Oil Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 4)

by T'Gracie Reese

  “I know. I know honey.”

  “It is not right that Edgar should be…”

  “Sonialita?”

  This from a heavy set Hispanic woman, who had crossed the room and was now letting her palm rest on Sonia’s shoulder.

  “Sonialita…tu madre te quieres.”

  Sonia nodded.

  “My mother is asking for me.”

  “I understand. You go to her. And Sonia…things happen for a reason. You have to believe that. And know that Hector will be all right. All of Bay St. Lucy is on your side. We’ll be his big brother.”

  Sonia nodded and moved away into the crowd.

  Nina made her way outside.

  The grass, the shrubbery, the concrete bird bath—it was all dripping and shining and radiating heat.

  “Nina…”

  She turned.

  John Giusti stood before her.

  “Nina, we only heard, just an hour or so ago. I felt like I had to come over. Helen is on the beach. She didn’t feel like she could deal with it right now. I think she’ll be coming later on in the afternoon. But now…”

  “I know.”

  “Nina, you found him just after you left us?”

  “Yes, John.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “I know.”

  “We got to the park just a half hour before you did. Whatever happened to him might have been happening just about then.”

  “Yes. But no one knows. Not now, anyway.”

  “Here. Let’s sit down.”

  There were two folding chairs that sat facing the bird bath.

  John dried them with his handkerchief; she sat opposite him.

  “I heard he was a superb student.”

  “The best Bay St. Lucy has produced, John, since you were winning all the science prizes ten years ago. As soon as he graduated they were onto him, the big oil companies out of Lafayette and Houma. They paid for his education at UL-Lafayette and they were right there with job offers on the day of his graduation.”

  “So where was he working when…”

  “The Aquatica. Huge rig offshore. He was just beginning, but still making pretty good money and giving a lot of it to his family.”

  “Nina! John!”

  She had been interrupted by the outward edges of the social amoeba that was Bay St. Lucy.

  Alanna Delafosse, dressed in a onyx outfit that was black as coal, and thus only a few shades less lustrous, less mysterious, than the skin of her own bare and slender arms.

  “You two dears! You were both near the park this morning!”

  John nodded.

  “Yes, we were.”

  “And it was Nina who found the body?”

  It was Nina’s turn to nod.

  “I did.”

  “Oh you poor thing…you must let me….”

  And so began a string of sympathies and ‘you must let me’s’. Paul and Macy Cox came by, Penelope Royale and her husband Tom Broussard. Edie Towler.

  She learned nothing from these people, except that, yes, the body had been taken directly to the morgue and, yes, an autopsy was planned and might well have been carried out even as they spoke and no and yes and no and yes and…

  Finally, Nina, beginning to feel that more sympathy was being directed at her than at Olivia, her daughter Sonia, and her brother Hector—simply left.

  Or rather, that is, she simply left but did not leave simply.

  There was an ornate ritual of ‘good byes’ to be gone through, and there was standing in the mourning line that led to the seated Olivia Ramirez, whose upward gaze, iron grip handshake, and firmly uttered:

  “Teacher. Teacher.”

  ….might have been the hardest thing of all for Nina to bear.

  And the most inspiring.

  But the bottom line was, by two thirty she was gone, and wondering again.

  What to do?

  The jetty had done well for her in the early morning hours.

  But she could not live on the water all her life.

  And simply sitting at home seemed impossible. The walls would have begun to close in, and, being pretty close in as it were, even when things were at their best, could not at all have been trusted in this situation.

  So she made her way to Elementals.

  The town was alive as she motored through it. This was a good thing, she found herself thinking.

  Manning Drive, Breakers Boulevard, Eglantine Way…..

  She passed the little streets and peered into the little shops:

  Clay Creatures; Expressions by Claire; Joyce’s Shells and Gifts; Maggie May’s; The Social Chair; Uptown Interiors; Bay Breeze; The Blue Crab Gift Galleries; Art Alley in the Pass; Let’s Make Up Gifts; Aloha Gallery; Tuesday Morning; Your Gift Cove; Jaynie’s Novelties and Gifts; Charlie’s Treasures…

  And looking at these establishments, glorying in their bright colors and ramshackle, vine enshrouded appearance, she succeeded in keeping almost closed completely the mental door that was labeled THINGS NOT TO THINK ABOUT BECAUSE THEY WILL MAKE YOU SICK.

  But that door, badly constructed as it had been by the Creator, could never be closed entirely, and always allowed the cold draft of bad thoughts to pour through its crack.

  As they were doing now.

  How the hell could this have happened to Edgar Ramirez? He did not drink. He was not a crazed young teenager making his way to or from an all-night apartment bash. He had most certainly not lost his way and fallen blindly into a coulee that was as obscure and well-hidden as the Hoover Dam. Cars? Could he have been run into by a hit and run driver?

  Possibly, but…

  …but there were seldom if ever any cars on that slender ribbon of concrete road. The apartment dwellers came and went on a larger highway on the other side of the buildings. No, this road was almost completely devoid of traffic, which was one of the chief reasons she herself always used it to go to and from the park.

  No.

  It did not make sense.

  And so she RAMMED her brain against that door and CRUSHED it shut so that those evil old thoughts would stay locked behind it…

  …and parked in front of Elementals.

  She chained the bike to its rack, walked up the stairs fronting the shop, reached into the BANNISTER CANISTER, took out the key, and unlocked the door.

  Then she went inside, turned on the lights, started the coffee maker, and sold:

  One Hummel Keeping Time, consigned to her by Judy Tice from Baton Rouge.

  She sold this at two forty five.

  (At three o’clock Moon Rivard came by to tell her that an autopsy had been completed on the body of Edgar Ramirez, but that the results were being held in strictest confidence.)

  One Swarovski Duck, consigned to her by Felicity Meyer out of New Orleans.

  She sold this duck at three ten.

  (At three thirty, Ellen Swenson came by to look at paintings, did not buy one, but did tell her that there had been an autopsy and the official cause of Edgar Ramirez’ death had been listed as drowning.)

  One Hermann Traditional Mohair Bear, consigned to her by Albert Moor from Jackson.

  She sold the bear at four o’clock.

  (At four fifteen, two tourists, a man and a woman whose names she did not know, came by to tell her that Edgar Ramirez had died sometime between four and four thirty AM. These people also informed Nina that the young man’s blood alcohol level had been very high.)

  Then she closed the shop and went home.

  It would be all right, she told herself, while Vespa-ing in reverse the trail she’d taken to get here in the first place. She would fix dinner and that would occupy her mind; she would wash dishes and that would occupy her mind; she would walk along the beach and hoot at the silly tourists with their giant plastic floats and dragons, and that would occupy her mind because nothing after all was better than making fun of people dumber than oneself; and then she would read a mystery and then it would be ten o’clock and at ten o’clock it was okay to
go to bed so that’s what she would do.

  And it would be ok.

  Brrrrrrr, went the Vespa.

  NOTHING NOTHING NOTHNG NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING NOTHNG NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING NOTHNG NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING NOTHNG NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING NOTHNG NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING NOTHNG NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING NOTHNG NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING NOTHNG NOTHING NOTHING came through the bad thoughts door.

  So she had it all planned, and knew, as she turned onto the small oyster shell drive that led down to the beach and to her bungalow, that cooking, cleaning, walking, reading and sleeping would keep the Ramirez family completely out of her mind.

  Until she looked up at her porch and saw Hector Ramirez seated upon it.

  He darkened the entire structure. She did not understand immediately why. It was more than those cave-like penetrating eyes, his crow-ebony hair and the equally black shirt he was wearing. No, it was his way of looking down at her, then looking out into the world, which, vacillating between various kinds of evil potentials, as it always seemed to do for a fourteen year old, had chosen the one it was going to take.

  So be it, Hector seemed to be saying.

  Bring it on.

  She took one step up the stairwell and spoke to him.

  “Hector!”

  Of course, there really wasn’t much else to say.

  It was strange. The previous autumn he had come over to do some work for her—she could hardly remember what it was, but it had to do with a platform she was having built under the bungalow to put the freezer on, and the need for a strong back to carry lumber. He had been there waiting for her when she had arrived after errands—been there sitting on the entry porch just in front of the door, knees drawn up to his chin, just as he was now.

  “Hector, how nice to see you!”

  He watched her as she climbed.

  This was the time for him to engage in small talk, but his brother was dead, and he wasn’t in the mood for it.

  Finally she was on the porch looking down at him.

  “What is it, Hector?”

  Even then he seemed to feel the need to look her up and down once more, just one last time, before deciding.

  But he did decide:

  “I need to talk to you.”

  She nodded, reaching into her purse for keys.

  “Fine. Come in.”

  It was getting dark. She had to switch the living room light on.

  She led Hector inside, pointed to a chair, took one herself.

  Then she simply waited as he collected everything inside him, sorted it all out, translated it, evaluated it once again, and then let some of it come trickling out over the coffee table that sat between them.

  “I think you are very smart.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What they say in school, when you be the principal—they say, you don’t get over on her. Nobody ever get nothing over on Ms. Bannister.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true, Hector.”

  “The first day you come to school, you break up that fight.”

  “Yes. I remember.”

  “How you know about that fight?”

  “I don’t know. I’m old. I’ve been in the schools a long time. Sometimes you just know things. It’s hard to explain.”

  He looked at her. She could feel those eyes boring through her.

  What was this about?

  “They say Edgar get drunk. He come home from the rig, then he go out and get drunk.”

  “I know. That’s what they’re saying.”

  “That he fall down with his face in the water. And he drown.”

  “Yes.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Somehow there didn’t seem to be much to say in answer to that.

  “Edgar tell me all the time; don’t drink. Don’t take no drugs.”

  “Well, maybe he…”

  “No. No, if he find out I drink, he beat me up. He would do it, too. He beat me up.”

  Again, not much to say.

  The sea seemed to be growing louder as darkness fell.

  Streetlights began to turn on, glowing white against the blue of coming night.

  “What did Edgar do that last night, Hector?”

  “The police ask me that. I tell them; I tell you.”

  “All right. Go ahead.”

  “He get home from rig in the afternoon. About four. Whenever he get back home he spend the first night with us. For Mama.”

  “That sounds like Hector.”

  “But he is very worried. I can tell.”

  “Worried about what?”

  “I don’t know. He go into his room a lot, and, I can hear sometimes through the door, he is trying to call somebody. On his, you know, his…”

  “Cell phone.”

  “Yeah. Finally he get through to that person about eleven.”

  “Who was the person?”

  Hector shook his head:

  “No se. Don’t know. But he talk a long time. Then he call me into his room. He tell me, ‘Hector I have to see someone. It has to do with my work. Explain to Mama. I will be back before the sun comes up.”

  “And you told all of this to the police.”

  “Yes. But there is one more thing.”

  “What?”

  He reached into his blue jeans pocket and withdrew a small silver key.

  “That looks,” said Nina, “like the key to a locker.”

  “Yeah. His locker. Out on the rig. His computer is in his locker. ‘Hector,’ he tell me, ‘don’t give this to no police. No matter what happen. The police—I think the people out on the rig own them. Don’t give this to no police. Find somebody you trust. Somebody smart.”

  Hector held out his hand:

  “Here. Ain’t nobody get over on Ms. Bannister.”

  She took it.

  “I don’t know what I’m to do with this, Hector.”

  He shook his head.

  “I think, maybe when the time comes, you will know.”

  They were silent for a time.

  Finally he asked:

  “Would you give me a can of beer?”

  She was somewhat shocked.

  “A beer?”

  “Yes.”

  “But…what would Edgar have thought?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Hector, you’re still a minor. I can’t give beer to a minor.”

  Hector simply looked at her. Then he said, quietly:

  “My mother says, ‘A boy remains a boy until a man is needed.’”

  A flock of gulls screeched overhead.

  He continued:

  “I think, teacher, a man is gonna be needed now.”

  She looked at him, then nodded and said:

  “All right. You can have a beer.”

  She rose, went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, pulled out a can of Budweiser—one of fifty or sixty she had around the shack in the event Tom Broussard might come over some evening.

  Then she poured the beer into a glass and went back into the living room.

  Hector was gone.

  She went out onto the porch, peered down the stairs, and out across the parking lot.

  Nothing. Just the night and the streetlights and a car up on Breakers Boulevard.

  Nothing more.

  Except the small key that she held in her palm.

  ‘When the time comes, you will know.’

  “All right, Hector,” she whispered, squeezing the key. “All right. Maybe the time has come for you to be a man.”

  So thinking, she went to bed.

  CHAPTER FOUR: UNTIL A MAN IS NEEDED

  She woke at first light and put on her sweater and running pants; then she hurried down the stairs and unlocked her Vespa.

  It was a delicious morning, the air cool and redolent of salt.

  Within five minutes she was at Bagatelli’s, and by the time the sun had become a complete orange, hovering happily above the horizon, she was back at hom
e with a sack of croissants.

  It took her another fifteen minutes to make coffee, but breakfast was ready by the time Jackson Bennett began knocking and her door.

  She crossed the living room and opened it.

  “Jackson? What’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you this early, Nina.”

  “No bother. I’ve already been out to Bagatelli’s. Coffee is ready. Can I get you some?”

  He shook his head:

  “No time. I’m trying to set up a meeting for ten o’clock.”

  “What kind of a meeting?”

  He inflated his huge chest with enough air to get all of it out, then started letting all of it out.

  “Last night I was working late. It must have been ten o’clock or so. But an attorney for Louisiana Petroleum called me.”

  “The people Edgar worked for?”

  “Yes. The man said that the company had just been informed of Edgar’s death. I’m not sure how they heard the news, but since rumors have been flying all over town for the last twenty-four hours, I guess it was inevitable. I’m also not sure how they came to get my name…”

  “You’re the town’s leading attorney, Jackson.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “Of course, you’re the one they would naturally be referred to. There’s nobody better. But go on.”

  “All right. This gentleman said that the company looked upon Edgar as one of their own, and that they wanted to make restitution to the Ramirez family.”

  “Restitution?”

  “That’s the word he used.”

  “But they weren’t responsible for his death.”

  “I don’t think that’s what they’re saying.”

  “Then what…”

  “I’m not sure. At any rate, though, I’ve just come from the Ramirez home. I told them what the attorney had said, then told them also that I would be happy to act as their advisor in the matter. I suggested to everyone that we meet at city hall at ten this morning.”

  “And?”

  “The Ramirez family agreed. But they talked for quite some time about it in Spanish. Finally, the son…”

  “Hector.”

  “Yes, Hector. He said to me that they would do the meeting, but that they would like you to be there.”

  “Me?”

  “That’s what they said.”

  “Why?”

  Because, a small voice within her whispered, ‘nobody gets over on Ms. Bannister.’