by June Shaw
A stern face replaced his sweet-baby attitude. “Is that how it happened?”
“Wait, you don’t believe I really could have done this?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Eve faced him, evidently figuring he believed I committed double homicides.
Before he could say anything—if he was going to say anything—the silent seconds were broken by the tinkling of a text coming in. Eve glanced at her phone. The frown on her lips gave way to a trace of a smile.
“Nicole wants me to come and stay with them awhile,” she told me.
“That’s wonderful.”
“And where is Nicole?” the detective asked.
“In Houston.” Eve appeared ready to send a text back to her daughter.
“That will have to wait.” He thrust his hand toward her phone, letting her know not to text now. “I don’t want you going to another state.”
Frown lines reappeared in Eve’s forehead. She pushed her free hand toward his as though she was about to shove it away. Was my sister ready to fight? And with a cop?
“Texas is right next to our state, and Houston is just right there. I wouldn’t be far,” Eve insisted as though he wasn’t aware of those facts.
His gaze remained firm on her face, a pulse ticking along the side of his forehead.
She released a breath and lowered her phone.
“You two can go home for now,” he said. “I know where you live. Stay close. We’ll talk again.” He turned away from us.
Eve and I rushed to her place, slowing only to duck beneath the yellow police tape that now cordoned off another death scene.
Inside her house, we stood for long minutes, sucking in breaths. Avoiding words and even each other’s gazes allowed us both time to start to process what we had been through.
“What’s happened to them is terrible,” I said, “so I sure don’t want to feel sorry for myself.”
“Right. It’s awful.” Eve held her phone up near her face. She reread Nicole’s text and lowered the phone with a grimace. “Let’s drink. Then we’ll think.”
“Good idea.” I stepped with her to her kitchen, knowing not being able to join her daughter’s family now that she was invited would be a horrible punishment.
She pulled a nice bottle of merlot out of her wine rack and raised an eye, asking if that one was okay. I nodded. Anything that might take the edge off what happened would be fine. She used her electronic opener to lift the cork out of its snug place, poured two stemmed glasses, and set one in front of me. The rich aroma took a pinch of the bite off the moment. She sat with the other glass, placing the bottle between us. We both took big swallows. Mine took a little more of the sting off.
“Okay, our plans for this afternoon changed a bit.” She smirked at her sarcastic statement. “Let’s see what we were going to do….” She put an elbow on the table and tapped a finger against her cheek.
“We were all happy and had picked out paint and other items for Cherry’s kitchen,” I said, “and then we were going to take a run to New Orleans to select the granite we’d want to use.”
“Let’s do that tomorrow.” Her eyes swerved toward the Wilburns’ place. “The detective doesn’t need to know every movement we make.”
“Good idea.” Another swallow of the warm dark red liquid assured me things would work out. What things, I wasn’t sure yet, but we would work on it. My mind jumped to the items in the back of my truck, and I recalled the rattle, the noise, the income I needed so I could get the thing fixed.
Eve sipped her drink. Her face brightened. “Oh, maybe now that someone killed Royce, and that was almost certainly the same person who murdered his mother, the police should let Dave go free.”
Her idea gave me hope. We tapped our glasses together.
“But the only person who was with both Royce and his mother when they were found dead was….” My enthusiasm dulled. My shoulders slumped, but my heartbeats raced. “Eve—” What did I want her to say? That she knew I wasn’t guilty? That she had grown up with me, even in our mother’s womb, and knew the kind of person I was, and that I’d never do such a thing?
That she had been at both murder scenes with me, although she had shown up at both immediately after me?
That we were not women who went around murdering people?
I stared at her, and she stared at me, her thoughts surely running around the same places mine did. If I were an outsider and not either of us, I would be certain I had done it. Sure, I had no motive, but who did? How long would it take for someone to find out?
We swigged our wine in sync.
“Who’ll want to hire us after word gets out about Royce’s death and us being there to find him?” she asked, nicely including herself in with the finder—me.
“Right, and if people don’t notice that police tape around his yard or hear about the police questioning everyone in the neighborhood….” I poured more wine into my glass.
“And if they don’t read about it in the paper….” She chugged her drink, motioned for me to dump more from the bottle into her glass.
By the time more worries flowed to the forefront of my mind—some I shared, some I did not—the bottle had emptied. Eve offered some concerns and suggestions, to which I might have concurred but couldn’t think too straight.
“We really didn’t do it?” I asked my twin once I finally stood, but swayed back, and grabbed the rear of a chair to steady myself.
Her smile was weak. Grim. She shook her head. “But it sure seems like it. We’ll get to work on proving we’re innocent in the morning. Let’s eat a quick sandwich. Stay here to sleep.”
“Oh, no. I’m fine.” I plunked a kiss on her lips. “Thanks for everything.”
“Come on. Sleep here. You can’t drive.”
“Then I’ll walk. I’ll come back for that noisy thing outside in the morning.” Considering the racket it made, I didn’t want to call attention to myself or it when I left here. Probably the police were still asking questions to people in the neighborhood.
I glanced out a window and saw it was dark. I didn’t want to walk between those fences to my street. “Let’s have a sandwich.” I plunked back in my chair.
Eve had had a little less to drink than I did. She put together plain turkey sandwiches, which we chewed on and drank water. Once we finished, she had me go into her bedroom with her and select nightwear. I didn’t feel like fancy negligee, which was most of what she owned, but I grabbed a long nylon gown and carried it to the next bedroom.
When I woke in the morning, I found I hadn’t taken my clothes off or put her gown on. I recalled that I sat on the edge of the bed to remove my shoes. From then, I imaged I leaned back to rest a minute. That minute lasted all night.
Somebody coated my tongue with sandpaper while I slept and poured a vial of tartness across it.
I met Eve in the kitchen, where she looked much spryer than I felt. She had already showered and dressed.
While she looked over my wrinkled clothes, I held out her nightgown. “Thanks. It seems I didn’t need this. The sheets are still clean, too.” I brushed back at my wavy hair that had fallen toward my face. “I’ll need to go clean up.”
She pulled two small bowls from a cabinet. “Want some grits first?”
“No, thanks. I’ll eat at home. I really want to get out of these clothes.”
“And you’ll come back after that, and we’ll see what we’ll do?” She dumped a pack of bacon-flavored instant grits in a bowl and measured water into it.
“I’ll be back.” I heard the microwave coming alive and zapping her mixture while I let myself out the front. I locked that door and stepped toward my truck, still parked in the circle beside her entrance.
My gaze drifted toward the side, but I wished it had not. Yellow tape out there called my attention to what I could have missed finding if I had only done as I’d planned yesterday and kept myself in my truck. Then I wouldn’t be a main suspect in
Royce’s murder—or possibly I still would have. If I hadn’t discovered him back there, who would have? How long would it have taken for someone else to enter his backyard? Nobody ever went over to visit that I’d ever known of, not to see Mrs. Wilburn when she was alive, and certainly not her son since he’d been there.
The morning held a dull hue. Pale bluish-gray clouds stretched like a light blanket that promised to be covered in the not too distant future by heavy, darker ones. The image of Royce lying for who knows how long in the yard in the heat and now the upcoming rain loomed and began to swell in my mind. Hot rain fell, and I rubbed my cheeks to buff it off, determining the slick wetness came from my eyes.
Outside the truck, the day kept still. The sky hadn’t cracked open yet and probably wouldn’t within the next hour. I stepped into my vehicle and shut the door as quietly as I could, not wanting to call attention to myself. Who knows how many of these people in nearby houses had been questioned last night concerning Royce’s death?
Deciding not to make noise with my truck, I left it parked while I hustled behind Eve’s house and through the small pathway between the two fences back there. Reaching my street, I saw Mrs. Hawthorne busy at work in one of the flowerbeds in her yard and hoped she didn’t see me. I bolted into my house, stripping off my clothes as I swept through. I turned on water as hot as I could stand it and stepped into the shower, letting it wash over me while I hoped to clean images of what transpired yesterday evening from my mind. My fingertips began to prune before I gave up and got out.
Although it was a warm day, and the shower had been extremely steamy, I felt chilled. Envisioning Eve’s grits cooking made me want some. I prepared my own with a cheesy, buttery base since I needed all the comfort food I could get. I ate it with lots more butter and a pile of bacon bits and thought about Dave. He was locked up in prison. What would he do there? Why couldn’t we get him out? Would I get locked up beside him?
I wanted to be near him, but not there. The police surely weren’t doing much to find him not guilty of Mrs. Wilburn’s murder that I knew of. I had felt compelled to get him released before. Now that I experienced more inner pain, I wanted the comfort of him even more. What needed to be done was prove Dave didn’t kill anyone. Considering that fact gave me instant relief. Eve and I could help do that. Except the only alternative to his being a murderer seemed to be me.
I let myself out and rushed on foot toward the street.
“Hey, Sunny!” Mrs. Hawthorne hollered from her yard and gave me a wave with her trowel.
I returned her greeting but didn’t slow.
“So your sister’s neighbor was really murdered, huh?” she called out.
I twisted my shoulders toward her and shrugged. “I guess.”
“Did you call my cousin yet?” she continued, but I chose not to respond to anything else and rushed on my way. I darted between fences, getting to Eve’s yard, where I hit the doorbell in back, and unlocked the door.
“Hey, it’s me,” I called out.
A little rustle and then footsteps hitting the hardwood floor from the area of her bedrooms came nearer. She looked refreshed. Tall and all made up although it wasn’t showy but more like her natural appearance plus a slight enhancement that brought out her clear blue eyes and fair skin. She made me so glad I looked like her, although my appearance felt duller. And murder was what we were all about this morning, so the way we looked had no bearing on that. It was just that looking all right lifted the mood a little.
“Where do you suggest we go first?” she asked.
“I thought of a lot of things, but where I would like to start is with seeing Mom.” I gave a slight shrug. “Maybe to get some comfort before we race after a killer, or maybe to get some news from her or others there. Then maybe we can sneak out to New Orleans to see about the granite for Cherry’s kitchen.”
“I think that’s a great idea.” She led the way to the front door.
I started my truck I’d left in the driveway. Eve and I glanced at each other when the noise began, first accompanied by a small, different kind of vibration, but as I pulled through the circular drive onto the street, a rattle intensified.
I drove in front of Jake’s house instead of the Wilburns’ since I wanted to avoid horrid memories. We spoke little during the short ride to Sugar Ledge Manor, and I was relieved when the rain began. Fat drops slapped my truck’s roof and hood, causing enough racket to drown out the cacophony of sounds my truck made. We grabbed the umbrellas I kept in the pockets of each door.
Rain bounced from the concrete walkway toward the covered entrance, the day’s temperature immediately having dropped at least five degrees. The fresh smell of the air also lifted my mood. This, I told myself, would be a better day.
We shook water off our umbrellas and stood them upside down out of the way to the side of the entrance. While I placed mine, the motion of a person rushing from the building caught my attention. It was from the exit at the far end of the right wing. A woman wearing navy pants and top became instantly drenched. Her hair stuck to her scalp and neck like a tight hood, and clothes clung to her body. She moved so fast it was rather hard for me to see her face, but I did believe she was one of the two that had lately stared at me. She drove a small white car out of the far exit.
Eve watched with me. “Maybe we can find out who she is.”
“Yes, she and the other one. And what their interest is in me. Or us.”
We stepped into the building, the entrance as always appealing with potted palms and framed floral prints, and not many steps later found our pleased mother with her friends in their normal grouping. As usual, we hadn’t signed in.
“Eve, Sunny.” Mom spread her arms, and both of us swept in, taking turns to get powdery-scented squeezes from her. “It’s so good to see both of you at the same time.”
“Hi, Mom,” we said and acknowledged the group.
“Oh, now I know how to tell y’all apart,” one of her buddies said. She pointed at Eve. “You’re the one who uses more makeup.”
“And she dresses better,” another one pointed out, both of them messing with my emotions.
“She’s also the one that keeps marrying and divorcing men.”
I grinned. This was making me feel better.
“Yes,” the previous one said, “you are a smarty.” She nodded at Eve. “Get ’em and get rid of ’em and make ’em pay for it.”
“Oh, no.” Eve gave her head a hard shake. “I would never have a man pay anything once we divorce. We all just stay friends.”
I felt kind of sorry for her to have to explain to this group and certainly wouldn’t tell them how most of her exes still showered her with fine gifts. She must have made each one of them an extra-good wife. That thought made me pleased—until I recalled that’s exactly what she was hoping to do with Dave Price.
A momentary thought made me consider it could be better if he stayed on jail until—until what? We proved his innocence? He would get out and then… Eve would go after him like a momma gator gunning for an intruder who tried to get between her and her babies.
“And, Sunny, you poor thing. You still can’t get a man, can you?” Ida, the plumpest woman with bluish hair who sat on a sofa adjacent to Mom, recalled.
I lifted my shoulders and felt the edges of my lips lower. “I believe I can. It’s just…the time isn’t quite right. But it’s coming.”
“Oh!” my mother said, her smile forming.
“Oh!” Eve said, clasping my hand. She looked at Mom with her own smile wide. “Maybe my little sister is finally going to put some excitement in her life.”
I glanced at her, my lips tight. She wouldn’t want to hear about my plan with the man she was after. And she called me little, probably because I was wearing sandals, and she wore heels. Also, I shot out of Mom’s birth canal minutes after she did.
Our mother, of course, kept retaining hope at all cost, although she’d never say it, that I would als
o shoot out babies that she could cherish.
“Ladies,” I said, swinging the topic away from me, “we need your help.”
That silenced everyone. How often did these elders hear those words anymore? White-haired ladies on sofas and wheelchairs leaned forward. Mom’s sofa was full, but with small spaces on the two adjacent ones, ladies there scooted over. Those on the ends patted for Eve and me to take seats on the ensuing empty spots. We did, and the lady who always wore three strands of pearls started fooling with the back of her ear.
Seeing me watch her, she said, “Just turning up my hearing aid, sweetheart. I don’t want to miss a word of this.”
A couple of workers in navy passed by and glanced at our group. Eve and I exchanged nods with them. I wanted to wait until they were out of sight before speaking again, and the eyes of the elders in our gathering led me to know these wise women figured they would also keep quiet now. When no others were near, two in the group let out loud breaths.
“Phew, that was close,” Grace said.
What she thought it was close to, I had no idea. It was a good thing we had come before lunchtime. Most should have minds refreshed from the night’s sleep and not too cloudy from a noonday meal and the need for a nap soon afterwards.
“Here’s the thing,” Eve said, getting their heads to swing toward her, faces alert with anticipation. “Someone was murdered in town.”
“Aw, we know that,” one of them said.
The one seated beside Eve touched her shoulder. “Are you talking about when the latest man you like killed your neighbor?”
“No. He didn’t kill her.”
Of course they would know Eve cared about Dave.
The women shifted their eyes toward each other, this action and their serious faces suggesting that wasn’t what they’d heard and seemed to believe.
Our sweet mother nodded. “I’m glad to hear it, Eve. I’d like for you to settle down with a nice young man.”
“Right, and not a killer, huh, ladies?” Ida asked, to which the others concurred.
The one seated at the opposite end of my sofa leaned even farther ahead and rubbed her hands together, using a sotto tone. “Ooo, I love this detective snooping. It makes me feel like what’s her name.”
