by B K Baxter
Two were his aunts, both around Miss Dottie’s age and definitely too old to pull off a murder-for-hire caper. One was a female cousin with three children of her own and a schoolteacher husband. And there were two more names on the list, but I couldn’t find any other records associated with them, making me assume they’d moved away from St. Dismas Parish.
Still, there was plenty to show me just exactly how much of a man of means Vince was. He owned the refinery, of course, and much of the land around it, including the area around his family mansion. But he also owned several plots that were no longer contiguous to his main consolidation. The trailer park, for instance, although his ownership there had already been established. One that stood out in bright relief for me was the land where Scar’s auto garage sat.
Vince Means was Scar’s landlord, meaning he likely had a key to the place. Which would have made dumping his dead wife’s body there a whole lot easier. I let out a frustrated huff. Knowing what Vince’s alibi was for the night of Tabby’s death was a puzzle piece I was desperate to have.
Could Scar have been the one Vince trusted with his murder-for-hire plot? He was ex-military, after all, so he wasn’t unfamiliar with killing. And the fact that Vince held the deed to his livelihood was a big lever to pull. I immediately switched gears, looking for information on Jeffrey “Scar” Sanders, owner and proprietor of American Auto Garage.
He was in his fifties, born and raised in New Orleans, and a decorated veteran. He also had two children and six grandchildren, and he’d been married to the same woman since the early nineties. The probability of his accepting a job like this from Vince didn’t seem very high. Besides, he seemed too smart to leave evidence lying around, like the poorly staged crime scene. A man like Scar would know to sink the body in the swamps and let the gators do the dirty work.
I gagged at that thought and sat down, feeling defeated. I was grasping at straws, missing the key pieces of information that would lead me in the right direction. Who was Vince Means’ alibi? Where had the killer gotten the drugs? Why leave the body at the garage? Without the answers to those three central questions, I wasn’t sure how I’d ever find the murderer and free Stanley.
I took one last glance at the parish map I’d laid out on one of the tables. I’d marked the areas owned by Vince in pencil, but as I’d gone along, I’d also made note of Mercer properties. They’d become fewer over time, many now lost to history and replaced by a more modern building under a new owner. But the Mercers still owned an office building, the bottom floor of which held Dinah’s real estate office, a plantation house about a mile from my own, a stretch of business property a block from Main Street next to the American Auto Garage, currently being rented by a laundromat proprietor, and a parcel of land that abutted the Means’ main property.
It was that stretch of land that bothered me. From what I could tell, all that stood there was a small wooden cabin. If this was the place where she planned to build her history museum, no wonder Vince had said he wanted no part.
I pushed the information to the back of my brain because it had no bearing on my current investigation. I needed to get back to those three questions. Out of the three, finding out Vince’s alibi for that night seemed most pressing. I left the records room and entered the hallway, heading toward the exit. I was considering going back to the sheriff and either bullying the information out of him or abasing myself and begging for it, when the mayor suddenly came around the corner, accompanied by an attractive well-put-together woman in a tight pencil skirt.
I recognized the mayor from his picture in the library. It hung next to the governor and the President of the United States. Pausing, the mayor fired up the smile I bet he used to win elections. “Hey there,” he said, his hand out for shaking. “Who have we got here? I always stop to greet my constituents, especially the pretty ones.”
The smile on the face of the woman beside him tightened, and without hesitating, she introduced herself as Gita Clarke, the mayor’s assistant.
“Pleasure to meet you both. I’m Jade Hastings, the new assistant librarian. I was just upstairs, getting acquainted with the town and its history.”
Mayor Travis Landry ran a hand through his unruly salt and pepper hair. He straightened, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he sucked in his gut at the same time. “Well, if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to consult me personally, day or night. In fact, we could have dinner some night and I could tell you all about the town’s history.”
I had to restrain my surprise. Was Mayor Travis flirting with me? “Thank you for the offer. I know your wife actually. Alma is a lovely woman. She’s a member of my book club.”
Mention of his wife seemed to throw cold water over his libido. “Lovely woman, yes. Do excuse me. I have mayoral duties to attend to.” He continued down the hall like a ship that had lost its wind.
“I’ve got to head back to work anyway,” I said to his assistant by way of a farewell, although I didn’t mean returning to the library. The investigation was my full-time job. For now, the library was incidental.
Gita’s response startled me. “Yes, it must be hard making sure all those books stay in their places.” Her smarmy tone was like a slap in the face. She walked past me, nose in the air, and that was when I noticed something.
Gita Clarke’s shade of lipstick was the exact same as the one worn by Vince Means’ secretary.
Chapter 19
Sparky’s had a crowd for dinner that night, meaning Char and I had to sit on the same side of the booth to hear each other over the boisterous family at the booth next to ours.
“The mayor’s assistant and Vince Means? Really?” Char was squirting ketchup on a burger that looked almost as big as her head.
“The lipstick could be a coincidence, sure, but what if it’s not? What if Gita is sleeping with Vince and Mayor Travis? You told me yourself that the mayor was having an affair with his assistant. Could that just be gossip?”
“Not likely,” Char said between bites. “Everyone in town knows it’s happening, except maybe Alma.”
“Yes, and I got a dose of the mayor’s charm myself earlier. He invited me to dinner to discuss the town’s history.”
Char laughed and almost choked. Gulping down half a glass of water, she regained her equilibrium. “Welcome to New Orleans. Ladies drink free. At least, that would be our slogan if Mayor Travis was in charge of it.”
I put my head down on the table, ready to surrender to the absurdity that was life in a small southern town. “Who would have thought a quaint small town like New Orleans could have such a tangled web of relationships?”
“I warned you,” Char said. “Quaint, we are not.”
I raised my head, getting frustrated with all the cheating and lying going on around town. “There’s also the guy that Taz saw in the Means’ mansion. The one Tabby was presumably sleeping with.” I could feel my anger rising. A little too loudly, I blurted, “Is everyone in this crazy town having an affair?”
Unfortunately, I picked the wrong time to lose control over the volume of my voice. A woman in a shapeless gray dress with a white collar and built like an LSU linebacker froze as she crossed in front of our booth. She turned to burn me with her gaze, her face standing out white against the dark scarf covering her hair. A gust of fear went through me.
“Godless!” She pointed a finger at me. “Shouting about infidelity around good Christian families!”
“She’s sorry, Sister Agnes.” Char tried to come to my rescue, but I think even the unflappable Dr. Rains was intimidated.
“God holds this town in his two pure hands, and I won’t have your friend here besmirch it.”
“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I meant no disrespect.”
“Don’t apologize to me, girl,” the nun hissed in reply. “Apologize to the Lord, for it’s him you’ve offended.”
Char tried for another smile. “Sister, she honestly didn’t mean it. She’s just a little upset. You see,
we were talking about poor Tabby’s murder.”
Sister Agnes snorted, and for a moment, I thought I saw smoke coming out of her nostrils. “There was nothing ‘poor’ about that girl, especially after she married Vince Means. She was nothing but trouble since she came out of the womb. And what a womb!”
The nun raised her hand, index finger pointed upward. “Evil ends come to evil doers, and evil seeds from evil plants,” she bellowed, loud enough that the tables around us cowered as we did. Then as if she’d said nothing at all, she lowered her hand and glided away, the picture of serenity.
“What in the name of Je—”
“Don’t blaspheme, not while she’s still in earshot,” Char whispered frantically. “She’ll come back and call the Devil to drag you down to Hell.”
I held my tongue. This was not a woman to trifle with. That was apparent. Even though she was anointed by God, I wouldn’t want to run into her in a dark alley.
Char swiveled her head around to make sure we were no longer being observed. “That was Sister Agnes Grace, the Headmistress of Our Lady of Perpetual Help, the local Catholic school that most folks around here send their kids to. She’s also a kind of local bogeyman. My grandmother used to tell me to behave or Sister Agnes would creep into my room at night, snatch me out of bed, and take me to the Crossroads to give me to the Devil.”
My eyes widened. “Wow. That’s a healthy dose of terror for a child.”
Char let out a burst of cynical laughter. “Imagine when I was five and I started attending Sister Agnes’s school.” She shook her head. “When I got older, I began to wonder if Sister Agnes started those bogeywoman rumors herself to keep her students in line, since by the time most of us arrived, we were already conditioned to fear her.”
Presley stopped by the table to check on us, then quickly moved on. Looking around the diner, I watched as families and friends shared a meal together. On the surface, it was like any other diner in any other small town. I wondered for a moment if other places were as suffused with secrets as New Orleans. Was this place special, or was I just naïve?
“To answer your question,” Char said, pulling my focus back to her, “I’m sure New Orleans has its fair share of sneaking around. But look at the bright side. We only need to concern ourselves with the affairs connected to a horrible murder.”
I rolled my eyes at her attempt to make me feel better about the situation. Putting my chin in my hand, I leaned on my elbow and considered the current question. “Could Vince and the Mayor, two married men, each be having an affair with the same woman?”
Char chewed contemplatively. “I suppose it could happen,” she said after swallowing.
“A love triangle with the mayor,” I said. “That could ruin a man’s reputation. Even a rich one.”
“The mayor may seem like an ornamental position, especially the way Mayor Travis plays it, but there’s enough power in the position to inconvenience a businessman like Vince, if wielded right.”
I leaned back, abandoning my plate of cheese fries. “If Tabby found out about the affair with Gita, that could be the leverage she had against Vince.”
Char set down her burger to pounce on my fries. “Is that really enough of a threat to resort to murder?”
I groaned, tired of all the speculation. Vince was the only real suspect we had, but even so, there was little that made sense. I watched as Char polished off my fries, fascinated by a new mystery. Where did Char keep her second stomach? I’d never met anyone who could put food away like a frat boy with no ill effects and no spare tire around her middle.
She dabbed her mouth daintily, a contrast to the way she’d attacked the meal, and turned back to me. “We’re getting nowhere fast.”
Her tone was matter of fact. “All we have is possible suspects and potential motives, but we have no way to connect anyone to the crime. Since Vince is our prime suspect, we need to determine once and for all if he’s the one who’s responsible for Tabby’s demise.” She paused to finish her sweet tea, likely for dramatic effect. “We should hit the refinery and do some more digging.”
My brow furrowed. “I did that, remember? And it didn’t end so well. I doubt Vince is going to be eager to welcome me back.”
“You got a valuable clue when you were there, remember? The lipstick stain? We just need to figure out another ruse to get us in the door.”
“Vince saw through the last one.” He’d known I was after information when I’d come to him with the mobile library idea. “I don’t think he’ll exactly welcome me back after that.”
Char tapped her fingers on the tabletop, her expression thoughtful. “I’m not sure any excuse we come up with isn’t going to be met with suspicion. The way things stand, Vince probably wouldn’t trust his own mother if she wanted to have a friendly chat.”
Assuming he was guilty, Char’s point made sense. Vince would be looking to avoid traps, which meant he would see us coming. Anything we made up, he’d doubt. “So maybe we needed to go into it assuming he won’t believe our cover story.”
Char looked at me, intrigued. “If he doesn’t believe our story, why would he even agree to talk to us then?”
“Because he won’t be able to resist. We just have to figure out the right cover story to make him want to know what we know, enough to risk a chat.”
“But what do we know?” Char countered. “We don’t have anything but a few crazy guesses.”
“If it’s true he’s seeing Gita, that could be the angle we’re looking for. We claim to be representing the mayor to see if we can flush him out.”
“That’s not a half-bad idea,” Char breathed. “But you’re right about your cover being blown already. So it would have to be me who takes the lead.”
“I’ve got it.” As I spoke, hope unfurled inside me. “You’re there on behalf of Mayor Travis’s new health initiative. He’s looking for support from local business owners. You name-drop the mayor to see if you can get him to give away anything about Gita and his clandestine relationship.”
“If it exists,” Char said. “All of this is based purely on the lipstick shade supposition. We could end up emptyhanded again.”
That was true. “You’re taking the lead, right? So while you’re having your chat, I can find a way to snoop around the refinery and see if anyone else might have seen Gita around. That way, if you can’t crack Vince, we could find corroboration elsewhere.”
“It’s not a bad idea. It’s not a great idea, either, but let’s give it a shot.”
Char’s lukewarm support was enough for me. Our options were running out, and if Stanley’s case made it to trial soon, we’d lose our opportunity to prove his innocence. “I’ll pick you up at the clinic after my shift tomorrow.”
“Fine,” Char said. “On one condition. You get Miss Sally to make up a whole batch of beignets just for us. I’m going to need a dose of sugary courage before we hit the refinery.”
I laughed, unable to help myself. Dr. Charlotte Rains was insisting on loading up on sugar before infiltrating an actual sugar refinery. It was wrong on so many levels.
“I’ll call her first thing in the morning,” I promised.
Chapter 20
We were sitting in reception area of the St. Dismas Sugar Refinery, waiting for Vince’s receptionist to return from asking whether her boss was available. She’d recognized me, but her lack of reaction made it clear that Vince hadn’t shared what we’d discussed after my last visit.
That gave me hope that our Gita-Vince-Mayor Travis love triangle idea wasn’t misplaced. If Vince was having an affair with his receptionist, he might mention that he didn’t trust the new assistant librarian. The fact that he hadn’t could mean that it was Gita who left those stains, not the receptionist.
Then again, I could be completely in the weeds. I was starting to feel like a conspiracy nut. At least my basement walls weren’t lined with newspaper clippings connected by lines of red string.
Not yet anyway.
“Y
ou should go now,” Char said after we’d been waiting for a moment. “I’ll tell her you had to leave. Family emergency.”
“Good luck,” I said as I stood and headed toward the glass door that separated the reception area from the rest of the plant.
“You too,” Char called after me. “I’ll meet you at the car. First one to get thrown out is a rotten egg.”
Entering the hallway, I looked both ways, trying to determine where each direction would lead. To the left, the hallway led to a red metal door. I noticed a pad next to the door, which likely served as a lock. As I had no card or code with which to open it, I decided to head to the right.
The hallway dead-ended into another junction, and again, I looked left and right. This time, the right side ended in a pair of bathrooms, one for men, the other for women. To the left, I could hear the sound of machinery. To the left I went, walking confidently like I belonged there.
The hallway opened into an area filled with machines, a large conveyer belt running all around and through it. Employees in coveralls stood at their stations, while others crossed back and forth over the concrete floors.
I spotted a woman in an orange jumpsuit and figured she might be a good place to start. Women were often more observant than men, and the fact that she was dressed in orange and not blue set her apart as someone with a specialized function. I headed over to where she stood with a clipboard, observing the floor, and I started out with a friendly wave.
“Hey there,” I said, speaking loudly so I could be heard over the noise of the machines. “I’m here on behalf of the Mayor’s Office. I wondered if you had a moment to chat.”
She never took her eyes off the machines. “Not really.”
“Okay, I’ll make this quick. We’re working on a new initiative and we’re trying to get feedback from our constituents. Has anyone mentioned this to you yet?”
“No,” she said, her face starting to wrinkle in annoyance.
“You sure? Mayor Travis’s assistant, Gita Clarke, has been trying to get the word out. Have you seen Gita around the refinery at all?”
