“He wants to be sure you didn’t,” Aunt Yolanda said. Her smile was gentle, and I thought about all the times she’d interceded between Uncle Nestor and me when I was younger.
I held out my arms again to encompass the magnificent kitchen in the heart of my magnificent home. “I’ve managed not to go wild with all of this for months. You’d think he’d realize that I’m not going to lose my head now. And yeah, I’m happy. How could I not be?”
“It takes more than things to make a person happy,” Aunt Yolanda chided me.
The grin slid from my face. “I’m talking about more than things, Tía. I’m doing what I always wanted to do. The bakery is amazing. The staff is great. And New Orleans is—”
“A long way from home,” my aunt said before I could finish. “Your uncle and I miss you.”
The look on her face made me uncomfortable. There are few things I hate more than making Aunt Yolanda sad. “I miss you, too,” I said. “But don’t you want me to make my own way in the world?”
“Yes, of course.”
“So here I am. Making my way. I’m not gone, you know. I’m just not underfoot all the time.”
Aunt Yolanda scowled at me. “You were never underfoot, Rita. You must know that.”
“I do,” I assured her, although there was that lingering doubt. “You and Uncle Nestor saved my life when you took me in. I love you both more than I can say.”
“And yet you’re happy to live so far away.”
I expected guilt trips from Uncle Nestor, but Aunt Yolanda was usually more understanding. Coming from her, this conversation left me tilting on my axis like an off-center cake. “I lived further away than this when Philippe and I were married,” I reminded her. “It didn’t seem to bother you then.”
Aunt Yolanda touched my cheek with her fingertips. “That was different.”
“Because I had a husband?” I stared at her in disbelief. “I could almost expect something that archaic to come out of Uncle Nestor’s mouth, but not yours.”
Aunt Yolanda gave me a look, reached for her mug, and sipped. “That’s not what I meant, Rita. Please don’t put words in my mouth. Your uncle will talk to you when the time is right.”
“When the time is right?” I stared at her, unable to speak for a long moment. “I hope you won’t take that attitude when it comes to the police.”
“Your uncle knows what’s best.”
“I’m not so sure,” I said. “Look, he’s not the king of the castle here. He’s one guy on a list of suspects in a murder investigation. He doesn’t get to call the shots.”
The shadows in her eyes appeared again and her lips formed a thin, disapproving line. “He is not a murder suspect.”
“The dead man’s wife seems to think he is,” I said. “And the police can’t clear him if he doesn’t tell them what they want to know. I love the fact that you’re so supportive of him, Tía,” I said, putting my hands over hers, “but throwing up roadblocks to protect him isn’t doing him any favors. If you really want to help him, convince him to talk to the police when we get to the station.”
Her gaze flashed to my face. “He’s not ready.”
“He has to be ready,” I insisted. “It’s not up to him.”
She shook her head again. “He has a hard head, your uncle. You know that.”
I did, but frustration made the headache I’d been fighting all morning spike sharply. “Did he at least tell you what happened between him and Big Daddy?”
“Me? No.”
“Did you meet Big Daddy last night? Did you hear anything that went on between the two of them?”
Aunt Yolanda nodded. “I met him for a moment. We barely spoke.” She turned her hands over and laced her fingers through mine. “Don’t worry, mija. Your uncle did not kill that man.”
“I know he didn’t,” I said. “Now we just have to make sure the police believe it, too.”
Aunt Yolanda smiled softly. “Your uncle will do the right thing,” she said firmly. She glanced around, her expression curious. “Where is he anyway?”
I was halfway to my feet, but her question stopped me cold. “What do you mean, where is he? I thought he was in the guest room with you.”
“With me? No.” A frown furrowed Aunt Yolanda’s brow. “He was gone when I woke up. Are you saying you haven’t seen him this morning?”
My heart slammed in my chest and all sorts of diabolical possibilities raced through my head as I punched his number into my cell phone. When I heard the phone ringing upstairs, I disconnected and hurried to the front door, cursing myself for not checking earlier. I never should have trusted Uncle Nestor to behave for a couple of hours. Sure enough, the deadbolt had been unlocked and so had the regular door lock.
Sullivan had warned me to keep an eye on Uncle Nestor, but I’d let him stroll right out the front door while I slept.
Epic fail.
Fifteen
Heart thudding, I raced up the stairs to my bedroom. My head shuffled through questions the whole way. Where had Uncle Nestor gone? And why hadn’t I heard him leave? Not that I expected answers. I still didn’t know where he’d disappeared to last night. Why was he being so secretive? Was he trying to protect Aunt Yolanda or me? If so, what had Big Daddy said that made him think we needed protecting?
I tugged on a pair of jeans and a Phoenix Suns T-shirt so faded I could barely see the logo anymore. Back on the first floor, I stepped into flip-flops just as Aunt Yolanda appeared at the top of the stairs, also fully dressed, and looking worried in spite of her assurances that everything would turn out okay.
“Finding that man’s body in the pool has made me jittery, I guess,” she said. “Nestor’s probably gone for a walk to clear his head. I’m sure he is just fine.”
There were two big problems with that theory. First, Uncle Nestor doesn’t take walks. The idea of him willingly going anywhere on foot was as foreign to me as the idea of putting powdered sugar in an omelet. And second, Uncle Nestor hates mornings. Even if he woke up with a brand-new personality and decided to take a stroll, he wouldn’t have done it with the sunrise.
“You’re probably right,” I said, “but he’s not familiar with the area and he doesn’t have his phone with him. He can’t even call if he gets disoriented.” I smiled, trying to hide my own worry and keep hers under control. Somehow, I kept my voice sounding normal when I said, “I’ll feel better knowing that he’s all right, that’s all.”
“You don’t think something’s happened to him, do you?” Her bottom lip trembled slightly. She looked away, trying to hide it from me, but she was too late. It was a little thing, but completely out of character for my aunt. She’s a warm and loving person, but she’s not a crier. My worry level ramped up another notch.
“Are you sure he didn’t say anything to you about going out?”
Aunt Yolanda shook her head and sank into a chair near the window. “No. I didn’t even hear him get up.”
“That’s not surprising,” I said, still trying to sound reassuring. “I’m sure you were exhausted after traveling all day and then staying up until almost sunrise. Not to mention all the adrenaline of last night. The surprising thing is that he dragged himself out of bed so early.” He must have had a compelling reason.
She glanced out the window, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes as she exhaled. When she opened them again, she treated me to a shaky smile. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Rita. It’s not becoming.”
“I didn’t mean to sound condescending,” I said. “I just don’t want you to worry. But I’m having a hard time imagining Uncle Nestor getting up with the dawn and heading out into a strange city for his morning constitutional. That’s just not something he does.”
“It is now.”
I could only stare at her.
“Times change,” she said, but her voice sounded strangely quiet. “People change.”
I paused with my hand on the doorknob and looked at her more closely. “I’ve only been living here for six month
s.”
“Seven.”
“Okay. Seven. And in that time Uncle Nestor has started going for walks? On purpose? What’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?”
“He’s not getting any younger, mija. Neither of us is. He’s been burning the candle at both ends for most of his life. It’s time to slow down a little, that’s all.”
I didn’t have time to figure out whether or not I believed that explanation because just then I heard footsteps coming up the front walk and everything else evaporated out of my head. Almost weak with relief, I opened the door.
Lights flashed in my face and a middle-aged man with a hawk nose and graying hair stuck a microphone in my face. I covered my eyes so I could see and registered Uncle Nestor standing beside the reporter, his leathery face creased with irritation.
“Miss Lucero,” the reporter said, “could I ask you a few questions about last night’s event at The Shores?”
I’d assured Edie that I could handle this, but not here, on my front step, without my hair and makeup done. And not before I’d had a chance to get Uncle Nestor’s side of the story. “I’ll be happy to talk with you later—” I began.
The reporter cut me off. “You were the hostess for last night’s Musterion party, is that right? Were you a friend of Big Daddy’s?”
“I met him for the first time last night,” I said. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”
The reporter turned away from me and focused on Uncle Nestor. Not exactly what I had in mind.
“Is it true that you attacked Mr. Boudreaux last night?”
“Where did you hear that?” I demanded before Uncle Nestor could answer.
The reporter gave a little shrug. “I have my sources.”
“What sources?”
He ignored my question and lobbed another one of his own. “My contacts tell me that the police were very interested in what Susannah Boudreaux had to say when they questioned her. What’s your connection to her?”
“There isn’t one,” I snapped, wondering which big-mouthed police officer had given her my uncle’s name. I grabbed Uncle Nestor’s arm and jerked him toward the open door. “Get inside,” I ordered. “Don’t say a word.”
He went as stiff as a board and dug in his heels. Which made my anger spike. I needed a little cooperation, not for him to be even more difficult. Putting myself between the camera and Uncle Nestor, I tried hard not to look flustered and nervous. “If you have questions about Mr. Boudreaux’s unfortunate death,” I said, “please take them to the police.”
“I’m told the police haven’t ruled out foul play.” The reporter made it sound like an accusation. I finally placed him as a reporter with NLTV, a small local station that ranked fairly low in the market share. Behind him, a youthful cameraman in jeans and a T-shirt captured every expression. Viewers of the station would judge our guilt or innocence by what they thought they saw on our faces. I knew they would, because that’s what I’d do. It’s human nature.
“You’ll have to ask the police about that,” I suggested sweetly as I gave Uncle Nestor a push toward the door, muttering, “I’m serious, Uncle Nestor. In the house. Now!”
He finally started moving, and I trailed behind him. Five feet and one door, and we’d be safe—at least until the next time we opened the door. Four feet. Three…
“NLTV has received other tips from concerned citizens about the altercation between the two of you,” the reporter said. “I’ve been told that it happened just a few hours before Big Daddy was found dead. What do you have to say about that?”
“Nothing,” I tossed over my shoulder. “No comment.” I gave Uncle Nestor one last shove and he was finally inside. I grabbed the door and started to shut it just as Mr. NLTV asked, “What are you trying to hide, Miss Lucero?”
I slammed the door in his face and leaned against it heavily. My heart was thundering like a timpani drum and my breath came in short, raspy gasps. We’d escaped—at least for now—but I had a bone to pick with Sullivan when I saw him.
As my breathing began to even out again, I realized that maybe it wasn’t the police who’d connected the dots between the fight and Uncle Nestor for the reporter. Uncle Nestor was a stranger in town, but he’d probably been introduced to more than a hundred people last night. I had no idea how many of them were aware of the fight. I could have sworn that only a few people had known about it. Apparently someone had told Susannah Boudreaux about it, and she’d probably picked up Uncle Nestor’s name from the police. If she liked to complain like Judd claimed, she could be venting to anyone who’d listen.
And if Susannah Boudreaux was throwing Uncle Nestor to the wolves, we could be in big trouble.
Not good. Not good at all.
Sixteen
After a few moments, the voice on the other side of the door faded and my heartbeat stopped banging in my ear. As my head cleared, I began to notice details that had escaped me outside, like the fact that Uncle Nestor was wearing jogging shorts and a gray sweatshirt, and that his sweatshirt had several damp patches that hinted at physical exertion.
Aunt Yolanda hurried toward him, her face creased with worry. “What was that?”
“A reporter.” He pulled off the sweatshirt and wadded it in his hands. “Asking about last night.”
Aunt Yolanda’s eyes clouded. “A reporter? Here? Why?”
“He was looking for Uncle Nestor,” I said. “Susannah Boudreaux told him about the fight Uncle Nestor had with Big Daddy.”
Anger flickered across my aunt’s face. “Why would she do such a thing?”
“Apparently, she thinks Uncle Nestor whacked her husband on the head and pushed him into the pool,” I said. “Or maybe she just wants the police to think that. She was talking to Big Daddy’s ex-wife at the end of the party, and I thought she seemed upset at the time. Maybe she already knew that her husband was dead.” It was a stretch, but I was desperate enough to clutch at any straw I could find.
Uncle Nestor grunted. “She’s a foolish woman.”
“She’d have to be, to marry Big Daddy Boudreaux,” I agreed.
As if that had solved all of his problems, Uncle Nestor kissed Aunt Yolanda on the cheek and started walking toward the stairs.
But I wasn’t finished with him yet. “Hey! Wait a second,” I said. “We need to talk. Where have you been?”
“Out,” he said, and kept walking.
Oh no. No, no, no. Outside, he wouldn’t move to save my life. Now, he wouldn’t stand still for even a second? My frustration level rose a few degrees. I hurried past him and blocked the stairs. “Out where? And don’t tell me it’s none of my business. You have some explaining to do, Tío.”
He scowled so hard his neck almost disappeared, and he wiped sweat from his forehead with a sleeve. “I felt like getting some air. Is there a law against that?”
“There ought to be, especially when you’re a person of interest in a murder case and there’s a reporter camped on the front steps. How did you get past that guy when you left anyway?”
He shrugged and looked at me as if I’d asked a silly question. “I didn’t have to get past him. He wasn’t there when I left.”
That surprised me. “He wasn’t? What time did you leave?”
“It was early. I didn’t look at the clock.”
I didn’t believe that for an instant. Uncle Nestor is almost fanatical about the time, and being late for anything makes him edgy. But I realized that he was steering me off-track, so I zeroed back in on what I really wanted to know. “Where did you go?”
Aunt Yolanda put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Let’s talk about this later. Nestor only walked through the door a minute ago.”
Uncle Nestor waved her off with a flick of his wrist. “It’s all right, Yolanda.” Turning back to me, he said, “I told you already. I wanted some air. I walked around a block or two, and came back. And now I want a shower.”
He started to walk past me, but I held my ground. “Uh-uh. Not yet. I need some answers.
I know you both think I’m being pushy, but Detective Sullivan asked me to talk with you, and we have to meet him at the station in an hour. Promise me you’ll tell him everything.”
He looked at me as if I’d said a word he didn’t understand. “Everything?”
“Yeah. Everything. What you and Big Daddy fought about last night. Where you were when he died. Why Susannah Boudreaux is trying to make you look guilty. You know…the facts.”
The frown on Uncle Nestor’s face deepened. “How would I know what that crazy woman is thinking?”
“She must have some reason for trying to make you look guilty. Did you even meet her last night? Was she there when you and Big Daddy fought? I don’t remember seeing her, but maybe I missed her.”
Uncle Nestor’s irritation level went from zero to sixty in a heartbeat. “This is ridiculous. You’re forgetting who you’re talking to, Rita. I don’t have to answer to you.”
His sudden flash of anger surprised me. “I’m not the one being ridiculous,” I said. “I’m not the one who’s refusing to explain why I punched a man in the nose who just happened to end up dead a couple of hours later. I’m not the one refusing to say where I was when Big Daddy was being murdered. And I’m not the one sneaking out of the house at daybreak and then acting like it’s no big deal. What’s going on with you? Why are you acting like this?”
Uncle Nestor’s gaze shot briefly to Aunt Yolanda, but whatever he was looking for on her face, I sure didn’t see it. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at me as if I’d crossed the line.
Yeah, sure, I was the one being unreasonable. “Come on,” I said, pleading with her to help me. “You can’t seriously think he’s being smart about this. He’s in big trouble. Help me convince him of that.”
“Everything will be fine,” she said. “It’s in the Lord’s hands.”
I plowed my fingers through my hair and growled in frustration. “I’m all for trusting in God,” I said, clenching my teeth to keep myself from shouting at her. “But Uncle Nestor can’t just sit here, refusing to talk, and expect God to pull his butt out of the fire. It doesn’t work that way.”
Cake on a Hot Tin Roof Page 11
