on her face. Ida Belle blew out a breath.
“We weren’t going to tell you,” Ida Belle said, “but that accusation Celia’s cousin made in Francine’s on Sunday has picked up some momentum.”
I frowned, trying to remember everything Celia’s cousin had spewed out on me that day, then I sucked in a breath. “People think I’m sleeping with Carter?”
“Some people think that,” Gertie said. “But not anyone with a brain.”
“Unfortunately,” Ida Belle said, “people without a brain make up the bulk of Sinful.”
I felt my heart drop. “I made things worse when I invited him in, didn’t I?”
Gertie bit her lower lip.
“Maybe,” Ida Belle said.
Gertie stared at her.
“Okay, probably,” Ida Belle corrected. “Foster, the man who lives across the street from you, is the nosiest person in Sinful. I’m sure he’s stayed glued to his front window ever since this mess with Pansy started up.”
“But there’s still Dr. Ryan,” Gertie said. “Once Carter latches on to him, all the pressure about Fortune should disappear.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Carter told me Ryan is being detained by the New Orleans police until he can get there tomorrow to question him.”
“Then if Dr. Ryan is in jail,” Gertie asked, “who broke into Celia’s house?”
Ida Belle frowned. “That is a damned good question.”
###
Marie tried to insist that I stay at her house for the night, not wanting me to be without an alibi, but when I pointed out that spending the night next door to Celia’s would probably increase suspicion rather than reduce it, she had to agree. Then Gertie and Ida Belle broke out into an argument about who, between the two of them, was more a more believable alibi. I wasn’t about to wade into that mare’s nest, as I figured the honest answer was neither.
Finally, I solved the problem by telling them all that I intended to sleep in my own bed and if they wanted to play armed guard, then they could all do it at my house. Given that mine was the only house with enough bedrooms and baths to host everyone in their own space, the argument ceased.
We stayed up until almost midnight, trying to make sense of everything that had happened, but it was no use. Dr. Ryan had been the perfect solution, but now, everything seemed so messy and disjointed. One of the Sinful Ladies called Ida Belle around ten to say that Carter had released Mark, but neither of them was talking. I figured Carter caught on pretty quickly that Mark wasn’t the murderer, but I also figured his attempted confession had only drawn attention to his wife as a suspect, even though neither of them could have broken into Celia’s house.
It was a ragged, disappointed crew that had finally called it a night and headed upstairs to bed. Unfortunately, my mind wasn’t near as tired as my body and sleep didn’t come. I tossed and turned for a while, then tried reading, but ultimately, I gave up and headed downstairs about one a.m. for a glass of warm milk.
Bones, who was sleeping on a blanket in his old spot in the corner of the kitchen, didn’t even stir as I poured the milk and popped it in the microwave. But as I pressed the button to stop the timer before the buzzer went off, he jumped up from his bed—far more quickly than I thought possible—and raised his nose in the air and sniffed.
I froze and watched as he inched out of his bed and stuck his nose in the crack of the back door and sniffed again. Then he looked up at me and scratched the door with one paw a
nd whined.
“Sssshh.” I patted his head, hoping it would keep him from barking, and lifted one of the blinds to peer outside.
At the side of the lawn, right where the light from the porch began to fade away, something moved. My pulse leapt. Whatever it was, it was big. Plenty of small things might be moving around back there, but the only thing large enough to cast the shadow I’d seen was a human.
Not wanting to waste time going upstairs for my pistol, I grabbed a knife from the counter and gently pushed Bones away from the door, telling him to stay and be quiet. Apparently, the hound understood what I asked because he sat next to the door and leaned against the wall.
I slid back the deadbolt, eased open the door, and slipped outside, figuring that if whoever was lurking in the bushes was paying attention, they’d see me coming outside and take off. And that’s exactly what happened.
He shot out of the bushes, scattering branches and leaves as he went, and ran down the side of the house to the front. I vaulted over the porch railing and took off after him, certain no one in Sinful was going to beat me in a footrace, even though I was barefoot and running with a butcher knife.
The side of the house was pitch black, but I sprinted down it, lifting my knees high just in case tree roots were exposed. I burst onto the front lawn and did a quick scan to find my target. Two houses up the street, I caught sight of someone running at the far edge of the street lights.
I pivoted left and dashed across the front lawn, not realizing until I streaked by that Carter was parked at my curb. I glanced as I passed and saw his eyes widen, but I didn’t slow my pace, even when he yelled at me to stop. I pushed my legs harder and rounded the corner at the end of the block, expecting to be on top of the intruder.
Then I screeched to a halt.
No way, I thought as I scanned up and down the street, but as far as I could see, nothing moved. He couldn’t have gotten an entire block ahead of me. Only a cheetah and maybe an Olympic athlete could have pulled away from me like that.
Which meant that he was hiding somewhere close by.
