by June Shaw
“Esther what’s her name?” one blurted.
“No, she was that pretty swimmer,” another one said. “It was, uh…”
“It really doesn’t matter.” I hoped to stop what seemed ready to become an argument. “But as Eve said, we need your help.” A quick run through thoughts made me decide they hadn’t heard anything that might help us prove Dave’s innocence. If they had, one of them would have mentioned it. I needed to move on to the most recent. All of them watched me in anticipation. “There’s been a more recent murder in town.”
Heads nodded. They knew something. Great. I hoped it might help.
The one who’d raised her hand the first time shot it up again. “I know. Your dead neighbor’s son,” she said, facing Eve.
More head nods assured that they knew of what happened.
“But I told everyone you didn’t do it, hon,” my mother said to me, making tears squirt from my eyes.
“Thank you, Mom.”
“That’s right. And no matter how many people say you did, we tell them otherwise. We believe in you, Sunny. You, too, Eve.” The speaker rubbed her pearls.
Light picked up the moisture that lit the bottom rim of Eve’s eyes. She mouthed a thank you.
“Okay, wait,” I said, raising my voice, “none of y’all need to agree with our mom just because we’re her daughters, and she’s your friend. We didn’t do it. Either of those killings.”
“Golly.” One wheelchair-bound woman had almost nodded asleep, but lifted her head and faced Eve and then me. “I missed that. So you both got the mother, too. It wasn’t Eve’s boyfriend?”
The sound that left my throat sounded more like a squeak than a sigh. We were getting nowhere. This gathering was not bringing out new angles or other suspects. Most of these ladies had family or other visitors and possibly staff members who passed on news from town. Although some still had good enough eyesight to read a newspaper with glasses, most of them had told us they preferred not to. People who ran newspapers seemed to think the only things worthwhile was the bad stuff, and in waning years they preferred cheerful thoughts—like who’d win at bingo and the casino, and who did everyone think should be crowned king, queen, maids, and dukes of the next Mardi Gras ball here? Also, whose birthday would be celebrated next month, and what local band might be coming to play, and who might dance at the party?
I concurred. Those thoughts were best. Still, we needed more information that might help clear our names. It didn’t seem that would be forthcoming from these ladies.
“Oh, Sunny, you stole that pen from the sign-in, didn’t you, and then snuck it back here?” That question from the woman with orangey hair stunned me almost as much as them believing Eve and I were killers.
“What makes you say that?” Eve asked, seeing I appeared tongue-tied.
“Somebody saw her take it,” the accuser said, waving her hand like the theft was nothing. “So it figures she was the one who put it back.”
“Well—”
I didn’t get to reply since she cut in. “So it also figures that if she’s a thief, people could easily believe she’d be a killer, too.”
The woman who considered me a murderer gave herself a self-righteous nod, and my insides pulled tight like they had been struck by a crowbar. The air in my chest escaped. My accuser turned to Mom. “No offence, Miriam. Maybe she didn’t kill anyone.”
All faces in the crowd aimed at me. In that instant, I imagined the dry mouth and dread someone looking at a firing squad might experience. I sucked in a deep breath and then another and still waited so my voice wouldn’t break. “I did not kill anyone. Neither did Eve.” Through the corner of my eyes, I saw our mother smile. “Somebody else killed both those people, and we are trying to prove who that killer was.”
“Ah.” One of the ladies tapped her index finger across her lips, reminding me of an action Cherry did. “If the same person killed the mother, bless her heart, and also her son, bless his, too, then the murderer really mustn’t be Eve’s boyfriend since he’s already in jail.”
She looked around at the group and appeared smug. Many gave her a nod of approval.
“That’s what we knew,” I said. “Dave Price didn’t kill Mrs. Wilburn. We certainly didn’t kill anyone.” I looked at Mom, wanting a sign that she still believed me, and she didn’t disappoint. Her soft smile and nod felt like they gave me absolution and made me breathe easier.
“Ladies,” Eve said, “Sunny and I really need to get more information so we can help prove who actually did kill those people. We had hoped y’all might have heard about anyone else who could have been involved.”
Some gazes slid toward me but quickly pulled away. Heads shook no.
Disappointment lowered my spirit even more. We had come here for nothing. What we received, the notion that people in town were spreading the word that my sister and I were murderers, made things worse. It seemed the best we could hope for from this visit was one or two of them might tell others that none of us killed anyone.
Sound carried of people moving around. A young woman wearing the navy outfit of many workers here scurried down the hall. I didn’t recognize her as one of the pair who’d watched us before but really didn’t know much about what they looked like. A man with a cane walked past. Two other slouched gents I recognized as residents slowed when they reached our area and appeared to check out the group. The lips of the one with gray brows an inch and a half long tipped up on one side.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said with a gravelly voice.
Some of us returned his greeting. As though the men gave some kind of signal, two women looked up at the large wall clock. One of the women said a couple of words to the other man, who didn’t react, but the male residents moved faster than they had before, their postures better.
“Ah,” Eve said, eyeing the ladies with a widening smile, “there’s some romance going on around here. I love it.”
Grins on a couple of faces aimed at the last one who’d spoken, leaving no doubt as to who might be involved in a rendezvous.
“Good, you’re giving my sister a reason not to fear ever needing to come and live here,” I said.
Eve nodded in agreement. My words brought out smiles from others.
“Okay, let me ask y’all something,” I said but noticed some in our gathering growing antsy, more faces turning toward the clock. That’s when I noticed the scent of roasting meat carrying from the dining area. It would have been an extra early for lunch for us, but not for them. I needed to hurry if we were to get any useful information before we lost the group. “Do any of you know someone who works here and has long curly hair and drives a little white car?”
Heads shook. Some faces turned toward the dining area, attention drawn there instead of with me. From the enticing aroma swelling toward us, I didn’t blame them. I needed to talk fast.
“It would be one of the ladies who wears the navy top and pants.”
“A lot of them do, honey,” one said and heads shook. Eyes blanked. I had lost interest even of my mother who furtively sniffed toward where the food was about to be served.
“Enjoy your meal, ladies,” Eve said and stood. “It’s time for y’all to eat.”
“It sure is.” Grace pushed on her wheels and started rolling away. Others bid us good-bye and went off.
“It was so nice to see you both again. I’m sure everything will work out.” Our mother stood and kissed Eve and me, and we gave her hugs. She strode off after her friends.
Frustrated, I shook my head at Eve. Her grimace matched mine.
Beyond her, Grace came rolling back. Once she reached us, she repeated an action we’d previously witnessed. She shoved a hand down into the top of her polyester dress with the large floral print, and part of her arm disappeared. Soon something bounced above her belt, her large droopy breasts doing a kind of dance. I was mesmerized.
“Look, I wanted to show you this,” she said, and for a moment
I wondered if she meant her lady part’s pseudo-dance. “Ah, there.” Her elbow came up first and then her hand. She held out her phone, making me recall that’s where she kept it. Actually, she had told us she kept it in her bra, and sometimes it dropped lower and she needed to dig around for it.
As we’d seen once before, her phone looked damp.
“I forgot. This is the latest picture I took, and your mother is in it, and she looks wonderful. She had just had her hair done.” She tapped the phone a couple of times, and a picture of Mom came up. She was seated with her regulars and did look nice, as usual. What caught my eye was the navy blue outfit of the woman standing near them. Her hair was long and wavy.
I took the damp phone. “Who is this?” I placed my finger on the staff member’s face.
“I can’t tell you that, honey. I really don’t know. Getting kind of old. I can’t remember names like I used to.”
I showed the phone to Eve. She stared at the photo and nodded.
Grace grabbed her phone and dropped in into the top of her dress. No telling how far down it went. She turned toward the cafeteria.
“Thank you for showing us that nice picture of Mom and all the ladies.” For a brief second I considered running up to Mom or some other friends of hers and asking if they knew this person’s name. But they were in the midst of others now, and we didn’t need our questions heard by the masses.
“Have a nice lunch,” Eve said when our friend rolled on.
“I will.” Grace pushed her on wheels and then turned back, covering the side of her mouth with her hand so she could tell us something in private. “I don’t know that worker’s name, but I can tell you she’s a harlot.”
Eve released a small laugh with her smirk.
“Yes, I know you’ve had many lovers, too,” Grace told her, “and you married some of them. But you never got pregnant by any of them and then had an abortion.”
“What? Who are you talking about?” I said.
“The woman you asked about. I don’t know her name, but I know about her relationship. She had it with your neighbor.” She pointed at Eve. “The boy that died.”
“Royce?” Eve and I said together.
“Whatever his name is. The one whose momma was killed and then he was.” She swung her gaze toward me. “And I hope you won’t take offense because I thought you murdered both of them.”
“None taken.” I said the words automatically.
“Did he know about it?” Eve asked.
“That she was P.G.? I’m not certain, but I believe so.” She looked around. “I’ll need to ask my friends. I’m not sure if I even told them what I heard about her.” She eyed a bent woman who was inching along. “She’s always the last one in the cafeteria. I need to go before most of the best food is gone.” She almost knocked down the slow woman rolling past her.
The scene returned to my mind of Eve’s grandchild leaving Eve’s home with his parents. Mrs. Wilburn had come into Eve’s yard for the first time that I knew of so she could see the baby. A small crowd of us, including Dave, had gathered in the front yard and watched them leave. When I turned from the departing car, I noticed Mrs. Wilburn’s window that she’d normally watched Eve from. The curtains were parted, and Royce stood between them. He was staring out, and something in his look struck me. I’d wondered then if he didn’t want to have a child of his own, or possibly he had fathered a child that its mother kept away from him.
But suppose he knew his girlfriend—or possibly his ex?—had gotten pregnant, and he’d wanted that baby, but she got rid of it and then he found out?
Eve still stared at the final figures departing behind a wall toward the cafeteria, her mind certainly also trying to take it all in. A woman who worked here—pregnant by Royce? Eve turned to me, our looks telling each other everything. We would have a discussion about what we’d just learned here and decide what we’d do with that news. In the meantime, we didn’t speak while both of us headed out the door.
Chapter 19
Eve and I grabbed our umbrellas and ran into the rain. The minute we slammed our doors, I said, “Someone got pregnant by Royce?”
“And plenty of people believe you killed him and his mom?”
I shoved my back against the rear seat. “Can any of this really be happening?” I sucked in breaths and blew them out. “Okay, let’s go tell Detective Wilet.” I started my truck and threw it in reverse. Remembering the police car I’d backed into, I inspected the area behind me. “Wait. Did we learn anything for certain? We knew some people believed I was involved with those murders.”
Eve kept nodding. “And some think I was involved.”
“Okay.” Was her admission supposed to make me feel better?
“But the thing is—just because one person in there told us a woman who works in the manor conceived a child with my neighbor doesn’t necessarily make it so.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean having that sweet lady who keeps her phone under her boobs telling us about a pregnancy doesn’t mean it really happened.” She paused, and I lifted one eyebrow in a question, wanting more of an explanation. “Sunny, she said none of the other Chat and Nappers are aware of that, so she wants to share the information with them. But for all we know, it’s not true. I think we should wait. Let’s go to the city to get what we need so we’ll have time to sort out what we heard in there. ”
I’d kept my foot on the brake as my mind wrapped around these thoughts. “You’re right.” I checked behind my truck again, especially the rear exit of the lot, thinking I might see the little white car. I did not.
Both of us were hungry since we’d smelled good food cooking in the manor. We would think better without craving food but didn’t want a heavy meal or an order that would take too long. On our way out of town, we made a quick stop at a great Cajun diner with a southern flair. B&T’s crabby burger was to die for, Eve and I agreed while we devoured ours. The soft patty made of tasty crab meat and wonderful seasonings dressed on a wheat bun left me licking my lips to get the last fleck of seafood from them.
We avoided mentioning the manor until we were snug in my truck. “If we tell the detective what we heard from Ms. Grace, what would that prove?” I asked while I steered us out of town.
“Mm.” It appeared she had really put all thoughts of what we’d heard completely out of her mind while we were in the restaurant and now needed to call up that topic again. “It would probably prove that we were actually guilty and trying to put all the blame on someone else since we have nothing to back up what we’d be telling him.”
“Yes, and then what? Let’s suppose the young woman who works at the manor did get pregnant by Royce and then aborted a baby he really wanted. Why would she murder Royce?”
“Would that give her a motive for doing it?” Eve faced forward, and for a long while we rode in quiet, each deep within our own thoughts.
“No.” My word came out of the void, making Eve’s head jerk as she faced me. “If he had been angry enough after he found out she had done that, he might have had a motive for killing her.”
“But not the other way around.”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid not.” I’d reached the turnoff at the 316 split and almost took it since that was the way I normally took when getting on the Interstate to New Orleans. Instead, I remained on old Highway 90. My truck seemed to make more noise from the rear when I pulled the wheel so fast to the right, and I realized I was getting used to the rattle. Maybe I wouldn’t need to get it fixed after all, I thought, the minute before a severe racket in back made Eve glance there.
By the time I headed up the ramp for the Huey Long Bridge, we had begun exchanging concepts for how we would complete some fast remodeling in Cherry’s kitchen.
Eve pointed out tugboats passing below and mentioned how swiftly the Mississippi flowed down there while I tried to watch the river and bridge and passing trucks, but became too distracted and almost bu
mped into a car that slowed right in front of me. From that moment on, I kept my eyes forward and attention focused on where I was going until I steered us down from the bridge and soon had us parked in front of one of the establishments that sold granite and marble.
Inside, we looked at large sheets from the samples we had seen online. They did look nice, but so did some others once we got to see them up close.
“Let’s go with colonial cream for the countertops,” I suggested to Eve, and she agreed. “And we’ll do something more creative with the island.”
She nodded, and we pored over other colors. “We’ll need to measure in our customer’s kitchen and let you know the exact sizes,” Eve told the salesclerk, a middle-aged guy with a shaved head.
“All right. And you’re sure this is the one you want?” He pointed to a color that was only a small sample. I shrugged, ready to double-check a large sheet again before giving him an answer.
My phone rang, and I glanced at it in my open purse only to see who the caller was. “Excuse me a minute,” I said.
Eve’s eyebrows lifted, letting me know she wondered who the call came from.
I scooted back from both of them, pressed the button to answer, and moved to another row of shelves.
“Ms. Taylor, this is Detective Wilet. I need to ask you a few more questions. Are you at home?” he asked, and my gaze swerved around the showroom. “I can come over there right now.”
“Uh, no I’m not.”
“You aren’t out of town, are you?” That was gruffer than his first words.
“Actually, I’m in the midst of something really important right this minute.” As soon as I said it, I knew he might protest that what he wanted was much more significant than anything I might be doing.
I heard his exhale, as though he was ready to tell me off or insist he was coming over.
“I mean, I’ll wrap up the business I was taking care of,” I said, “and I’ll be there to see you as fast as I can. It shouldn’t take long. What about if I give you a call when I get home?”
