Rebel Without a Cake

by Jacklyn Brady

  Tallulah actually smiled at him. I’m not sure, but I thought she even batted her eyelashes. “Sure he could. If you want to know what I think, I’d put Junior’s name at the top of that list.”

  I almost popped off my end of the couch. “Why do you think that?”

  The smile slid right off Tallulah’s round face when she looked at me. “Because Junior hated Silas and everybody knew it.”

  “And you let Miss Frankie and Bernice go over there?” I didn’t mean to sound panicked—or angry—but I’m pretty sure the shrillness of my voice made me sound both. No wonder Miss Frankie had been so quick to let me go home last night.

  “They went to offer their condolences,” Tallulah said. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “That’s not why they went,” I reminded her. “You just said they went to ask him questions.” I looked to Sullivan for backup and saw concern darkening his eyes.

  “Where does Junior Laroche live?” he asked. “Is it far from here?”

  “It’s a bit down the road,” Tallulah said. “Go on down this road another . . . ten miles? Maybe twelve. Junior’s got some waterfront property, and there’s a big sign out front for JL Charters. Do you want me to show you?”

  Sullivan shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, but if you could draw us a map, that would help. What kind of car are they driving?”

  “It’s an oh-six Nissan Sentra. Orange.” She drew a rough map and handed it to him, and we rushed out the door.

  “Do you think they’re in trouble?” I asked as we trotted across the clearing to his car.

  Even though we were in a hurry, Sullivan did the Southern gentleman thing and opened my door for me. “I hope not,” he said as I got inside. “I’m actually more worried that Miss Frankie is about to start some.”

  * * *

  We followed Tallulah’s map and found her rusty orange Nissan parked in front of a small house with peeling blue paint. On the edge of the road, a huge weathered board sign told us we’d reached JL Charters. I might have worried about Junior’s cash flow situation, but the new Dodge Ram beside the house told me he was probably doing all right.

  Miss Frankie and Bernice were sitting on mismatched chairs arranged on a rickety front porch. With them was a man I assumed to be Junior Laroche. Miss Frankie and Bernice each had a glass of ice water on a plastic table between them. The man clutched a beer can.

  He was tall and thin, about fifty years old, with a receding hairline and a well-trimmed beard. I watched him carefully as we approached, half expecting a wary reception like the one Tallulah had given us. To my relief, the man put the beer on the porch and came toward us with a used car salesman smile.

  He pumped Sullivan’s hand enthusiastically. “Welcome to JL Charters. If you’re looking for a hunting or fishing guide, I’m your man. The name’s Junior Laroche.”

  “Thanks but that’s not why we’re here,” Sullivan said. He jerked his chin toward the porch, where Thelma and Louise suddenly got real busy pretending they couldn’t see us. “We’re looking for Miss Frankie and Bernice. We were told we could find them here.”

  Junior looked back at his guests. “Well, then, you might as well come and set.” He dragged a couple of extra chairs from the far side of the porch. “Can I get you a beer? Water? I don’t have much else right now.”

  I wasn’t sure those sagging boards could hold all of us, but I climbed the questionable-looking steps and eased my weight onto a scratched wooden chair, leaving the rusty metal one for Sullivan. We both said that water would be fine and Junior disappeared inside.

  I waited just until I couldn’t hear his footsteps any longer then turned to Miss Frankie and Bernice. “So . . . what are you two doing here?”

  Miss Frankie tried to look surprised. “Isn’t it obvious? We’re paying a condolence call on the bereaved.”

  “You don’t even know him,” I pointed out. “And neither do you, Bernice. I’m no expert, but I’m willing to bet there’s no rule of etiquette demanding that you call on a complete stranger after a loved one dies.”

  Miss Frankie leaned forward and whispered, “Oh, but, sugar, that’s just the point. I don’t think Silas actually was a loved one. Junior doesn’t seem to care much about his brother’s untimely demise.”

  Sullivan groaned and rubbed his face with one hand. “With all due respect, Miss Frankie, I sure hope you’re not thinking you can investigate the murder.”

  She lifted her chin and gave him a stern look. “No, but I don’t see why I shouldn’t. Poor Eskil did not kill that man, even if everybody seems to think he did.”

  “Define everybody,” I said.

  Bernice leaned up and spoke in a stage whisper. “Half a dozen people stopped by Aunt Margaret’s this morning. Every one of them thanked Eskil for getting rid of Silas. Eskil told them all that he didn’t do it, but he can’t prove it and nobody believes him.”

  We heard Junior coming back and we all pretended to be enjoying the view from the porch. It wasn’t easy. Junior’s waterfront property backed up on a narrow inlet of brownish water rimmed with vines, weeds, and low-hanging trees. His front yard looked out over a poorly maintained road and a stand of half-dead trees. In the middle of it all stood a shack missing half of its weathered boards.

  Junior handed glasses to Sullivan and me and took his seat again after removing a couple of unopened beer cans from his pockets. He settled those at his feet and reached for the open can, gulping greedily. “Is one of you gonna tell me what I’ve done to deserve all this attention, or do I have to guess?”

  I didn’t want to encourage Miss Frankie, so I answered before she could. “I wanted to offer my condolences,” I said. “We’ve never met, but I’m the one who found your brother’s body last night.”

  Junior cocked an eyebrow. “You?”

  “Yes.”

  “And now you feel responsible or something?”

  “Not responsible,” I said. “But I do feel terrible about what happened. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am.”

  Junior belched under his breath. “You don’t have to be sorry. Silas was my brother by birth, but we lost him a long time ago.”

  “I hate to see a family fall apart,” Miss Frankie commiserated. “It’s the saddest thing in the world.”

  “I’d say that depends on the family,” Junior said with a cool smile. “Wouldn’t you? Now you’ve said what you came to say, so if you don’t mind—”

  Sullivan sipped some water, which made me think he wasn’t ready to leave. “Are you saying you and your brother weren’t close?” he asked.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. We hadn’t been close for a long time. Now suppose you tell me why that’s any of your business.”

  “It’s not,” Sullivan said. “But you can understand why Bernice here is upset. Silas was found on her family’s property, and some folks think her cousin was responsible for putting him there.”

  “That’s probably because he was,” Junior said. “It’s no secret that Eskil and Silas had bad feelings between ’em. Everybody around knows that.”

  “It would help us understand if we knew why,” I said.

  Junior cut a glance at me. “Why don’t you ask Eskil? I’m sure he’d tell you.”

  “Eskil isn’t talking,” Miss Frankie said. “Not to us. Not to the sheriff’s office.”

  “That’s right,” Bernice said with a bob of her curly white head. “So we thought we’d come to the person most likely to know the story.”

  Junior’s mouth curved into a slow, sly smile. “Well, you came to the wrong place, folks. Because I don’t know a thing about my brother.”

  “Do you know if he had any other enemies?” Sullivan asked. “Was there anyone who might benefit from his death?”

  Junior gave him a long look. “Just what are you asking?”

  Sullivan shrugg
ed. “Exactly what I said. Is there anyone who might benefit from your brother’s death? Did he own land or have money?”

  Junior laughed. “You wouldn’t ask that if you’d known Silas. He didn’t care about money and he didn’t believe people could own land. That’s why he ran off in the first place. Our old daddy wanted to build a legacy. Something big to leave his family when he died. Silas didn’t want any part of it. He ran off and the old man cut him out of the will. And that was that. Other than that, I don’t know anything about him or what he did.”

  I thought about the man I’d seen yelling at someone through a car window on our way to Aunt Margaret’s house yesterday. I knew it was a long shot, but I asked anyway. “Do you know anyone around here who drives a white Ford Ranger?”

  Junior narrowed his eyes, but he kept that cheesy grin on his face. “How long you got? I could tell you at least a dozen names.”

  Somehow I doubted that. I wondered if he was lying or just annoyed by the question. “You and your brother lived in the same small town,” I said. “You said that everybody knew that he and Eskil had issues. How could you know that but not know what those issues were?”

  Junior polished off one can of beer and popped the top on another. “Because folks around here mind their own business. If you’re smart, you’ll do the same. You go around sticking your nose into other people’s business, you could make some enemies. Now unless you want to book a hunting trip or something, I’m through talking.”

  Thirteen

  Junior’s abrupt dismissal left us with no choice but to leave. Sullivan stood and shook Junior’s hand again. “We’ll get out of your hair then. Sorry for the intrusion.”

  I wasn’t ready to go but I bit my tongue and followed Sullivan back to the street. Bernice and Miss Frankie brought up the rear. I heard the screen door slam shut behind us with a bang! and I let out a regretful sigh. Junior knew a whole lot more than he let on. I’d have bet on it.

  “Well, you were right,” I said when we gathered beside Sullivan’s car. “He certainly doesn’t seem upset by his brother’s death.”

  “Clearly not,” Miss Frankie agreed. “But I’m not convinced that he doesn’t know why Eskil and Silas were at odds.”

  Sullivan folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the car. “Neither am I. What was that about the white Ford Ranger?”

  I squinted into the setting sun and shook my head. “Nothing really. I saw a guy wearing boots like the ones Silas Laroche had on talking with somebody in a truck like that when we pulled into town yesterday. Then again, it could have been anyone. The guy seemed angry, though, and I thought I’d toss it in and see what we got. And you saw what happened. We got a big fat nothing.”

  “Yeah,” Sullivan said, but he seemed thoughtful. He shook it off and smiled at Miss Frankie and Bernice. “Listen, ladies, I don’t like the two of you getting involved in all of this. Somebody around here killed Silas Laroche, and whoever it was might not hesitate to lash out again. My advice is to stay out of it. Let the sheriff and his deputies do their jobs.”

  Miss Frankie gave Sullivan a wide-eyed stare. “Why? Because you think we’re too old?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Don’t you go putting words in my mouth, Miss Frankie. My mama would skin me alive if I suggested such a thing. It’s because I think this could be dangerous. I’ve got a gut feeling about this and I don’t want to see either of you get hurt.”

  Bernice’s cheeks burned deep pink. “My cousin is the one who’ll get hurt if somebody doesn’t help him. And I’m as sure as I can be that he’s innocent.”

  Miss Frankie gently touched Bernice’s shoulder. “We’re not going to let that happen. There are plenty of people around here who can tell us why Eskil and Silas were at odds. Let’s go talk to someone else.”

  “Whoa!” Sullivan said, stepping in front of them. “I have a better idea. Let’s go back to your aunt Margaret’s and have something to eat.”

  I knew why he’d made the suggestion, but I didn’t want our dinner date to evaporate. Sitting at the table with Tallulah glaring at me and making eyes at Sullivan just wouldn’t be the same as the private dinner I’d been anticipating.

  Miss Frankie stepped around him. “And leave Eskil to fend for himself? What’s wrong with you?”

  Sullivan took her arm and fell into step with her. “I admire you for caring so much, Miss Frankie, and I know how much Bernice means to you. But you aren’t thinking about how much Rita cares about you. I can’t let you do something dangerous while I’m around. She’d never forgive me.”

  It was a bold stroke, but genius. Miss Frankie’s shoulders almost sagged. “You’re right, Liam. Let’s go back.”

  I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or aggravated. She never gave in that easily for me. I opted for relief. The only thing that really mattered was getting the two of them back to Aunt Margaret’s. If Sullivan could do that, more power to him.

  Just when I thought it was settled, Bernice chirped in dismay. “Oh my Lord! I completely forgot. I promised Tallulah I’d pick up some Old Bay Seasoning while we were out.”

  Sullivan didn’t even miss a beat. “Give Rita the keys to Tallulah’s car. She’ll pick it up. You ladies can ride with me.”

  Miss Frankie handed over the keys without argument, and Sullivan got the two women settled in his Impala. After tossing a smile and a promise to see me back at the house, he made a U-turn and sped off down the road.

  I don’t think I’ve ever liked him more.

  It took me three tries to get Tallulah’s car started. When I finally did, the Sentra bucked a couple of times and jumped forward, raring to go. Three of the car’s seats were split open, revealing dusty puffs of stuffing. A pile of mail—mostly junk, I think—was crammed into the space between the front seats, and a couple of empty soda cans rolled around on the floor in back every time I accelerated. I sure hoped T-Rex stocked Old Bay Seasoning in his general store because I wasn’t sure the Sentra would live long enough to go any farther.

  A couple of muddy pickup trucks and a sheriff’s car were parked in front of T-Rex’s when I pulled up. After the dust settled, I spotted Georgie Tucker eating at a picnic table a few feet away.

  She smiled when she saw me and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Hey there. I thought you’d gone back to the big city.”

  “I did,” I said. “I had to come back to bring a few things for Miss Frankie and Bernice. Any news about how Silas died?”

  “Not a whole lot. Eskil’s refusing to talk to me at all. His mama and sisters have clammed up except to offer me something to drink.” She laughed and shook her head. “There sure are some eccentric folks around here.”

  That seemed like an odd thing to say. Not that it wasn’t true, but . . . “I thought you were one of them.”

  “Not yet, but I’m working on it. I moved down here from Tennessee about five years ago so I’m still an outsider.”

  I grinned and sat on the bench across from her. A cool breeze fluttered the treetops and raised goose bumps on my arms. A few monarch butterflies drifted past, the first of the annual autumn migration to the southern end of Mexico. “If the family’s not talking, does that mean you don’t have any leads?”

  “Nothing concrete so far. I talked with Silas’s brother Junior earlier. I’m on my way to talk to his widow as soon as I finish my dinner break.”

  His widow? “I didn’t realize Silas was married.”

  Georgie opened a small bag of chips and munched on a couple. “You sound surprised.”

  “I guess I am. Nobody mentioned anything about him having a wife. Did he have kids, too?”

  “Just one. A son. Kale’s twenty-two and lives with his mom. Probably nobody thought to mention it because Silas and Nettie haven’t lived together in twenty years.” Georgie shrugged and ate another chip. “Way I heard it, Silas got tired of city living
one day and just moved off into the swamp.”

  Yeah. I could see how the big city of Baie Rebelle might be too crowded for some people. “How did his wife feel about that? Do you think she had a motive for killing him?”

  “Not that I know of after all this time. But she and Kale have had their struggles. If it weren’t for Junior, I don’t know where they’d be.”

  Interesting. “Junior takes care of his brother’s family?”

  Georgie nodded. “He’s been more of a daddy to Kale than Silas ever was. Kale’s a good kid. He’s had a little trouble, but nothing serious. Anyway, Silas mostly kept to himself after he left town.” She munched for a minute and said, “We were out to his place looking around this morning. I think we’ve found the murder weapon.”

  She dropped that piece of news like an afterthought. Oh . . . I almost forgot . . . I wondered if she’d done that on purpose to get my reaction. “Can you tell me what the weapon was, or is that classified?”

  Georgie washed down her lunch with Coke. “I guess it won’t do any harm. We found blood and hair on a toilet tank lid on Silas’s property. Looks like that’s what did him in.”

  I gaped at her in disbelief. “A toilet tank lid? Are you serious? Who would think of using that as a weapon?”

  “Somebody looking for a weapon in the moment, I suppose. That probably makes this a crime of passion.”

  “I knew he wasn’t at Aunt Margaret’s when we arrived. It’s almost as if the killer wanted to throw suspicion on Eskil. Was Silas killed at his house?”

  “Outside, down by the creek. We’ll have to wait for the tests to come back to prove our theories, and that might take a while, but I’m pretty sure that’s what did it.”

  I turned that over in my mind for a moment. “Did you find any fingerprints?”

  “Sure. A whole lot of ’em, in fact. Don’t know yet if any of them belong to the killer.”

  “It would take some serious muscle to swing a tank lid with enough force to kill a man. Are you thinking the killer was male?”