by Shari Hearn
“Waddell’s murder. Your ideas about who might have done it.”
“I’m glad you asked, kiddo because I’ve been observing some mighty strange things lately.” She reached for a folder on the wicker coffee table next to the plate of cookies. “When Deputy LeBlanc called to say he was coming over to talk about Waddell, that reminded me of something peculiar that I observed a week ago.”
She opened the file folder, bulging with pages of lined paper, and pointed to a paragraph in the middle of the page. “It had to do with the mailman. I was walking Gracie, she’s my chocolate lab. She was sniffing around Juliette Nolin’s azalea bushes and decided it was time to do her business. I knew Juliette would pitch a fit if Gracie left one ounce of poo on her precious grass, so I walked her around Juliette’s house to the empty lot next door.”
I nodded.
“Soon I heard people approaching, stopping behind those hideous topiaries that fill Juliette’s yard. One voice was Waddell. I couldn’t quite place the other voice, but I looked down and noticed a pair of jungle-print hi-top sneakers with a zipper in the back. Silly shoe for a man, but I’d seen that shoe before.” She looked down at the notes. “On the mailman. He doesn’t wear them every day, thank the good Lord.”
“What were they talking about?” I asked.
“The mailman said Waddell was holding out on him. He wanted all of the goods. Waddell said he was raising the price on his services. Said it was worth it. The mailman agreed to the price, but said this was the last time Waddell was going to raise it. Waddell then left and the mailman called someone on his cell phone. Sounded like it might be a lady friend. Now, I don’t know if this is the same lady friend,” she said, examining her notes, “but I do remember seeing the mailman with the café owner.”
“Francine?”
She looked back at her notes. “I don’t have a name here.”
“Francine owns Francine’s Café,” I said. “The only restaurant in Sinful.”
She thought a moment, then nodded. And blinked a few times, as if she were getting her bearings. “You’re right, Miss Morrow,” she said, her voice lifting a bit in pitch. “Francine’s is the only place to dine in Sinful. Do they still have that silly banana pudding race every Sunday? Honest to Pete, if those ladies love pudding so much, why don’t they learn to make it themselves?”
“Do you remember the mailman saying anything else to the woman on the phone?”
She looked puzzled. “Who?”
“The mailman. With the funny hi-top shoes. He was on his phone after Waddell left.”
She looked back at her notes. Clarity seemed to return to her. “Yes, of course. Excuse me for appearing muddled. It’s that damn pill I took to calm my nerves. Well, half a pill, but don’t tell Janice. She insisted I take one before speaking with Deputy LeBlanc. One of the side effects is confusion soon after I take it. That’s why I only like to take half. Just between you and me, I’d say Janice’s obsession with my well-being borders on insanity. But maybe crazy runs in the family. What do you think, kiddo?”
Before I could even possibly know how to formulate an answer to that one, she continued, “You wanted to know where the mailman was going to meet his lady friend.”
I nodded.
“He wasn’t specific, just said he would meet up with her at their usual Wednesday spot. Said he had something to give her. And then he added that they had to figure out what to do with Waddell.”
“Usual spot? You didn’t hear him elaborate?”
She shook her head. “Sorry, kiddo, the note ends there.”
“Hmmm. Do you know where the mailman’s regular Wednesday spot is?”
“Hm?” Lila Rose asked.
I repeated my question. She shrugged.
“Well, I did hear him say he spent his Wednesday nights at the roller rink. Why do you ask?”
“Because, you said you overheard him on the phone making plans to meet someone at their usual Wednesday spot.”
“I did?” she asked. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to excuse me. I just had a pill to calm my nerves. It can cause temporary confusion.”
That half a pill must have packed a punch, because even I was getting confused with the conversation. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she’d just told me about the shot a couple minutes ago.
I decided to change the subject. “Skating rink?” In all my time in Sinful, I’d never noticed a skating rink. “Where’s the skating rink?”
“Well, dear,” she said, closing the file folder with a flourish, “you might want to ask your friends Ida Belle and Gertie about that. In fact, it was because of them I built one of my stories around a skating rink.”
The door opened and Janice appeared with a book. “I found it,” she said, handing it to me. She walked outside and gestured toward the path Lila Rose and I had taken to the back porch. “If there’s anything else I can get for you, don’t hesitate to call.”
Lila Rose scribbled something on the corner of one of her note pages and tore it off. “I wrote my personal cell number down in case you need me.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking it. “And thanks for the tea and cookies.” I stood up and followed Janice around to the front of the house. The door opened and a woman in overalls stepped outside. She looked to be around early-fifties, and was carrying a thick book of fabric swatches.
“I think we’ve found a perfect match for the sofa,” the woman said to Janice.
“Good,” Janice said to her. “How much longer do you think you’ll be in that room?”
“I’d say another week. But I think you’ll love the results.”
Janice nodded as the woman walked toward a pickup truck parked in front of the house.
“I would hope so,” Janice muttered. “That company has been taking forever on it.” She rolled her eyes at me. “We had a leaky pipe last month, so we’re having a couple rooms worked on. They’ve spent four weeks alone on mother’s office.” Before going inside the house, Janice wished me a good day and then added, “If you need to reach us, best to call me on the house number. Mom’s cell phone is used in case of emergencies.”
I nodded, said goodbye to Janice, and walked to my Jeep. The woman had finished putting her swatches into her truck and was coming back to the house, stopping to chat as she passed by.
“You’re Sandy-Sue Morrow, aren’t you?” She asked. “My name is Mayliss Darby. I’m a contractor. I saw you in the library yesterday.”
She extended her hand to me and we shook.
“Yes, I’m taking over for one of the regular librarians for a few days.”
“I was so glad when you showed up in town,” she said. “I moved to Sinful three years ago and until you arrived I was still known as the new girl in town.”
“Glad I could take the burden off you,” I said.
“Shame what happened at the library yesterday.”
I nodded. “You didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, did you?”
She shook her head. “I was just in there for a few minutes looking for a book. I wish I had seen something so I could have stopped whoever did it.” She sighed. “Well, I’d better get back to work.”
She started to go back to the house, but stopped and turned toward me. “That Janice really hovers around her mother, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah, she’s a bit high strung.”
“That’s putting it mildly. I was surprised she let you talk to Lila Rose. I haven’t been able to barely say hello to her without Janice getting in between us.” She shrugged. “Oh, well, I’ve heard Lila Rose is a little unhinged.”
She stared at me, waiting for a response.
“We actually had a pleasant conversation,” I said.
“Huh, well that’s nice to know. Like I said, we haven’t spoken, and I don’t plan on it. I have a couple more weeks in the house and I certainly don’t want to upset Janice.”
I left the house with an unsettled feeling. Janice knew her way around a needle. And she definitely wante
d to limit outside contact with her mother. And she had a clear economic motive to do away with her cousin, Waddell. Although Waddell had stopped asking Lila Rose for money, he could again in the future. Maybe Janice figured she’d prevent any further drain on her inheritance.
Lila Rose had said Janice wasn’t capable of murder. But there was just something about Janice that left me wondering just how well Lila Rose knew her own daughter.
Chapter Seven
I shared what I’d learned with Ida Belle and Gertie over a cup of coffee and slice of blackberry pie at Francine’s. We chose our favorite spot in the back. Private - no other diners around our table to overhear our planning. And we had a good view of the entrance. I always liked to know who was coming and going, something I doubt I’ll ever shake.
“Andy the mailman?” Ida Belle asked. “Is she sure that’s who Waddell was talking to?”
I sliced a forkful of pie. “That’s what she said. She wrote it all down when she got back from her dog walking.” The blackberry pie woke up my mouth. Why Ally hadn’t been snapped up by some fancy restaurant in New Orleans was beyond me.
“You realize Lila Rose is a little ‘off,’ don’t you?” Ida Belle said.
I nodded and recited what Gertie had told me. “She was one of Louisiana’s best-selling authors, but she lost her confidence after her last book was torn apart by reviewers and went a little nuts.”
“Torn apart is an understatement,” Ida Belle said. “Lila Rose put one of her main characters on life support. The reviewers hated it.”
Gertie nodded. “Up until that last installment, the PB&J Mysteries was one of my favorite book series.”
“She titled a book series after a sandwich?”
“No,” Ida Belle said. “It was about a crusty lady private eye, Poppy Boone, and her young protégé, Jelly.”
“Jelly was a little girl of three when she was dumped on Poppy’s porch with a note stuck to her sweater that said she liked peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.” Were Gertie’s eyes tearing up? “So Poppy took her in and called her Jelly.” She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “Sorry, that part of the story always got to me. Anyway, in the last book, Jelly, who’s now an adult woman, is shot by the evil Flynn Binder, who accused her of killing his brother. She winds up in the hospital, under the care of crazy Nurse Vickie—she’s one of those angel-of-death kinda nurses. She injects poor Jelly with something to end her suffering.”
“So then the reviewers tore Lila Rose apart and she went crazy?”
Ida Belle nodded. “Apparently her publishing company was going through some kind of management change and the new gal in charge wanted to replace Jelly, who was kind of a tomboy, with a dumb blonde sexpot character. Lila Rose was under contract for one more book, so she had to go along with it. But her fans loved Jelly, and were furious she would kill her off. Her other book series still remain popular, but Lila Rose is no longer the darling of Louisiana. In fact, I heard she doesn’t even read books by Louisiana authors anymore because she can’t stand it that she’s not on top.”
Gertie sliced off a sliver of pie. “According to my hairdresser, who’s also Lila Rose’s hairdresser, she felt so guilty killing Jelly that she vowed never to write again.”
“Except she does,” I said.
The looks on their faces told me this came as a surprise.
“Who told you that?” Ida Belle asked.
“She did. When we were having tea. She said she writes every day, but refuses to publish any of it. Her own daughter can’t even read it. They just sit in file drawers.”
Gertie shook her head. “She’s crazier than I thought.”
“Look, aside from a little confusion from some medication to calm her nerves, she seemed pretty sane to me. Her notes made your snooping seem amateurish.”
Ida Belle winced. “But can you trust her observations?”
“I’ll tell you who I don’t trust,” I said after swallowing a bite of pie. “Her daughter, Janice. I could tell she didn’t want Lila Rose talking to me. Even their contractor got a weird vibe about her. And Lila Rose mentioned that her daughter didn’t like it that she gave Waddell money, or that she doesn’t publish her work anymore.”
“Well, sure, Janice is probably watching her inheritance whittle away.”
“And get this, her daughter is pretty proficient with a needle. She gives the dog injections of tranquilizers. And with all the research Lila Rose has done on murder for her books, I wouldn’t be surprised if Janice has read some of it.”
“So Janice can be a suspect as well,” Gertie said.
I nodded. “I don’t think there’s going to be a lack of suspects in this case. That Pancake Junction writer confirmed what you’ve heard, that Waddell had a gambling problem, and a nasty habit of chasing after married women. However, Lila Rose said that he hadn’t hit her up for gambling money in about a year.” I took a sip of coffee.
Ida Belle nodded. “So maybe he found another source of funding.”
“I can buy anyone as a suspect except Andy,” Gertie said. “It just seems impossible. Andy’s been delivering mail in Sinful for three years. He doesn’t seem capable of murder.”
“So maybe he has a side to him no one knows about,” I said. “Lila Rose’s notes indicated that he was going to meet some mystery woman at their usual place.”
Gertie scowled. “Lila Rose sure sticks her nose in everybody’s business,” she said to Ida Belle. “At least we don’t keep dossiers of the comings and goings of our neighbors.”
“And she knows his usual hangout on a Wednesday night,” I added. “A roller rink?”
Gertie smiled. “The roller rink? Andy skates? He never mentioned that. And you’d think skating would be something he’d mention to us.”
“Lila Rose said you two would be familiar with the place.”
“Familiar with it?” Ida Belle said, her mouth now turning upward into a smile. “The Mudbug Skate World. About three miles east of downtown Mudbug. We ruled that place at one time.”
Not surprising as they ruled Sinful since the Sixties.
“You two skated?”
“Skated?” Gertie fiddled with her phone then held it out for me. It was her Facebook page. “This was my Throwback Thursday photo a few weeks ago.”
I took the phone and gazed at the photo. About a dozen women on skates were wearing black tights, knee and elbow pads and helmets, with Sinful Sliders emblazoned across their red shirts and lightning bolts extending down the sleeves. I could tell instantly which women were Ida Belle and Gertie. They looked to be in their thirties. Ida Belle was wearing the helmet that read, “Captain.” Gertie was hamming it up for the photo, holding another woman in a headlock, a woman I recognized from photos in Marge’s house.
“Is the woman in the headlock Marge?”
Gertie nodded. “She was Trixie Trample. I was Duchess Danger and Ida Belle was Ida Give‘EmHell.”
“You two were on a Roller Derby team?”
“Not just any Roller Derby team,” Ida Belle said. “The Sinful Sliders were state champions seven years in a row.”
“No team since has been able to beat our record.”
I handed the phone back to Gertie.
“So you’d think Andy would have mentioned to one of us that he was going to the skating rink,” Ida Belle said.
“Unless he was meeting a woman there he shouldn’t have been. He’s married, right?”
“I agree with Gertie,” Ida Belle said. “I can’t see Andy doing this.”
“Well, supposedly he’s meeting some woman there tonight. We could go just to see if he shows up and what woman he meets. Who knows, maybe whoever he meets tonight is on the list of people at the library when Waddell died.”
Gertie clapped. “The roller rink. I haven’t been there in ten years.”
“Lila Rose didn’t have any idea who this woman was?” Ida Belle asked before eating another piece of pie.
“Um, she did mention her suspicions about a
particular married woman.”
“Let’s hear it,” Gertie said.
Francine came out of the kitchen carrying a coffeepot, filling a few coffee cups at a table close to the swinging doors. Cradling a cordless phone to her ear, she tossed out a few “hmm-hmm’s” into the receiver. I flicked my head toward her.
“Francine?” Gertie asked, stunned.
Ida Belle began choking on her pie. Gertie reached over and slapped her on her back and held up a glass of water to her lips. “Drink some water.”
Ida Belle did, chugging a few swallows down. “That’s crazy,” she said. “For one thing, she’s about fifteen years older than he is. And for another, Francine’s wild about her husband.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Maybe Lila Rose just mistook her. I mean, there are several women in town that could be mistaken for Francine from a distance. But we should at least eliminate her as a suspect and ask her how well she knows Andy or Waddell.”
Francine made her way to our table and poured more coffee in our cups. She spoke into the phone, her temper showing in her voice. “I’m tired of hearing your sob story. I don’t care that your delivery guy was on a bender. I ordered the catfish and I expect it to be delivered. If I don’t have my catfish in time for my Thursday night fry, I will personally come down to your boat and get it. You don’t want that. Because catfish won’t be the only thing I’m dragging off that boat!”
Francine cursed and stormed back to the kitchen, advising the man on the other end he’d better make sure his boat was well insured.
“Maybe we could talk to her another time,” Gertie said.
* * * * *
I double-checked my surveillance gear while waiting for Gertie and Ida Belle to arrive at my house. Everything seemed in order: binoculars, camera with telephoto lens, a huge thermos of coffee and supply of sugar, creamer and paper cups. I had no idea how long we’d have to wait for Andy to show, or even if he would show, but I knew there was nothing worse than sitting in a car waiting for a target when you have no coffee or food. I was responsible for the coffee. Gertie was responsible for the food.
