Last night she had offered to move over to Mary’s until the funeral and Mary had accepted her offer. Heaven had called as soon as she got up and arranged for a rental car. She was sure there were plenty of cars at the Whittens’ but she wanted the independence of her own vehicle.
Next Heaven called home. She needed to let Hank and Murray know she wouldn’t be home on Monday as planned. Hank didn’t answer at her house and she considered calling his mother’s. Even though they technically lived together, Hank still had clothes and other belongings at his mother’s house. His mother didn’t approve of Hank having a girlfriend twenty years older than he, so as long as he still had stuff in his childhood room, it was easier for his mother to think of Heaven as temporary. Heaven thought of herself as temporary. She refused to believe that Hank wouldn’t eventually want to marry someone his own age and have a family. Hank was the only one who didn’t think of their relationship that way. He was very happy with things as they were.
She decided not to call Hank’s mother. If Hank wasn’t at the hospital, he was probably going to church with his mom, then on to lunch with her. Heaven just left him a message on her home phone, telling him about Truely and leaving the phone number at Mary’s house.
Murray was home. He picked up on the second ring and Heaven told him briefly about the dinner and the murder.
“Can you live without me a few more days?” she asked.
“You know we’ll be fine. It was an easy weekend. No problems in the kitchen. And Jack was in again and seemed almost normal, not just normal for him, but really normal,” Murray said. “What would you think of him working some in the kitchen?”
“Well, I’d be willing to give it a try. Does Jack think he wants to cook?”
“He’s mentioned it a couple of times. It’ll wait until you come home.”
“I have some good news,” Heaven said, and told him about the hate mail being connected to New Orleans and the sisters.
“You’re kidding. All the other chefs got them too?”
“Yeah, but no one wanted to bring it up because they all thought, just like I did, that it was a disgruntled employee or a local maniac. It was a big relief to us all when we discovered that it was simply a plot to discredit us because we were cooking for the sisters.”
“I don’t know, Heaven. When that qualifies as good news, it’s time to get out of Dodge. I wish you’d just come home.” She could hear the anxiety in Murray’s voice.
“I’d love to, but I can’t leave Mary like this. Truely and Mary have no children and I’m not sure about Truely’s family, whether anyone still lives in town. There may be some elderly aunts. I know his parents are dead. I think Mary’s originally from Minnesota or something.”
“And what about the fact that he was stabbed with your knife?” Murray said, still thinking of things to worry about.
“What I said to the police was that there were dozens of chef’s knifes around and it was just a coincidence that the killers chose the knife of someone who actually knew the victim. It was my Global and they’re such cool-looking knives, it probably caught the killer’s eye. That’s what I said but I’m not even sure I believe it.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m sure my knives were put away in their case under the table. We were all careful to keep track of our knives and I’d put mine away just after we served the Nola Pie. I didn’t think I’d need them to scoop sorbet.”
“I’m telling you, I don’t feel good about this. When’s the funeral?” Murray asked.
“Tuesday, I think, but it could be held up by the autopsy. If I’m not coming home on Wednesday, I’ll call you. And you call me if you need me.”
Heaven gave Murray the phone number at Mary’s and they hung up, promising to get in touch with each other at the first inkling of a disaster on the horizon, either in Kansas City or New Orleans.
Heaven heard them before she saw them.
She’d arrived at the Whittens’ twenty minutes before. The maid let her in, her usual pink uniform replaced with a black one. Perhaps, when you were employed as a maid in New Orleans, they gave you a set of uniforms, one for regular days and one for mourning occasions. Already the place had the look of a funeral home. Flowers crowded the hall. Heaven went right upstairs and put her things away in the bedroom she’d used a few weeks earlier. That seemed so long ago now.
Heaven was convinced she should say something to Mary about the big man in Truely’s office, for Mary’s own good. This was no time to worry about whether Truely was mixed up with the wrong crowd. As she went downstairs to find Mary she heard another familiar voice.
“Don’t you have an ounce of sense?” Will Tibbetts barked sternly.
Heaven thought that was a strange way to tell a widow to buck up.
“This is really an insult. The coffee business isn’t on my mind right now,” Mary said, her voice sounding as though she was close to tears.
What was that about? Heaven would have listened outside the door, but they spotted her coming through the dining room on her way to the glassed-in porch where they were sitting drinking Bloody Marys. I guess this is the Southern way to mourn, she thought, then scolded herself. If you can’t drink a Bloody Mary on the Sunday morning after your husband gets stabbed on Saturday night, when can you?
“Heaven, when did you get here?” Will crossed the room swiftly and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
Now that she could see as well as hear, she realized both Mary and Will were speaking to a third person, the one pacing nervously from one side of the porch to the other. It was the man who had been talking to Truely in the hotel bar, the man who owned the other coffee importing business in New Orleans. Heaven cleared her throat. “Just a few minutes ago. I put my bags upstairs. Mary, how are you?” She gave her old friend a hug and sat down on the wicker love seat beside her.
Mary looked like hell. She glanced up at Will before answering. “I’m still in shock.”
Will looked at her sympathetically. “Yes, and then ol’ Leon here comes marching in here like he owned the place, demanding Mary sell the business to him.”
Leon Davis adjusted his tie for the second or third time since Heaven entered the room. “He promised me first right of refusal. Just name your price.”
Quickly Mary got up. “You must act like a gentleman, Leon, and let me bury my husband. You understand, don’t you?”
Nonplused by that tactic, Leon Davis halted his nervous pacing. Will swooped at him and put a hand on his back, guiding him toward the hall. “Name your price,” Leon yelled over his shoulder. Heaven and Mary watched silently. When Will returned to the room, he went straight to the bar.
“He’s gone. Sorry about that, Mary. We’ll have to tell everyone in the house no more visitors today.” And he changed the subject firmly. “Heaven, I meant to ask the police last night, but I forgot. Where the hell was that guard you said the chefs hired?” Will handed Heaven a Bloody Mary he’d mixed for her.
“The explosion. He went down to help with traffic control on Ursulines. I think he, and the rest of us, thought the dinner had been pulled off without a hitch. It didn’t occur to anyone that the explosion might be a diversionary tactic.”
Mary looked alarmed. “Is that what you think now?”
“I didn’t hear the police say anything about the two being related,” Will said, with his usual skepticism at Heaven’s theories.
Heaven explained. “The police aren’t dumb. It must have crossed their minds, even if they didn’t mention it yet. They know the convent has had a lot of trouble. Then, just when the sisters are having their big benefit, an explosion occurs just a half block away and creates all kinds of chaos, someone comes up dead at the dinner and no one saw a thing because they were all distracted by the explosion. Sounds fishy to me.”
“But why Truely as the victim? He had nothing to do with the sisters except for helping me with this benefit. He didn’t even go to the Holy Trinity Academy growing up.” Mary was getting upset
again.
Heaven warmed to her subject. “Think, Mary. Maybe it had something to do with Truely’s business. You work in international law and your husband was an international importer. Surely, you must have some idea about the coffee importing business. It can’t just be a bunch of kindly farmers like Juan Valdez.”
Mary shook her head. “No one would want to kill Truely. I think he was just the innocent victim of the maniac that’s been terrorizing the sisters and their old convent. The victim could have been anyone. They just wanted a dead body.”
Heaven stopped trying to get her point across. It was easier for Mary to believe that than the other alternative, the one that Heaven was suggesting. “And that’s a good explanation too. I’m sure the police are working on all the angles,” she said.
The phone rang, and soon the maid rang them on the intercom and announced it was for Will. He picked it up and talked briefly with his back turned to Heaven and Mary. Then he spun around and shook his finger at Heaven. “Well, sugar, one of your conspiracy theories has just been shot down.”
The houseman came around the corner with plates on a tea cart. They had good-smelling crepes filled with some kind of a cheesy chicken mixture on them. Everyone grabbed a plate. Heaven was glad to see Mary had an appetite.
Heaven flopped down on a big white rattan chair with flowered chintz pillows and dug into the crepes. “Which one?” she said and sipped her drink.
“One of my neighbors on Governor Nicholls is a reporter at the Times-Picauyne” Will said. “I slipped him a hundred bucks this morning to go in on his day off and see what was shakin’ with this case. That was him saying that the police just released the information that the explosion was caused by a methamphetamine lab blowing up. It was just some punks who didn’t know their chemistry, not someone planning a ‘diversionary tactic,’ as you put it.”
Heaven started to argue with Will but looked at her friend Mary’s face and thought better of it. Mary was holding her temples and pressing in, like she was having a terrible headache. “You know, Kansas City is one of the meth capitals of the country,” Heaven said conversationally. “We have those explosions every weekend, when some idiot who’s already been high for days tries to cook up a batch for the weekend customers. It’s a dangerous activity. Mary, can I do some phone calls for you? It would be so much easier for me.”
A tear slid down Mary’s face. “I was hoping you would do that. Truely has lots of second and third cousins around the country. I don’t expect many of them to come to the service but I should let them know. Will called Truely’s auntie, who lives out in Meterie, early this morning. He and I, of course, didn’t want her to see it in the paper first. She’s eighty.” Mary’s voice trailed off.
Heaven reached over and touched her friend’s arm. “Do you by any chance have a list, or should we go through your address book?”
“I made a list last night, or this morning I guess it was, when I was wide awake. It worked. When I saw all the people who should be notified, there’s Truely’s business associates as well as the family, I became exhausted and was able to sleep for a couple of hours. Heaven, are you sure you want to do this?”
Heaven had put her drink glass down on a beautiful round oak table, then thought better of it and picked it up again. “I’ll just go in to the kitchen and sit at the table in there. When’s the …” she lost the ability to say the word funeral.
Will, who had been standing up since his phone call, circling the room, gave Heaven her answer over his shoulder. “Wednesday at eleven at the cathedral. They couldn’t guarantee the medical examiner would be done in time for Tuesday services.” He continued circling, not aware of the grizzly images of autopsy he had planted in both women’s heads.
Heaven paused at the door. “Oh, by the way, Will, I have to be gone this evening for a couple of hours, from six to eight, say. Can you be here then so Mary won’t have to be alone?”
Will turned and smiled. He looked terrible and Heaven realized he must be devastated by his friend’s death. “I’m here for the duration, darlin’,” he said sadly.
Heaven backed out of the Whittens’ driveway, pausing before she pulled into the street to check her directions. She’d considered calling Hank’s relatives and canceling their meeting, but after spending several hours on the phone delivering the bad news about Truely, she was anxious to get out of the house.
She picked up Highway 90 and drove for several miles, then she noticed the road was now called Chef Mentuer Highway. It was a down-at-the-heels part of town, but certainly not abandoned. The mix of muffler shops and warehouses, beer joints and storefront churches was all still in use.
Soon undeveloped land appeared on the sides of the road and Heaven knew she must be out of New Orleans. It wasn’t long before she saw the first building with a sign announcing a Vietnamese grocery. And soon on both sides of the highway there were strip malls from the 1970s, abandoned by their original owners, with Vietnamese symbols and names. Many of the signs advertised restaurants and groceries, but there were also lawyers, doctors and accountants.
Heaven spotted a yellow sign on a storefront that advertised FAMILY MEDICAL PRACTICE AND DENTISTRY in both English and Vietnamese. She pulled into the parking lot, which was still about half full of cars. The restaurants and offices all seemed to be open, families going in and out, and young Vietnamese men were standing in front of a pool hall laughing and exchanging a version of high fives. It was a typical American Sunday evening, except all the faces were Asian.
Heaven put her head on the steering wheel and tried to breathe deeply. She was nervous about meeting Hank’s cousins. She was tired from the day at Mary’s. She took her hands and pulled the skin of her face tight, hoping she didn’t look as old and beat-up as she felt. Hank’s favorite cousin was very polite on the phone, but Heaven had been a little hurt that he had suggested meeting at the office, instead of at home. Now she understood. Mothers with small children and men with their older mothers in tow were going in and out of the doctor’s office. The cousins obviously had Sunday office hours. Heaven shook out her hands, put on some lipstick and got out of the car. Before she could get four steps, a boy of about ten came running out of the office to her.
“Are you Uncle Hank’s girlfriend?” he asked cheerfully.
“I’m your man. I mean, I’m your woman,” Heaven said with a smile, trying to ignore her own shaky start. She’d forgotten all the packages, so she went back to the car and opened the trunk. “I’ve brought some things from your Uncle Hank.”
The boy, eyes snapping with intelligence and interest in the loot, politely held out his hands. “Do you want me to carry something?” he asked.
“Yes, will you take this shopping bag, please?” Heaven said as they walked toward the offices. “I know your uncle found that new Game Boy game you’ve been wanting.”
“Uncle Hank’s the best. I miss him. He never comes to visit anymore.”
She felt a pang of guilt. Hank was a busy doctor. She knew she wasn’t the only reason he couldn’t go on family visits too often. But she also knew any spare time he’d had lately had been spent with her instead of his family. “Hank told me to tell you he’s bringing his mother and they’re coming to visit when you’re off for summer vacation this year and can take him around.”
The boy’s eyes lit up with pleasure. “I’m George.”
“I’m Heaven, George. Nice to meet you.”
A man older than Hank but with his same striking good looks came out of the back of the office and extended his hand quickly to Heaven. There were still a few people in the waiting room. “I’m so glad to meet you, Heaven. Hank has told us so much about you. I’m Tran Wing, and I guess you’ve already met my son, George.”
“For some reason, George picked me right out of the crowd and has been my escort,” Heaven said, deciding this was no time to stop using irony.
“Uncle Hank told me to look for the brightest red hair,” George explained solemnly, as if he’d had
several shades of redheaded women to choose from.
“My wife, who is a pediatrician, and my brother, who’s a dentist, still have patients, but I’ve finished up. Let’s go next door so you can meet our mother and George’s little sister.”
They stepped into another part of the offices, a big comfortable room with a small kitchen and sofas and toys. A television was humming in the background with 60 Minutes tuned in. There must have been ten people in the room; the matriarch, the spouses and the children of this branch of Hank’s family. Heaven hoped she had gifts for them all. They fell silent when Heaven walked in. Very formally, Tran took Heaven up to each person and introduced her, explaining the relationship they held to Hank.
Then Heaven quickly opened up the shopping bags full of remembrances from Kansas City. There was something for everyone plus three or four gifts for relatives that hadn’t been able to make it to this viewing of the girlfriend. It was a mini version of Christmas and Hank had written each person a note. From what Heaven could tell from the bits and pieces that the cousins read aloud, each note was personal and elegant, just like Hank himself. By the time this gift giving was completed, the other two doctors had joined the rest of the family in this adjunct rec room.
Tran, as the spokesperson for the family, rose and started putting the gifts back in the shopping bags to be taken home. “I’m sorry we couldn’t invite you to our house. It isn’t far from here but since Sunday is a very busy day in our practice, we thought we could all go next door and have some supper together and it would be more convenient.”
“I don’t cook on Sundays,” Iran’s wife said, not apologetic, just matter-of-fact. She was stretching her back, like someone who had been on their feet a long time.
“I think it’s great that you have office hours on Sunday. It must help your patients a great deal.”
Tran nodded. “There’s still a great many shrimp boat owners in our community, that and people working in the hospitality industry of course. The shrimpers aren’t home much during the week and hospitality workers have irregular hours. And many of our children go to parochial schools and don’t get back here until evening. There’s no time for them to go to the doctor or the dentist until the weekend.”
Red Beans and Vice Page 11
