“Do you feel up to talking about it?” Dickce asked.
An’gel shuddered. “It’s probably better if I do.” She looked at her sister across the kitchen table, then at Jackson and Benjy on either side.
“I went there to ask her some questions,” An’gel said. “I was determined that she was finally going to talk to me. I wanted to know about the antique wedding gown.” She recounted her finding of the scrap that led her to search for the intact gown and its discovery in Mireille’s bedroom. “Estelle knew that the gown Sondra destroyed was a fake. I asked her if she put Sondra up to destroying it as a joke, and she said she didn’t.”
“Did she know who did?” Dickce asked. “That is, if anyone did put the idea in Sondra’s head.”
“I think she did know,” An’gel said. “She told me once before there were things she knew that others weren’t aware of, and I got the impression from that conversation that she expected to use that knowledge to her advantage.”
“She was nosy,” Jackson said. “Always poking her nose into everything. I told her once, she kept doing that, somebody was going to bite her nose off.”
“Somebody did, so to speak,” An’gel said grimly. “While we were talking, she poured herself some whiskey, several fingers in fact, then she knocked it all back at one go.” She paused as the mental image of Estelle’s death rictus flashed through her brain. “Then she started shaking and grabbing at her throat like she couldn’t breathe. Next thing I knew she was on the floor, dead.”
Dickce shuddered. “How awful.”
Benjy nodded. “Poor woman. She didn’t deserve that.”
An’gel told them about the figure she had seen earlier near Estelle’s apartment.
“Could you tell who it was?” Benjy asked.
“No,” An’gel said. “To be truthful, I’m not completely sure I really saw a person. It was only a fleeting impression, out of the corner of my eye, and by the time I looked, whatever it was had gone.”
“You think it was the person who got into Estelle’s place and put the poison in her whiskey,” Dickce said.
An’gel nodded. “I think it’s a distinct possibility. What I’m wondering is, what poison would work that quickly.”
“Likely it wasn’t poison, Miss An’gel.” Jackson frowned. “Miss Estelle was deathly allergic to peanuts. All somebody had to do was grind up some peanuts real fine like and put ’em in her bottle.”
“How awful,” Dickce said again.
“Did everyone know about this allergy?” An’gel asked.
Jackson nodded. “Oh, yes. Miss Estelle talked about it to everybody. You know how she was about complaining. Wouldn’t ever cook nothing with peanuts, and wouldn’t have no peanut butter in the house.” He shook his head. “Little Miss Tippy loves peanut butter, and Miss Jacqueline has to sneak it into the house for her.”
There was a knock at the back door, and Jackson got up to answer it. He opened the door and stood aside to allow Officers Bugg and Sanford to enter the kitchen.
Bugg looked straight at An’gel. “Ma’am, I need to talk to you about this unfortunate event. You reckon you feel up to telling me about it?”
“Yes, Officer, I do,” An’gel said with more conviction than she felt. She knew she had to do this. Best to get it over with. “Would you like to talk here? Or we could go to the parlor?”
“Here’ll be just fine, ma’am,” Bugg said. “But I’d prefer to talk to you by yourself.” He glanced at Jackson, Dickce, and Benjy. They took the hint and excused themselves, though Jackson paused long enough to offer the policemen something to drink. Bugg declined, and Jackson followed the others from the room.
Bugg plopped down across from An’gel in the chair Dickce had vacated. Sanford sat to her left in Jackson’s spot. He pulled out his notebook and pen.
“All right, ma’am,” Bugg said. “Why were you there in the deceased’s apartment? Was you in the habit of visiting her there?”
“No, I wasn’t. I had never been in her apartment before today,” An’gel said. “I went there to ask her a few questions about odd things that have been going on in this house.”
“Like what, for example?” Bugg put his arms on the table and leaned on them, focused intently on An’gel.
An’gel had to think quickly about what she could tell him without violating Jacqueline’s confidence. She didn’t want to tell him some things without her goddaughter’s permission. As soon as Jacqueline returned from town, she vowed, she would urge her goddaughter to tell everything to the police.
“Ma’am?” Bugg prompted.
“Sorry, just putting my thoughts in order,” An’gel said. “The main thing was the incident with the wedding dress that caused my cousin to collapse and have to be rushed to the hospital. I believe I mentioned it when you first came to Willowbank to investigate Sondra’s death?”
Bugg looked annoyed. “Yes, ma’am, you did indeed mention it as I recall. The young woman was pitchin’ scraps from the wedding dress over the railin’.”
“Yes,” An’gel replied. “Or so we thought at the time. Mireille collapsed and was rushed to the hospital, where she died.” An’gel felt rage all over again at Sondra’s nasty trick, and she took a moment to calm herself.
“That Sondra was a hellcat sometimes,” Bugg said. “Still, it’s hard to believe she’d do something like that to her own grandma. But you said, ‘so we thought at the time.’ Does that mean it wasn’t the real wedding dress she tore up?”
“Yes. Mireille had apparently had a replica of it made some years ago, and it was the replica Sondra destroyed. In the heat of the moment, though, Mireille and Jacqueline didn’t realize that.”
“So you went out there to talk to the deceased about this. Why? Did you think she had something to do with it?”
Bugg was more astute than An’gel had earlier thought. “When I told Jacqueline I had found the original dress, we talked about the incident. She swears Sondra wouldn’t have done something like that unless someone else put her up to it. I thought Estelle might know something about it.”
“Did she?”
“I think she did,” An’gel said. “I was trying to get her to tell me what she knew, but she was stubborn. I think she intended to blackmail whoever it was. Then she drank some whiskey and collapsed. She died without ever saying another word to me.”
She hesitated for a moment but decided she had better tell the officer about the figure she thought she had seen earlier in the day.
When she’d finished, Bugg stared at her. “You say you don’t know who it was, or even if it was a man or a woman. Just an impression.”
An’gel nodded. She knew how insubstantial it was.
Bugg was still staring. “Tell me, ma’am. Do you wear glasses? Or contacts?”
Taken slightly aback, An’gel said, “No contacts. I do have glasses I use sometimes for needlework or reading.” Then she realized why he was asking about her eyesight. “My distance vision is fine, Officer.”
“All right, ma’am.” Bugg held up a hand in a placatory gesture. “Had to check. You’re sure you saw something, right?”
“Yes,” An’gel said. She had seen something move. She just couldn’t swear that it was a person. Given what had happened to Estelle, however, she felt it likely she had seen the murderer leaving after poisoning the whiskey.
“You got all that?” Bugg said to Sanford. The junior officer nodded.
“I reckon we got two murders, then,” Bugg said to An’gel. “Coroner’s pretty certain now that Sondra was dead before she ever went off that gallery.”
“Do you have any idea who’s responsible?” An’gel asked, curious whether Bugg would share anything of consequence.
“I got my ideas,” he responded lugubriously. “What about you? I checked your bona fides with the police and the sheriff’s department over in Athena, ma’am, and they tell me you was involved in several murders a coupla months ago.”
An’gel nodded reluctantly. She preferred not
to think about those events if at all possible. “Yes, Officer, unfortunately murders were committed in our home.”
“That lady deputy in the sheriff’s department thinks an awful lot of you and your sister,” Bugg said in a tone that to An’gel sounded slightly incredulous. “Told me I should ask you what you think is going on here.”
That last sentence sounded like a challenge, An’gel thought. While she appreciated Kanesha Berry’s expression of confidence, she did not know Officer Bugg well enough to talk to him as candidly as she had always done with Kanesha. He seemed bright enough, but she didn’t want to send him haring off on the wrong tangent by anything she said.
She decided there was one thing she could safely tell him, and let him make of it what he would. “In my opinion, Officer, it’s all about money. You figure out who needs money desperately, and you’ll find the person who killed Sondra and Estelle.”
Bugg looked disappointed, as if he had expected more from her. His words confirmed that. “I ain’t dumb, ma’am. I know there’s a lot of money in this family. Shoot, Terence Delevan was probably the richest man in this parish. Heck, richest man in several parishes. That means his wife and his daughter both got a lot of money when he died. We know all about that here in St. Ignatiusville. I was hoping you was going to tell me something I didn’t know.”
An’gel felt justly rebuked, but she wasn’t ready to concede. “If you know all that, then you probably also know whose business is on shaky ground and could use an infusion of cash.”
Bugg nodded. “Yes, ma’am, indeed I do. Already working on that angle.” He stood. “I reckon that’s about all I need from you at the moment. If you don’t mind, ask Jackson to come in.”
An’gel also rose. “Certainly, Officer. I hope I have been of some help.” She walked away from the table and out of the kitchen. She found Dickce, Benjy, and Jackson in the front parlor. Jackson was dusting, while Dickce and Benjy sat quietly on the sofa.
“Officer Bugg wants to talk to you now,” An’gel informed the butler.
Jackson nodded, dropped his dust cloth on a table, and left the room.
The moment he was out of the room, Benjy said, “I have some things to tell you.”
An’gel chose the armchair nearest the sofa. “I’m all ears.”
Benjy related the conversation he had overheard while bringing Peanut and Endora back to the house.
An’gel and Dickce looked thoughtfully at each other.
“Sounds to me like Horace and Thurston are in cahoots over something,” Dickce said.
“Exactly when was this?” An’gel asked.
Benjy thought for a moment after he glanced at his watch. “At least an hour ago, maybe a little more. Say an hour and a quarter.”
“That was around the time that I saw someone ducking around the side of Estelle’s apartment,” An’gel said.
“So both Horace and Thurston were on the property,” Dickce said.
They were startled by a loud noise, the forceful closing of the front door. A moment later, Horace strode into the room.
“Can somebody tell me what in the world is going on out back? Why are the police here?” he demanded.
CHAPTER 31
“Are you just now coming back from town?” An’gel asked in a pleasant tone.
Horace appeared taken aback. Then he laughed heartily. An’gel thought it rang hollow.
“Yeah, I’ve been in town all morning. Lots to do, like always.” Horace laughed again. “You know what it’s like for us businessmen.” He sobered. “Now tell me, what’s going on with the police here?”
“There’s been another death,” Dickce said.
Horace blanched and suddenly seemed weak at the knees. He stumbled to a chair and dropped into it. “Not Jackie. Please tell me it’s not Jackie.”
Why would he assume it’s his wife?
“No, it’s not,” An’gel said. “As far as we know, Jacqueline is still in town. I’m afraid Estelle is dead.”
Horace looked mighty relieved, An’gel thought. But his expression changed quickly to one of bafflement.
“What happened? She have a heart attack?” Horace asked.
An’gel would have sworn he wasn’t faking it. He genuinely did seem puzzled by Estelle’s death.
“It wasn’t a heart attack,” Dickce said. “She was poisoned. An’gel was with her and saw the whole thing.”
Horace pulled out a handkerchief and began mopping his sweaty forehead. “Lord, I need a drink.” He stumbled to his feet and over to the liquor cabinet. With shaky hands, he pulled out a bottle of brandy and poured himself a healthy shot. He gulped it down and immediately poured another. He brought this one back to the chair with him and sipped at it.
“Sure am sorry you had to see something like that,” Horace said as he stared at the diminished contents of his glass. “Why on earth would somebody want to poison Estelle?”
An’gel turned to Benjy. “Why don’t you go back upstairs and check on Tippy,” she said. “If the police want to talk to you, Dickce can text you.”
“That’s fine with me,” Benjy said as he headed for the door. From behind Horace’s back he pointed to the man and then drew a large question mark in the air. An’gel nodded. Benjy turned and left the room.
“About Estelle,” An’gel said to Horace. “You’ve lived with the woman in this house for many years. Why do you think someone would want her out of the way?”
Horace shifted uneasily in his chair. “Well, she was always trying to interfere in stuff that wasn’t her business. She wasn’t one to hold back on her opinion of anyone or anything, I can tell you that.” He shrugged. “Woman like that is bound to rile somebody up.”
An’gel decided it was time for the gloves to come off. “Was she blackmailing you, Horace? Did she know something about your money problems that you didn’t want Jacqueline or Mireille to know?”
Horace goggled at her and dropped his now-empty glass onto the carpet. He sputtered but no coherent words emerged.
“We know you’re having financial problems,” Dickce said. “It’s obvious to us, and to the police no doubt, that money has to be involved in these murders somehow.”
“The question is,” An’gel said, “did you kill Sondra so Jacqueline would inherit? I’m sure you think you could get Jacqueline to bail you out. Then there’s also what she inherits now from her mother.” An’gel could almost see Horace shrinking into his chair.
The two-pronged attack had evidently demoralized the man. He held up both hands, as if in protest.
“Ladies, I swear to you, I would never in my life have hurt Sondra or my mother-in-law. Not for money, not for anything in this world.” He took a deep breath. “It’s true I’m in a financial bind at the moment, and if I don’t get the money I need soon, I’m going to be in the bayou with my head under the water. But no, ma’am, no way, nohow did I kill Sondra or Estelle.”
An’gel wanted to believe him, because she didn’t want her goddaughter’s husband to turn out to be a murderer. But Horace could be lying, even though his words had a ring of truthfulness to them.
Time for another battering ram, An’gel decided.
“You told us a few minutes ago you were just now getting back from town,” she said. “We know that’s a lie.”
Horace goggled at her again.
Before he could respond, Dickce weighed in. “We have it from an unimpeachable source that you were out front within the last ninety minutes or so having a conversation with Mr. Thurston.”
Horace picked his glass up from the floor and then got up to refill it. At this rate, An’gel thought, he’d be drunk in no time.
Glass replenished, Horace walked back to his chair. He gulped down about half the brandy before he looked either sister in the eye.
“All right, it’s true,” he said. “I was here. Briefly. Thurston called and insisted he had to talk to me. I thought he was in his office but he was calling from his car. Said he wanted to meet me here.”
> “Did he say why he wanted to meet you here? It seems like an odd choice for a meeting.” An’gel thought the lawyer’s actions were deeply suspicious.
“He said he was bringing some documents out for Jacqueline to sign. He cut me off before I could tell him she was in town,” Horace said. “I tried calling him back, but he didn’t answer. So I had no choice but to come meet him here.”
“Did you enter the house?” Dickce asked.
Horace shook his head. “No, when I got close to the house, I saw Thurston standing down at the edge of the driveway, where the line of live oaks starts. I pulled over there, and we walked around under the trees while we talked.” He frowned. “I didn’t see anybody else while we were out there.”
“Nevertheless, someone did hear a bit of your conversation,” An’gel said. “Did you get the impression that Thurston had been here long when you arrived?”
“I really can’t say. His car was parked off to the side of the driveway, under that stand of trees at the bottom of the rise. After he called, it took me about fifteen minutes to get here.”
“So he could have been here the whole time,” Dickce said. “He could have been here already when he called you.”
“Guess so.” Horace downed the rest of the brandy.
“How long did the two of you talk?” An’gel asked.
“No more than six or seven minutes,” Horace said. “Seemed like a waste of time to me, rushing out here for that. He wasn’t happy when I told him Jacqueline was in town, but I told him he should have answered when I called him back.”
“According to what was overheard,” An’gel said, “you and Thurston were discussing money. Money you needed to get you out of the fix you’re in. Is Thurston involved in this mess somehow? Or had you merely approached him to bail you out?”
Horace scowled. “A little of both. It was because of him I got involved in the damn thing in the first place. Then I found out he had pulled his money out, and there I am holding the bag. I told him he ought to lend me the money I needed, but he kept saying he didn’t have it.”
An’gel wasn’t particularly interested in the nature of the venture, but she was curious about the sum of money involved. “How much money is involved?”
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