by June Shaw
“I’m sorry for your loss, too, Jessica,” I said.
As I’d figured, her expression turned grim. Her lips pressed together with her lower one pushed forward. All joy left her eyes. “Thank you.”
With no change in his demeanor, Andrew Primeaux reached for a cigarette and lighter on the small end table beside his chair.
“No, don’t,” Jessica told him. “Use the electronic one. You don’t want to light that thing.”
“Yes, I do.” He eyed her but stuck the unfiltered cigarette in his mouth and struck up a flame. The moment he did, he released a deep cough. And then another and another.
Eve started coughing, too. “I need to go.” She shoved up to her feet. With another cough and a frown, she gave the others a small nod and rushed out the door.
“I’m sorry,” the man smoking said between hacks. “I shouldn’t have lit up.”
Jessica stepped across the room to him. “No, you shouldn’t. You know how bad it is for you.” She yanked the cigarette out of his fingers and stubbed it out in a large seashell on the table that must have been her uncle’s ashtray.
I walked behind her to the door.
“Tell your sister I’m sorry,” Andrew told me. “I hope I didn’t make her sick.”
“I’ll tell her,” I said on my way out. Since they hadn’t given any information that might help, I didn’t imagine I should just ask who in their family hadn’t liked Clara Wilburn, especially not in front of the teen. Before I had crossed the small porch, someone shut the wooden door, but not before I glanced back and saw the girl’s hand locking the screen door and pushing the wooden one shut.
“Did they hurry and kick you out?” From the passenger seat of my truck, Eve watched me strap myself in.
I hesitated before turning the key. “Sure seems like it, doesn’t it?”
“Sunny, what do you think is going on with that girl and him?”
“I have mixed feelings about that situation.” We stared at the front door. I considered that possibly she might sneak outside to us after he left the room. Maybe she would ask for help. Maybe Eve thought the same thing. I counted down long minutes while we kept our faces toward the house.
When I gave up on anything happening, I started my truck and headed away. “At first I thought she might be a victim in there, but after the way she yanked his cigarette away from him and put it out and the way she spoke to him, I’m thinking she didn’t act like he had power over her.”
Eve kept nodding. She coughed one more time before she spoke. “I think it was pretty obvious that was the Jessica who visited the manor twice in the last couple of weeks.”
“I agree. And none of the family liked Mrs. Wilburn, Andrew Primeaux had said. So possibly Jessica didn’t either. But if not, why did she keep visiting her? I want to find out more about family not liking her.”
Eve’s fingers sped over the face of her cell phone while I drove a distance from Andrew Primeaux’s residence.
“Sending a message to your grandchild?” I asked, a blend of pleasure and amazement mixing within me. I was thrilled for her having that little one in her life. At the same time, I found it totally confusing to believe my sister had become a grandmother.
She gave me a smile. “No. I’d like to. I can’t wait until he’s old enough to talk to me or play with me.”
I grinned in return, trying to imagine that tiny baby growing old enough to speak but couldn’t envision the scene. “Maybe wait till he can babble a little first.”
She moved her gaze back to her phone. “What I did was a search for Mrs. Wilburn’s name, thinking maybe a notice of her death came up somewhere.” Her tight-lipped expression toward the phone let me know she still had not found any mention of the dead woman.
“So what do you suggest we do now?” I asked.
She lifted her shoulders and rolled them backward. “I have so many confusing thoughts. I want to be with my daughter and her baby, but it’s too soon for me to be around them again since their family needs to bond. And I don’t know what to think about the people we just visited.”
“So you want to go and work out.”
She gave me a small nod. “You know that’ll help me clear my mind and think better.”
“I do.” I reached a corner and turned. Once I left the neighborhood, I felt my shoulders relax, letting me know how tense they had been. Seconds later, I noticed that even a musty smell seemed to leave my nostrils, the odor probably recalled from the old showers and changing room at that public pool that never seemed to leave the place. The tension, I recognized, stemmed from uncertainty about the relationship of the man and girl in the house and indecision about what I should do next that might help.
“Just promise me you won’t go sticking yourself in dangerous places alone.” Eve’s words broke into my musing that had scattered all over the place.
“No, Sis, I definitely won’t do that.” I slowed right before reaching her house, disappointed to see the For Sale sign still in front of Mrs. Wilburn’s place. Or maybe it really belonged to Royce now since he had set out that sign. Driving at a centipede’s pace, I felt my heartbeat speed and eyed the visible area around that house. Not seeing Royce, I kept going past Eve’s house, tracing my gaze all around her place to make certain I didn’t see him trying to hide close to it.
She glanced at me with a pensive look, her eyes tighter than before. “Are you going to stop and let me out, or do I need to open the door and jump out while you’re driving so slowly?”
“Just checking.” I eyed the area beyond her yard to the beginnings of Jake Angelette’s fence, his house, and yard. No sign of Royce or Jake around. None of Jake’s tools remained on the grass. I backed to Eve’s driveway. “Okay, you’re clear.”
With no hesitation, she opened her door, slid out, and kept the door of my truck open while she spoke. “If you keep doing this every time you bring me home, I’m not riding with you again.”
I tightened my lips. Squeezed their corners back and watched her slam the door and rush into her house. I found myself waiting moments longer to make certain she wouldn’t scream or come running back outside because she found a threat.
The parting drapes from her den grabbed my attention. She parted them more and stood where I was certain to see her frowning out at me.
I drove away. Where I would head, I wasn’t certain. I didn’t want to go home. I did want to do something worthwhile, but had promised her I wouldn’t snoop into murder on my own. My mind began working into overdrive with whom I wanted to investigate to try to prove that no one I truly cared about had wiped out Mrs. Wilburn.
My gaze flipped away from the road and dipped to my purse on the seat. The white tip of the pen I had accidentally taken from the manor stuck up a half inch from the zippered opening. I touched its cool plastic and turned when I reached the bayou, knowing where I would go. I’d feel better after I returned that item I’d snitched to where it belonged. While I was there, I might find Andrew Primeaux’s grandmother had finished her nap and was now refreshed, ready to give me all of the information I wanted about him and other relatives he had told me could not stand his murdered aunt.
Not wanting to take time to bake, I went into a grocery store and bought different cookies and cakes. I walked into the manor with one of the cooks and passed the goodies on to her, knowing many residents were pleased whenever they found something different to select. I took steps inside the building when my phone rang.
“Ms. Taylor?” a familiar man’s voice asked.
“Yes, Detective.” I quit moving.
“I’ll need to speak with you again.”
My pulse sped. “Now?”
A long second passed. “No, but soon. I’ll let you know.”
My breath relaxed a pinch. “Okay.”
He clicked off. I wanted to know why he wanted me but had chosen not to ask. Maybe I wouldn’t like his reply. In the meantime, I needed to rush for answers to whatever I
could find on my own.
Inside, I reached the sign-in desk and saw that Jessica came to visit here yesterday. I had only signed in a few times after Mom moved in, something she chose to do. I wrote my signature with the pen lying next to the book, the kind of pen a person can buy in a pack that costs a dollar. In the column asking who a guest was visiting, I wrote: Adrienne Viatar. Maybe seeing that would make Jessica or her “uncle” contact me.
While I exchanged a pleasant smile with the woman seated at a desk behind and lower than the counter, I slid the flared-tipped long white pen up there, not in the stand where it belonged since she would know it was me who just returned it. Holding her gaze with mine, I slipped the pen under the edge of a binder a few inches away from the book and hoped other people would come and sign in before the woman eyeing me noticed the fancy pen was back.
“Do you know whether Mrs. Viatar is up from her nap yet?” I asked the staff member facing me.
“I’m not sure.” She turned back toward her computer. Seeming to notice I hadn’t moved on yet, she glanced up again. “Oh, there she is. I’m sure she’ll enjoy getting to see you.”
I had no idea whether the woman hunched over the walker she inched behind would like to have me around her. Shame pinched my conscience a second after I saw her when I was disappointed to find she no longer wore the small brown map of Louisiana on her bosom. Obviously, she’d noticed that gravy stain or someone told her about it, and she’d removed the apparel. She now wore a paisley-print dress.
Unlike some other residents with walkers who slid them ahead with ease, she bent way over hers and shuffled her feet. I wanted to go and help her walk. I wondered what might help her to move faster, and then decided it would be a wheelchair that would roll, but then her legs would lose most of their ability to support her body.
I intercepted her as she came down the first hall. She had nearly finished her walk toward any seating area when I moved in beside her. “Hello, Mrs. Viatar. It’s so nice to see you again.”
She stopped moving, lifted her head up, and looked at my face. With no recognition registering, she stared ahead and again puttered toward her objective, which I figured was a place to sit.
I wanted to sit with her. That way I could get information about people in her family.
I moved beside her. “Would you like to sit on that sofa?” I pointed to the nearest one. Only three feet ahead in the area where my mom normally sat, this resident could get there quicker and the seats would be comfortable.
She stopped again. Mrs. Viatar bent her neck back so she could look up at my face, waiting long minutes that must have made her legs tired.
I pointed ahead. “Look, the sofa on your left. Would you like to sit there so you can rest? We can visit.”
This time she checked out the sofa. After some time in which she could have recited the alphabet, she moved her eyes forward and continued her stroll.
Would she talk to me? Could she even speak? I started to wonder if either was possible or probable and if I was wasting my time. Time, though, was what we didn’t have. I wanted to discover who actually killed Mrs. Wilburn to take all suspicions off those of us who’d discovered her body. Hours and minutes spent in prison would feel much longer than they did out here.
Fewer residents than normal moved around. A younger woman wearing a dark blue shirt and pants that many wore here as a uniform took brisk steps along the hall facing us.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Do you know when the bus that went to the casino today comes back?”
“No, I don’t,” she said in passing, and I recalled the riot of long curls on a young woman here. Since I saw so few natural curls on women now, I rather favored them. My long hair was wavy, but natural curls were nice. I also recalled this hair on one of the two women wearing these uniforms who’d seemed to pay unnatural attention to me around here twice. What was that about?
I glanced back at her and found her doing the same thing with me. Watching. Who was she? How did she know anything about me? Did she know something about Mrs. Wilburn and her killer? I would speak to her.
“Ooo,” came from the woman I followed. While I was walking and looking back, I had run into her. She was pitching forward as though trying to take a dive over the front bar of her walker.
I grabbed her when she was partway across and set her upright on her feet—as upright as she could go—and hoped I hadn’t broken any frail bones. “Are you okay? I am so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention, and I ran into you and almost knocked you over.” I glanced around, hoping to see someone in white. “I can find a nurse and get you checked out.”
She lifted her hand at the wrist. “I’m fine. Thank you for saving me,” she said, to which I released a sigh. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to use this restroom I was heading for. After that, I will be happy to speak with you.”
Relief. I experienced it and hope she did, too, after she went in that room. The lady could talk. And she would talk to me. The curly-haired worker was gone.
I leaned against the wall and skimmed inside my purse. Moving my wallet, phone, and lipstick aside, I located my pen and small pad and got them ready to record pertinent information. Grasping the pen, I automatically looked toward the counter where guests were to sign-in. I could see only the back of a man in a casual shirt standing there but was unable to tell whether he used the pen I replaced and couldn’t see if it now stood in its base. I wanted it there since that was where it belonged.
Adrienne Viatar emerged from the ladies room much sooner than I expected. To my surprise, she gave me a soft smile. “False alarm.” She pointed to the seating area we had passed. “We can go back there and sit awhile.”
“Good.” I moved toward that destination with her. Questions came to mind, but I chose not to speak to her yet in case my words made her stop to look up at me. One new question I wanted to know was the name of the young woman working here who’d checked me out and seemed to be interested in me. I scanned our surrounding area but didn’t see that person again. Maybe, though, she would come around while this person and I sat and spoke.
After inching along, we eventually reached the nearest seating, the area where my mother and her friends often sat. My new friend got herself into position in front of a sofa, lowered her hips to it, and with a huff, edged her walked to the side. She looked at me. “Now.”
I scooted to the edge of the sofa beside her. “Miss Viatar,” I said but second thoughts pushed in. “Or it’s Mrs. Viatar, isn’t it? You’re Andrew Primeaux’s grandmother.”
Her eyes opened wider. Her lips pressed together and created a firm pale line.
“Sunny,” a woman called. The beloved familiar voice was my mother’s. I stood, stepped toward her, and shared a warm hug with her. “How nice to see you today.”
“You, too, Mom.” Behind her, other cronies of hers and numerous people I didn’t know swarmed in. The bus must have just dropped them off.
“That’s my seat. You’re in my seat.” One woman from Mom’s group who wasn’t the most pleasant stood before Mrs. or Miss Viatar.
The latter scooped herself up and with moves much quicker than I had seen before, grabbed her walker and scooted off down the hall. The woman who’d chased her away remained on her feet and watched her go, and I got the feeling that if the intruder had turned back, this one would run behind her down the hall. After the invader of her place was no longer visible, the bully blew out a small exhale and wandered off down a different hallway.
“She didn’t even want her seat. That was mean of her,” I told Mom.
“Well, honey, I guess out here it’s rather like a school playground. There are those who like to give others orders, and there are the docile people who are intimidated by them and follow every order they receive. Of course, there are quite a few who sleep most of the time just like I’ve heard some children do in their classrooms.”
“And then there are special people like you.” I gave her a one-arm
ed squeeze. “Those would be the wonderful, kind people.”
“That’s nice of you to say.”
Three of her friends who approached from the entrance told me hello and mentioned how much they had won or lost in the penny slots. One brought back eighteen dollars, while another lost the same amount. Most were tired and going to their rooms to rest.
“I left three dollars over there.” Mom lowered her chin as though she had caused a major tragedy.
“Did you have fun?” I asked, and she nodded. “Well good for you. You were entertained, and it didn’t cost you much.”
Her smile came and went. “Sweetheart, I want to go to my room.”
“Great. Then we can visit a little while.”
“I got so sleepy on the ride I really would like to shut my eyes a few minutes before supper.”
Okay, so my mother was brushing me off. “I understand. Oh, but would you tell me one thing first?” I asked, and she waited. “Do you know some things about Adrienne Viatar?”
Confusion flashed over her face, her eyes doing rare rapid blinking like they were some of those Haywire reels that went all kinds of ways in certain slot machines. Yes, I had occasionally been to a casino, too, since many had taken up space in our region.
When Mom’s eyes stopped their dance, she looked straight at me. “I know a few things. What do you want to know?”
There were too many questions I wanted answered. The latest one came out first. “Is she Miss or Mrs.?”
“Oh, my goodness, if you talk to her, make sure you never ask her that.”
Eek. “Why?”
“Because she has children and grandchildren, but she was never married, and you know that’s was an extreme no-no for older women of her time.”
Well that goof hadn’t been my first one and wouldn’t be my last. I saw Mom’s eyes wanting to close and gave her a good-bye hug before she went off to her room.
All of the spaces I could see here emptied of people. The main sounds came from the large area where residents ate. Chairs scraping the floor were being moved into place at tables. Pots and dishes clattered while the kitchen staff prepared for the early evening meal. Since I hadn’t purchased one ahead of time, I couldn’t stay to eat with some I might want to speak with. Another day I would. When I did, I probably could get a place at the table with my mother. I just wouldn’t tell her it was too late for her to advise me that I shouldn’t ask Adrienne Viatar whether she had ever married.
