by TM Simmons
Chapter 10
I entered the library determined to put both mysterious deaths out of my mind and work. A huge room with two walls of bookcases stuffed with everything from priceless first editions and family diaries to modern fiction, I could lose myself in here for hours. And had at times. Another marble fireplace took up one wall and ten-foot-tall windows the other, with a view into the front yard and down the winding driveway. Live oak leaves trembled gently in a soft afternoon breeze, and the sky had clouded over. The horses in the east pasture frolicked in the coolness, and a pair of those dastardly peacocks strutted along the fence.
Miss Molly and Trucker chose to stay behind. They probably noticed my laptop and knew I wouldn’t pay any attention to them while buried in writing. They’d sneak out and explore, but Trucker might need out. If nothing else, he’d follow my scent to the library.
I set the laptop up and opened my briefcase just far enough to retrieve the backup disk case. The desk was huge and beautiful. Grandpere Jean had ordered it from a master craftsman in Kentucky. It had been shipped down the Mississippi River to New Orleans, then up through the various rivers and bayous to Jefferson. In the Men’s Parlor, he also had a bar from the same craftsman, a beautiful mahogany piece with carved horses' heads so lifelike you would swear they could neigh. Family lore said he’d actually removed the doorway and rebuilt it to get the bar in.
Pushing everything aside, within a few minutes I was re-reading the last few pages of my novel. Ah, now I remembered where I was going.
Barely two paragraphs later, I stared at the screen, the keyboard silent. Shit! Was Katy capable of killing someone? We never know another person completely. I’d read enough true crime novels to realize that. Ann Rule’s meticulous, detailed books kept me both enthralled and shaking my head in sadness and horror at the perpetrators and victims of real-life crimes. Standard motives ran through my head: greed, revenge, power, hatred. Greed shouldn’t fit Katy, but I didn’t know the details of her finances, except that she always appeared to have plenty of money. Her ex-husband, Brian, supposedly left her well-off, in addition to her various trust funds. Not intentionally on Brian’s part. Katy hired a cut-throat female lawyer, who grabbed Brian by the balls and didn’t let go until the lawyer had what she considered Katy’s due.
It was a rocky marriage. An only child and an orphan for several years by the time she met Brian at twenty-five, Katy was smart enough to know that some men weren’t completely charmed by her beauty alone; they also peered inside her purse. Brian came from old money, though, a descendant of the carpetbaggers who infiltrated the South after the War Between the States — Southerners never call it the Civil War — and whose family later found they owned oil-soaked land. Katy fell head over heels, but at the behest of family members checked into Brian’s finances. I was a bridesmaid at her wedding.
Brian showed his true colors all too soon. He reneged on his assurance that he wanted children, which Katy desired with every fiber of her being. However, Brian wanted Katy for a showcase wife and hostess, not mistress of a family, at least for more years than Katy cared to contemplate. A lawyer, he traveled a lot on business — so he said. As far as I knew, real estate lawyers don’t travel much. But then, I don’t know that many lawyers, except the one I used when I bought my cabin, and the entertainment attorney my agent consults. Jack’s and my divorce attorney was a mutual acquaintance. Scratch greed. Katy couldn’t possibly profit financially from Bucky’s death. Could she?
Revenge? Katy had reason to desire revenge on Bucky. But would she kill him over that? Not likely, since she and I had taken care of that matter discreetly on our own. Power? I actually laughed. Katy had more power in her little finger than most women in their entire beings. Darn, I’d read too many of my own books! I snapped my mind back to work.
I finished a chapter and got half-way through the next. At first, I’d had my doubts; real-life worries overrode my fictional world. But I’d always also written for escape, and years of discipline worked today, at least for a couple of hours. Then I rose to check on Katy. On the way to the parlor, I wondered why the phone hadn’t been ringing off the hook. Murder at Esprit d’Chene had surely made the rumor rounds by now. Small-town gossip spread like wildfire. One of the officers would tell his sweetheart or wife and swear her to secrecy. Sweetheart would just have to tell her best friend, also sworn to secrecy. And so it would go. I detoured to the Great Room and peered across the crime tape, noticing the phone was unplugged. I’d unplugged the library phone when I set up the laptop, so it wouldn’t disturb my concentration.
In the parlor, Katy was stirring and moaning, hand across her forehead. She had another phone in the Master Suite, her bedroom, with a separate number she gave only to close confidants. Protective instincts aroused, I hurried up the stairwell to check the messages. Katy’s friends could be both catty and insistent, and right now I didn’t consider it as a violation of privacy.
On the bedside table set an outdated answering machine beside the phone. Perhaps some former family member had left it behind and Katy hadn’t updated. It also had a rather old-fashioned look to it, so maybe Katy kept it for décor purposes. The light blinked the number three, and I pushed the button, keeping an ear out for Katy.
“Katy, child." Uncle Clarence, who owned Esprit d’Chene prior to Katy. “Ah just heard. If you want me to come, call. Ah’ll be home ‘til 'bout six." Beep.
“Katy! Katy, are you there? Oh, darling, I just heard! You must be devastated! Something like this happening on your own dear plantation! Call me, Katy! If I don’t hear from you, I’ll drop by this evening! I can’t let you be alone at a time like this!" I didn’t recognize the voice, but I recognized the intrusive, eager attitude of someone who wanted all the juicy details.
Beep. At first, I thought the caller had hung up without leaving a message, and I started to reset the machine. But...I listened more carefully. Someone was breathing, and in the background glasses tinkled. Another sound I couldn’t quite make out, then the caller hung up. I hit replay, not making any more sense out of the second sound — a slight click preceding a noise suspiciously like one of Katy’s peacocks gearing up for a raucous cry.
Katy’s hesitant footsteps ascended the stairs. I had to let her hear the messages, so when she walked in, rubbing her head and face paler than usual, I stayed by the phone.
“Messages, Alice?” she asked. “Oh, my head aches. I need some aspirin. Will you play back the messages while I take some?”
“Sure, Sugar,” I said. “There’s just a couple.”
Katy wandered into the master bath, converted from a former dressing room and now a delightful area with two sinks, a separate shower, and a gigantic whirlpool tub. I rewound the tape to the first message.
“Oh, Uncle Clarence." Katy rummaged around in the medicine chest. “He’s probably at the ice house by now, and I’m not about to have him drive over here after he’s been drinking." During the second, Katy said, “Irene." I pushed the button before the last message as she confirmed, “She wants all the juicy details. If she comes by, will you say I’m not receiving?”
“Sure." I opened the answering machine and removed the tape. “Katy, the tape’s tangled. Do you have another one?”
She walked out of the bathroom, tossing aspirin in her mouth and following with a huge gulp of water. “Drawer beneath the phone. They already have my message on them." She finished the entire glass of water as I replaced the tape. “Heavens, I’m thirsty.”
I couldn’t resist. “Overindulging dehydrates you.”
“I didn’t — !" Then she giggled. “Maybe a little.”
“Who’s Irene?”
She fluttered her hand. “This year’s chairlady of the Daughters of the South. I swear, I can’t stand that woman.”
“Then why’s she got your private number?”
“She found out about it and couldn’t understand why she didn’t have it. Irene’s one of those people you’d rather have on your side than a
gainst you. Know the type?”
“Definitely." While Katy returned her glass to the bathroom, I slipped the tape into my jeans pocket to give to Jack at the first opportunity. Maybe he could make something out. It could possibly just be a wrong number, but with what had happened, I didn’t want to be accused of withholding evidence. It might not be a smart idea anyway.
The phone rang, and I glanced at Katy. She shook her head and indicated for me to answer. “Hello.”
“I’ve been trying to reach you." Jack’s voice. “Did you turn all the phones off to write?”
Guiltily, I snapped, “I didn’t unplug the one in the Great Room. Someone else did. And Katy’s been napping.”
“I found this number on Katy’s statement from this morning. I need to know when you and Katy can come in.”
“Can we do it in the morning? Neither of us really feels like driving to Longview now.”
“I’m working out of the Jefferson office for a while,” Jack explained. “But morning will do. Uh...you may want to lock the plantation gates tonight, though.”
“Don’t tell me the media’s already on our tail!”
“Yeah,” Jack confirmed. “The senator flew into Shreveport, and we’re expecting him here any minute.”
I gulped. “Then...you’ve identified the body?”
“Yeah,” he repeated.
“Bucky,” I barely breathed.
Another “Yeah,” and he added, “I’ll tell you more tomorrow.”
Call-waiting beeped, but I ignored it. “I’ll lock the main gate, but there’s no gate on the back lane.”
“There is now." Sue Ann Purdy stood at the bedroom door, hands on slender hips of a six-foot body and a protective glare on her chocolate face. “Gabe’s with me and I had him lock one of his log chains ’crost it. And I already locked the front gate.”
“Alice?” Jack said.
“Sue Ann’s here, Jack, and she’s taken care of both gates. We’ll see you in the morning around nine or so.”
“Call my cell phone if anything at all bothers you tonight,” Jack ordered. “I’ll be sendin’ Officer Franklin to relieve O’Neil around ten, so you’ll have to open the gate for him. But no one else. And turn your phones back on!”
“Gotcha,” I agreed. “‘Bye.”
“Alice?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t want to scare you, but keep in mind that there’s still a killer on the loose. I’d come over and stay, but there’s stuff I need to take care of.”
“You mean, in case I decide to leave the phones off and go off into my own world and work on my book?” I gritted. “There’s a cop on the grounds, and I imagine Sue Ann will keep Gabe here. Plus we’ve got Trucker. How much more protection do we need?" I didn’t think it prudent to mention that Sir Gary would also be prowling the grounds, and he’d probably be as much protection as the entire rest of the crew.
“If I knew who we were lookin’ for,” Jack said seriously, “I might be able to answer that. Y’all just take care, hear?”
“I will,” I relented.
He hung up, and I looked around for Katy. She was enclosed in Sue Ann’s comforting embrace, and a strong desire to race across the room and ask the tall black lady to hold me, also, consumed me. But I stiff-upper-lipped.
“Me’n Gabe are both stayin’,” Sue Ann corroborated. “Long’s we’re needed.”
“Thank you,” Katy whispered.
“Me, too — ” I began, then stared past them in horror. Lucky for Katy’s and Sue Ann’s sanity, they headed for the bathroom, Sue Ann murmuring for Katy to take a bubble bath.
“I’ll bring you up some supper on a tray, Miss Katy,” the housekeeper said.
And I raced out of the bedroom, into the hallway.
Nothing. Maybe I’d imagined it. God, I hoped so. But it made sense that a second ghost now prowled Esprit d’Chene.
