0425273059

by Miranda James

  At first she thought Horace was going to refuse to answer, but the stern gazes of both sisters evidently convinced him otherwise.

  “Ten million,” Horace said. He got up and headed back to the liquor cabinet.

  An’gel nearly fell out of her chair in surprise. A swift glance at Dickce told her that her sister was equally shocked. The sum was far more than An’gel had anticipated.

  “Ten million was your investment in this venture?” she asked. When Horace nodded, she went on. “What about Thurston? Had he put in a similar amount?”

  “He told me he put in seven,” Horace said.

  “I didn’t realize Thurston was that wealthy,” Dickce said. “Does he come from money?”

  Horace shrugged. “Don’t think so. He always seems to have plenty of cash. A new car every year, trips to New York and Las Vegas. Has a house in New Orleans and one in Belize, too.”

  An’gel considered Horace’s response to Dickce’s question. He had given a believable answer, but An’gel had the feeling he was holding something back.

  “Anything more?” she asked.

  Horace shook his head and sipped at his brandy.

  An’gel changed tack. “Do you know the terms of Mireille’s will? And Jacqueline’s?”

  “Unless either one of them changed them, then yes, I do.” Horace’s brow wrinkled as he gazed at An’gel. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because their wills could have some bearing on the murders,” An’gel said.

  Horace continued to stare at her, and An’gel could tell he was thinking hard about her response. Suddenly he stood and set his empty glass on a nearby table.

  “You’ll have to excuse me, ladies. Got some things I need to take care of.” He turned to walk away.

  “Horace, you need to tell the police what we’ve discussed,” An’gel said. “If you don’t, we certainly will.”

  Dickce nodded, and Horace stared at them. “All right,” he said, then turned on his heel and hurried out.

  Dickce looked at An’gel. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Probably,” An’gel said.

  In unison they said, “The lawyer did it.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Benjy had about had his fill of Lance Perigord after fifteen minutes. The dude could yammer on like nobody’s business. Between Lance’s seemingly nonstop yakking and Tippy’s chatter, Benjy was close to a massive headache.

  Then, to his surprise, Tippy suddenly ran out of steam and started yawning. Lance convinced her it was nap time, and she climbed into bed. Peanut and Endora sacked out with her, though Peanut kept looking Benjy’s way in case Benjy decided to take him outside.

  Lance seemed to have talked himself into a nap. He sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, propped against the frame. He dozed right off. Benjy was amazed the guy could sleep like that, but he was thankful for the silence. He did hope, however, that either the police called him downstairs or one of the sisters came to relieve him. He wouldn’t mind getting out of the house for a while himself, and Peanut would be ecstatic.

  For now, however, he was stuck keeping an eye on Tippy and, by default, Lance. The guy was probably trustworthy enough when it came to Tippy. Benjy had to admit Lance handled the four-year-old well. Probably because he’s like a six-year-old himself. He willed himself to relax in the rocking chair and chill. One of the sisters would be along soon, and he could have a break.

  He was in a doze-like state when he heard footsteps in the hallway approaching Tippy’s room. He sat up and rubbed a hand across his eyes. He couldn’t believe he’d almost fallen asleep, but the quiet in the room—finally—had made it a bit too easy.

  Benjy stood and turned to face the door. He expected to see either An’gel or Dickce, but to his surprise, the visitor was Trey Mims.

  Trey stopped right inside the doorway and gazed at the sleeping child. He was looking at her lovingly, Benjy thought. Then Trey’s gaze swept the rest of the room, obviously noting Benjy’s presence but settling on Lance, who was sound asleep at the foot of the bed.

  The moment Trey spotted Lance, he scowled and clenched his fists. Benjy took a step forward, because he thought Trey was about to attack Lance. Another couple of steps, and Benjy had placed himself between the two men. Peanut was now sitting up in the bed, and he emitted a low growl. Tippy didn’t stir, nor did Lance. Benjy held up a hand in Peanut’s direction, a signal for the dog to be calm. Peanut didn’t growl again, but he watched Trey warily.

  Trey frowned at the dog, then at Benjy. His hands relaxed, and he motioned for Benjy to come out into the hallway with him. Trey moved out of the room, and Benjy glanced down at Lance, still completely out of it. Benjy stepped over to the bed to give Peanut a reassuring pat on the head, and the dog settled down.

  Benjy pulled the door about two-thirds closed before he faced Trey. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  “Where’s Jacqueline?” Trey demanded. “Why isn’t she looking after Tippy?”

  “She had things she had to attend to in town,” Benjy said in a calm tone. He added deliberately, “Arrangements for two funerals, I guess.”

  Trey looked slightly abashed. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. When did Lance turn up?”

  “Around breakfast time,” Benjy said. “He’s been here ever since, mostly playing with Tippy.”

  Trey scowled. “I don’t like him being around her so much. He’s got about as much brainpower as one of her dolls.”

  “Yeah, the dude isn’t too smart,” Benjy said. “But he really seems to love her, and he’s good with her, too. He’s kept her entertained.”

  “I don’t care, I still don’t like it,” Trey said. “I told Sondra I didn’t want him around her all the time, but Sondra never paid any attention to what I wanted.”

  “Why is it any of your business what Sondra did with her daughter?” Benjy was genuinely puzzled.

  Trey glared at him. “Because I’m Tippy’s father, that’s why.”

  “Oh.” Benjy felt like an idiot. He wondered briefly if the sisters knew this and had forgotten to tell him. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Nobody outside the family does,” Trey said bitterly. “Sondra’s grandmother was too embarrassed because she said everyone would think it was incest.” He snorted in derision. “Sondra and I weren’t related, except that my father married her mother. The whole thing was ridiculous.”

  “Why didn’t you get married?” Benjy asked.

  “The old lady wasn’t happy when my dad married Jacqueline. I guess she thought the Mims family wasn’t as high-and-mighty as the Champlains or the Delevans. Then she had a gigantic fit and threatened to throw everybody out of the house when I wanted to marry Sondra. I didn’t care if she did, frankly, but my dad is so in love with Jacqueline, he won’t do anything to upset her. Jacqueline kept thinking she could talk the old woman around, but it didn’t happen.”

  Benjy felt sorry for Trey. He really did get a raw deal, and Benjy couldn’t blame him for the obvious resentment he felt for Mireille Champlain. She had seemed like a nice old lady, but then again, so had his stepfather’s mother, and she turned out to be a nightmare.

  “Sondra seemed like she did whatever she wanted, no matter what anybody else thought,” Benjy said. “I’m surprised you didn’t elope.”

  “I wanted to, but Sondra was too young.”

  “How young?” Benjy asked, surprised.

  “She was only seventeen,” Trey said. “By the terms of her father’s will, if she married before she was twenty, she forfeited her money, and it would all go to her mother.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t have cared less. I was already working for my dad and making a decent living. I could have taken care of her and Tippy, but that wasn’t enough for Sondra. She wanted that money. She didn’t mind getting pregnant and having my baby, but she wasn’t going to marry me and give up being rich.”

  No wonder the guy was in such a bad mood all the time. Benjy didn’t think Sondra sounded like she was worth
all the drama and heartache she’d put Trey through, but it wasn’t his life, his choice.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You deserved better, I’m sure.”

  Trey looked away, as if embarrassed by Benjy’s sympathy. “She wouldn’t marry me, and then she taunted me by telling me she was going to marry that idiot in there, just so she could get her hands on her father’s money.” He made a sound of disgust.

  “He doesn’t seem like such a bad guy,” Benjy said. He was surprised to find himself defending Lance. “I mean, he’s not too bright, but I guess he’d do whatever Sondra told him without arguing about it. Maybe she wanted a husband she could control.”

  “Maybe,” Trey said. “But don’t let Lance fool you into thinking he’s too easygoing. He has a temper. His mama has spoiled him about as much as Jacqueline and the old lady spoiled Sondra. He can get nasty when he doesn’t get what he wants.”

  Benjy found that a little hard to believe. Lance so far had shown no evidence of a temper like Trey claimed he had.

  Trey evidently realized Benjy was skeptical. He pushed the dark, thick hair off his forehead with his right hand. “Look at the scar there, just below the hairline. See it?”

  Benjy took a step closer to peer where Trey indicated. Sure enough, there was a scar about two inches long, parallel to the hairline. He stepped back.

  “Lance did that?” he asked.

  Trey nodded. “He sure did. I was maybe seven, and so he and Sondra would have been about five. We were playing, and he was losing like he always did, unless we let him win. He got mad and picked up some scissors and came at me with them. Thought he was going to poke my eyes out, but Sondra jumped on his back. He still managed to cut me pretty good. My dad always made me wear my hair really short when I was a kid, and I swear I thought he’d scalped me. I passed out from all the blood loss.” He looked slightly green around the gills, Benjy thought, as if the memory of the blood made him queasy.

  “He really could have done some damage,” Benjy said. “You were lucky Sondra got him off you before he could do anything worse.”

  “The weird thing—Sondra told me about it later, when I came out of the faint—Lance was calm two minutes after, like nothing had happened. Sondra said he acted like he couldn’t remember doing it.” Trey shook his head. “I think he got brain damage when he was little or something.”

  “Did he ever do anything like that again? Turn violent, I mean, and then forget what he’d done?” Benjy had begun to wonder whether Lance had killed Sondra in a sudden fit of rage and then had forgotten.

  “A couple of times, when he was still a kid,” Trey said. “I’ve never heard about him doing it after that. Of course, his mama would do anything to cover up something like that.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you thinking he killed Sondra and doesn’t remember?”

  Benjy shrugged uneasily. “After what you just told me, don’t you think it’s possible? He told me earlier that Sondra had decided not to marry him because she was interested in some older guy.”

  Trey’s nostrils flared, and Benjy could see the anger and alarm building in the guy. Trey pushed past him and stormed into the bedroom. Benjy was right on his heels, afraid that Trey meant to attack Lance.

  To his surprise, Trey merely shook Lance a little to wake him up. Lance looked up, blinking and yawning. Trey laid a finger across his lips to indicate Lance should be quiet. Then he motioned for Lance to get up and follow him out of the room.

  Lance got to his feet, obviously puzzled. He glanced at Tippy, still sleeping, then walked out of the room ahead of Benjy.

  Benjy gave Peanut another quick pat to indicate everything was okay—he hoped—and glanced down at Endora. The cat yawned and stretched, and then curled up again. Benjy hurried out and pulled the door shut.

  Trey had his hands on Lance’s shoulders, his eyes boring into Lance’s. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t know why,” Lance said. “Sondra said she told you, too.”

  “Told you what?” Benjy asked.

  Trey didn’t take his eyes off Lance, but he answered Benjy’s question. “Told me that she decided at the last minute to elope with this other guy. But I’ll swear it on a stack of Bibles. Sondra did not tell me anything about eloping, not with you, not with anybody.” He gave Lance a shake, and Benjy stepped forward, ready to intervene. He wasn’t anxious to get hit, because Trey was pretty muscular, but he knew how to defend himself.

  Trey released Lance, who stumbled back.

  “Looks like she didn’t want to marry either of us,” Trey said.

  “No, I guess not,” Lance said.

  “Did you get angry with her when she told you?” Trey asked. “Remember how you used to get angry when you didn’t get what you wanted?”

  Lance frowned. “I guess so. I hit you one time, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did,” Trey said. “I can show you the scar to prove it.”

  “No, thank you,” Lance said. “I don’t like scars. They’re ugly.”

  “Yeah, they are,” Trey said. “Tell me, Lance. How angry were you when Sondra told you she was going to marry somebody else?”

  “I don’t remember.” Lance sounded sulky.

  “Are you sure?” Trey said. “Did you hit Sondra, like you hit me when we were kids? Did you hit her over the head with something?”

  CHAPTER 33

  Jackson came into the room seconds after the sisters proclaimed Richmond Thurston’s guilt in unison. An’gel was startled by his appearance, and she hoped that he hadn’t heard her and Dickce just then. They didn’t think they were ready to share their conclusions with anyone else.

  The butler’s mien gave no indication he had heard them name the lawyer. “Miss Dickce, the policemen would like to talk to you now.”

  Dickce rose. “Thank you, Jackson.” She waited till he nodded and retreated from the room before she spoke to An’gel. “Should I tell the policeman what we discussed with Horace?”

  “No,” An’gel said. “Horace needs to be the one to talk to the police. If we find out he hasn’t, we will certainly inform Bugg.”

  “What about our suspicions of the lawyer?”

  “Better not talk about that either. We don’t really have proof, only speculation. When I talked to Bugg, he said he was investigating financial angles. We have to hope that if Thurston has been dipping his hand into places he shouldn’t, the police will discover it. In the meantime, the minute I can get Jacqueline alone, I’m going to talk to her about Thurston.”

  “Good idea,” Dickce said. “I’d better get to the kitchen.” She hurried out.

  An’gel felt suddenly restless. She had an urge to get out of the house. Perhaps a short walk up and down the driveway would help. She went to the front door and out onto the verandah. The day was still cool, a bit of a breeze, with the sun bright and warming. She stood on the verandah and looked out over the grounds in front of the house.

  The live oaks, ten of them on either side of the driveway and more out on the grounds nearby, towered over everything around them. Majestic, old, impressive. An’gel marveled to think that these trees likely had been there when the first Champlain decided to build his house on this spot in the late eighteenth century. They had trees nearly as old on the grounds of Riverhill, and An’gel loved every one of them.

  She could understand Mireille’s feelings about her home. The trees embodied so much, had witnessed so much, of the family’s history. One didn’t lightly give up the land or a house like Willowbank. An’gel knew she and Dickce would go to almost any lengths to preserve Riverhill, and she knew without a doubt that Mireille felt the same way about Willowbank.

  What about Jacqueline, though, Dickce wondered. Did she have the same reverence for the past? She was pretty sure Sondra hadn’t cared much at all, but Jacqueline might. Especially now that she had a grandchild to look after. Surely this was all worth preserving for Tippy? Without Mireille, however, Jacqueline might be disheartened and ready to let the past recede, step
away from it, and focus only on the future.

  An’gel could understand that, in a way, but she knew roots were important. Roots gave you a foundation, something solid on which to build a life, a future. She hoped that Tippy would have the chance to know and feel proud of her roots, not have them taken away before she was old enough to appreciate them.

  What has got you in such a strange mood?

  Death, An’gel decided. Death had put her in this mood. Two murders and a death provoked by a vicious prank. Three lives taken away, and others damaged by the losses and the wickedness behind them.

  The malice behind the events of the past two days worried An’gel. How could it be stopped when you weren’t certain who was responsible? She and Dickce had fixed on the lawyer, Thurston, as the culprit, but they had no proof.

  The police might find the necessary evidence, but how long might it be before they did? An’gel prayed they found it soon, because she feared the malevolent will behind two murders might not balk at another. She worried that Jacqueline or Tippy could become a target. Maybe both of them were targets already. What exactly was the killer after?

  If Horace was the killer, the answer was obvious. He wanted money. Now that Jacqueline had inherited from both her daughter and her mother, she was a very wealthy woman. An’gel couldn’t shake off the notion that Horace was ruthless enough to kill in order to get his hands on the money.

  But there was the lawyer. Lawyers who helped themselves to their clients’ money were not a rare breed, An’gel knew. Many lawyers had absconded with their clients’ fortunes in some way or another. Horace said Thurston had a flashy lifestyle, with new cars, trips to New York and Las Vegas, and multiple homes. Was the source of his wealth Sondra’s inheritance from her father?

  If such was the case, how did he benefit from Sondra’s death? The money reverted to Jacqueline. How did that help the lawyer?

  It could delay, at least for a while, discovery of his embezzlement, An’gel decided. He also might think he could access the money through Horace. If he had sufficient hold on Horace, he might think he could continue to bleed the estate dry by forcing Horace to beg Jacqueline for more and more money to bail him out.