Body of Evidence

by Stella Cameron

  “Cheap?” Sandy said.

  Emma grimaced. “You know I hate that word.”

  Sandy smiled. “Yes, I know. That’s why I say it. So, are we going to carry the ponchos?”

  “We’re starting off with ten to see how they go. I bet we need more before the end of the month. Odie’s original bayou miniatures are going to be big for us, too. I thought we’d put some of them in the window. Well, will you look at that?” Emma pointed to a copper tree hung with crystal aardvarks—or what was left of them. “How would you know those would walk out the door like that? Order more.”

  “Already did. Have you quit avoidin’ the current issue yet?”

  Emma looked at her folded hands on the table. She drank more of the wonderful coffee but didn’t meet Sandy’s all-seeing light brown eyes,

  “Don’t do this to me,” Sandy said. She lifted one of Emma’s hands and pulled her from the table. “I’m gonna brighten you up, honey pie.”

  Emma didn’t go willingly. At the back of the store, in what had once been a mudroom, was a boutique where the women kept an eclectic stock of clothing, funky shoes and purses, hats, craft jewelry—and the occasional good bauble that required the locked cabinet. The locked cabinet with a panel that slid out of the back if you knew how to do it.

  Sandy trailed the racks, whipped out a pair of shiny, lilac-colored crop pants and a skimpy pink top sporting a single glittery-eyed lilac dragonfly, over the left breast. “Put these on.” Emma landed behind the curtain in a tiny dressing room with the clothes popped in behind her. Pink and purple striped mules followed.

  “Hurry up,” Sandy said. “We’ll be missin’ business this way. Your hair looks fantastic. I didn’t think Orville liked it curly.”

  Emma looked at it in a mirror and smiled. “I do.” She took a brush from a drawer and worked until she cried, “ouch.” The effort was worthwhile. The curls caught the light and shone. She and Sandy kept makeup bags in the bottom drawer of a little chest. Emma felt better when she had applied lipstick and mascara. Still, she looked tired, but there was a certain appealing softness to her. She almost laughed aloud. The outfit was one she would never have chosen, but she couldn’t hurt Sandy’s feelings.

  “Ta-da,” she said, posing. “Satisfied?”

  “Uh-huh. You look like a delectable ice-cream cone.”

  Emma frowned. “All soft and drippy, with too much on top and skinny legs? I don’t think I’ll go there.”

  “Now. What’s happened?” Sandy said. “Don’t hold back, because I’ll chivvy someone into telling me. If I do that, they’ll turn it into some giant mystery, and all because you wouldn’t tell me yourself.”

  There was no way out. Emma summed up her argument with Orville and made a brief mention about another meeting at Pat Damalis’s, at which Sandy made a sour moue. Orville expected Carl at his side most of the time, and she said he’d been with the Pack, too. It was Sandy who first told Emma about Pat’s Pack, which was why she’d worried after she let it slip to Orville that she knew about it.

  Emma went on to explain spending the previous night at her folks’ house, and how the cowboy had turned up, leaving out the bits about what the man had said and the money. Sandy found a ledge to sit on. Guiltily, Emma went on to say, “Things are nicely in hand, so I’m not worried. It would be easier on me if Orville didn’t find out, though. You know how upset he gets about things like that.”

  “I don’t recall anythin’ like that happenin’—ever,” Sandy said, then squeezed Emma’s arm and added, “Don’t you think Orville ought to know?”

  “Things haven’t been so easy between us.” Sandy was the one person she confided in. “I don’t want to risk makin’ it worse.”

  “He won’t hear anythin’ from me,” Sandy said, and her mouth turned down. She tried to be diplomatic, but she wasn’t an Orville fan.

  Emma also didn’t mention Finn Duhon, although the longer she waited, the more suspicious Sandy would be when she did find out about him.

  Emma paused and gave Sandy a quizzical look. “Billy Meche is so mad at me, he’s spitting. I went to Denise’s first thing this mornin’ to see if she’d left anything that would help find her killer.”

  Sandy’s mouth worked; then she burst into tears. She couldn’t have known about Denise’s death. Sometimes Emma forgot that Sandy was about as cut off as she was, although Orville should have told Carl about it at the club. “I’m sorry to spring that on you,” Emma said. She sat beside her, and put an arm around her shoulders. “I kind of assumed everyone in town knew by now.” She explained what had happened, and got worried when beads of sweat popped out on Sandy’s upper lip and her eyes fixed.

  Emma sat there and gave her friend all the time she needed. Sandy’s long, straight black hair hung past her shoulders, and she had the smooth, pale skin of the true brunette with Irish ancestry. A beautiful woman with rounded features, she turned heads everywhere. And it wasn’t only her facial features that were rounded. Sandy occasionally joked that with breasts as big as hers, she never bothered to listen to airline instructions about flotation devices. The rest of her body was also round, but small, and perfect legs didn’t hurt the picture.

  “I can’t believe it,” Sandy said. “Denise? Of all people. That girl didn’t have a mean bone in her body.” She caught Emma’s eye and smiled. “Well, maybe she had a sharp tongue when she felt like it, but she had a purely golden heart. How did you hear about it?”

  This time there was no keeping Finn out of the story. Emma gave an unvarnished account, while Sandy drew her lips back from her teeth in horror. “They’ve got to get him. Quick.”

  “They’re on it.”

  “You found her. Oh, Emma, how awful.” Sandy cried afresh and swept tears away with her knuckles.

  Emma’s throat felt clogged, but she didn’t cry. “I still can’t believe it,” she said. Sometimes she thought the long struggle with Orville was blunting her emotions.

  “I don’t recall any Finn Duhon.”

  Here we go. Emma gave a brief history and made absolutely certain she sounded casual, but she felt Sandy watching her narrowly throughout. “Who could imagine meetin’ someone you hadn’t seen since high school like that? He’s a nice guy, but he’s probably here because things haven’t worked out too well for him.” She mentioned the Army Rangers and his career in stocks.

  “Did you go to Denise’s on your own this morning?” Sandy said. She’d dried her eyes but still sniffed.

  “Finn and Rusty were there. Have you seen that Matt Boudreaux up close?”

  Sandy rolled her eyes. “Honey girl, every woman in this town has seen Matt close up. The problem is, to hear any of them tell it, they haven’t managed to see him quite close enough.”

  Satisfied with her temporary diversion, Emma returned to the front of the shop and turned over the sign on the door. Immediately a gaggle of enthusiastic ladies crowded in. A bunch of fat purchases later, they left, chirping about returning for coffee.

  “Hope we get more busloads like that today,” Emma said, and started ferrying in boxes from her Lexus.

  A number of shops occupied the lower floor of Oakdale Mansion, along with several offices. The white antebellum building still belonged to the one remaining member of the Thompson family whose ancestors had built the place, and who was said to be ancient and a bachelor. The only remaining sign of the Thompsons’ presence was the management office. Upstairs, the larger rooms were used for receptions and parties.

  “Emma,” Sandy said suddenly, dramatically. “What if that person in the house last night was the one who murdered poor Denise? Oh, my, Emma, he could have killed you, too.” Sandy cried afresh.

  “He didn’t kill me,” Emma said shortly. “Most likely because he didn’t have anythin’ to do with what happened to Denise. He said he’d look after me. This guy was just a whacko, I tell you.”

  “Like the guy who killed Denise wasn’t?”

  Sandy had a point. “I don’t believe it was the sam
e person,” Emma said.

  “I’m goin’ to call Angela and see if we can all get together a day early,” Sandy said, while Emma took creamy porcelain dolls from between layers of tissue paper and set up a display. “We all need each other. Are you free after work?”

  A meeting of Secrets sounded wonderful, like a warm bath on a chilly day. “You bet I am. You have the best ideas. She’ll know how to lead us so we don’t collapse in puddles of tears every few minutes.”

  “Emma,” Sandy said. “Do they have any idea how Denise was killed yet?”

  She shook her head. “They said by later today or tomorrow.” She shuddered. “I can’t bear to think of them cuttin’ her up.”

  “Don’t.” Sandy hugged herself.

  Emma looked at her while she tried to make the abbreviated top she wore meet her lilac pants. “At Denise’s this mornin’, someone had already been there. They’d been lookin for a lead, just like we wanted to—and just like Rusty wanted to.” If she wasn’t careful, she would slip off the high, cork-soled mules.

  “You mean the police had already been there?”

  “No, someone else. We don’t know who it was.”

  “Does anyone know what they’re looking for?” Sandy said. “That would be a big help.”

  “I’ve got a hunch everyone thinks Denise was writin’ an exposé someone didn’t want published. That’s likely to be what we’re all searching for.”

  Sandy looked beyond the glass walls in all directions and rubbed her arms. “We mustn’t be here late until this is over. It’s too remote once the offices and some of the other shops close up.” The mansion occupied part of a large, heavily treed acreage. “It won’t be over till the murderer’s caught.”

  “No.” Emma wished she didn’t have to think about it. She left Sandy to continue unloading and went to the store computer. Shortly she looked at Orville’s guest list and printed out a copy. “Party, party,” she said, holding up the list when Sandy came in again. “Big do at our place in just over two weeks.”

  “Well.” Sandy smoothed the green dress once more. “I never got an invitation, that’s for sure.”

  “Neither did anyone else. They’ll go out today. Orville decided at the last minute, so I’ll be scramblin’.”

  “The printers won’t be able to do the invitations fast enough.”

  “Nope. But I can. I’m doin my own, and if Orville doesn’t like it, well then…” She selected some of the special card stock they carried and set to work.

  Why not use a nice script on the printer to address the envelopes? Emma did so and had the stack of invitations almost done in no time.

  “You’re not even going to write out the envelopes?” Sandy said. Then she gave an exaggerated shrug. “I may just follow your lead next time. It sure saves time.”

  Emma frowned at the last few names on the list: Mr. Finn Duhon and Guest? Orville didn’t know Finn, but he already hated him. Now he’d invited the other man to the house. She was tempted not to send the invitation, but curiosity won out, and she decided the party could turn out to be a whole lot more interesting than she’d expected. Orville never did anything without a purpose, and she had no doubt he’d decided Finn had money that could be put to good use on the campaign.

  Orville wanted Finn to show up with another woman. The whole point of inviting him was to make Emma miserable and put her in her place.

  Too bad for Orville, because it could be time to give him back some of his own medicine. After all, she was duty bound to be a good, attentive hostess.

  The shop bell rang, and she glanced up to see John Sims, who lived in a rambler on a lot in Mill Lane, out back of Lynnette’s Nail Art in the town square. The house Angela rented and where Secrets met was built on the same parcel of land and abutted John’s rambler on the other side. John had inherited the property from his grandparents and owned both houses.

  “Afternoon, lovely ladies,” John said. Since he traveled, selling pharmaceuticals, he spent little time in town, but he was a good neighbor to the women. “I should be in Lafayette by now. It’s been one of those days. Did you hear about Denise?”

  “Yes,” Emma said.

  Sandy looked away and fanned packages of cocktail napkins on a shelf in a wooden dresser.

  “I didn’t know where to come but here. Angela’s not home. I thought of stoppin’ by the station house, but it’s a zoo there.”

  “Don’t go there,” Sandy told him. “Billy’s in a rage about everythin’, or so Emma says. She can tell you anythin’ you want to know. She found Denise.”

  “You know as much as I do,” Emma said, unwilling to go over every detail again. “I’m goin’ to run into town and mail these invitations. I may be an hour. I need to go up to the house and talk to the pool guy. Orville’s havin’ fits because he says it’s not being properly cleaned.”

  “You must be shaken up,” John said. Of slightly above average height, he resembled a husky blond athlete, and Emma figured his healthy, masculine appearance probably helped him in sales. “Let me run you around to do your errands. You look beat, Emma.”

  “I know.” She gave him a wry smile. “But I’m fine, and it’s good for me to be busy. Sandy, make John one of those fabulous coffee drinks. It’ll knock your socks off,” she said to him, and took the invitations and her purse with her when she left.

  She put her things on the passenger seat and remembered the ponchos were still in the back. At least they hardly weighed anything. She lifted the hatch and pulled out the white box where Mrs. Wallis had lovingly placed her pretty knits.

  Back at the shop, she opened to door and called out, “Here are the ponchos, Sandy. See you later.”

  “Sure thing,” Sandy said.

  Some idiot had parked their black van too close to the driver’s side of the Lexus. The van passenger door was ajar, and she decided to get out of there before her paint job got ruined. Emma went swiftly to her own passenger side, slid in and over the console.

  She put on the air-conditioning and turned the fan up high, switched on the engine and looked over her right shoulder to check behind.

  A rush of warm air from outside slithered around her neck. Emma whipped back just in time to see a man’s hand get a firm grip on the top of her door. Frantic, leaning away from the fingers, she tried to see who he was, but he was reaching from inside the van and the windows, tinted black, gave no hint.

  Tendons stood out in the strong hand and wrist.

  Emma opened her mouth to scream, then remembered the horn. Before she could lean on it, a slim manilla envelope shot into the car and hit her in the face.

  10

  “She’s gone,” John Sims said, watching Emma peel out of the parking lot. “Looks like she’s in a hurry. Does she know anyone with a black van?”

  “Not as far as I know.” Sandy heard the unevenness in her own voice.

  John clicked his tongue. “I’d swear she went after a black van. It pulled out, and she shot after it. I guess it’s not our business. How’re you feeling?” He put his sample case on the floor.

  “Fine,” she said, tensing more with every second that passed. “You?”

  “Terrific, never better. How’s Carl?”

  “He’s well, thank you.” Her throat dried out.

  “Still spending a lot of time at Damalis’s?”

  “Fair amount.” She ordered her mind. John was getting too interested in Carl. So far she’d avoided the hints about an introduction to the Pack, but John wasn’t giving up. She had not had the courage to ask how he knew about the group. Sandy smiled at him. “You were already living in Pointe Judah when Carl and I arrived. I know about you inheriting your grandparents’ property but I never thought to ask you if you were born here.”

  “You think I was born?” His gray eyes never smiled, not even when the corners crinkled like they did now. “I kinda think I crawled out of a hole somewhere and I’ve been thriving ever since. Never did believe that crap about the benefits of mother’s milk.�
��

  “Where did you grow up?”

  “California…mostly. I settled here when I did because I like it. Everyone’s got an agenda, but they’re too sheltered to play games well.”

  Sandy didn’t think she liked what he was suggesting, but she kept her mouth shut. “Will you have that coffee, John?”

  “Ooh, I don’t think so. I didn’t come for coffee.”

  A sudden sharp twinge hit in the increasingly moist places between her legs. She forced a smile. “Hearin’ about Denise puts you off, doesn’t it? I didn’t know till Emma told me.” She hated him, but he excited her. How sick was that?

  “Bigmouth ballbreaker,” he said.

  Shocked, she said, “Emma?”

  “Emma’s soft as dog shit. And just about as bright. I was talking about Denise. I used to watch the way she ran her boss around by the short hairs, and it made me want to puke.”

  Sandy didn’t answer him.

  “Your hands are shaking,” he said. “You nervous? Afraid of me?”

  “Nervous maybe, a nice nervous. But of course I’m not afraid of you.” He terrified her and always had. She didn’t understand him at all. He would never talk to Emma the way he did to her, and she couldn’t do anything about it, because it all sounded innocuous when they were in front of other people. It was only when he got her alone that he turned crude and degrading.

  Be honest, you can’t do anything about it anyway. Two winters ago Carl had taken her skiing and she’d blown a knee. The knee got completely better, but she’d had too many pain killers hanging around afterward, and she fell in love with them. They suppressed her appetite, and made her feel powerful and excited. The lows that followed, the occasional hallucination, weren’t too bad, and as long as she had a supply of the drugs, she could juggle the rotten times to get back to the highs. That was where John Sims came in.

  John had been there one time when Sandy got desperate, and he knew enough to recognize her problem. The little envelopes of samples he’d given her had been golden. She had almost loved him for them. And he’d introduced her to other, more exotic drugs that allowed her to tailor her moods. Mostly she wanted to be up, up, up. But then John had let her know what he expected from her, and now they were a habit together.