“Thank you,” they said in unison.
My auntie had roped me into staffing the booth. “Just for a couple of hours for the first night,” she had said. “Then I’ve got it covered.”
I think she just wanted me to do it to prove that she could get me to. I figured why not use my expensive education on directing people to the crawfish race.
The Festival had turned out grand. Lights were strung along the center walkway and booths lined the edges. Attendees could stroll their way through unique items, handcrafted and novelty, as artists, craftsman and vendors displayed their wares. Stuffed with official crawfish and football memorabilia, the two pseudo gods of the fair.
I had gone to the doctor’s with Aunt Julep as promised. It appeared I had nothing out of the ordinary to worry about when it came to her health. Considering her age, weight and Type II diabetes, according to her doctor, she was doing okay. Her doctor was generous with his information about her and seemed quite caring. He reminded me of Alex and his gentle bedside manner.
It was just that she was getting old, and while getting that way is the same for everyone, not everyone grows old the same way. But whatever had made her shuffle around the kitchen that day I was there feeding her étouffée had since departed, because now all she talked about was getting to the festival and dancing to the zydeco music. I made another promise and told her I’d pick her up for the Saturday night show.
I guess how that old saying goes, “You’re as old as you feel at any given moment.” And this moment my Aunt Julep felt as if she could dance.
“Hi.” I turned to the next face.
“Hi,” I said back to the man in front of me. “How can I help you?”
“I don’t know if you can help me. It’s so many people here this year. I can’t ever remember the first night being so busy.” He looked around.
“The chairwoman this year was extra enthusiastic, to put it lightly,” I said.
“I see,” he said. “I’m looking for a Suzanne Derbinay? I stopped by her funeral home–um, the Ball Funeral Home and they told me I could find her here.”
“Yes, she is here,” I said. “I’m her niece, Romaine. Romaine Wilder.”
“Yes, she mentioned you in her message, and the police. I’m Warren George. She said she wanted to speak to me about something. Sounded kind of urgent, especially after she mentioned it was a police matter.”
“Ah, yes. The surveyor,” I said and smiled.
“Yes.” he asked. “I was on my way home, thought I’d stop by here speak to her, see what she wanted, and then walk around a bit.
“We had a question about some land you were called to do a survey on out here.”
“We?”
“Well, we, she and I, are working with the police. The sheriff, I mean.” I gave him a smile. “Pogue Folsom. He’s a one-man operation and I am a medical examiner. So we’re pitching in.”
“Oh. So, then I can talk to you?”
“Yes. Just a couple of questions, if you don’t mind.”
“No. I don’t.”
“About the land you were surveying.”
“Over by Yellowpine?” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
“I don’t know how much I can tell you. The guy never showed up.”
“You were to meet him in his motel room?”
“No. Out on the property.”
“Oh,” I said. “The property where there was a land dispute?”
“That would be the one,” he said.
“And he didn’t show up there?”
“No. He didn’t. I was a few minutes late. Tried to call him on his cell phone but got no answer. I waited around, spoke to a guy that lived out there and he hadn’t seen him either.”
“You spoke to someone out there?”
“Yeah, I guess he lived out there. Not sure. He came walking up to me and told me I was on private property.”
“What did you say to him?” I asked.
“Told him I had permission and I was meeting someone out there.”
“What was he doing?” I asked.
“Uh, he told me he was doing some woodworking, he had woodchips all over him. Said he was taking a cigarette break because he couldn’t smoke around the varnish he used for his work.”
“Did you smell any formaldehyde on this guy?”
“Uhm.” He squinted his eyes and moved his head from side to side. “I couldn’t tell you. Don’t know what that smells like.” His eyes went up and to the right like he was thinking. “He might have smelled like varnish,” he said. “Or, I could think that because he told me that was what he was working with.”
“Do you remember anything that stood out?” I asked.
“I remembered that he was smoking black cigarettes.”
“Black cigarettes?” I said.
“Yeah. You know, rolled in black paper,” the surveyor said. “I noticed it because I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“I have,” I said.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Once my Friday night duties at the Information booth were over, and without finding Auntie Zanne, I got in the car I’d been using and headed back to the house.
I knew Auntie Zanne would kill me once she found out I’d spoken to the surveyor, and then she would kill me again when I told her I saw that clue outside of the hotel room and hadn’t told her about it.
A black cigarette.
I saw it when I was trying not to watch Auntie Zanne do her little illegal search of Herman St. John a.k.a. Ragland Williamson’s room. And with it being outside the room, it was fair game. No problem with me picking it up.
Add that to the woodchips that were in the trashcan at that hotel and in the wound of my John Doe, it made me have goosebumps. I ran my hand over my arm.
But I didn’t know that at the time, so I couldn’t be too upset with myself. I did feel bad, though, and I knew why. The day Auntie Zanne told me that Josephine Gail knew the dead guy, she’d also said: “You have to be on the lookout for anything that might have to do with the murder no matter how small or inconsequential it seems at the time.”
I hadn’t done that.
She also said that the killer came to the room to find any incriminating evidence, and now I see before he went in, he put out his cigarette.
I needed to get that cigarette.
I drove right past the exit for Roble and headed out to Yellowpine. I’d seen it on Monday and today was Friday. Would it still be there?
I drove as fast as I could down the unlit backroads of East Texas, and my heart skipped a beat when the Grandview came into sight. I leapt out the car and jogged back to the place I’d seen that black cigarette.
It was gone.
I could have kicked myself. If I had retrieved it when I was there the first time, Pogue could have ran a DNA test on it. Case closed.
“Ugh!” I stomped a foot.
Still, just to be thorough, I walked up and down the motel’s sidewalk corridor of the second floor. Then I did the floor below it to make sure it hadn’t fallen over before I left the motel.
Nothing.
I was going to have to tell Pogue. And I was going to have to tell Auntie, and that was something I dreaded doing the entire time I drove back to the house.
I checked the kitchen clock when I got into the house. It was only nine o’clock. Should I wait until after Pogue got back and call him tonight, then tell Auntie in the morning? Or should I tell her when she got home?
But while I was still standing in the middle of the kitchen, my mouth open in indecision, scratching my head, Auntie Zanne walked in the door.
“Whatch’ya doing, darlin’?”
“Nothing,” I said and turned to walk toward the back door. “I was just going up to bed.” I turned around and walked back the other way t
o get out of the kitchen and to the stairs.
“You lost?”
“No ma’am,” I said.
Then she gave me one of her looks.
“What’s going on with you, Romaine?”
Shoot.
Which was more important to me, I thought, my aunt hating me because I didn’t give her information when it became available, or Pogue getting the information first?
There wasn’t anything Pogue could do with the information I had gleaned tonight. So, with fear as my primary motivation, I opted to preserve my relationship with the woman who raised me.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
It was genius for Auntie Zanne to have decided, as a convenience, to move the music and dance floor closer to the front entrance. The rollicking blend of rhythm and blues with the funky, melodic music native to Louisiana’s French Creole, drew participants and spectators with travel modes ranging from strollers to canes and walkers.
The 25th Annual Sabine County Crawfish Boil and Music Festival turned out to be a success, and it was with a smile and a tapping of my foot the next night that I sat enjoying the best part of it as I waited for my Aunt Julep. I had wheedled us one of the tables underneath the covered arena and was listening to the smooth beats which provided charity to my anxiousness.
Pogue was Aunt Julep’s ride to the festival and there was some apprehension on my part in seeing him. Yes, thankfully, he was back in town, but I was bracing myself for our first encounter. I knew I’d have to fill him in on everything Auntie and I had found out, especially about the information I’d gotten from the surveyor. I just didn’t know how happy he’d be about it. Fingers crossed, I hoped that he wouldn’t jump all over me about withholding the information for as long as I had. It was a good thing his mother was going to be around, it might lessen the blow.
At least that was how I hoped it would go.
Auntie Zanne had been ecstatic about the new clue. She just knew that’s how we–I reminded her it would be Pogue–would catch the killer. She said, and I agreed, there couldn’t be that many people around who smoked black cigarettes. I told her that even though I was just as excited about the clue, it might not be as important as we thought.
“Nonsense,” is what she had to offer to that remark.
And even with my comment, I diligently ogled the guests and musicians who straggled in to see if any of them smoked tobacco wrapped in black paper.
Coach Chip Williams was the first person associated with the murder to arrive.
He was also my number one suspect.
Was it a jealous rage that made him shoot his brother in the back?
Right then, escorting his daughter, Amelia, who seemed ecstatic about playing, he was all smiles and seemed to share in her happiness. But, it may have been that it was because he was a doting father that he killed Ray. Never wanting Amelia to find out that his blood connection to her wasn’t as close as she’d been led to believe.
As I watched them, I wondered if Taralynn was going to make an appearance. My second choice for a killer. She not only had a motive, but going to visit Ray Williamson at the motel several times gave her opportunity.
Yep. People will go to any length to keep their secrets.
The only thing I didn’t know, was whether either one of them smoked.
And then came Floneva. She floated in–head high, horse teeth bared, the heels of her cowboy boots clicking across the makeshift floor–she looked like a Wild West Show participant. I had changed my mind on the designation I’d given her of honorary band member. I was beginning to think she was more like a roadie or groupie. The band wasn’t due to go on for another forty-five minutes, and here she was already hanging out in their tent. Although I changed my opinion of her relationship to the band, I hadn’t changed my mind about her being a possible suspect. And she did smoke cigarettes.
Who knows? Maybe even black ones.
Plus, Miss Floneva Floyd was from Hemphill, which was right next door to the hotel where Ray Williamson had stayed, and adjacent to Josephine Gail’s land. So she knew the area. And, the twins, Mark and Leonard, had seen her going into the funeral home while Auntie Zanne was gone. Had she been scoping it out, and then later returned to make an after-hours visit to depose of a body? I didn’t have a motive for her, but she was suspicious just the same.
The DJ spun tunes while the other members of the band filtered in and readied for their set from their tent. Gus. Spoon. Catfish. The sway of the music almost lulled me into a blissful stupor, thoughts of the murder held at bay, but the sight of Rhett Remmiere nudged me back to consciousness. He sauntered my way, a big grin plastered across his face. It seemed like every time I saw him, he acted more familiar with me and, I don’t know...happy.
I wasn’t happy at all about seeing him...
I didn’t think that he smoked, but he seemed to have a furtive air about him all the same, and I knew he had something up his sleeve.
Something, perhaps, like murder.
“What are you grinning about?” I asked when he got close to me.
“I’m happy.”
I arched an eyebrow. “About what?”
“To be here. To play my guitar.” He tilted his head to the side. “To see you.”
I sucked my tongue. “I’m still waiting to get that confession out of you,” I said.
“Maybe after the set,” he said and nodded. “I’m usually feeling pretty cooperative about most things after I’ve played my guitar.”
“I can’t wait,” I said dully.
“You’re going to stay and watch us play?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t be able to go back to my Auntie Zanne’s house tonight if I didn’t,” I said.
He chuckled. “She is quite proud of us.”
“That she is,” I said.
“So, what are you doing? Just sitting here?” he asked. “Babet didn’t have any work for you?”
“I’ve finished my shift,” I said. “She is gracious enough to allow me a break every now and then.”
He didn’t say anything. Just stared at me and smiled, which made me uncomfortable.
“Okay,” I said. “Guess you better get ready for the show.”
“Guess I better,” he said but didn’t move.
“Bye,” I said and threw up a hand in a wave to try to get him to move along.
“Talk to you later,” he said and finally turned and walked away.
Geesh. Auntie Zanne really knows how to pick the people she lets into her life. Wacky, I think, is the main criteria.
After Rhett left, I watched the entryway for Pogue and Aunt Julep. They didn’t arrive until the DJ had taken leave and the band was just setting up on stage.
I waved them over. “Hey, Aunt Julep,” I said after she arrived, a beaming smile on my face when I saw her shuffle over on Pogue’s arm. “I saved you a seat.”
“Oh, I don’t plan on sitting down too much,” she said, letting a shaky hand loose from Pogue’s arm, and easing down into her seat. “I’ma be dancing all night.”
Pogue and I exchanged an amused look.
“Oh look,” Aunt Julep said. “There’s the guy that picks up my embalming fluid. I’m going to put him down on my dance card.”
I turned to look, but people had packed the place. The chairs around the tables were full and the perimeter of the dance floor was standing room only. So I wasn’t able to see who she was pointing to.
“Well, I’m sure he’ll be honored to dance with you,” I said. “You point him out to me when you’re ready and I’ll go and grab him. And be sure to save me a dance, too. I think my zydeco dancing might be a little rusty. You can help me out.”
“Will do,” she said, a big old grin on her face.
“Romaine!” Auntie Zanne called as she strolled over to the table. I turned to greet her and she smacked me in the back w
hich made me flinch. I didn’t know if she might pinch me again.
“Yes!” I said, nervousness coming out in my voice.
“I found it.” She bent forward and spoke to me in a strained whisper.
“Found what?” I took to whispering too.
She started to answer, but it was then that she seemed to notice Pogue and Aunt Julep.
“Julep,” she said standing straight up and putting on a smile. “You’re looking good. You dancing the zydeco tonight?”
“Yes, I am,” Aunt Julep said proudly.
“Well, you were always the best I’d ever seen.” Auntie Zanne smiled as she walked over to Aunt Julep. She touched Aunt Julep on the arm and placed her cheek next to hers.
She’s so phony, I thought. One minute accusing Aunt Julep of murder, the next, she’s her best friend.
Auntie Zanne stood up. “Do you mind, Julep? I need to steal Pogue from you.”
“Oh sure,” Aunt Julep said. “Romaine got us these seats. I’ll be fine.”
“Good. Because I need her too,” Auntie Zanne said.
I glanced over at Pogue. I hadn’t the faintest idea what Auntie Zanne was up to. Last I knew, she was barely speaking to Pogue.
“C’mon you two,” Auntie said waving her hand at us. “Before the killer gets away.”
“What?” Pogue said and got up. “What killer? Don’t tell me somebody else has been killed.”
“They might be if you don’t hurry,” she said.
She got behind us, and with a palm in each of our backs, she pushed us out of the shelter and to the back of the covered area near the musicians’ tent. “Look,” she said and pointed.
Cigarette butts were scattered all over the grounds. And at least a half-dozen of them were black.
“Oh. Wow.” I said.
“What?” Pogue said. “What are we looking at?”
“He doesn’t know?” Auntie said.
“I don’t know what?” Pogue looked at me then Auntie. “What am I supposed to know?”
I shook my head. “He doesn’t know.” I made a flinching face. “I didn’t have time to tell him yet.”
Secrets, Lies, and Crawfish Pies Page 22
