A Grave Mistake

by Stella Cameron

  “Yes,” Ken agreed. “This way there won’t be any misunderstandings. If we don’t explain, the rumors will start. We’re already worried about Mrs. Edith, we don’t want her upset by hearing things about us that are only partly true.”

  Spike’s patience began to stretch. “Is this something to do with the so-called voodoo stuff?”

  “No,” Jolene said at once. “That’s just something Wazoo says because she thinks we’re competition. We’re not. We aren’t going to interfere with her animal therapy or anything else she does. We grow and sell vegetables and flowers and make natural remedies.”

  “There have been some comments made about you,” Spike said, thinking of a mention that they took nighttime walks in the graveyard. “Maybe all you need to do is be more open with folks so they won’t have any reason to make up lies.”

  “We lived in the grounds at Edwards Place until the real estate people started coming around and put the estate on the market,” Ken said.

  Jolene crossed her arms tightly. “Then Mr. Preston bought the place. We loved it there but we knew it wouldn’t last forever.”

  Spike stared at them and held back an urge to mention trespass. “I see.”

  “We weren’t doing any harm. We had our trailer out of sight in some trees and we grew enough to support ourselves. We took stuff to market out of town and made any money we needed. You don’t need much really.”

  Not when you’re using someone else’s property. “You wanted me to know this before someone else tells me?”

  “And we want to talk to you about our fears for Mrs. Edith Preston. You weren’t there after…after her incident. We don’t believe she cut herself by accident the way she’s saying.”

  Spike felt in his pockets for gum but found none. Too bad someone hadn’t come to him earlier, before he got taken totally by surprise. “Do you want to share your theory?” He should have been called to the Prestons’ after the incident. For a moment he thought about that. No, as long as they were insisting Edith had an accident, he wouldn’t be called. But someone should have told him about it afterward in case there were follow-up questions. Guy was too used to doing his own thing, and to taking charge.

  “They drove her to it,” Jolene said, holding a coffee mug and staring inside. “I think that Mr. Preston is cruel to her. He is cruel in strange ways. They may all be. She’s too nervous and fragile and she’s more that way than when she first came to Toussaint. We met her outside the church when she was first here and she was fine then. She came every week. Now she’s gone somewhere. We tried to find out where, but we couldn’t without drawing attention to ourselves.”

  “She’s with her husband in New Orleans,” Spike said. At least he knew that much.

  “I hope she’s safe,” Ken said, and he wouldn’t meet Spike’s eyes. “We think she tried to take her life that night.”

  Spike bought time by eating more of his pastry, licking the sticky syrup from his fingers and wiping his hands on a napkin.

  “Mr. Preston wouldn’t want anyone else to know we think that.” Ken took hold of Jolene’s hand. “It might spoil the story about the way he looks after his wife. She’s his prisoner.”

  “That’s pretty harsh,” Spike said. “What proof do you have of any of this?”

  “We know is all,” Ken said. “Some of us sense more than others. We know we were trespassing at Edwards Place but we did no harm. If we need to face charges, we’re ready.”

  “That would be up to the prior owners,” Spike said, grateful for an out. “We don’t have the manpower to track them down.”

  A little color returned to Jolene’s pale face.

  Ken shook his head. “It’s no good,” he said to his wife. “Eventually someone will tell the whole story. You know someone must have seen us.”

  “Hush,” Jolene said. “We’ve told the whole story.” She choked her words out.

  “Okay.” Ken subsided and pushed deeper into the couch.

  “Not okay,” Spike said, keeping his tone even. “You’ve left out more than you’ve told me. Am I wrong?”

  Jolene turned up her palms. She sighed and shook her head. “We may not have been seen at all, but now we’re not sure. We used to take our sleeping bags into the house when it was cold. We lit a fire now and then because the place is so far away from any street the smoke wasn’t likely to be seen. We only did it at night.”

  Spike said, “Thank you for telling me,” but wondered why they had, unless they feared being blamed for something. He considered whether there was any reason for them to think they’d be implicated in what happened to Edith but couldn’t imagine a connection.

  “Have you had any complaints?” Ken’s light eyes fixed on Spike and didn’t falter.

  “No,” he said, honestly enough, although Wazoo had indeed made some suggestions about them. He had decided she was the one they spoke of, the one who might have seen them at Edwards Place. Wazoo went too many places alone and at questionable times. The woman was a pain but the whole town cared about her.

  Spike drank coffee and glanced at Vivian, who had a thoughtful crease between her brows.

  “What did you mean when you said Preston is cruel to Edith in strange ways?”

  “Nothing really,” Jolene said quickly.

  “He isn’t the gentleman he pretends to be in front of other people.” Ken sounded determined. “I’m afraid we could get blamed for something he’s doing.”

  “Ken, no.” Jolene’s voice wobbled.

  “It’s true. We think Mrs. Edith’s being poisoned…no, not that exactly, but given drugs to weaken her. She is weaker.”

  Spike figured he had to ask a question to which he already knew the answer. “How do you know?”

  Ken blushed instantly.

  Misery flattened Jolene’s eyes. “We’ve seen him do it. After the first time when he forgot himself and pushed her down in the gardens, we decided to keep watch over her. He does it when they’re alone. He takes the pills from his pocket and stands over her while she takes them. She used to try not to, but now she does as she’s told and seems to like it. She smiles at him.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Ken said, “so if anything happens to her, you’ll know it wasn’t us.”

  It was Spike’s turn to feel thoughtful. “Thank you for telling me.” Not that he could do a thing unless he had more to go on than hearsay. And the Pratts wouldn’t be the first ones to come up with a supposed safety net for themselves. “I don’t think you should continue going onto Preston’s land.” These two would have to be kept under surveillance.

  Jolene wound her hands together. “I was afraid you’d say that. How can we try to watch over her?”

  “You can’t. She isn’t even here now so snoopin’ around wouldn’t help her, would it? Everythin’ you say may be easily explained, but leave it in my hands and stay away from Edwards Place. Better for you. And keep your own counsel.”

  “Yes,” they said, making leave-taking motions.

  “Finish your coffee and eat those pig’s ears or Charlotte will be offended.” He smiled and saw their relief.

  The front doorbell sounded, a low boom made by a monkey perched high in a corner of the great hall. The garish plaster animal was wired and brought a leather-wrapped stick down on a drum when someone rang the bell. Vivian’s uncle had brought an eclectic and whimsical taste to Rosebank.

  Spike leaned forward and said, “Have you seen any evidence of injectable drugs? Think about it and let me know later, if you like.”

  Ken and Jolene shook their heads no.

  Murmuring from the hall quickly materialized into Charlotte leading Guy and Jilly. If he weren’t so damned happy, Spike might try to seem peeved. That sounded like a stupid idea right now.

  The Pratts excused themselves at once, even though both Jilly and Guy were pleasant to them.

  Wendy peeked into the sitting room. Contact lenses had replaced her round pink glasses and her pretty eyes shone. A bob reached her collar but
Spike still missed her pigtails. Fortunately she remained a small girl. He wasn’t ready for her to grow up too much yet.

  “Mornin’, pumpkin,” he said, and she separated herself from the doorjamb to run in and hug Vivian, Spike and Charlotte.

  “Could I have a hug?” Jilly asked quietly, a soft smile on her face, and she was immediately squeezed tightly. Spike watched the way Guy observed the two. This man was going to have to do something serious about his feelings for Miz Gable.

  Charlotte took Wendy to the kitchen. Jilly sat beside Vivian but Guy hovered. “We all feel bad about yesterday,” he said to Spike. “You do believe it was one of those crazy things, don’t you? Who knew we hadn’t filled you in?”

  “I did—yesterday.”

  Guy’s black eyes moved past Spike to Vivian and Jilly on the couch. “The last thing Nat and I want is to pull your chain. You know that.”

  He wasn’t in the mood to smooth feathers. “What else don’t I know?”

  Vivian pouted at him and pulled down her brows. She couldn’t hold the critical expression and slowly started to smile.

  Spike winked at her.

  “I don’t think there’s anythin’,” Guy said, frowning. “Nat’s been busy in New Orleans, but we don’t get closer to making a real connection between events there and events here.”

  “But you think there is one?”

  “Yeah. I’ve never been big on coincidence. We need a break and we aren’t getting one.”

  Charlotte returned with two more mugs of coffee and fresh pig’s ear cakes. Guy fell on them and slid into a chair making noises of ecstasy. Jilly watched him and laughed.

  “What d’you think it means that Rathburn was walking into Jilly’s yard when he was shot?” Guy said around a mouthful of flaky dough. “Way I see it, he thought he was going to see a friend, or someone who was supposed to drive him back to Edwards Place.”

  Spike barely managed to hold his temper. “Maybe he didn’t think he’d see anyone,” he said. Still, Guy spoke about facts Spike should have been the first to know.

  “He was shot at close quarters,” Guy said. “He had to have seen his murderer. Single shot to the head. No sign of a struggle. One usable footprint. It isn’t Rathburn’s but they don’t know who it does belong to. Narrow foot.”

  Jilly sighed as if bored and said, “Why were the Pratts here?”

  “Just stopping by,” Spike said, and didn’t feel guilty.

  “Rathburn would always have carried a weapon,” Guy said. “His kind do, but he didn’t have one when he was found. He did have sticky stuff under his right index fingernail, and the thumbnail.”

  “Would you like to share the deductions on that?” Spike said carefully.

  “Tape,” Guy said. “There were tiny scraps of paper, too. Microscopic. They think he peeled off a piece of tape from somewhere.”

  This was unbelievable. “How do you know all this?” Spike asked, keeping his voice level.

  “Nat got it from the coroner, among other people.”

  “Is that so? Boy, I’m relieved. And there I was thinkin’ you’d been readin’ the reports in my office. Haven’t seen them myself.”

  “Cher?” Jilly said, standing up.

  Guy raised his hands and let them drop. “Look—”

  “You look,” Spike said. “I’ve had it with this. I’m this close—” he held a finger and thumb a millimeter apart “—to telling you and your buddy Nat to get lost. You’re in my face and I don’t want you there. I want you and Nat Archer in my office by late morning. Whatever you know, I need to know.”

  “I’m…dammit,” Guy said. “I didn’t set out to trample your toes. If I had, I wouldn’t be talkin’ to you now.”

  “What did you think?” Spike said. “Did you think I’d be okay with you givin’ me a verbal autopsy report?”

  “I assumed you would already have read the thing.”

  Vivian got up. “Hey, you two.”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart.” He didn’t want her upset and she detested argument. “We’ve got to set up a workable system for communication is all. Without anyone makin’ assumptions about what I know.”

  “You’ve got it,” Guy said, but he didn’t look happy and Spike was no novice, he knew how men like Guy liked to be in charge. He seemed to have forgotten he wasn’t on active duty.

  Jilly walked past them all and stood at the window. “There’s a connection between that Pip Sedge and Rathburn. I’m sure of it. And I don’t think this is going to be over real soon.”

  “No,” Spike said quietly.

  Vivian cleared her throat. Her eyes bored into Spike’s and he knew what she wanted from him. “The Pratts spoke of suicide, that maybe Edith tried to kill herself.”

  Jilly made a small sound but didn’t turn around.

  “I know it wasn’t an accident,” Guy said, looking at Jilly’s back.

  “There’s someone comin’ to the house,” Jilly said. “Better be careful what we say.”

  Guy’s cell phone rang. He swore under his breath and barked “What?” into the receiver. A few seconds and he said, “Sure, Cyrus. How do you know that? Of course, you did tell Miz Trudy-Evangeline where to find you. I don’t want to get my hopes up too far but she could hold the key. I’ll have Nat get over there right away—before someone can take her out, too.”

  He put the cell phone away and felt all eyes on him. The doorbell boomed again and Charlotte hurried past the sitting room.

  “Pip Sedge’s wife has showed up at her home,” he said.

  Spike pinched the bridge of his nose. “His wife?”

  “Ex-wife. I’ll make sure you know everything, okay? If you’d been with us in New Orleans you would have known.”

  “I have a district right here,” Spike said. “I had other business to attend to that day. Now, fill me in on Mrs. Sedge.”

  “Come on in!” Charlotte said from the hallway. “I’ll get Wazoo. She’ll be thinking of leaving for All Tarted Up. Vivian?”

  Charlotte led a woman into the sitting room, a thin woman with huge eyes and black hair sprinkled liberally with gray. The hair was cut short and brushed back from her face.

  “This is—”

  The woman, clutching at Charlotte’s arm, cut off anything else she might have said.

  Jilly had turned from the window and she smiled at the newcomer.

  Without uttering a word, the woman looked back at Jilly. Still silent, she spun around and fled the house.

  25

  Jilly could tell Guy was taking his time driving from Rosebank to Toussaint. He rested his right wrist on top of the steering wheel and crept along. She turned in her seat to look at Goldilocks, who sat on a thick foam pad covered with fleece on one side and sheepskin on the other and looked through the window as if she’d spent her life being chauffeured on outings. The back window had been lowered and the dog’s ears flapped in a strong current of air heavy with moisture.

  “She has a water dish on the floor,” Guy said, as if trying to read Jilly’s thoughts. “I carry some dry food and biscuits.”

  “Great. You take good care of her. Are we…yep, we’re driving in the wrong direction.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to stop by work and check in with Homer. Let him know I’ll be in much later.”

  Uh-huh, Guy checked in when his schedule was going to be disrupted? Jilly didn’t think so. “Go ahead,” she said.

  He smiled at her and she took a sharp breath. Gentleness wasn’t what she expected to see in his eyes.

  “I’m not as tough as I hope people think I am,” he said. “When I’m around you I feel anything but tough.”

  She swallowed and turned up the corners of her mouth. “You make a good job of hiding your feelings most of the time.”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice. I wish you and Joe had the same mother. You’d have fared better, Jilly. I don’t say that because of my feelings about Edith—it’s obvious is all.”

  “Maybe.” She and Jo
e never discussed their past. Talking about it didn’t come easy. “I always wanted to know more about my father.” Her eyes prickled and she hated herself for being weak.

  “I didn’t really know my dad,” Guy said. “My mother never said a bad word about him, but I don’t think he was good to her.”

  “Your mother filled the gap, didn’t she? The gap your father left?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t have had a better mother.” He frowned at Jilly. “I feel guilty for saying that to you.”

  “Don’t.” She stroked his arm. “I’m glad for you. I don’t know if my father is dead or alive. I don’t know why he suddenly stopped payin’ those people for my keep. The money came regularly before.” She didn’t want to say she thought the man had died.

  “You’ll probably never know, but I’d be wonderin’, too.”

  “Y’know, I don’t like self-pity. It’s somethin’ I don’t admire in other people but I have some for myself sometimes. Isn’t that the pits?”

  “It’s human.” He glanced at her, his expression serious, maybe sad.

  “Sometimes I’d get a little note from him. He’d put it in with the money. He never wrote much except he’d be back for me one day.” Now she felt it rush in, the self-pity she loathed and fought against.

  Guy’s mouth set hard. His knuckles whitened on the wheel.

  “Anyway, that’s all long over now,” Jilly said. “I don’t spend time standing at windows watching for him anymore.” But now and then, when she was alone, she cried for the girl she’d been and wished she could reach back and hold her, and tell her she was loved.

  “Kids are precious,” he said, and took her hand to the wheel where he held her fingers under his. “They need to know they’re safe and important. No kid deserves to be born to people who didn’t want ’em in the first place.”

  If you could really feel sad and happy at the same time, Jilly did. Guy Gautreaux wasn’t just a quiet man, he was thoughtful, and so special.

  “Jilly, this may not be the best time but I’m famous for bad timin’. We haven’t had a chance to get into what upset you in New Orleans.”

  “We’ve had chances,” she said. After all, honesty had a place in all things—even if she had begun to hope he’d forgotten all about the incident.