by B K Baxter
My eyes widened. “Did you ever find out why Tabby slapped her husband?”
“I went into the house later to tell Vince I’d finished the job and overheard the two of them arguing. From what I could make out, they were fighting about evicting Tabby’s mother from the land she’s on. At first, I thought Vince was the one pushing for the eviction, but it really sounded like it was Tabby who wanted her gone. Which was confusing.” He shook his head. “Maybe I got it all wrong. I don’t know. Vince heard my footsteps and the argument stopped, so I can’t be sure what all was said.”
I watched as Ethan finished the lemonade, then nodded in some kind of southern gentleman salute. “Mind if I go wash up?”
“Help yourself.”
Chonks started talking to him the minute he entered, and I heard the cat’s little paws hitting the hardwood as he chased after Ethan before the door closed and muffled the sound. The silence gave me the opportunity to mull over what I’d found out from Ethan.
Why would someone have tried to make it look like a suicide? The obvious reason was to cover their tracks. If the sheriff and the coroner thought it was a suicide, they might not look closely at the body. But if suicide was so out of character, any local person would have known that the Rains siblings would see through the staging. Which meant the murderer was really trying to throw suspicion off himself and onto someone else.
Stanley had been arrested for the crime due to his being the last person seen with the deceased and his T-shirt being found at the scene. But if a young man the town called Taz was clever and careful enough to set up the suicide to cover his actions, why would he have left his shirt behind? It didn’t make any sense. Unless someone had set it up to make it look like Stanley was the murderer.
But even that supposition had problems. Why move the body to the auto garage where one of Tabby’s exes worked if the murderer was going to pin his crime on Taz? Nothing made sense with the clues as I understood them. I needed to talk to more people on my makeshift list of suspects.
Ethan came out of the house and was forced to persuade Chonks to stay inside. I couldn’t help but smile at the exchange, even if it meant that the handsome handyman was about to depart.
“How much do I owe you?” I asked.
“The work was minimal, so let’s just say it’s on the house.”
Another gift. The folks of New Orleans sure were generous. “I can’t accept that. You did a lot of work today.”
“Consider it a welcome gift. And when you need more substantial work, like these old houses often do, give me a call then.”
“Thanks,” I said, thinking that I could listen to his southern drawl all night long. Ethan was walking down the steps when I thought of one more use for his New Orleans-based knowledge. “Say, if one wanted to run into Vince Means, not by making an appointment or anything but just casually coming across him somewhere in town, where would be the best place to do so?”
The corner of the handyman’s mouth quirked up. “Thinking about becoming the next Mrs. Means?” he asked, laughing.
I shook my head vigorously. “Oh, no! You have the wrong idea. I just—”
“It’s okay,” he said, his smile widening. “Vince isn’t too social with most of us locals, but he’s usually at the New Orleans Bazaar on Saturdays. He’s a classic car aficionado, and his club usually meets in the municipal lot beside the bazaar. You might be able to accidentally encounter him there.”
“I didn’t mean…” I trailed off as Ethan walked away, waving over his head in a signal that said my protests didn’t matter. I bit my lip, wondering if he was joking with me or if he actually thought I was the type of woman who would go after a man right after he’d buried his last wife, just because he had money.
“I bet this never happened to Miss Marple,” I said, then opened the door to go inside. I’d forgotten the state Chonks had worked himself into, however, so the cat burst out of the house like a shot, and I spent the next half hour chasing him as he ran down the drive after Ethan’s truck.
“I should just let you go!” I wheezed as Chonks did his best to evade capture. “You know they have gators down here!”
Chonks looked at me with a reckless air, as if to say gators had nothing on him. Maybe he was right. Any gator dumb enough to swallow that mass of fur was sure to have indigestion fit to kill it.
Chapter 9
The New Orleans Bazaar was meant to evoke the image of some crowded exotic marketplace with strange scents and unusual goods from foreign lands. The reality didn’t quite match the name’s aspirations.
A block of Main Street was lined with shade tents, under which folding tables displayed a number of wares. It was part farmers’ market, part flea market, and part something unique to New Orleans. The number of people in attendance made me think that most of the town had turned out this weekend. I’d walked over from the library when my shift ended, and now I was scouting the parking lot for classic cars.
I managed to locate a group of cars that looked out of place. Their paint jobs were immaculate, their shapes sleek and expensive looking. I knew these were the classic cars Ethan had mentioned. There were a few men milling around outside them, but none looked like the description of Vince that Char had given me.
I had been hoping the doctor would be able to accompany me to the bazaar today. Having someone who could point out potential suspects in the throng would have been useful, but at the last minute, she had to beg off. “I’ve got a lead I’m running down. Hopefully, I’ll be able to say conclusively how the drug in Tabby’s system got into the killer’s hands by this evening.”
That piece of information was critical, so I’d encouraged her to pursue it, saying I could tackle the market alone. But I realized I was handicapped because I didn’t know all the players in this little murderous melodrama by sight yet.
Fortunately, my lack of knowledge didn’t turn out to be a handicap. Giving up on the cars, I figured it was worth at least scanning the bazaar to see if I could locate Vince or anyone else that was on our short list of persons of interest.
Tabby’s mother and her mechanic ex-boyfriend were my additional targets, but based on what I’d heard of their reputations, I wasn’t sure they were the type of customers the bazaar would attract. Still, the day wouldn’t be wasted if I could at least get a feel for community sentiment. Would the residents of New Orleans be calling for Stanley’s blood in retribution, or would I find others who thought him innocent of this heinous crime?
It turned out that my prime suspect was the most visible after all. I’d stopped by one of the booths that sold little felt toys stuffed with catnip, thinking Chonks might enjoy one. Then again, there was plenty of the real thing running around the old plantation house, so he might find the felt variety tame by comparison. Maybe his attraction to the mood-altering nip would make it preferable, though.
As one could tell, I took my stewardship of that fat furball very seriously.
A commotion arose at a nearby booth, and like most of the other folks around me, I turned to look for its source. The shade tent was a bright red, the tables underneath draped in crushed red velvet and lined with glass cases displaying homemade jewelry. A banner hanging from the tent canopy read “Merciful Adornments” in a loopy cursive script.
Mercy was behind the tables, her face flushed. “You can’t do this!” she cried at a tall, well-dressed man outside the booth.
I realized from Char’s description that the man she was addressing was Vince Means.
“I’m afraid I can,” he said. “I can and I am.”
I crept closer, noticing that several other members of the crowd were doing the same thing. All of us were pretending like we weren’t trying to eavesdrop, continuing to browse the booths as we moved closer to Merciful Adornments. Except Dottie. Dottie didn’t bother to pretend. She stood in front of the booth across from Mercy’s, her mouth open in surprise, ignoring the ice cream cone in her left hand that was melting all over her antique lace gloves.
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Hoping I was less conspicuous than Dottie, I picked up a crocheted shawl and pretended to examine it from a table two booths down from Mercy’s. All the while, I snuck glances at the unfolding scene. The subject seemed to be Mercy’s alimony payments.
“You must have paid off that judge to even accept a case like this!” The accusation rang across the bazaar, Mercy’s anger filling the street with tension. Several bystanders stiffened at her tone.
Not Vince. He chuckled instead, shrugging one shoulder. “The case is legally valid.”
“That’s baloney! The alimony has been decided for almost a year. You can’t just change it now on a whim.”
“It’s not a whim. New evidence has come to light.”
Mercy scoffed. “What evidence? What could have changed? We’re divorced.”
“Evidence of infidelity.” Vince reached into a case to pick up a piece of jewelry, but Mercy slapped his hand, making him drop it. He fixed her with an unimpressed look. “You were cheating on me during our marriage.”
The dark-haired beauty’s jaw dropped. “You have got to be kidding me. That’s absurd!”
“The attorney doesn’t think so. And soon, the judge won’t either.”
“You bastard,” Mercy hissed. “You’re the one who cheated, for chrissakes!”
“And every month, you make me pay for it.” The hostility in his tone matched his former wife’s. “If the judge sees things my way, you won’t be able to bleed me dry anymore.”
“Why are you doing this?” Mercy asked suddenly, and I could tell she was on the verge of tears. “I was a good wife to you. I even signed off on your farcical divorce papers. Why do you insist on continuing to torture me?”
“I could ask you the same question,” he growled. “You want to make a fool of me, like all the other women around here. But that ends now.”
Vince stalked off, and looky-loos scattering to get out of his way. Mercy yanked a tissue out of her purse and dabbed at her eyes, her breathing uneven. To have that conversation privately would have been upsetting enough, but to have it in front of half the town had to be as embarrassing as a dream of being nude in public. This might be a metaphorical exposure, but it was no less painful.
Unable to help myself, I put down the shawl and moved down to Mercy’s booth. “Hey,” I said softly, trying to infuse the single word with sympathetic feeling. “Are you doing okay?”
She laughed, but it wasn’t a light sound. “Sure. I always enjoy a good public fight with my dreaded ex. Being threatened with poverty just adds spice to life, don’t you think?”
Her sarcasm shamed me, and I apologized, about to give her space, but she shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. You don’t deserve me lashing out at you. I’m just shaken up.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said, giving her an empathetic smile. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m around to listen.” It would also give me the chance to learn more about Vince. And as much as it might have made me feel like a jerk, Mercy was still technically a suspect. The scorned woman could have taken her revenge on her rival.
Right now, Mercy didn’t look like the type of person who could kill someone, even though she’d just gone head to head against her smarmy ex. Her face was puffy, her expression bereft. “I know you heard what was said,” she said. “How could you not hear it?”
I nodded. Vince Means had a commanding voice, which often correlated with being a loud one.
She blew her nose. “He’s trying to take away my alimony. It already amounts to little more than peanuts, and he wants it back.”
“Isn’t he like the richest man in town? That seems a little…” I couldn’t think of a tactful way to say what I meant.
“Petty?” Mercy laughed again. “Spiteful? Yeah, that pretty much describes Vincent Means to a T.” She took a deep breath. “He thinks I betrayed him, walking away when I found out about Tabby. I was just supposed to look the other way while he had his fling with that piece of human trash. But I have my pride too.”
“How could anyone have expected you to stay after that?” I better understood her exchange with Tabby at the first book club meeting now.
Mercy sniffled. “When I first met Vince, he was so charming. Handsome, rich, funny. But after I became Mrs. Vince Means, I realized that he will always put himself first and that he expects complete loyalty, but he doesn’t feel the need to return that loyalty. But even though he was running around with that young tramp, I never once cheated on Vince.”
“He clearly thinks he can prove his case to the judge,” I said. “Do you think he’d have any reason to believe you strayed?”
Mercy threw up her hands. “I don’t know. Because he’s a dumbass? I didn’t cheat!” She caught her breath, her tone coming out more evenly. “I waited home at night, waited while he was out with that… female. Tabby Carter, the beauty queen. He met her when he was one of the judges of the Miss Bon Temps contest. Now we all know what she had to do to earn her crown. Or should I say, who she had to do?”
“She was sniffing around him nonstop. I saw it myself the night of the pageant. Tabby knew I was his wife, but that didn’t stop her. She saw something she wanted and she wasn’t going to stop until she had it. In that way, she and Vince were very well suited.”
“No one could blame you for not liking Tabby,” I said, my tone neutral.
She looked at me with a hard expression. “I didn’t kill the little tramp. I despised her more than anything, but I’m not a murderer.” She talked over my protests that I hadn’t meant to offend. “My cousin is one of Sheriff Rains’ deputies, and I heard from him you’ve been snooping around, trying to interfere in the investigation. So let me clear it all up for you. After the book club meeting, I went home and took a bubble bath to calm my nerves. And that’s all.”
“I’m not snooping. I’m trying to save an innocent man.”
It was clear Mercy didn’t give a hoot about my protests, though. She turned, looking past me, no longer interested in our conversation.
I debated purchasing a piece of jewelry to try and smooth things over, but I doubted it would work. Besides, to be honest, her creations weren’t my style. The last thing I needed was a twenty-dollar necklace made of chunky plastic geometric shapes in garish clashing colors. I left the booth, following the path of Vince’s steps and hoping to catch sight of him in the crowd.
I ended up back in the parking lot, but there were fewer classic cars parked there now. Vince was nowhere to be seen. It was probably a good thing, as catching him after his argument with Mercy could lead to another awkward conversation. Better to quit while I was ahead.
Today’s trip to the market hadn’t eliminated any of the potential suspects on my list, but it did give me some insight into Mercy and Vince’s tumultuous marriage and its demise. Still, I was left with too many questions and not enough answers. I needed to talk to Vince, to get his side of the story.
Running into him didn’t seem likely, so it was time for a direct assault. Tomorrow morning, I’d pay a visit to the refinery and see if I could get some face time with the boss.
Chapter 10
The St. Dismas Sugar Refinery sat on the outskirts of town, on land that had once been surrounded by sugar cane fields as far as the eye could see. The refinery was old. Its whitewashed surface had faded after years spent in what I was coming to call “the Louisiana hotbox.”
I sat in my car as it idled in the parking lot, already dreading the sprint to the building’s entrance. Cold air was blasting from the vents and I tried to lower my body temperature as much as possible while I gathered my thoughts. Before I had headed to the refinery, I’d stopped by the Tip Top to feed my pastry addiction. Sally told me she’d been to the jail the day before to check on Stanley and he didn’t look good.
“He’s losing weight,” she’d lamented. “And I still can’t get a word out of him. And if he’s not talking to me, you can be darn sure he’s not telling Sheriff Rains anything.”
It was a
reminder that an innocent life hung in the balance. The thought of a gentle spirit like Stanley being sent to prison for murder made my stomach threaten to eject its sugary contents. It didn’t help that I’d learned Louisiana was a death penalty state.
The idea of waltzing into the richest guy in town’s business and interrogating him about his dead wife wasn’t in the least appealing, but I had to do it if I wanted to clear Stanley’s name. If Vince was willing to rob his ex-wife of her alimony even though he had more money than half the town put together, was it really that far of a reach to think he might have been willing to get rid of his current wife if she wasn’t behaving to his liking?
I turned the engine off, immediately missing the cool air. Climbing out of the driver’s seat, I hurried toward the entrance, adjusting the blazer I’d worn because I thought it would make him take me seriously. Instead, it was already rumpling in the humidity, and I could feel twin wet spots growing under my arms.
Cursing my idiocy, I struggled to open the heavy door, tugging with all my might until the receptionist came out from behind her desk to pull it open. Strike two, I thought, falling for the classic “push not pull” blunder. At least the receptionist was cheerful.
Until I asked to speak to Vince Means.
She pursed her baby-doll-pink-coated lips and said she didn’t have any appointments listed for Mr. Means this morning. I had expected a little resistance at getting in to see Means, so I’d prepared a tactic I hoped would work on Little Miss No.
“I’m sure Mr. Means is a very busy man, and I don’t plan to take up much of his time, but I’m coming on behalf of,” I leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “the late Mrs. Means. She asked me to come here prior to—well, you know—and speak to her husband about the merits of a mobile library his employees could access. You know how important literacy was to the late Mrs. Means, of course.”
