1 Bless Her Dead Little Heart

by Miranda James

  An’gel regarded the four impassively. “Mr. and Mrs. Thurmond arrived a little while ago and are upstairs in their room.” She paused. “I am afraid that Mrs. Cameron and Mrs. Pittman will need to share a room. Mr. Pittman, there is a small apartment over the garage out back that should suit you.”

  “Sounds fine to me. Thank you, ma’am,” Junior said. He actually looked relieved, Dickce thought. Probably glad to be as far away from his mother as possible.

  “What about my daughter?” Bernice Cameron frowned at An’gel. “Isn’t there a bedroom for her?”

  “Unfortunately there isn’t,” An’gel said. “There is, however, a trundle bed in Rosabelle’s room that should suffice. If Mr. Pittman and Mr. Thurmond won’t mind, I’ll ask them to move it into your room, Mrs. Pittman.”

  “The trundle bed sounds like fun.” Juanita Cameron smiled. “No, Mother, really, I’ve always wondered what one is like. But perhaps it could stay in Granny’s room, and I could sleep there? I’m a nurse, and I can look after Granny when she isn’t feeling well.”

  Dickce was relieved that An’gel hadn’t suggested she move in with her sister. They had not shared a bedroom since they were young girls, and she didn’t relish the thought of doing it now. But would Rosabelle want her granddaughter in her room with her? she wondered.

  “If Rosabelle has no objection,” An’gel said, “that is fine with me. I will ask her once she has finished resting. Now, if you will follow me, I will show the ladies to their room. Dickce will be happy to go with you, Mr. Pittman, to the garage apartment and check it out.” She did not wait for a reply but turned and headed for the stairs.

  Bernice and Maudine glanced at each other, then followed their hostess. Juanita paused to smile at Dickce before she trailed after them.

  Dickce turned to Junior Pittman. “If you will come with me, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

  Junior blushed. “Thank you, ma’am. It’s awfully kind of you and your sister to put us up like this. I know it’s a terrible imposition.” He stared at the floor.

  Dickce could tell he was embarrassed by his family. “That’s quite all right. Don’t you even think about it.” At her feet, Diesel warbled as if he agreed with her.

  The young man smiled at the cat. “He sounds like he’s trying to talk.”

  “He is,” Dickce said. “He can be pretty chatty. Now let’s go out the front.” She thought it better not to disturb Clementine in the kitchen just now.

  Cat and man followed her outside, and they walked without speaking along the driveway as it branched off behind the house. The garage, converted from the cookhouse it had been until the end of the Civil War, stood about fifty yards behind the mansion. It had room for three cars, and at the moment it held the sisters’ late-model Lexus and Rosabelle’s dusty Cadillac.

  Dickce headed for a door near the empty slot and tugged it open. She reached in and flipped the light switch to illuminate the cramped staircase. Diesel scampered ahead of her and was about halfway up the stairs when he stopped, head extended, sniffing.

  Probably mice, Dickce thought. It had been a few months since anyone had checked the place.

  She turned to offer an apology for the apartment’s likely condition but instead froze, her mouth open.

  Above them, the floorboards creaked, the sound much too loud to be caused by a mouse.

  CHAPTER 5

  An’gel opened the door of the second guest room and stood aside to let the women enter. Maudine brushed past her, still obviously rankled by An’gel’s refusal to let her check on Rosabelle.

  “I suppose this will do,” Maudine said. Bernice nodded with a tentative smile at her hostess.

  Annoyed by the rude tone, An’gel suspected that Maudine, as the elder of the two, took the lead in everything, leaving Bernice to follow meekly in her wake. Thank goodness Dickce had more gumption. An’gel couldn’t abide women who didn’t speak up for themselves.

  Juanita slipped past An’gel to stand beside her mother. “What a lovely room,” she said, her face alight with obvious pleasure. “Miss Ducote, does all the furniture date from the antebellum period?”

  An’gel noted that Maudine frowned at her niece’s enthusiasm. “Yes, it does, although the mattress is modern, I can assure you. You should find it comfortable.”

  “What about the bathroom?” Maudine glanced around the room. “There’s only one door in here, and that has to be a closet.”

  “The bathroom is next door,” An’gel replied, her tone pleasant despite the other woman’s rudeness. “You will be sharing it with your mother.”

  “Oh, dear,” Bernice muttered with a glance at her sister.

  “I suppose you have to expect it in an old house like this.” Maudine sniffed. “My house in California has four bedrooms, and each one has its own bathroom.”

  Juanita frowned at her aunt. “Before this, I’ve never had the opportunity to be a guest in a house with such a long history, Miss Ducote. I’m sure I’ll enjoy every minute I spend here.”

  An’gel smiled at the young woman. At least one member of Rosabelle’s family had manners, though An’gel had to wonder how on earth Juanita had learned them. Miss Manners would have a field day with the rest of the clan.

  “Thank you.” An’gel noted that Maudine didn’t appear to have paid any attention to Juanita’s rebuke, although Bernice at least had the grace to appear slightly abashed.

  “Where did you put Wade and Marla?” Maudine asked.

  “They have the guest room upstairs,” An’gel said.

  “Don’t tell me we have to share the bathroom with them, too?” Maudine glowered at An’gel.

  “No, there is a bathroom upstairs,” An’gel said, already anticipating Maudine’s sour reaction to this bit of news.

  “I can’t believe Marla gets a private bathroom while we have to share one.”

  The way Maudine’s nostrils flared, An’gel thought, she looked like an irritated horse. Dickce was hard put not to laugh.

  Bernice touched her sister’s arm. “Now, Maudine, it won’t be that bad. It wouldn’t be right for Wade to have to share a bathroom with Mother, after all.”

  Maudine frowned at her sister. Before she could speak, however, Juanita intervened. “Perhaps it would be better if we went to a hotel. I’m sure you can recommend a good one in town, Miss Ducote?”

  Both Maudine and Bernice appeared aghast at Juanita’s suggestion. Maudine opened her mouth but nothing came out.

  Appreciative of the young woman’s tactics, An’gel nodded and smiled. “The Farrington House is the oldest and most highly regarded hotel in Athena. I’d be more than happy to call and make a reservation.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. I’m sure we’ll be perfectly comfortable here.” Maudine smiled weakly. “After all, it is really kind of you to open your home to us like this.”

  Maudine changed her mind pretty quickly, An’gel was amused to note. She was also pleased that the woman finally made an effort to behave in a more polite fashion.

  “My sister and I are delighted to help our old friend and her family. I’m sure you all must be in need of refreshment,” An’gel said briskly. “If you would care to join me in the front parlor in about ten minutes, there will be iced tea for you. Miss Cameron, we’ll get you settled once your grandmother is finished resting.” She paused long enough to get nods from the sisters and a broad grin from Juanita before she left the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

  An’gel had begun to descend the stairs when she heard whistling from nearby. Startled, she turned to her left to see Rosabelle, her door cracked about two inches, mouth pursed to whistle again.

  An’gel approached the room, and Rosabelle stood back to let her enter. She closed the door and leaned against it.

  “What are they doing here?” she asked.

  “The same as the
rest of your family, I suppose,” An’gel replied tartly. “They’ve come to check on you.”

  “To murder me, you mean,” Rosabelle muttered. She moved away from the door and sank into a chair in front of the vanity. “I have nowhere else to go and no money to get anywhere either. So I guess I’m stuck.” She closed her eyes and sighed.

  “You ought to be safe enough here,” An’gel said. “They’d have to be crazy to try to harm you while you’re our guest.” Given what she had observed thus far of Rosabelle’s family, she couldn’t put a lot of conviction in her tone. She felt she had to try to reassure her old sorority sister, though.

  Rosabelle’s eyes popped open. “You don’t know how desperate they are.” She shuddered. “They would throw me to a pack of ravenous dogs if they thought they could get away with it.”

  An’gel wanted to shake her. She understood that Rosabelle was badly frightened, but her tendency to overdramatize got old quickly.

  “There’s no pack of ravenous dogs here, and you’re certainly not Jezebel,” she said in a mild tone. “So you’re safe from that.”

  Rosabelle glowered at her, and An’gel thought how much Maudine resembled her mother. “I’m glad you find my situation so humorous.”

  All at once An’gel felt tired, so she went over and sat on the bed. Maybe Dickce had been right to suggest that she throw the whole clan out. Why had she even agreed to let them stay in the first place?

  Because I am accustomed to thinking that I can fix anything I set my mind to, she acknowledged ruefully to herself. And in my arrogance I just might have mixed Sister and me up in something nasty.

  She realized Rosabelle was still waiting for her to acknowledge her last remark. Get a hold of yourself, An’gel Ducote. You can help Rosabelle, so stop trying to borrow trouble. “I didn’t mean to make light of your plight,” she said. “You’re still tired, and I’m sure everything looks grim to you. Dickce and I will do our best to help you sort it all out, and you’ll be able to go home and not worry anymore.”

  Rosabelle appeared mollified by An’gel’s reply. “That would be wonderful. I could sleep the night through without being terrified.”

  “Why do you think one of them is so desperate to do away with you?” An’gel asked. “You told us that your house goes to Wade, but is that all? Would your daughters and grandchildren inherit anything significant?”

  Rosabelle shook her head. “I don’t have anything to my name really, not even the house. It’s mine for my lifetime, but then it goes to Wade. I get a barely adequate income for life from a trust set up by my first husband, but I can’t touch the capital. When I’m gone, however, the trust is dissolved, and the money goes to Maudine and Bernice.” She paused. “My second husband, Wade’s father, also left me a small income from a trust. Same situation, though. When I’m dead, Wade gets everything.”

  Though she had no idea how large the trusts were, An’gel suspected they were huge. Rosabelle wouldn’t have married poor men, or even moderately wealthy ones. Rosabelle liked money too much to settle for anyone less than a multimillionaire. An’gel also thought both men shrewd to set up trusts for Rosabelle; otherwise, she might have burned through the money and been left with nothing. Evidently the third husband had nothing to leave. She thought it odd Rosabelle didn’t mention him.

  Now that she was aware of Rosabelle’s financial position, however, An’gel could understand why the woman was frightened. Her children and grandchildren stood to inherit significant sums of money, and one of them might be tired of waiting to get hold of it. The question was, who was the most desperate? She and Dickce would have to ascertain what they could of the younger generation’s finances.

  An’gel reached over and patted Rosabelle’s hand. “Dickce and I will get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, you try to relax. I believe you’ll be safe here. I will let your family know, discreetly, of course, that Sister and I will be guarding your welfare closely.”

  “Thank you,” Rosabelle said, her eyes suddenly wet. “I don’t deserve such good friends.”

  An’gel forbore to respond to that comment. Instead she stood, her energy coming back. “Don’t think any more about it. I do have a question for you, however. Would you allow your granddaughter to share your room? There’s a trundle bed she can use, and we can move it across the hall to your daughters’ room if you’d prefer to be alone.”

  Rosabelle shook her head. “Juanita can stay with me. She and Junior aren’t like their parents, thank the Lord. They’re both sweet and loving.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I’ll feel safer with Juanita in the room with me at night.”

  “Very well, then. When you’re ready, you can let Juanita know. In the meantime I’m going downstairs to prepare iced tea for everyone. You can join us in the front parlor when you feel like it.”

  Rosabelle nodded, and An’gel left her, still ensconced in the chair, staring down at her hands.

  On the way to the kitchen, An’gel resolved to get to the heart of Rosabelle’s troubles quickly. She wanted the whole clan out of her house as soon as possible.

  CHAPTER 6

  Dickce stood still. Had she imagined the creaking floorboards overhead? Right now all she heard was the faint whirring of the air-conditioning.

  One glance at Junior Pittman’s face assured her she hadn’t imagined the sounds.

  She felt sweat forming on her forehead and scalp despite the cool, slightly dank air. The musty odor made her want to sneeze, and she pinched her nose to stop the tickle.

  Ahead of her, Diesel slowly climbed the stairs, body low, obviously in hunting mode.

  “Let me go first,” Junior whispered and motioned for her to let him pass.

  Dickce stepped back, and the young man moved upward, hardly making a sound. He laid a hand on the cat’s head, and Diesel stopped. When Junior’s head reached a point where he could see the upper room through the railing, he paused.

  Dickce saw his tensed shoulders relax.

  “Dang it, Benjy, what the heck are you doing here?” Junior sounded exasperated.

  Dickce waited on the stairs. Was the mysterious Benjy dangerous?

  “I didn’t have a lot of choice. You know what my mother’s like.” The petulant tones of a young man’s voice carried down to her. Diesel chirped but didn’t move.

  Junior turned to look down at Dickce and frowned. “It’s okay, ma’am. It’s only Benjy.” He disappeared from the stairway.

  Diesel climbed the rest of the way up to the landing with Dickce. Her left hand rested on the newel post at the head of the stairs as she paused to catch her breath and give her pulse time to stop racing.

  The apartment occupied the full second story of the garage. The bathroom was at the far end, along with a large closet. Otherwise, the space, which included a small kitchen and dining area, was open. The shabby but still serviceable furniture dated from the 1960s.

  We really need to replace all this, Dickce thought, before her attention settled on the newcomer.

  A youth of perhaps nineteen or twenty, clad in ragged jeans and a garishly colored T-shirt, regarded her with an uncertain smile. His shaggy blond hair, an inch past shoulder length, reminded Dickce of the pageboy style all the young people wore in the 1950s. Each ear sported two earrings, and each eyebrow had a small ring at the outer edge. Dickce was surprised there were no visible tattoos, given his other adornments and choice of clothing. He looked like young men she saw on the street whenever she and An’gel went to Memphis to shop.

  Junior Pittman said, “Miss Ducote, this is Benjy Stephens, Marla’s son. Benjy, Miss Dickce Ducote.”

  Benjy shook her proffered hand gently. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  “You are quite a surprise, young man,” Dickce said, her tone prim. “Before we go any further, we need more air.” How did Benjy know about the garage apartment? She marched across the room to a window that overlooked th
e woods behind the mansion and set the air conditioner on high.

  Dickce turned back to the two men. Diesel was rubbing himself against Benjy’s legs, and the youth grinned as he scratched the cat’s head.

  “Why didn’t you come in with your parents when you arrived?” Dickce felt embarrassed when she saw the layer of dust that coated everything in the apartment. Motes floated in the air, disturbed by the force of the air conditioner blower. She wasn’t thrilled to discover yet another guest, but she noted that at least Diesel seemed to approve of him. She had to wonder also whether there were any more family members who might pop up. The situation was beginning to border on the ridiculous.

  Benjy’s face darkened as he pulled his hand away from Diesel. “Mom told me there probably wouldn’t be room in the house for me. She said I should stay out here. The Wart’s mother told them about the apartment over the garage, I guess.” He shrugged. “The door wasn’t locked anyway, so I figured nobody would mind.”

  Diesel chirped to remind Benjy that he needed attention, and Benjy resumed scratching the cat’s head.

  Dickce assumed that the nickname referred to the boy’s stepfather, Wade Thurmond. No love lost there, she reckoned. Then she wondered what kind of mother would tell her child such a thing. Her already low opinion of Marla Stephens plummeted even further.

  “We don’t usually lock it,” Dickce said, her tone gentle. “I’m afraid there is no more room in the house. You’re welcome to stay here, but you’ll have to share with Mr. Pittman.” The apartment contained a double bed and a large sofa, and the two ought to be comfortable enough here. “I’m sorry about the dust, but we haven’t had the place aired and cleaned in months.”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Junior said. “A little dust isn’t going to bother me. I don’t have any allergies.”

  Benjy snorted. “Me either. Mom would have a fit, though, if she had to sleep in here. She’s allergic to all kinds of weird stuff.”

  Dickce nodded. “Yes, I believe she did mention her allergies.”