Georgie did a so-so thing with her head. “Not necessarily. There’s women in these parts who could handle that heavy piece of porcelain as well as any man.” She nodded toward the Sentra and changed the subject. “I see you’re using Tallulah’s car. Something wrong with yours?”
I wasn’t ready to abandon the subject of Silas Laroche and his toilet lid–wielding killer, but I didn’t want to press my luck. I shook my head. “I came with a friend today, and got put in charge of picking up some Old Bay Seasoning. Do you know if they carry it here?”
“I reckon so. You can get just about anything you need here at T-Rex’s. If he doesn’t have it, he knows where to get it. And they’re open twenty-four/seven. You need something at two in the morning, just ring the bell. T-Rex’ll get out of bed and sell you whatever you want.”
“All the conveniences,” I said with a laugh. “The only thing missing is a drive-through window.”
The sound of a truck pulling into the gravel parking lot caught our attention. Georgie waved and I glanced over my shoulder in time to see a tall, heavy-boned woman wearing a baseball cap getting out of a maroon pickup. I started to look away again but realized that she looked familiar and kept an eye on her. I could count on one hand the number of people I actually knew in Baie Rebelle, so the fact that she looked familiar had to mean that I’d seen her at Aunt Margaret’s the previous night.
Georgie had polished off her dinner and got up to toss the trash. “How you doin’, Adele?”
Adele slowed her step but she didn’t stop walking. Even from a distance, I could see that she looked awful. Her eyes were red and puffy, her complexion mottled. “I’m all right,” she said. She opened the door and added, “See ya later,” and shut the door behind her firmly.
“Call me crazy,” I said, “but I don’t think she’s all right at all. Was she a friend of Silas’s?”
Georgie laughed and shook her head. “Hell no. Probably just allergies or something.”
She seemed certain so I didn’t argue, but I wasn’t convinced. I said a quick good-bye to Georgie and followed Adele into the store, hoping I could figure out a way to strike up a conversation.
T-Rex’s was a tiny building filled with a few built-in wooden shelves, portable metal shelves squeezed into every available space, and a couple of old-fashioned chest-style coolers. I could have picked up anything from canned vegetables to live bait, a true one-stop-shopper’s delight.
The aisles (if you could call them that) were too narrow for more than one person; depending on the person, they might even have been too narrow for one. Behind a high counter holding a cash register, miscellaneous fishing stuff, and a telephone, two middle-aged women laughed over something in a magazine. I guessed neither of them was T-Rex.
I noticed Adele near one of the coolers, so I made a beeline for her. “Sorry to bother you,” I said, “but didn’t we meet last night?”
She shook her head and tugged the brim of her cap lower over her eyes. “I don’t think so.”
“You weren’t one of the search party who met at Margaret Percifield’s house last night?”
I could feel the two clerks watching us, and I knew they could hear every word in that tiny space. Adele must have realized the same thing because she gave me a grudging nod. “Oh. Yeah. I guess I was.”
“I’m Rita Lucero,” I said, still trying to come across as the friendly type. “I just wanted to say thank you for your help.”
Adele flicked her gaze over me. She wasn’t a pretty woman, but she had beautiful eyes—green with flecks of brown—and lashes some women would have given their firstborn to have. “Yeah. It was no big deal. It’s what we do out here.” She returned her attention to a yellow bottle in her hand, and something about the way she moved made me remember the woman in the backyard with the angry young man. I had a gut feeling Adele had been that woman. So maybe what had her so upset today was trouble with her son, and not Silas’s death.
I didn’t want to take advantage of her when she was down, but I had doubts about Eskil’s story and I might not get another chance to talk to one of the search party. Hoping she’d respond to a friendly face, I turned on my inner Chatty Cathy. “I’m just glad someone found Eskil when they did. It’s amazing that he got through the night alone on the swamp.”
“Not really,” Adele said without looking at me. “He knows what he’s doin’.” She returned the bottle to the shelf and tilted her head in my direction. “Strange thing, though. I could’ve sworn I checked that arm of the swamp earlier and he wasn’t there. Then a few hours later, there he was big as day.”
“Maybe you just thought you’d checked that spot,” I suggested. “I’m sure it gets confusing out there. Or maybe he got to the shore and made camp.”
Adele shook her head. “Now that would have been dangerous. He was a lot safer in the boat.”
Unless he was somewhere else entirely. “Was anyone with you when you checked that part of the swamp the first time? Your son maybe?”
“I was alone. I don’t have kids.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Why? You think I’m lying about where I looked?”
I was more concerned about how many people knew that Eskil hadn’t been in the swamp overnight and what it might mean for him if the truth got out. Bernice had obviously seen Eskil in New Orleans on Friday night, but even if the sheriff believed her, that still gave Eskil plenty of time to get back to Baie Rebelle and dispatch Silas Laroche.
“I’m not saying you’re lying,” I assured Adele. “I’m just trying to figure out what really happened. I thought I saw you talking to a kid at Aunt Margaret’s last night. He was around twenty. Maybe a few years older. Shaggy dark hair? I thought it was you anyway.”
“No.”
“That’s too bad. My friend Bernice is worried about Eskil. He’s her cousin, you know.”
“So I heard.”
“And I was hoping one of you might be able to convince the sheriff’s department that Eskil couldn’t have killed Silas.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because he’s innocent. I mean, it’s a shame about Silas, of course. Did you know him?”
Adele rolled her eyes slowly in my direction. I could read fear in her expression, but also a deep sadness. The look in her eyes hit me like a fist. “Everybody knows everybody around here,” she said. “So yeah. I knew him.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to pry but you just seem upset and I thought . . .” I trailed off, trying to figure out exactly what I thought. That she might like someone to talk to? That she might want to bare her soul to a complete stranger? I backed a step away and repeated myself. “Sorry. I really didn’t mean to pry.”
Feeling like an idiot, I looked around until I found the Old Bay Seasoning, paid for my purchase, and hightailed it out the door. But I had a feeling that Georgie was wrong about Adele. I was almost positive that Silas’s murder had upset her deeply.
Fourteen
I rattled my way back to Aunt Margaret’s in the Sentra and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Sullivan’s car in the clearing. If he was there, I could trust that Miss Frankie and Bernice were also there and, hopefully, behaving themselves. The instant I got out of the car, the smell of wood smoke hit me along with the mouthwatering aroma of something cooking on a grill. I also caught a whiff of cake baking and my stomach growled, reminding me that Sullivan and I still hadn’t eaten.
I left the Old Bay Seasoning in the kitchen with Bitty and Tallulah and went in search of the others. I found them in the backyard. Sullivan was reclining in a cushioned patio chair. His eyes were closed and a cold drink sat on a table beside him. Miss Frankie and Bernice were chatting with Aunt Margaret beneath the spreading shade of a huge old tree. Across the yard, Eskil manned the grill.
Trees and undergrowth surrounded the property, so wild and thick I thought it must take constant work
to keep it under control. Somewhere out there, Bernice’s Uncle Cooch had kept his still hidden, and seeing how dense the forest was gave me a better understanding of how generations of Percifield men could’ve managed to keep the still’s location secret.
Sullivan didn’t look like he planned to go anywhere for a while, so I seized the opportunity to have a chat with Cousin Eskil. He didn’t notice me walking toward him until I was almost upon him, which was a good thing because when he did see me, he glanced around like an animal wanting to escape a hungry predator.
My friend-making skills had fallen flat with Adele, but I wasn’t ready to give up on them. I smiled all friendly-like and sniffed appreciatively. “Whatever you’re grilling smells amazing. What is it?”
He looked me in the eye and took his time answering. “Gator steaks.” His voice was so low, I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly.
“Really? Alligator? I’ve never heard of cutting steaks from a gator. Which part of the animal do you use?”
Eskil stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Guess I shouldn’t lie, should I? I’m pulling your leg. It’s pork. I wanted to fix up a mess of gator, but Ma told me not to. She thought y’all might turn up your noses.”
So the man had a sense of humor. Grinning, I leaned forward to see what he was doing with the pork. At least eight huge chops were sizzling on the grill and a heavenly smelling barbecue sauce had created a glaze that made me think twice about driving back to Houma for dinner. “I’m a professional chef,” I said. “I don’t turn up my nose at much of anything.”
“Good to know. Next time we’ll do the gator. Ma’s got some boudin cooking. You’ll like that.”
I knew a little about boudin, a spicy Acadian sausage that was originally made as a way for a family to stretch its protein and feed more hungry mouths. Traditionally made from pork and rice and flavored with green onion, parsley, garlic, and cayenne, it’s still a staple among Louisiana Cajuns. I’d had boudin a couple of times, but I couldn’t wait to try the homemade variety.
We fell into a companionable silence. I hated to destroy it, but after talking with Junior and Georgie and then meeting up with Adele, curiosity was eating me alive. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
Eskil slid a look at me from somewhere between his eyebrows and his beard. “Depends on what it’s about.”
“Listen, I know I’m an outsider and this is all none of my business. But please understand that Bernice is a friend and I care about her. She’s worried sick about you.”
“About me? Why?”
“Because some people around here seem to think you may have killed Silas Laroche. Bernice is convinced you didn’t do it, and she wants me to help clear your name.”
Eskil’s eyes grew serious. They were the only part of his face I could actually see. “That’s real nice of her, but I don’t need help. I didn’t kill Silas.”
I hoped he was telling the truth. “Do you have any idea who did?”
Eskil shook his head and closed the lid on the grill. “Nope. But if I did, I’d shake the man’s hand and buy him a drink. Whoever took Silas out did the world a favor.”
I hoped he wouldn’t talk like that around anyone else. Somebody might get the wrong idea. “You think it was a man then?”
“Figure of speech. Coulda been anybody.”
“I have another question if you don’t mind. Friday night, Bernice saw someone looking in her window. From the description she gave me, it was either you or her uncle Cooch, which we both know is impossible. Would you mind telling me what you were doing there? And why didn’t you just knock on her door?”
“That’s two questions, not one.”
“Well, then, take your pick. I’ll be happy with the answer to either.”
“Why would I go all the way to New Orleans to see Bernice?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. You scared her half to death, and you’re lucky you didn’t get shot.”
Eskil chuckled softly. “Bernice still owns a gun? Well, good for her. I was afraid that husband of hers made her go soft. That wouldn’t have taken much. She always was afeared of her own shadow.”
“I think you’re underestimating her,” I said. “She’s tougher than you think. But you still haven’t answered my question. Why did you go to see her?”
“I never said I did.”
“Well, someone did. Someone who looks a whole lot like you. Or are you suggesting your father came back from the dead to pay her a visit?”
The skin around his eyes crinkled. “Coulda been the rougarou.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“You never know. There have been sightings around here for years.”
“You’re seriously asking me to believe that the rougarou drove up to New Orleans to frighten Bernice?”
“I’m not asking you believe anything.” Eskil wiped his hands on his pant legs, leaving streaks of red barbeque sauce on the denim. “Who says my daddy’s dead anyhow? They never found his body. He could be alive for all we know.”
“Do you really believe that?”
His eyes grew serious. “I know you’re trying to make Bernice happy, little girl, but what I believe is none of your business.”
“Look,” I said, ignoring the “little girl” thing, “I’m just worried about Bernice and about the timing of everything that’s happened. You can understand that, can’t you? Friday night someone who looked like you was outside Bernice’s house. You say it wasn’t you, which is too bad because Saturday morning someone reported you missing. The whole town rallied to search for you and they found you that night on the swamp. You said that you ran out of gas, but it turns out that someone had already checked that particular part of the swamp earlier and you weren’t there. If that information gets out, I have a feeling the sheriff is going to be interested in hearing where you really were.”
Eskil stared at me for a long, uncomfortable moment. “You threatening me, girl?”
“No. I’m just saying that it’s pretty clear you have a few secrets. You might have some trouble keeping them now that Silas Laroche is dead.”
“You think I killed him?”
“I didn’t say that,” I assured him. “But his body was found on your mother’s property, so I think somebody wants it to look like you did. Georgie says that you’re not talking to the sheriff’s department. Don’t you realize that refusing to cooperate is making you look guilty?”
Eskil raked his cool blue eyes across my face. “What I realize, young lady, is that you’re too nosy for your own good.” And with that he strode off, leaving me to wonder if I’d been wrong about him. Had he killed Silas? He looked strong enough to do whatever he wanted with a toilet tank lid. Nobody had seen him for almost twenty-four hours, during which time somebody had sent Silas to his great reward.
Maybe Bernice was right to be worried.
* * *
Sullivan was awake and surrounded by the womenfolk by the time Eskil left me standing alone by the grill. Aunt Margaret fussed over Sullivan like he was her favorite grandson. Bitty fluttered to and fro, refreshing the tea in his glass anytime he shifted his weight and blushing every time he spoke. Her behavior gave me glimpses of the young woman who had been left at the altar. After learning just how small Baie Rebelle was, I wondered if the man who’d jilted her lived nearby. That could have made for some awkward situations.
Bitty wasn’t the only one who seemed fascinated by Sullivan either. Miss Frankie and Bernice flanked him, urging him to tell stories about some of the cases he’d worked, which seemed to pull even Tallulah under his spell.
I was ready to get back into the Impala and make a clean getaway, but Sullivan couldn’t seem to resist the urging of five females who had their hearts set on keeping him around for a few more hours. I’m not going to say his decision made me happy, but I wasn’t going to get all bent out of shape
about it. After all, if I’d been able to resist Miss Frankie and Bernice, we wouldn’t be in Baie Rebelle in the first place.
With Sullivan’s attention divided among the members of his new fan club and Eskil glowering at me between bites, dinner was an awkward experience. At least the food was good. The barbecued pork chops were perfectly cooked, moist and tender on the inside with a nice crust on the outside. His homemade barbecue sauce was both sweet and tangy. The boudin was heavenly, hearty and rich with a pleasant spice that made my lips tingle. Bitty’s coleslaw was both creamy and crunchy, and Tallulah’s green beans cooked with bacon were amazing. But the highlight of the evening was Aunt Margaret’s pea-pickin’ cake, also known as pig-pickin’ cake, cotton-pickin’ cake, and even Mandarin orange cake, depending on where you find the recipe.
There are as many stories about how the cake came by its name as there are names for the cake itself. It might have been named by country singer Tennessee Ernie Ford, known for his signature line, “Bless your pea pickin’ heart,” or because it was the perfect cake to serve after a hot day in the sun picking peas. Or it might have been given its pig-pickin’ moniker because it was traditionally served at Southern barbecues, where the pig was cooked low and slow until the meat was falling off the bones, allowing the guests to pick off the meat at the table. We’ll probably never know the true story, but the cake was so good I didn’t care. The cake was light and moist and slightly citrusy thanks to the mandarin oranges. Between layers, whipped cream laced with pineapple gave the cake a bright, summery flavor.
We finished the meal and Eskil led Sullivan off to do something manly while the women stepped back in time again to clean up. I don’t mind doing dishes, and I didn’t begrudge doing my part to help my hostesses, but watching the two men swagger off across the lawn while assuming the kitchen was the women’s domain grated on my nerves.
Okay, so maybe I was a bit more irritated about having to share my romantic evening alone with Sullivan than I’d first thought. I did my best to sweeten my mood—or at least not let my face show what I was really feeling.
Rebel Without a Cake Page 12
