1 Bless Her Dead Little Heart (7 page)

“W
hat did you find?”

Dickce ignored An’gel’s imperious tone. “Come see for yourself.”

Kanesha reached the cart while An’gel was still rising from the sofa. “Show me, please,” she said, her tone firm.

Dickce pointed to the food tray. “Look under that.”

Kanesha squatted beside the cart and used her pen to lift the paper towel Dickce indicated. Beneath it was a plastic tube labeled
Vaseline
.

An’gel approached and peered over Kanesha’s shoulder. “Brazen,” she said.

“Imagine the nerve it took to keep that on your person and then somehow manage to drop it on the tray when nobody was looking.” Dickce shook her head. “It makes my blood run cold.”

Kanesha stood and pulled out her cell phone. She stepped away from the cart and punched in a number. “Bates, I’m in the parlor. Miss Dickce found something we need to bag, and I don’t have what I need.” She paused. “Right. Thanks.” She ended the call and put away her phone.

“I didn’t touch it,” Dickce said. “I left it the way I found it, except of course for moving the tray onto the cart.”

Kanesha nodded. “Yes, ma’am. About the paper towel. I don’t see any others here. Where do you think it came from?”

“There’s a roll in each of the bathrooms upstairs,” An’gel replied.

“In the cupboard under the sink,” Dickce added.

“Thank you, that’s helpful.” Kanesha thought for a moment. “Did either of you have a tube like that upstairs in your rooms? Or was there one in any of the guest rooms or bathrooms?”

“I have one of those little containers of it in my bathroom. You know, the kind with the lid?” Dickce said. “I don’t recall putting any in the guest areas.” She glanced at her sister. “Did you?”

An’gel shook her head. “To my knowledge there wasn’t any in the guest rooms. Like my sister, though, I have a container in my bathroom.”

“Thank you,” Kanesha said. She looked toward the door. “Ladies, if you don’t mind stepping back, Deputy Bates will take care of this now.”

Bates nodded at Dickce and An’gel as they moved away from the serving cart. “Evening, ladies.”

Dickce watched with great interest as Bates pulled on plastic gloves. He pulled out a pair of mid-sized tweezers and proceeded to put the tube and the paper towel in separate plastic evidence bags.

“Are you going to dust the cart for fingerprints?” Dickce hoped Bates would do it so she could watch. She felt guilty even thinking it, but it was a bit thrilling to be this close to an actual investigation.

“No, ma’am,” Bates said. “We wouldn’t gain any real helpful information, because probably every one of you touched the cart today. We will be testing the tube and the paper towel, of course, but they’ll have to go to the state crime lab.”

“Surely you didn’t think he was going to whip out his fingerprint kit and do it right here?” An’gel glared at Dickce. “You need to stop watching all those forensic shows on television. You’re getting positively morbid about such things.”

Well, someone is obviously tired and cranky
, Dickce thought. An’gel always got this way when she wasn’t in control of a situation. Dickce once again had the urge to stick her tongue out at her sister but knew she would be embarrassed if either of the deputies saw her do it.

Instead she settled for a tart rejoinder. “What I watch is certainly more educational than those trashy reality shows about trashy people.”

An’gel drew back at that, and Dickce would have sworn for a moment that her sister started to blush. But decades of training asserted itself, and An’gel maintained her composure.

“Excuse me, ladies,” Kanesha said. “I think we are done here for the moment. I’ll just go across the hall to speak with your guests, and then we will be leaving. Except, of course, for the deputy, who will remain here until he can be relieved by an off-duty deputy.”

“Thank you,” An’gel said. “I know I will certainly rest easier tonight knowing that one of your men is on guard here.”

Kanesha nodded before she headed for the door. Bates hesitated a moment before he followed his boss, and in that moment, Dickce thought he winked at her.

She wanted to giggle. He was such an attractive man. Broad-shouldered with a trim waist, he had the chiseled face of a movie star. She had heard an interesting rumor about him and Stewart Delacorte recently. She wondered if it was true, and if it was, she was happy for Stewart because he deserved a nice man.

“If you’re done mooning over that deputy,” An’gel said, “let’s get this out to the kitchen and see about helping Clementine with dinner.” She grabbed the cart handles and started pushing.

This time Dickce did stick out her tongue—at her sister’s retreating back.

Maudine and Bernice were the first of the guests to appear at the dining room table. Dickce thought cynically there probably wasn’t much that would put Maudine off her food. The avid gleam in her eyes as Maudine surveyed the table told Dickce she was probably right. Dickce had to admit, however, that a table full of Clementine’s wonderful Southern cooking was a sight to gladden anyone’s eye.
Anyone who isn’t a health nut
, she amended.

An’gel invited them to sit, and moments later, Wade and Junior came in. They took chairs opposite the women. An’gel sat at the head of the table, her usual place, while Dickce decided for once to sit at the foot, instead of at An’gel’s right. Three places remained unclaimed.

Dickce wondered whether An’gel would insist on the usual saying of grace before anyone was allowed to eat. Then she noticed that Maudine and Wade were already helping themselves to the food. Dickce caught An’gel’s eye and shrugged. She could tell her sister wasn’t pleased, but given their experiences with these people so far, she thought An’gel shouldn’t be surprised by the lack of manners at the dinner table.

Juanita entered the dining room and went straight to An’gel. “Miss Ducote, Grandmother asked me to express her regrets, but she doesn’t feel well and really isn’t up to sitting down to dinner. Would it be okay if I take a plate up to her?”

“Of course, my dear.” An’gel actually looked relieved, Dickce thought. She certainly was, because she hadn’t relished the idea of listening to Rosabelle carry on over the dinner table. Everyone else seemed relieved as well, Dickce would have been willing to bet.

Juanita prepared a plate of chicken and vegetables for her grandmother while An’gel went to find a bed tray for her.

“Thank you,” the young woman said when An’gel returned. “I’ll take this up and be back down shortly for my own dinner.”

Dickce had picked up her fork, ready to eat, when she realized there was still one person unaccounted for. Benjy was missing. She hesitated but decided after brief thought that he would turn up soon. A boy his age was always hungry, and he wouldn’t miss a meal.

Ten minutes later, when Benjy still hadn’t turned up, Dickce began to worry. There was no conversation at the table, other than the “would you pass the corn” variety. Juanita had rejoined them, but no one else seemed to notice that Benjy wasn’t there.

“Mr. Pittman,” Dickce said, “do you know why Benjy hasn’t come to dinner?”

Junior looked up from his plate with a frown. “Oh, he said he wasn’t hungry. I tried to get him to come, but he wouldn’t.” He returned his attention to his food.

Dickce glanced at her sister. She could tell An’gel was concerned, too. Dickce decided that she would go check on Benjy. She hadn’t meant to forget about him, but until now there hadn’t been a chance to talk to him.

“Excuse me,” Dickce said as she pushed back her chair and stood.

An’gel nodded, as if giving permission for her to leave the table, and Dickce shrugged. She was going to check on that young man whether An’gel approved or not.

The kitchen was empty. Clementine had gone home, and An’gel had insisted that Diesel be put upstairs in her bedroom during dinner. Dickce knew the cat was not happy being isolated like that, but she supposed An’gel was right. They weren’t used to having an animal begging for food while they ate, and An’gel certainly wouldn’t allow it with guests at the table.

The evening sun hung low in the sky as Dickce stepped outside. The heat and humidity hadn’t abated with the approach of darkness, and Dickce was glowing with perspiration by the time she reached the door to the garage apartment.

She opened the door and stepped inside. “Benjy, is it okay for me to come up? It’s Dickce Ducote.”

For a moment she thought the apartment must be empty, then she heard a familiar chirping.

What on earth is Diesel doing here?
she thought, startled.

Benjy appeared at the head of the stairs with the cat beside him. “Sure, you can come up here if you want to.” He turned and moved away, but Diesel remained where he was.

“How did you get here, you rascal?” Dickce tapped the cat on the head when she reached him.

“I heard something scratching at the door downstairs a little while ago,” Benjy said, his tone defensive. “When I went down there, I found him trying to pull the door open. He had one paw in the crack, but that door kinda sticks, and he couldn’t budge it.”

Dickce had to laugh at the mental image. “Charlie—that’s his owner, Charlie Harris—told us Diesel could open doors on his own, but I don’t think I really believed him until now. He wouldn’t have had much trouble getting out of An’gel’s room, or out the back door, I guess, because those doors are in better shape.”

Diesel warbled several times, as if he knew he was being discussed. Benjy smiled slightly as he indicated a chair. “He sure is one smart cat. Please sit.”

Dickce noted that Benjy waited until she was seated before he plopped on the couch across from her. Diesel joined him, his head butting the young man’s upper arm. Benjy put his arm around the cat and hugged him close. Diesel started purring.

“I’m glad he found his way to you,” Dickce said. “He always seems to know when someone needs a little comfort.”

“I’m okay,” Benjy muttered and ducked his head.

Dickce waited a moment, but he didn’t continue. “I was a little concerned when you didn’t join us for dinner. I know you must be terribly upset by what’s happened, but you need to keep up your strength. Clementine is a wonderful cook, and hot food will help you feel better.”

“Miss Clementine gave me some food.” Benjy pointed toward the table across the room. “I just didn’t feel like being in the same room with the Wart and his family.”

Dickce glanced over at the table. She could see a plate, cutlery, napkin, and glass. Plate and glass were empty. Knowing Clementine, that plate had been heaped with food. Unless Benjy had fed most of it to Diesel—and she sincerely hoped he hadn’t, because the cat would undoubtedly get sick—he had eaten well.

Dickce wasn’t quite sure what to say next. Benjy was obviously distressed, but he was a stranger, and she didn’t know what would help him the most. Instead, she asked him the first thing that popped into her head.

“Benjy, how old are you?”

He glanced up, obviously startled. “I was nineteen in June. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I just wondered,” Dickce said. She had figured his age correctly, but she thought he sometimes seemed young for nineteen. “I’m sorry about your mother.”

To her dismay, he burst into tears. Diesel warbled anxiously, and for a moment Dickce didn’t know what to do. Then she got up from her chair and sat on the sofa by Benjy and pulled him into her arms. He sobbed on her shoulder while she held him and Diesel rubbed his head against the boy’s side.

A
fter a few minutes the storm of tears abated, and Dickce could feel Benjy trying gently to pull away. She released him, and he rose on unsteady legs to make his way to the sink in the kitchen area. Diesel followed him and twined himself around the young man’s legs. Benjy splashed his face with water, dried off with paper towels, then blew his nose twice.

Dickce moved back to the chair to allow Benjy his space on the sofa when he returned. He smiled shyly at her. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Guess I kinda freaked for a minute.”

“No need to apologize,” Dickce replied. Given the circumstances, she would have been surprised if the boy hadn’t broken down.

Diesel climbed onto the sofa beside Benjy, who rubbed the cat’s head and back. “You’re such a sweet kitty.” He looked up at Dickce. “He really seems concerned. Isn’t that funny?”

“He has a big heart,” Dickce said. Her throat tightened as she examined Benjy. With his red nose and pink eyes, he looked vulnerable and much younger than nineteen. He also looked a little bit lost right now. She wondered whether he had any family besides his mother. She hesitated to ask, because it was really none of her business. She couldn’t walk away now, however, and leave him on his own.

“I loved her,” Benjy said, startling Dickce with the sorrowful tone of his words. “Even though she was rotten to me a lot of the time.”

Dickce decided to venture the question she was burning to ask. “What about your father?”

“He walked out when I was two or three,” Benjy said. “So it was just my mom and me until a few years ago. That’s when she met the Wart.”

“It doesn’t sound like you think much of your stepfather,” Dickce said.

Benjy shrugged. “He doesn’t think much of me either. Couldn’t wait to get me out of his house when they got married, so he sent me to boarding school in New York. I was stuck in that place for three years, but I graduated last year.”

Dickce heard the pain and anger behind the pose of indifference. At a time in his life when Benjy needed a strong father figure, Wade Thurmond couldn’t be bothered and shunted the boy off to boarding school.
Wart, indeed
. Dickce could think of a worse name for him. She also didn’t think much of Marla for rejecting her son—because that was exactly what it amounted to—in favor of a new husband. That kind of woman disgusted her.

“So you’re on your own now, other than your stepfather,” Dickce said.
A stepfather who obviously isn’t much interested in your welfare
, she added silently. She wondered if Benjy would be left to fend for himself now that his mother was gone.

Benjy nodded.

He was obviously miserable and frightened, Dickce realized.

“I have friends in California,” Benjy said. “I think one of them will let me move in with him. He has his own apartment, and I have a part-time job.” He didn’t sound happy about the prospect, Dickce thought.

“I didn’t push her down the stairs,” Benjy said out of the blue. “I hated her sometimes, but I wouldn’t have done something like that.” He stared at Dickce, his eyes imploring her to believe him.

“I know you didn’t,” Dickce said gently. “You never went upstairs.”

“No, I didn’t.” Benjy’s face cleared. “That deputy woman was pretty scary when she asked me questions. Sure made me feel guilty, even though I knew I hadn’t done anything.”

“She’s tough and comes across as pretty intimidating,” Dickce said. “I’ve known her since she was a little girl. She’s smart, dedicated, and thorough. She’ll find out who caused your mother to fall down the stairs, and that will be the end of it. She knows by now that you couldn’t have done it.”

Diesel warbled, and Benjy smiled. “Guess he agrees.”

“He’s known Kanesha for a few years, too.” Dickce stood. “I’d better get back and help clear the table. Is there anything else you need?”

“No, ma’am,” Benjy said. He rubbed Diesel’s head. “Do you think it would be okay if he stayed here with me tonight? I don’t think Junior will mind. He’s an okay kind of guy.”

“I imagine I’d have a hard time keeping him in the house.” Dickce grinned. “He’s made it pretty obvious that he wants to stay with you, at least for tonight. If you think of anything you need, you be sure to let me know. Or if you just need to talk to someone. Okay?”

“I will.” Benjy smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome.” Dickce wagged a finger at Diesel. “You be a good kitty, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Diesel chirped in response, and Benjy laughed.

Smiling, Dickce walked down the stairs and into the sultry evening. She didn’t particularly look forward to going back to the dining room. She’d had about enough of Rosabelle’s family for one day, if not for a lifetime. Was it too much to hope that they would all have gone upstairs to their rooms by now?

An’gel was glad that Dickce went to check on Marla Stephens’s son. She was worried about the boy herself, but since Dickce seemed to have established some sort of rapport with him, it was better that she dealt with him.

Even if it meant An’gel was now on her own with Rosabelle’s family. She was heartily sick of the lot of them but, at the same time, determined to see this thing through. Marla’s was the second violent death at Riverhill in less than a year and that was two too many. She wanted the murder solved and these people out of her house as soon as possible. The previous murder, which took place during a fundraiser for the Friends of the Library, had been resolved quickly. She prayed this one would be too.

There was not a morsel of food left by the time her guests finished their meals. An’gel reflected that at least it would make the cleanup easier. Before any of them left the table, however, An’gel had a few things to tell them.

“If I could have your attention for a moment,” she said. “I know you all must be tired and eager to get some sleep, and I suggest that you do so right away. I have arranged for a deputy to remain with us here in the house at all times until this dreadful situation is resolved. I’m sure we will all rest easier knowing that help is so close at hand.” She paused for reactions to this news and was surprised that no one chose to comment. She continued, “Breakfast will be served at eight, and if you should need anything during the night, please let me or my sister know.”

“I usually sleep until eight or nine,” Maudine said with a frown. “Will I still be able to get breakfast?”

“If there is anything left after the others finish, certainly you will,” An’gel replied in a pleasant tone. “The housekeeper, however, will not have time to prepare multiple breakfasts. I suggest you consider rising early enough to be downstairs at eight.”

An’gel could see that Maudine was peeved at her response but did not protest further. An’gel rose. “If there are no other questions or requests, then I will bid you all good night.”

Her guests muttered their good nights, and An’gel was not surprised that none of them volunteered to stay and help clear the table.

“Miss Cameron,” An’gel said, “if you could stay a moment. I’d like to talk to you, if you don’t mind.”

Juanita, the last to exit, turned and came back toward the table. “Yes, ma’am, certainly.”

“How is Rosabelle?” An’gel asked. “Is there anything she needs?”

“Grandmother is distressed, naturally,” Juanita replied. “She is convinced that one of the family is trying to kill her, and I’m finding that hard to believe, even with what happened to Marla.” She shuddered.

“That was no accident,” An’gel said. “Rosabelle is right to be afraid, if she really was the intended target.”

“I know you’re right.” Juanita hesitated before finishing her reply. “It’s frightening to think that one of my relatives hates Grandmother so much.”

“Do you have any idea who is behind this?”

Juanita shook her head. “I wouldn’t have said any of them could be capable of this. I know my mother isn’t. I know she’s high-handed and rude, but she does love Grandmother in her own way.” She paused. “At first I thought Grandmother was making all this up because she wanted attention. Ever since her husband died, she’s been fretful. She’s used to having a man around to cater to her, and let’s face it, at her age, she’s not likely to find another husband.”

An’gel was struck by the young woman’s insight into Rosabelle’s character. Juanita evidently had few illusions about her grandmother.

Juanita stared hard at An’gel. “Miss Ducote, I’m really worried, and I have to confide in someone.” She hesitated for a moment. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I’m wondering whether my grandmother isn’t responsible for Marla’s accident.”