by B K Baxter
Char frowned. “Why would a guy like Vince want to take away your alimony? Is it a hefty sum we’re talking about?”
Mercy let out a bitter laugh. “Barely enough to cover my monthly bills, and I live much more modestly than I did when I was wearing his ring.”
“Vince is a spiteful snake,” Jimmy hissed. “That’s reason enough.”
“I need that alimony,” Mercy moaned. “It isn’t much, but until I get my online sales increase, I need that money to get by.”
“I’m sorry, Mercy,” I said, linking my arm through Char’s and pulling her toward the door. “And Jimmy, my apologies as well. I know that snooping around and invading your privacy is a rude thing to do. Please believe that we would never do it if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”
I said a rushed goodbye and led Char out the door. We hustled toward the car.
“Wasn’t that exciting?” Char asked and giggled like a little girl.
I looked at her like she might be modeling a straitjacket. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I only have one thing to say,” she said, giving me a smile. “First one to the car gets the last donut!”
She took off like a shot, leaving me in her dust.
Chapter 17
Chonks was curled up on the front dashboard, keeping an eye on things. He let out an inquisitive mewl when we opened the doors and climbed inside. Char pulled up the donut box, opening it to reveal a solitary donut with pink icing and sprinkles.
She’d beaten me back to the car, but now she held up the donut, a look of masked disappointment on her face. “We can split it if you want,” she offered.
“I’m good,” I said, and the smile that hit her face was elated. “I don’t know how you can think about food right now. Not after what just went down.”
“I don’t know how you can think about anything other than food,” she said between bites. “Donuts are delicious.”
Chonks let out a yowl that said he agreed and started sniffing at the contents of Char’s hand.
“Get out of here, you porker,” I said, picking him up and tossing him gently into the backseat. “Just sit still until I can get you home.”
I started the car and put it in gear, rolling slowly toward the park exit. I was just about to ask Char if we should call the hotels in Laplace, just to confirm Jimmy and Mercy’s story, but before I could speak, there was the sound of a slamming truck door.
We were coming up on Tammy’s trailer, and that was where the commotion was taking place.
“You get back inside this house,” I heard Tammy holler, the tone of her voice tinged with alcohol.
Whomever she was yelling at wasn’t in the mood to follow her orders because the engine fired up and the truck began backing down the driveway at a breakneck pace.
“Don’t you dare leave!” Tammy howled as it went.
I slammed on the brakes to make sure the truck didn’t swing wide and accidentally hit us. As it backed up, I noticed the person driving the truck was the same man I’d seen her with at the refinery. The truck made it onto the road and took off like a shot, the tires squealing as it sped away into the night.
“Looks like her hot date didn’t go according to plan,” Char said.
I watched as Tammy stood there, looking off into the distance in the direction the truck had gone. She pulled out a cigarette, puffed it for a moment, the turned around and went back into the trailer, the screen door slamming behind her.
As I headed out of the trailer park, I wondered what kind of life Tabby had led. Her formative years were spent in this place, with a mother who didn’t seem to like her very much, at least not as much as she liked the bottle. It wasn’t hard to see how Tabby would crave an exit from this kind of life. Vince Means must have looked like a first-class ticket to paradise in comparison.
We returned to my house. Stepping out of the car, I was hit by the heat of the night that remained unbroken. A chorus of frogs sang around us, and Chonks started getting antsy in my arms. “Behave, buddy, or I’ll put bars on all the windows.”
He looked at me like I was the ridiculous one. We climbed the steps up to the covered porch where fat moths slowly circled the porchlight. I handed the keys to Char so she could unlock the door while I made sure Chonks didn’t bolt.
I tossed him inside and shut the door behind us, then leaned back against it and let out a long breath. “I’m not sure if I’m cut out for all this snooping and sneaking.”
Char patted me on the arm and smiled. “Oh, come on. You did great.”
I pursed my lips and looked at her in annoyance. Char tried to disguise her laugh as a sneeze, but I still knew it was a laugh. “You have to admit it worked.”
I shook my head. “It worked to tick them off.”
“I don’t think Mercy or Jimmy had anything to do with Tabby’s death. Nor do I think they were conspiring together.”
“They could have met in Laplace after the murder…” I trailed off, not even believing my own supposition.
“My brother would have found out what time they arrived and when they left the hotel. He might be a jerk, but he’s a decent cop.”
“I suppose you’re right. But if it isn’t Mercy or Jimmy, that brings us back to Vince and the possibility that he hired someone to get rid of his wife for him.”
Char frowned. “Where does someone go to hire a contract killer?”
I shrugged. “Beats me.” We wandered into the kitchen, and I pulled a bottle of fruit wine out of the cupboard. “Night cap?”
“Yes please.” Char went over to the refrigerator where the map of St. Dismas Parish hung. “What’s this?”
“Compliments of Dinah Mercer,” I replied. “She wants to buy my house.”
Char let out a laugh. “Sounds about right.”
I handed her a glass, and I gently tapped my wine glass against hers. “To snooping on your neighbors and friends.”
“To St. Dismas Parish,” Char countered.
We both took a long drink, and I let out a sigh of refreshment.
“Your house isn’t on here,” Char said, pointing at the spot where my house should be on the map.
“Not yet. All I have to do is join the tour of homes, after investing a substantial sum to restore it to its past glory. Or I can sell it to her. Her cousin built this house, you know.”
Snickering, Char shook her head. “By her telling, the Mercers built half the mansions in Louisiana.” She pointed at one of the stars on the map. “This is her family’s estate, the one she’s been funneling her real estate commissions into for decades. And that’s the old cabin her ancestors supposedly built when they first arrived in the parish.” She gave me a sheepish grin. “I only know that because she’s given me a lecture on her family’s arrival in Louisiana not less than three times. I’ve started faking medical emergencies to get out of conversations with her.”
I leaned in for a better look and noticed that the home wasn’t far from the location of the St. Dismas Sugar Refinery. “That’s awfully close to the Means land.”
Char nodded. “Dinah is always pestering people to sell their historical properties to her. A couple years ago, she approached Vince about partnering on a restoration project that would bring in ‘unlimited tourist dollars,’ if you hear her tell it. She wanted to put a museum on their joint land as a tourist attraction.”
My brow furrowed. “She mentioned opening a museum a couple years from now. Vince must have agreed.”
“On the contrary, he told her to go build her museum up her own skinny behind.”
My jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”
“Oh yeah. I heard it myself. It was right after the Papa Noel Christmas Parade last year. The Mayor had several prominent businesspeople on stage with him while he gave his annual Christmas address. Local business owners sponsor the parade every year. But while Travis was giving his speech, Vince and Dinah had a heated exchange, and it ended with Vince’s—shall we say—strong ‘no.’ He said it loud eno
ugh for all of us to hear even without a microphone.
Shaking my head, I wondered what I’d gotten myself into moving to this town. “If Vince turned her down, then why did she tell me she’s opening the museum?”
“Maybe she found another location,” Char said. “Who knows? But once Dinah sets her mind on something, she doesn’t let it go.”
“Stubbornness seems to be a common trait around here. Maybe someone should test the drinking water.”
Char doubled over with laughter, almost spilling her glass. She straightened, then held up her glass in salute. “The smart ones stick to wine.”
A sudden ghoulish shriek pierced the night and I jumped. Char let out a whoop and crouched. “What the heck was that?”
“I wish I could tell you. My guess is either the heating system has gone wonky, or there’s a ghost trapped in the walls.”
“Sure, every good plantation house has to have a ghost. For yours, my guess is the ghost of Tabby Means. She’s going to haunt you until you discover the real murderer.”
“I’m sure. But I did put in a call to Ethan, just as backup. Maybe he can fix whatever’s going on—or perform an exorcism.”
Char gave me a teasing smile. “I guess any excuse is a good one to invite over a cute handyman.”
The next day, that same cute handyman was knocking on my door. Chonks stood beside it, yowling in impatience while I opened the door. Inviting him in, I apologized for my cat’s enthusiasm.
“You miss me, buddy?” Ethan asked as he crouched to scratch the eager cat behind his ears.
Chonks let out the loudest purr I’d ever heard. Once they’d had their heartfelt reunion, I informed him of the trouble I’d been having.
“It’s a loud noise, like a screech at times, and at others, there’s like a faint rhythmic tapping.”
“Do you know where it’s coming from? What area of the house?”
I frowned. “Not really. It sounds like it’s coming from somewhere in the walls, but it echoes through the house.”
Ethan nodded. “I’ll listen for it. In the meantime, I’ll have a look at the furnace.”
I showed him the entrance to the basement. Ethan went down the stairs and Chonks followed, his tail waving like a happy little flag. I shook my head and retreated to the library.
About twenty minutes later, Ethan poked his head in. “The furnace looks fine, and I haven’t heard the noise yet.”
“It mostly happens late at night, if you really want to hear it.” As soon as the words escaped my lips, I realized how they sounded. “Not that I’m, uh, inviting you to spend the night or anything. I’m just…” I trailed off, my cheeks bright red.
Ethan chuckled and suggested I follow the sound to its source if possible next time. If I could locate where it was coming from, he could come back and fix it.
“Yes, I’ll do that,” I said, embarrassment burning in my belly.
Chonks let out a plaintive meow and stood on his back legs to bat at the tools on Ethan’s belt. “There’s my assistant,” he said with a laugh. “Trying to borrow some of my tools?”
Chonks sprang up, somehow managing to grab the end of Ethan’s tape measure. He was off like a shot, down the hall, causing the tape measure to unspool as he ran with it.
I expected it to hit its limit and shoot backward, re-spooling itself, but instead, Chonks’s velocity managed to yank the entire tape measure off Ethan’s belt. It was clattering down the hallway as the cat skittered around the corner and out of sight.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my face turning an even brighter shade of red.
“It’s fine. I have others. My assistant clearly has a project he needs to borrow it for.”
I walked Ethan out, apologizing for the lack of noise. “I won’t call you out again until I’ve figured out where the ghost is hiding.”
“Ghost?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Yes. Char said all good plantation houses have them. I’ve just got to figure out where mine has concealed itself.”
“I’ll let Father Knox know that he’ll be hearing from you soon. He handles the supernatural. I’m just a handyman.”
I watched him walk down the steps and head to his car. Ethan was so easygoing, and he never held it against me when I made a fool of myself. Making a fool of myself seemed to be a common event nowadays.
I’d peeked in windows, followed people home, interrogated them at their jobs. I’d badgered the sheriff, pried into a mourning mother’s private business, and pumped honest people for information at every opportunity. Not once had I come away looking graceful or clever. No, I was certain that by the end of this, New Orleans would consider me a fool.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said to myself as I closed the door behind me. “As long as Stanley is exonerated.” That was what was important.
Refocused, I returned to the kitchen to grab a glass of lemonade before going to hide out in the library in the air conditioning for the rest of the day. At the fridge, I noticed Dinah’s map again and pulled it down. I took it back to the library with me to study.
There was something bothering me about the historical society museum, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. The map didn’t produce any insights, so I decided to do a little digging into the town’s history.
Sometimes working in a library had its perks.
Chapter 18
The library was quiet that morning, like most mornings. A few older patrons were going through the periodicals, whether out of interest or just to enjoy the coolness, I wasn’t sure. Luanne had claimed the circulation desk once again, confirming my suspicions that she didn’t care for re-shelving.
I didn’t mind today because re-shelving also gave me a chance to read up on the history of St. Dismas Parish. It was perfect cover, searching for the books I needed while I re-shelved others. It turned out there were only a few resources that talked about the local history in any detail. One in particular seemed to have the information I was looking for, so on my break I pored over it, making quick notes.
It seemed that the Means family had been in St. Dismas Parish since it was created in the first decade of the nineteenth century. Letters at the time referred to the land where New Orleans would spring up in later years as “The Means’ Expanse.”
Other plantations were mentioned soon after, so either the Means started parceling their land out or the “Expanse” hadn’t entirely belonged to the Means. The Mercer name appeared a couple decades after the founding of St. Dismas Parish, but it quickly became clear that they were a major player in the area as well, as Ethan had suggested previously.
I looked into the sugar refinery next. The refinery itself was modernized, but some of the outbuildings had been around since the early 1800s. The Means family mansion was considered one of the finest examples of antebellum architecture in the state.
If Dinah craved control of the town’s narrative, then having the cooperation of the Means family was a must. Either her joint collaboration was to include the land around the refinery, or there was another property Vince owned that Dinah wanted in on.
I put the history book down, then ran my fingers through my hair. I needed more information, stuff that I wasn’t going to find in the library. Glancing toward the windows, I could see City Hall sitting across the street. They would have property records, survey maps, even registers that could give me an idea of what was once Means and once Mercer.
I knew I was on a wild goose chase since I couldn’t articulate what, if anything, this had to do with Tabby’s murder. But if Vince was the only suspect left and his alibi was air tight, he would have had to convince someone else to do the deed. Someone he could trust not to let the crime come to light.
Money might get him a long way toward his goal, but a paid mercenary could be tempted to talk, if caught, to avoid the death penalty. And Vince Means prized loyalty above everything, if his ex-wife was right in her assessment. So if Vince was going to hire a killer, he’d want someone whose loyalty could
never be in doubt. Someone already tied tightly to him.
Getting a birds-eye view on his entanglements might turn up someone I hadn’t considered yet. At the same time, I’d be able to satisfy my curiosity about Dinah Mercer and her museum plans.
My shift ended at two in the afternoon, and I waved farewell to Luanne as I walked out the green doors. She didn’t acknowledge me, but her eyes did follow me like a painting in one of those wacky haunted house movies from the sixties. I had yet to find a way to win over the head librarian’s heart, but I was committed to keep trying.
I hadn’t set foot in the hallowed halls of City Hall yet, but although the exterior was imposing gray stone, the inside was really rather pedestrian. It didn’t take long to find the Records Clerk office on the second floor. The clerk on duty was a pleasant young woman in a long skirt and a blouse with lace ruffles down the front. I still couldn’t understand how folks could wear such pristine outfits in this humidity and look so put together while I wilted like a chef’s salad under a heat lamp.
I approached the desk with a polite smile. “Hi there. I’m the new assistant librarian, and we’re planning a town history exhibit at the library next month. I wonder if you could give me access to the town’s records so I can get an idea of what to pull together for the exhibit.”
She seemed thrilled just to have someone to talk to, let alone someone who showed an interest in the records that were her sacred charge. She took me into the records room, gave me a short tour, and then turned me loose.
I spent an hour digging through records, trying to make heads or tail of what I was reading. I stumbled upon a trove of Means family information, a little amazed that there was so little oversight of these documents. Birth certificates, marriage certificates, property title transfers. The records stretched back for over a hundred years. The most recent ones did not set off any alarm bells as it seemed the Means family had been gradually contracting. There were only a handful of relatives left.
