The road wound around through the buildings, edging off into small parking lots here and there. I followed it until I found the right building and made the rest of the journey on foot.
Unit 203 was on the middle floor, set back from the common staircase to give the illusion of a private entrance. A couple of old newspapers and some dry leaves littered the entryway, and the light over the door flickered on and off as if it was on its last legs.
I rang the bell and the sound of scuffing footsteps reached me a few seconds later. I felt the pricking of nerves and a sudden rush of adrenaline. What was I thinking, coming here alone?
He’d been drinking, and pretty steadily. My clues? The smell, the way he wobbled on his feet and squinted to figure out who I was, and the bottle in his hand. Oh, and the fact that he was still wearing the clothes he’d had on at the funeral yesterday—minus the tie.
He looked tired and sad. Dark circles had formed under his eyes, and thin spider veins were visible across his nose and cheeks. The charm that had so affected me the first time we met was subdued tonight, diluted by grief and whiskey.
“Well,” he said with weak attempt at a grin. “If it isn’t the lovely Cinderella. Looking for your shoes again?”
“I have them tonight, thanks. I wonder if you’d mind answering a few questions.”
He eyed me curiously. “Questions? What are you, a police officer?”
I shook my head. “Just a friend.”
He took a deep drink from the bottle and stepped away from the door, bowing elaborately at the waist. “Well, in that case, come on in.”
Inside, the place was a far cry from Big Daddy’s home. It was sparsely furnished with a threadbare couch, two lopsided easy chairs, and a coffee table dotted with cigarette burns. Early Goodwill.
He swept a hand toward one easy chair. “Make yourself at home.”
I perched on the edge of the seat to avoid a spring I could see coming through the cushion. Judd dropped heavily into a matching chair next to a cluttered TV tray. He bounded to his feet again almost immediately, his once-handsome face clouded. “My mama would have my hide for not offering you something to drink. Can I get you a beer, or would you like something stronger?”
“Nothing,” I said with a scant smile. “Thanks.”
“You’re sure?” He shrugged at my nod and sat. “So what can I do for you?”
“I’d like to ask you about the night your brother died, if you don’t mind.”
“What do you want to know?”
“First, let me say how sorry I am for your loss. I understand that you and Big Daddy were close. I know this must be difficult for you.”
He didn’t say anything, but a muscle in his cheek jumped and I knew he was feeling something.
“I wonder if you could tell me if your brother had any enemies. You know, was there anyone angry with him? Anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?”
Judd let out a deep breath. His cheeks puffed out a little as he exhaled, and he wiped one hand across his eyes. “Bradley had a lot of friends,” he said when he finally spoke. “But he also had a lot of enemies. People either loved him or hated him.”
“He had a strong personality,” I said, trying to put a positive spin on it. “Do you know if he was having any issues at work? Did he ever mention any issues with an employee, or maybe a disgruntled former one?”
Judd shook his head. “Not that I know of. Nothing serious, anyway. I’ve done some work for him off and on over the years. People came and went. A few people got upset over having to work weekends and late night hours, but that’s the nature of the business. Some people stuck around for a while, but some got out of there as fast as they could. With Bradley, it was his way or the highway. You either did what he said, or you walked.”
“And people were okay with that?”
Judd shrugged. “It was what it was. He made it clear from the beginning, so nobody could ever say they were surprised.”
He seemed to be dodging the question, and I wondered whether he was consciously avoiding the answer or if his brain was just too pickled to form a straight answer. “Did anybody ever try to say they were surprised? Maybe someone he fired?”
Judd shook his head slowly. “Not recently.”
I filed that away in case I needed it later. “What about his marriage? What was that like?”
Judd took another drink and capped the bottle slowly. “You ask a lot of questions, Cinderella. Has anyone ever told you that?”
I smiled. “A few people. I do that when I’m trying to help someone.”
“That’s admirable, but hardly justification for me to spill all of my brother’s secrets.”
“If those secrets were responsible for his death, I think you’d want to bring them to light.”
Judd didn’t say anything to that, so I gave him a little more to think about. “I just came from Susannah’s house. She accused my uncle of killing your brother. Uncle Nestor didn’t do it. I’m trying to help him prove that.”
That brought Judd’s head up quickly. “Your uncle’s the old man? The one who took a couple of swings at Bradley?”
“Yes, but he was only reacting to something Big Daddy said about my aunt.”
“That would be the lovely older Latin lady?”
I nodded. “How did you know about Uncle Nestor and your brother?”
“Word gets around quickly. Bradley thought it was kind of a kick, you know. Since nobody actually got hurt and all.”
“He didn’t seem all that amused at the time.”
“Well, that was my brother for you. He could change his mind faster than anyone I ever knew.”
“Does that mean that you don’t think my uncle killed your brother?”
He flicked something from one pant leg and looked up at me as if the idea of that surprised him. “I guess I don’t.”
I could have kissed him, and I might have if he hadn’t smelled so bad. “What happened after the fight? Did you see where your brother went or who he talked to?”
Judd cleared a space for his bottle on the TV tray and spent a moment getting it to balance in the small spot. “I didn’t see him again after that. I don’t know where he went or who he talked to.”
Well, that was a big fat lie, but I didn’t say so. I had a few more questions to ask before I called him on it. “Why was Susannah upset with your brother that night?”
He scowled. “She was always upset with him. That’s not news.”
“Are you saying they fought a lot?”
He flicked a glance at me. “It would be hard not to fight with Susannah. She’s not exactly easy to get along with.”
That was a nice way of putting it. “She gave your brother an ultimatum. Do you know anything about that?”
He yawned, but I had the feeling it was just for show. “Sorry. Can’t help you. Ultimatums are her thing. It’s how she rolls.” He put on a falsetto voice and mimicked Susannah. “Get me that car for Christmas or there’ll be no sex for you. Take me to Cancún for our anniversary or I’ll spend everything in your bank account.”
Interesting, but not surprising. “This ultimatum had something to do with a man named Percy. Do you know anything about that?”
Abruptly, the smile slid from his face. “No, and I’m finished answering your questions.” He tried to get up, but he lost his balance and fell back into the chair with a thud.
My heart pounded in my chest at the sudden change in him, but I refused to cut and run. “A friend of mine heard her tell Big Daddy that this was the last straw. That she wasn’t going to let him embarrass her. Do you have any idea why she’d say that?”
“I just told you,” he snapped. His eyes had taken on a strange focus, and the bleary-eyed drunk turned into something raw and powerful right in front of me. “I don’t know anything about what happened between the two of them. I don’t care what happened between the two of them.” He stood, this time without trouble. “I think you’d better leave now.”
He did
n’t have to tell me twice. I got up and scurried toward the door and freedom. But as I stepped out onto the dimly lit landing, I couldn’t leave without asking one more question. “Another friend of mine says he heard you arguing with Big Daddy a little before one in the morning. You promised to pay him back, and he told you he was sending you to rehab. You owed him money. For what?”
“I don’t mean to be rude, darlin’, but that’s none of your damn business.” The door slammed between us, and I bolted down the stairs, cursing myself for taking such a stupid chance and grateful that he’d done nothing worse than growl at me.
Judd hadn’t exactly been a font of information, but I knew one thing that I hadn’t known when I arrived: Susannah wasn’t the only Boudreaux lying about what happened the night that Big Daddy died.
Thirty-two
I thought about my conversations with the Boudreauxes all the way home. I was convinced that one of them had killed Big Daddy, but which one? Had Big Daddy found out about Susannah’s relationship with Tyson? Maybe he’d confronted her and gotten himself killed in a fit of passion. But if he really was sleeping with Violet, would he have cared that much about Susannah’s sexual activities? I might have been wrong, but I doubted Susannah had killed him in a jealous rage.
Their sleeping arrangements must not have been what they’d argued about, I reasoned. Susannah was the one who’d drawn the line in the sand. Whatever upset her, it was something Big Daddy had done, not the other way around.
Judd was clearly lying about his argument with his brother. He’d owed him money, and while he’d promised to pay it back, that hadn’t been enough for Big Daddy, who’d threatened to put Judd in rehab. Why? After covering for him all these years, after bailing him out from one trouble situation after another, what had Judd done that had driven Big Daddy to change the way he’d been handling his brother?
I went round and round the questions all the way home, but I wasn’t going to find the answers in my own head. I wanted to talk with Violet and find out if she could shed any light on what Big Daddy had going with Percy, but I couldn’t do it tonight. It was too late, and I was too tired.
The lights were out on the main floor, so I started upstairs to my bedroom. The door to the guest room was open and I saw Aunt Yolanda on the bed, curled up with a book. Alone. I stopped for a moment to talk with her as I climbed the stairs to my room. We’d done the same thing so many times when I was younger that things felt normal for a moment. If we’d been in Albuquerque, I’d have assumed that Uncle Nestor was at the restaurant. But we weren’t, and he wasn’t.
Aunt Yolanda might be able to pretend that everything was normal, but I couldn’t. I asked her where he was, and she nodded toward the ceiling. “Upstairs on your terrace. He’s been up there for hours.”
“Is he all right?”
She frowned and gave a little shrug. “I’m sure he is.”
That answer was so out of character for her that I moved into the bedroom and sat on the foot of the bed. “How long is this going to go on, Tía?”
She kept her eyes on her book. “I’m only going to finish this chapter. It’s late, and I’m tired.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”
She flipped a page, pointedly refusing to look at me. “What I know is that it’s never a good idea to get involved in someone else’s relationship. I’m sure I’ve mentioned that to you before.”
“Yeah. You have. But this is ridiculous. You know how much Uncle Nestor loves you.”
Her gaze finally left the book. She locked eyes with me. “This is between your uncle and me,” she said, her voice harder than I’d ever heard it. She marked her place with a bookmark and set the book aside. “I’m tired. I’d like to go to sleep.”
Her reaction confused and frightened me, but I stood up and went back to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said.
She mumbled something, but her voice was too low and I couldn’t hear it. With my heart aching, I climbed to the third floor, but instead of going into my own bedroom, I kept going to the rooftop garden.
It’s a beautiful space filled with large planters holding trees and flowering bushes, a wrought-iron railing allowing a view of the street below, and a stone table with chairs in the center. Twinkling white lights in the trees and along the railing make the whole thing feel like a fairy tale.
Almost losing my life here last summer had turned the fairy tale into a nightmare, but I was slowly learning to relax in this space. New Orleans is never a quiet city, and during carnival season the noise level multiplies. I could hear the revelry all around me. Parties. Music. Laughing. Fireworks in the distance. One of the smaller krewes was having its parade a few blocks away, and the sounds from that hit me softly, as if they’d been wrapped in cotton.
Uncle Nestor sat in a patio chair with his back to the door. He held a glass of water in one hand, but he ignored it and stared up at the sky. I didn’t want to startle him, so I cleared my throat as I stepped out onto the rooftop.
He didn’t move a muscle. “I wondered when you’d come looking for me. You’re home late. Again.”
“It’s the nature of the business,” I said as I walked toward him. “You know what it’s like.”
He dipped his head a fraction of an inch. “You’re very busy. Maybe too busy.”
“Only for a few more days,” I reminded him. “Once Mardi Gras is over, things will slow down.”
He nodded. Sipped. Let out a sigh that came from somewhere near the bottom of his soul.
I worried about how all this stress was affecting his heart. “How are you holding up, Tío? Are you feeling okay?”
“Physically?” He darted a glance at me. “I’m fine.”
“But…”
He turned back to the sky. “Your aunt is angry with me.”
“I noticed.” I pulled a chair around and sat beside him. “Does she have reason to be?”
He shook his head slowly, leaning forward slightly and resting his arms on his thighs. “For what happened at the party? No.”
I didn’t like that answer. It was too open-ended. Too full of negative possibilities. The twelve-year-old I’d been when Uncle Nestor took me in after my parents’ death wanted to let it go. Since the accident he’d been my rock. My protector. I wanted to protect him now. But my adult self knew I couldn’t leave his answer lying in the dark.
“But there’s some reason she feels this way.” It wasn’t a question.
Uncle Nestor let out another of those soul-wrenching sighs. “I suppose so.”
“You suppose so?”
“It happened a long time ago. It doesn’t matter now.”
I gaped at him. “Aunt Yolanda is downstairs in bed. Alone. You’re up here staring at the stars. Alone. Apparently it matters.”
He tried to work up some irritation, but it lacked steam. “It’s between your aunt and me.”
“Yeah. Right.” I let out a sigh of my own and leaned back in my seat. Maybe the stars would have some answers for me. Nobody else seemed willing to give me any. “You know, I’m doing my best to help you, but you sure don’t make it easy. I understand you’re not big on sharing everything you feel, but would it hurt so much to talk to me?”
He turned his face to the sky again and I figured that was that. Our bonding moment was over. I was just about to give up and go downstairs to bed when he started talking.
“It was a long time ago. Before you came to us.”
I didn’t breathe for a few seconds. I didn’t want to do anything that would make him shut down again. Part of me wanted him to rip the bandage off the wound quickly, but I forced myself to wait.
“It was after Aaron was born,” he said. “I made a mistake. A stupid mistake. It meant nothing, but things were rough between Yolanda and me. She was exhausted. Tired from a difficult pregnancy and trying to care for four little boys who had way too much energy. I was exhausted and worried about the money. I had no idea how we’d make it, and every tim
e I turned around, she was telling me about something else we needed to buy.”
“So you turned to someone else.”
He nodded miserably.
I didn’t know what to feel. He’d cheated on his wife. He’d betrayed her, and even though it had happened years ago, I felt as if he’d betrayed me. The idea of him being with someone else made me physically ill. But the pain on his face landed on my heart like a rock. “Did you love her?”
“No!” He dropped his head as if he simply didn’t have the strength to hold it up any longer. “It wasn’t about love. It was about fear. I hated the way I felt at home. I wasn’t making it. I didn’t think I could make it. Every time I walked through the door and saw Yolanda and the kids looking at me, I felt like a failure.”
I put my feet on the cement border in front of me. “That’s no excuse, you know.”
He laughed without humor. “Not an excuse, just an explanation. It only lasted three months, but I’ve been paying for it for the past thirty years.”
“She hasn’t forgiven you?”
The back door of the Thai restaurant next door opened with a loud squeak, followed by the clang of metal as someone tossed trash into the Dumpster. Uncle Nestor waited to speak until the door closed again.
“She’s forgiven me as much as it’s possible to forgive, I guess. Her God won’t let her do any less. But she hasn’t forgotten.”
“I’m not sure it’s possible to forget something like that,” I said. “At least, I don’t think I could. Not really.”
“Well, that’s fair,” he said with a sad smile. “I haven’t forgotten it either. And she’s a step ahead of me. I haven’t forgiven myself. I’m not sure I ever will.”
I put my hand on top of his and we sat in silence for a moment. But we weren’t finished. I still had questions to ask. “I went to see Susannah Boudreaux this afternoon.”
He looked confused. “Who’s that?”
“The woman you kissed at the party.”
Cake on a Hot Tin Roof Page 21
