I walked back into Hollis’s room with the book. “Looks like Hollis has been studying, all right. Just not sure it’s something the school district knows about.” I passed Lance the book and he quickly eyed the cover.
“Definitely creepy.”
“The weird thing is that he marked a section on revenge,” I said. “On spells you use to get back at people.”
“Like Mellette Babineaux?”
“He wrote her initials next to it.”
Lance frowned. “I’ll need to bag it and tag it as evidence.” He whipped an envelope from his back pocket and slipped the book into it.
“What if Hollis used a revenge spell on Mellette?” I asked. “Not only that, but what if he added something extra to make sure it worked? You told me the coroner’s report was negative. Mellette wasn’t bludgeoned or stabbed and she sure wasn’t sick. That leaves poison.”
“We still don’t have a motive. Not really.”
“He probably knew how Mellette treated his grandma.” There was no mistaking the scowl on Ruby’s face when Mellette ordered her to bring me some sweet tea. Even Mellette admitted Ruby probably had a voodoo doll back home with her likeness on it. “Maybe this was his way to get even with her.”
At that moment, something moved in the doorway. It was Ruby, who’d balled up her fists and planted them against her hips. The cigarette was nowhere to be found. “Dat’s wot ya tink? Ya tink ma Hollis done kilt Miss Babineaux? If dat’s so, ya need ta leave.”
Lance held up his hand. “And you need to back off. I told you to stay out front.”
“But she ain’t a cop. Why she be pawin’ through my grandson’s stuff?”
“She’s helping me with this investigation,” Lance said. “And your Hollis didn’t do himself any favors by going to Sweetwater last night. Not while he’s on probation.”
Ruby’s shoulders sagged. “But he’s jus’ a boy.”
“You should have told us he was here,” I said. “Then he could have spoken to us himself.”
“She’s right.” Lance glanced at his watch. “If I was you, I’d bring your grandson to the police station this afternoon. Maybe he can explain himself.”
Ruby wouldn’t look at us as we passed her on our way to the kitchen. Once we walked through the dim living room, we stepped onto the porch. How wonderful to leave behind the smell of cigarettes, unwashed bedsheets, and fried hash browns. So wonderful that I forgot to worry about Jack, the mongrel.
Luckily, the dog seemed to have given up on us. I made it to Lance’s car with no problem and moved into the passenger seat as Lance sat behind the steering wheel.
“Is it just me, or did that house give you the heebie-jeebies?” I asked.
“Nah, it’s just you.” Lance smiled as he revved the engine.
“She’s a strange one.” I glanced over my shoulder as we pulled away and saw Ruby’s shrunken form behind the ripped screen. “I can’t decide if I feel sorry for her or not.”
“I don’t. She should have been straight with us.”
“True.” I yawned loudly. “So where are we going? Back to the station?”
“We could.” He glanced again at his watch. “But it’s been awhile since I’ve had anything to eat. You up for some lunch?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to get the smell of that place out of my head. You’d think she’d wash the linens or something. But, yeah, now that you mention it, I could go for something to eat.”
“So what about my mom’s place? I know you said you ate there last night, but she’s got a different lunch menu.”
“Sure. Why not?” I leaned my head against the window, relieved to be sitting down again. Stands of cypress rolled by, their leaves blanched by the sun, and nothing moved in the sky above, which meant the egrets must have taken shelter from the midday heat.
“Shoot.” I immediately straightened. “I should call my assistant at the shop. I’ve been gone for a while now.”
I pulled out my cell and dialed the number, which rang twice before Beatrice picked up.
“Hi, Missy. Where are you?”
“Lance and I just left Miss Ruby’s house. But we’re thinking about getting some lunch. You okay over there?”
“Sure. It’s been mostly quiet. Someone did call who got the number off our website. She wants to come in Friday.”
“Great.” Hallelujah! Some of our internet marketing was working. I’d spent a small fortune on a freelance designer and then hired an IT consultant who did something mystical called search engine optimization. “I’ll look forward to it. No word from Jennalee, I hope.”
“Nope. She’s probably out spending Daddy’s money. There was someone else who called, though. Someone from the management company here.”
Just then Lance rounded a particularly steep curve and I lurched against the side panel. I shot him a look as we skidded back into our lane. “Did you say management company?”
“Yeah, the people who run the Factory. Remember that auction Jennalee was going on about? How they wanted to use the ground floor of her precious riverboat? Personally, I think it would’ve done her a world of good to share. But, whatever. Anyway, they called here.”
“They want to have it at the store?” While I was proud of my studio—all 865 square feet of it—it was not designed to hold a public event.
“No, silly. They want to hold it in the atrium here. They’re checking with all the shop owners to make sure it’s okay.”
Now, that made sense. Our landlord loved to host special events in the atrium, like wedding expos, flash sales, and monthly open houses. Anything to boost attendance and get people talking about our shops. “It’s fine by me. You can say so if they call again.”
“Will do. Have a nice lunch, and I’ll see you when you get back.”
“Just a second.” Here Beatrice had been at the shop all morning, while I’d been gallivanting up, down, and sideways trying to find out more about Mellette’s murder. “Why don’t you leave the store yourself and grab some lunch?”
“Nah, I’m good. I’m saving room. Today they’re giving out samples at Pink Cake Boxes.”
I blinked. Was it really Tuesday afternoon already? I’d lost all track of time since Ambrose and I found Mellette’s body on the dirty floor of the garden shed.
More than twenty-four hours had passed since then, and we still had no concrete leads.
I lowered the cell and leaned my head against the window again. After a few minutes, my eyelids grew heavy and I finally nodded off.
Chapter 12
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead. We’re here.” Lance’s voice hovered somewhere over me.
Reluctantly, I pried my eyes open. We were in the parking lot of Miss Odilia’s Southern Eatery, where everything looked the same, from the red brick walls faded pink to the purple flower boxes under the windowsills. The only difference was the empty parking lot.
Unlike the night before, when Ambrose and I could barely find a spot, only a few cars dotted the lot now. “Wow. You shoulda seen this place last night.”
“Hope it was busier then.”
“Definitely.” I rubbed my stiff neck. “Could barely find a place to park.”
I groped for the sunshade in front of me and flipped it open to check the mirror. Dark rings circled my eyes like two bruises, and a light sheen coated my skin. Thank goodness Ambrose was nowhere near me at the moment.
“Guess the crowd’s lighter at lunchtime.” Lance killed the ignition and swung open his car door.
I slapped the sunshade closed and stepped out of the car, onto the blacktop. Heat rose from the asphalt in waves, and I hotfooted it all the way to the front door. “Will your mom be here today?”
“I don’t know,” Lance said. “She could be at her other restaurant.”
We walked under the kelly-green awning and approached the hostess, who recognized Lance immediately and motioned for us to follow her. Memories trickled back to me as we walked through the restaurant. Of Ambrose and me s
waying across the floor after two bottles of white wine. The feel of his hand in mine as he led me through the tables. And then my surprise at seeing Hank Dupre and Ashley Cox together, just over there.
I thought I’d remembered everything until we passed by the awkward table in the alcove. It was where Charles had seated us. Maybe it was the exhaustion, but the hairs on the back of my neck began to bristle.
The chairs were gone now, replaced by rolled-up silverware, extra menus, and stacked water glasses. So why did the sight of it bother me so?
“You’re back.” A familiar voice sounded behind me.
I turned to see Charles, our waiter from the night before. “Hello. You know Lance, right?”
Since Lance was the detective at Morningside and Charles waited tables there, odds were good the two men knew each other.
He nodded. “Of course. ’Sup, Lieutenant?”
“A little of this and that. I’m working a case here in town. The Sweetwater case.”
“Do you have any suspects yet?”
Lance shook his head. “No. I’m trying to eliminate some folks now. Don’t have a whole lot to go on at this point.”
While the two men talked, my mind returned to the night before. To a quiet conversation between Odilia and me, there in the awkward alcove.
“Helllooo. Whatcha thinking about?” Lance waved his hand in front of my face.
Charles had left and, in his place, he’d dropped two menus on the table.
“Nothing, really. Just how different everything seemed from when I was here with Ambrose last night. That’s all.”
“Um-hm.” Lance pursed his lips as he pretended to study the menu.
“What? Okay, now you sound like your mother. Why can’t people believe that he and I are just friends?”
“Friends don’t look at each other like that.”
“Like what? I look at him the same way I look at everyone else.”
He struggled to keep a straight face. “You’re probably the only one who doesn’t see it. He can’t seem to take his eyes off you. Guess you’re the only one who hasn’t figured it out.”
“Whatever. By the way, why are you reading the menu? You should know your mama’s food by heart.”
“I do. Think I’m gonna go for the chicken and chutney today. Some people say it tastes like jelly, but there’s a big difference.”
The moment he mentioned the jelly, something clicked into place. Of course. Odilia had mentioned it somewhere near the end of our conversation.
We’d been talking about Mellette’s murder and Sweetwater. Odilia wasn’t surprised something terrible had happened there, given that people practiced witchcraft on the property. And not just any people . . . friends of Charles.
“You guys ready to order?”
Charles had returned to the table with a basket full of glazed rolls.
“Just a second.” I pointed to a chair nearby. “Can we talk first?”
“I guess.” He slid into the empty chair. “You’re my only customers right now. ’Sup?”
“I want to talk to you about something I heard.”
“Uh-oh. What’ve I done now?” Charles threw up his hands. He looked a bit disheveled again, as if he hadn’t slept well. Maybe he was taking too many summer classes, though. “Whatever happened, I swear it wasn’t me.”
I squirmed in the chair. “Remember when Ambrose and I were here last night?”
“Of course. You guys had that weird table. Why?”
“Well, I had a chance to talk with Miss Odilia.”
Lance suddenly looked up. Until now he’d been more interested in the menu than our conversation, but not after hearing his mother’s name.
“I love working for her,” Charles said. “She lets me pick my hours and the pay’s decent. What about her?”
I paused before answering. I didn’t want to put him on the defensive, but her comments had bothered me, so I picked my words carefully. “She told me about some of the friends you’ve made.”
“Really?”
“She said you know those people who practice voodoo around here. Of course, I didn’t believe her.”
Something flickered behind his eyes. “I get it. You think I’m involved with all that voodoo stuff?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” This wasn’t coming out right. “I just think it’s weird that you’d hang out with people like that.”
“People like what?” Now it seemed like he was baiting me; daring me to say what was really on my mind.
“You know. People who cast spells and make potions and come up with curses. Weird stuff like that.”
“Let me tell you something.”
I hadn’t been wrong. He definitely looked exhausted, and the anger only hardened his words more.
“Those people are my friends. Remember when my dad lost his fishing boat? We were dead broke after that.”
How could I forget that? Charles had told me the story one day while we sat in the restaurant at Morningside, rolling up silverware all nice and tight. I’d asked him about his studies at LSU and why he still lived at home if he took classes almost two hours away, in Baton Rouge.
Everything came back to the day his father lost his shrimping boat. While Charles could cover the cost of tuition with his tips, he couldn’t afford room and board too. So he moved back home, just in time to watch a sheriff arrive to repossess his dad’s shrimping boat.
“No one wanted anything to do with us after that.” His tone was ice cold. “Even our next-door neighbors turned their backs.”
“That’s terrible.” I didn’t know what else to say, and the memory seemed so fresh for him.
“The only people who talked to us lived along the river. They gave us bass and flathead; more than we could eat. They took my dad shrimping so he could get on his feet again. You just don’t know them like I do.”
I sucked in my breath. No wonder he’d befriended the women in batik skirts and tie-dyed headdresses, the ones who danced in the firelight. Turned out they not only made potions and cast spells and sewed gris-gris, but they also fed a family when no one else would.
Shame on me.
“On top of everything else,” he said, “now they’re losing their land. Some Realtors have already sicced the government on the old folks who live on the riverbank. They call the mobile homes an eyesore. Want to tear them down because the precious tourists might see it on their river cruises. I don’t give a damn about the tourists. You don’t kick old people out of their homes. That’s just wrong.”
He stalked away from our table without a backward glance.
“Wow. Guess he feels strongly about it.” Lance watched him go.
“Now I feel terrible. I never should have said anything. Look what I started.”
“You’re okay. I can see why that stuff would surprise you.”
“But he got so defensive.” I’d never seen his jaw set so hard. “I don’t think he’s gonna talk to me again.”
“You didn’t mean any harm.” Lance passed me a menu. “Here. Maybe some food will help take your mind off it.”
“I don’t even think I can eat.”
“C’mon. Get yourself some chicken and maybe a glass of wine. My mom’s cooking will help you feel better, since it sounds like you couldn’t feel any worse.”
* * *
We spent our lunchtime huddled over our plates, discussing Mellette’s murder. By the time Charles brought us second cups of Community coffee, his face had relaxed again and I’d almost forgotten my earlier faux pas.
Much as I wanted to linger in the restaurant, both Lance and I had work to do. So we finished our coffees and left, with Lance waving to the hostess on our way out. Then he held open the front door for me, and I stepped into fresh air again. My eyes closed against the brightness, and that was when I almost ran smack-dab into someone else walking up the path.
“Lorda mercy!” My eyes flew open.
Odilia LaPorte swayed in front of me with a heavy Publix sack under ea
ch arm. I quickly reached for the nearest sack so she wouldn’t topple over right then and there.
“Missy Du Bois.” She gladly gave it to me. “Whatever are you doing here?”
“Having some lunch with Lance.”
Her son stepped out from behind me and took the other grocery bag. “Hi, Mama.”
“Gah-lee, that feels better.” She shook out her wrists for a few seconds. “Do you mean to tell me you two have been here the whole time and I missed it?”
“Sure enough.”
Her smile collapsed into a pout. “Gol-darn it! I coulda joined you.”
“If it’s any consolation,” I said, “we just had the best meal ever. All thanks to your restaurant.”
“You mean thanks to my chef. Think I’ve finally got that one trained.”
“Where do you want the bags?” I asked.
“Over there.” She motioned to the front door. “Put ’em right inside. I have to figure out where to put it all. Don’t worry, nothing will melt. So, your food was good?”
“Of course.” Lance’s voice swelled with pride. “No wonder I weigh so much, Mama. I’m gonna blame you if I fail my next physical.”
“Do I make you eat second helpings?” She tsked her way to the front door and waited for us to tuck the bags inside. “By the way, how’s that murder case going?”
“It’s going,” Lance said. “Missy has been helping me with some leads.”
“That’s good. Hard to imagine something like that could happen right here in Bleu Bayou.”
“You know it happens all over now.” He turned to face me. “Mama here thinks criminals only hit big cities like New Orleans and Baton Rouge. I try to tell her it can happen anywhere.”
“Do you know how she died?” Odilia scrunched up her nose. “Now don’t tell me the gruesome parts. I haven’t had my lunch yet.”
“That’s the thing,” I said. “It looks like she may have been poisoned.”
“Well, that’s just as bad as anything else.”
“But if they used poison, that means they put a lot of thought into it,” I said. “It wasn’t a random killing. Could be Mellette Babineaux even knew the person who did it.”
At that moment, a car alarm began shrieking from somewhere in the parking lot. We all turned to watch the spectacle from the steps and to see whether someone would come running out of the restaurant. When no one did, we resumed our conversation, although we had to speak a little louder.
Something Foul at Sweetwater Page 12
