by Lea Nolan
The sheriff nods. “Sounds like Goodwin and Thomas have it well in hand. But there’s likely to be a bunch more folk coming through here and y’all probably don’t want to be in the way. Is there some place quiet you can wait for Mr. Beaumont?” His lips curl into a benevolent but unmistakably lethal grin. Though he asked nicely, this isn’t a request.
Jack nods. “Uh, sure. I guess we can hang out in the library. Hey, Coop, come on, we’re moving out of here.”
“Huh?” Cooper’s head snaps up. He stares at us for a second. When Jack motions toward the library, Cooper nods. “Oh, yeah. Sure.” Pushing off the bench, he heads across the foyer, his expression as flat as an ironing board.
“He’s still in shock,” I tell the sheriff, as if it’s not totally obvious.
“I bet,” Sheriff Walker says as he accompanies us to the library door. Ducking his head, he scans the room, then watches as we take our seats. Cooper and I share one of the huge, red-silk sofas while Jack settles into a leather club chair. “It shouldn’t be too long. Soon as Beau gets here, we’ll have a little talk about how you found her. Until then, I’m going to have a look-see around the house. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, course not.” Cooper shakes his head and his eyes drift toward the window to stare out at the rose garden.
When Sheriff Walker steps away, a wave of relief crashes over me. Thank goodness Jack had us straighten Cooper’s room. That mess would have definitely raised his suspicions. But then my stomach drops just as fast. The solarium. We didn’t think to check it this morning and have no idea whether it’s still the shambles it was last night before we left. Knowing Missy, there’s no chance she cleaned it up and even less that Beau fixed it. What the heck is the sheriff going to think when he sees it?
Jack shoots me a look, his twin sense undoubtedly on full alert. “What’s wrong, Em?”
“The solarium,” I whisper, just in case Sheriff Walker’s still in the hall, eavesdropping.
A deep grunt rumbles in his chest. “Dang. I didn’t even think about that.” Sinking back into the club chair, he rubs his chin. “There’s nothing we can do about it. If they see it, we’ll just say it’s under renovation. It already looks like it’s been hit by a wrecking ball. Plus, since her fingerprints are all over the place, we’re safe. It can’t implicate us like the knife.”
As if he’s just reminded himself of the real danger, Jack lunges forward again. “The knife. Was it in the bathroom?”
“I looked around and didn’t see it near her.” Then a horrible thought grips me. “Of course it could have been under her.”
Jack sinks his forehead against his open palm. “Well, if it’s up there, they’ll find it.”
“What if it’s not?” I whisper, my brain spinning with the possible permutations.
Cooper pulls out of his trance. “Then someone else has it.”
But who? Before I have a chance to contemplate that, a commotion erupts in the hall. Voices converge and raise, making it impossible to make out any words.
“Enough of this obstruction!” Beau’s slurry voice booms above the rest and bounces off the high ceiling in the foyer. “My wife is dead! I demand to see her!” A strange, strangled sound erupts, halfway between a gasp and a stifled wail. If I didn’t know he was soulless, I’d swear he sounded heartbroken.
Seconds later, Beau drags himself into the library, grunting as he leans hard against his cane. Huffing for air, he grumbles unintelligible words as he clutches his side with his free hand and hobbles toward the sofa facing Cooper and me. With great effort, he eases into the well-worn depression in the cushions as the wooden frame cracks and squeaks under his weight. As usual, the stench of rancid luncheon meat hovers around him.
“You’ll understand that given his obvious distress, Mr. Beaumont won’t likely be much help in answering your questions, though we’ll be happy to hear what you can tell us about this tragic accident.” A familiar voice, heavily accented and slick as oil, carries from the hall. I know I’ve heard it before but I can’t quite place it.
A second later, Claude Corbeau glides into the library with Sheriff Walker. He’s wearing the same blue-lensed sunglasses and sharp black suit from yesterday.
My heart seizes. What is he doing here? I shoot a glance at Jack then Cooper, hoping to grab their attention and give him some kind of warning, but neither look my way. Instead, they’re both transfixed by the short, wiry man who seems to have the sheriff’s rapt attention.
The sheriff smiles. “I understand. Though I do need to get some basic information, but it should be pretty painless.” He sits in a club chair across from Jack.
Claude takes a seat next to Beau. I hunch my shoulders and lean against the arm of the sofa, hoping he won’t recognize me. But his eyes catch mine and his brows rise slightly as his lips part in a small smile. He knows exactly who I am.
Beau extends his bloated arm behind him, reaching for the scotch decanter on the far end of the console table behind Claude, but the bottle is just out of reach. Wincing, he recoils, then rolls back on the cushion. His breath is heavy and labored. “What’s a man got to do to get a drink around here? I’ve just learned my wife is dead and I’d like something to calm my nerves.” But his voice is so garbled he sounds like he’s already drunk.
“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Beaumont.” Claude rises to his feet. Without taking his eyes off me, he steps around the sofa, grabs a glass from the mirrored tray, and pours about two inches of the honey-brown liquid. “Here you go, nice and stiff. I know how broken up you are.” He places the crystal tumbler in Beau’s outstretched hands.
“Thank you, Corbeau. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Beau gestures as if to wipe away tears, except there’s no trace of liquid, sweat or otherwise, on his pasty face. Then he tosses back his head and downs the scotch in one gulp.
Jack’s lids stretch wide as the name registers. We share a silent exchange of looks, confirming this is the same guy who showed up at Miss Delia’s yesterday. Cooper must understand, too, because he shoots me a quick side glance and tightens his grip on my hand.
Burping, Beau slams the glass next to the ashtray on the side table and turns his attention to Sheriff Walker. “Let’s get down to business, Walker. This here’s Claude Corbeau, one of the finest investigators in the country. I brought him to St. Helena as a second set of eyes on the King Center robbery since y’all have done such a crackerjack job finding the robbers yourselves.” His sarcasm is thick and, judging by the sheriff’s prickly expression, hasn’t been lost. Beau continues. “We were in a meeting at the museum when I learned about my beloved Missy. Corbeau’s offered to help make sure nothing is overlooked.” He lifts a balled fist to his mouth and appears to stifle a sob. But the whites of his eyes are as pale as always and there isn’t a tear in sight.
Claude bows his head in some kind of grand show of deference to the sheriff. “I’m merely here to lend my expertise. This is, of course, your jurisdiction, but I’m happy to offer any support as necessary. Might I get you a drink, Sheriff?”
Walker puts up his hand. “No thanks. I’m on duty. And seeing as you’re so keen to oversee our work, I wouldn’t want to do anything to comprise the integrity of our investigation.”
Claude grins. “Of course not! You misunderstand. I wasn’t offering a hard beverage. It being July and all, and knowing how long you’ve been working, I thought you might appreciate a cool, refreshing drink. Surely that can’t hurt, can it?” Claude walks to the bar and inspects the minifridge’s contents. “I make the absolute best nonalcoholic mint juleps. Believe me, they’re so good, you won’t miss the bourbon.”
The sheriff shakes his head. “Really, that isn’t necessary.”
But Claude gets to work anyway, filling a shaker with ice, crushing a handful of mint leaves, and pouring a mixture of liquids.
The sheriff takes a notebook from his back pocket and flips open the cover. “Now, Beau, when was the last time you saw Missy?”
&
nbsp; “Last night. Before we went to bed.”
The sheriff arches his brow. “Not this morning?”
“No, I left for work just after dawn. We builders work around the sun. Can’t afford to waste a minute of daylight. I often sleep downstairs in my study so as not to wake her.” He folds his fingers over his wide belly.
“I see. And did she appear well last night?”
“Of course. She was just twenty-two years old. In the height of her prime.” Beau sniffs, then leans over to extract a handkerchief from his pocket and rubs his nose. “She was supposed to care for me in my old age. As you can see I’m not exactly the picture of health.” His voice breaks. “Forgive me. I can’t believe she’s gone. She was my angel.” His chest shudders.
Jack, Cooper, and I lock eyes. Missy was a lot of things, but an angel wasn’t one of them.
Claude carries two tall glasses of light green liquid the long way around the room, passing behind the sofa Cooper and I are sitting on, and offers a glass to the sheriff. “My famous mint julep, minus the alcohol, of course. It’s my daddy’s recipe.” He beams.
“Thank you, but I’m all right.” He raises his hand in protest, but Claude shoves the glass in his palm anyway. Reluctantly, Sheriff Walker takes it and rests it on the arm of his club chair.
Turning, Claude walks behind our sofa once again, this time stopping to grip Cooper’s shoulder with his spindly hand. He leans close. “I’m sorry for your loss, son. This must be very difficult for you.” He pats Cooper’s neck and then ruffles the back of his hair.
Cooper twists around, releasing my hand as he does so, to address Claude face-to-face. “Thanks.” His voice sounds breathy, vacant.
Claude nods, then glances at me, his eyes twinkling. He looks as if he’s about to say something, but must have changed his mind because he goes back to his place next to Beau instead. Glancing over at the sheriff, he raises his glass. “Don’t let that go to waste, Sheriff. My daddy would be mighty disappointed if I didn’t impress you with his recipe.” He takes a sip.
The sheriff tilts his head and stares hard at Claude. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a bartender instead of an investigator.”
Claude laughs. “Nonsense. Even in this air-conditioning, it’s still ungodly hot. I’m just trying to be hospitable. There’s enough for your deputies, too, if it meets your approval.”
I can’t help but notice he didn’t make any mock julep for us. Rude. Not that I’d take anything from him, anyway.
“You aren’t going to quit, are you?” Sheriff Walker chuckles then lifts the glass and takes a sip. “Hmm, that’s mighty tasty. You say this has no bourbon?” He smacks his lips a few times, savoring the flavors.
“Not a drop.” Claude sits back and smiles.
The sheriff takes several more swallows. “There’s plenty of mint and sugar. But what’s your base?”
“It’s a family secret, but there’s a little of this and a little of that.”
“Whatever it is, my compliments to your daddy.” The sheriff raises his glass.
“Sadly, he’s passed, but he’s always with me in spirit.” Claude smiles.
Sheriff Walker downs the rest of his drink and squints hard at his notebook, extending his arm from his face to make out the words. “Now, kids, as I understand it, you found Mrs. Beaumont this morning.”
Cooper nods. “Yes, sir. I slept over at Emma and Jack’s place last night.”
Claude leans forward and his lips part in a terrible, snakelike grin. “Emma. That’s a beautiful name.”
Ugh. I can hear Miss Delia’s voice in my head cursing the fact that he’s learned my first name. But all’s not lost. It’s only my nickname, and my last name’s still under wraps.
Beau laughs. “It sure is. Though not half as pretty as she is.” He winks at me, then nudges Claude’s arm with his meaty elbow. “You’d never guess it, but Emma and Jack are twins. Don’t look a lick alike.”
Claude shakes his head. “Not a lick.” He seems positively delighted.
Beau continues, his chest gurgling with every excited word. “Their daddy is my caretaker. He and I used to run wild on this island when we were boys. The Guthries have worked for the Beaumonts for generations. Just as I suspect old Jack here will end up working for my son, eventually.” His lips part in a knowing grin.
Jack shakes his head. “No, I won’t.”
“No, he won’t,” Cooper says at the same time.
Beau waves his hand. “That’s what all the Guthries say. But time has a way of proving them wrong. Just ask your daddy about how he swore he was going north to make his own way. Yet when your momma kicked him out, where’d he go? Straight back here to High Point Bluff.” He erupts in laughter, which rattles in his chest and kicks off a coughing fit that causes him to wince and clutch at his side.
White-hot anger boils in my gut. I hate when he belittles my father and detest even more when he speaks of my mother. He has no idea what happened between them. No one does, actually, since neither one of them has ever told Jack or me why they divorced, but whatever the reason, it’s between them. It’s none of Beau’s business, and it’s certainly not Claude’s.
Sheriff Walker clears his throat. “So y’all found her this morning?” He hiccups then covers his mouth. “Excuse me.”
Cooper nods. “Yes, sir. It was quite a shock.”
“I called 9-1-1 as soon as we found her,” Jack adds.
“But it was pretty obvious she was…well, you know.” I shudder at the memory of her lavender shoulder and blue-black gums. “There wasn’t anything we could do.”
“I’ll bet it was difficult.” The sheriff’s stomach rumbles. Rubbing his uniform with his palm, he hiccups again, this time with more force. “Goodness, forgive me. I let Thomas talk me into the blue-plate special this morning at Daisy’s. Looks like that wasn’t the best decision.” Chuckling, he looks back at his notebook, stares for a moment, then strokes the black-and-white whiskers in his trimmed beard. He looks a little confused.
Claude tilts his head and peers over his blue glasses. “Did you have any other questions, Sheriff?”
Staring at the paper in his hand, the sheriff bites his bottom lip. Blinking several times, he flicks his wrist, flipping the cover closed. “No, I think that about covers it.” Though he doesn’t look entirely convinced.
Seriously? I’m no supersleuth, but even I think there’s plenty of stuff left to ask. Like for instance, was Missy sick or did she have any health problems? Did she take any weird drugs? Did she have any enemies? Plus a whole list of other questions a kindergartener could probably come up with. Not to mention a query about the solarium. He had to have seen that disaster area. Isn’t he at least wondering what the heck happened in there?
Claude peers into the sheriff’s eyes. “So what can you tell us? Do you have a cause of death?” His stark-white teeth gleam.
Sheriff Walker hiccups again, this time hard enough to shake his chest. “I probably shouldn’t say anything until the coroner completes his examination.” He scratches his head and looks around the room. “I suppose it can’t hurt to tell you there were no obvious injuries.”
Claude narrows his gaze. “So you’re thinking natural causes?”
Sheriff Walker nods as he rubs his stomach. “Possibly, though you can never be sure without an autopsy, especially with someone so young.” Another hiccup leaps from his mouth, snapping his head back. “Especially when we find an unusual substance near the deceased. It’s usually best to wait for the toxicology reports.”
Beau wails. “I won’t allow my sweet sugar bee to be cut up.” His chest shudders and he swallows a sob.
Claude puts his finger up. “What type of substance?” He bores into the sheriff with his stare.
“We’re not sure, actually.” He blinks a few times, then glances at his notes. “Black, tar-like. None of us has ever seen anything like it before. It could be something, or nothing at all. There’s no way to know for sure until we h
ear back from the lab.”
“And if you don’t find anything, you’ll be right back where you started. With natural causes,” Claude says as if it’s a predetermined certainty.
The sheriff nods. “Yup. Natural causes. Sounds about right.”
Sounds right? Actually, it sounds pretty stupid. And hasty. Not to mention sloppy. Why wouldn’t the sheriff want to conduct a full investigation before deciding what happened?
Sheriff Walker hiccups again, but this time, his lids bulge and his cheeks puff outward. “Forgive me, that scrapple is getting the best of me.” He jumps from his chair, then scrambles out of the library. His footfalls carry down the hall. A moment later, the powder-room door slams shut.
Claude turns to Beau. “I think I’ll check on the deputies’ progress upstairs. I’m guessing they might need a little assistance. When I’m through, why don’t we meet in your study to finish our discussion about the museum?” He pushes off the sofa, flattens the creases in his black suit pants, and straightens his tie.
Beau beams even though a minute ago he was on the verge of weeping. “Excellent idea, Corbeau.”
My body hums with a sick, antsy feeling. What the heck is going on? Claude seems happy to jump into this investigation—maybe too happy. Doesn’t he already have his hands full with the museum heist? Does he really need to get so involved in this one? And now that I think of it, the whole natural-causes thing was his idea. How did he get the sheriff to agree so easily? Maybe there was a little something extra in that virgin mint julep after all.
I have no idea why but I’m suddenly feeling as ill as Sheriff Walker. Desperate for fresh air, I could race to the windows and throw them open, but that would only keep me in this musty, old room. I’ve got to get out of here. Now.
I turn to Cooper. “I’m not feeling too well. I need to get outside and breathe. Maybe sit on the beach for a while.”
He nods. “Sure. Whatever.” But he doesn’t meet my eyes; instead he keeps his gaze trained on his feet.
