House of Blues (3 page)

Red on the cream walls, splashed as if a kid had
filled a balloon with blood and fanned his arm in a great and joyous
arc to empty it. But it was as if he'd done it sitting on the floor.
The blood was low on the wall, and above the splashes, there was a
bloody handprint. Blood was also pooled on the floor.

Blood. Like something in a movie. Or on television;
an event in someone else's life.

The heavy mahogany table had been upended. China,
silver, and beans had spilled every which way, and chairs were
overturned, though not Sally's high chair, which was empty.

Arthur lay on the floor, faceup, eyes open, white
shirt soaked red. There was blood on his pants too, at the groin.

The house was so still Sugar's breath sounded like
screaming.
 
 

2

"Mrs. Hebert? I'm Skip Langdon."

The woman on the porch looked blank. She was as
ordinary a woman as Skip had ever seen, though she was trying—she
had on a lot of makeup and her dishwater hair had been highlighted
and permed. She was a little overweight, not much, really, just
slightly round, and wore expensive pink slacks with a sleeveless
white knit top to which small pearls had been sewn at the neckline.

"Yes?" she said, as if unable to comprehend
why strangers were invading her house.

"Detective Skip Langdon. I'm from Homicide."

"
Oh, I see."

Skip had arrived with her platoon, all in the same
car, because there weren't nearly enough unmarked cars to go around.
They must have looked terrifying, a six-foot-tall woman and three men
in suits, advancing like a phalanx. Skip was talking because she had
caught the case, meaning it was simply her turn—she'd been next on
the list when the call came. She gestured for the others to go
in—she'd interview the witness, they could divide up the other
chores.

Rather than sad, the woman seemed bewildered and
scared out of her mind, though she'd had a little time to calm down.
The district officer had arrived first and had called Homicide. All
Skip knew was that Sugar Hebert had arrived home to find her husband
shot dead in the dining room.

Hebert said, "They're gone. All of them. I only
left for twenty minutes."

"Shall we talk in the car?" Hebert looked
as if she could stand to sit down.

"Yes. Please. They said I couldn't stay in the
house."

"
I'm sorry."

"Well, not that I'd want to." They were
side by side now, and something passed over Hebert's face that could
have been a memory—of her dead husband, perhaps.

Another car arrived—Paul Gottschalk from the crime
lab and Sylvia Cappello, Skip's sergeant. "Can you tell me what
happened?"

"We were having dinner—my husband and my
daughter, along with her husband and their little girl. Somebody
spilled something on Sally and I went to get her clean overalls. When
I came back, it was like it is now. Blood everywhere, and Arthur—"

"
The other three were gone?"

"Gone! Disappeared into thin air."

Slowly, Skip drew the story out of Sugar Hebert—how
the family had dinner every Monday, how they had recently celebrated
Arthur's birthday and he had announced his retirement, but tonight
had reneged; how they had fought, the other three, though this one
didn't participate. How she had been gone only twenty minutes—thirty
at the most—and had come home to find her world in shards.

"Did you touch anything?"

"No. Not even Arthur. I couldn't stand to look
at him; it was too . . . that wasn't my husband down there. I just
sort of crab-walked to the nearest phone and called the police."

"And where was that phone?"

"
In the hall."

In the house. So she had touched something. "Did
you call anyone else?"

"
My son Grady. But he wasn't home."

"Would you like to call him again?"

"
I left a message." She looked around, as
if she expected Grady to be in the car.

The obvious explanation, it seemed to Skip, was that
the argument had escalated, someone had pulled a gun—probably
Dennis—and shot Arthur. Then Reed and Dennis had fled with their
daughter.

"Excuse me a minute," she said, and radioed
for a district car to check Reed and Dennis's house.

She turned back to Hebert. "Do you know anywhere
else they might go?"

"Not really." She looked uncomfortable.

"Are you sure?"

"
Well, Dennis's parents live here. But they'd
never go there. Why would they?"

"What's their address?" When she had it,
she radioed for a check there as well.

"
Do you know," she said when she was done,
"if Dennis carried a gun?"

"I know he didn't. He and Reed were dead against
guns."

"So Reed didn't either."

"
No."

"What about your husband? Did he keep a gun
around the house? In case of intruders?"

Skip heard running footsteps and looked up to see a
young man approaching, his face white, hair disheveled. "Mother?
Mother, what's going on?"

"
Oh, Grady." Sugar got out of the car,
extended her arms and fell against her son, letting out what she'd
been holding in. She sobbed against him for a while and then she
said, "Oh, Grady, I was only gone twenty minutes."

"
What happened?"

Briefly, she told him. Getting out so she could hear
the woman, Skip listened carefully, but it was the same story Sugar
had told before.

She found Grady a weedy young man, tall and too thin,
as if he smoked a great deal and ate little. He had on a white shirt
so old it was gray, and a pair of jeans that had been worn a few
times since their last washing. He wore glasses and his hair was
greasy. Skip introduced herself, staring at his face, assessing him.
Like his mother, he looked bewildered, still putting pieces together.

"What happened here?" he asked. "Where
are Reed and Dennis?"

"Maybe you have some ideas."

"Me? Why would I?"

"
What did your mother's message say?" Skip
wasn't sure why she asked the question; it was something about the
breathless, pale way he'd arrived.

"It said, 'Your father's been murdered. Come as
soon as you can.' "

"Did it really?" She found it hard to
believe Mrs. Pretty-in-Pink had been so cold.

"
Well, it got my attention." Grady smiled a
little nervously, aware he was apologizing for his mother.

"
Perhaps you can help us."

But he glanced at Sugar, who was now weeping quietly.
"I think I need to call someone to help with Mother."

"
I'm afraid you can't use the phone till the
investigations finished. We don't seal homicide scenes, but we won't
be out for a long time."

"Oh, God, she's going to need a place to stay."
He turned to his mother. "Mother, did you call Nina?"

Hebert shook her head.

"I'm going to get her to come over." He
left in as much of a flurry as he'd arrived in.

Glad to get out, probably, Skip thought. Something
about him didn't strike her as intensely filial.

She and Sugar got back in the car. "How are you
feeling?" she asked.

"Kind of numb. I wish Reed were here."

"
Tell me about her."

Sugar looked dumbstruck. "Tell you what?"

"What she's like. Where she'd go if she needed a
safe haven."

"
A safe haven?" Sugar pondered, as if
unsure what the words meant. "That just isn't Reed. People would
come to her to be safe."

"
Does she have friends?"

"
Nina. The woman my son's calling. She works for
us at the restaurant—she's kind of Reed's assistant."

"
You mean her secretary?"

"
Oh, no. I mean her right-hand woman. She was
Reed's maid of honor."

"
Does Reed have other friends?"

Sugar thought. "Not really. She's pretty busy
with Sally and Dennis and the restaurant and everything."

"
How about Dennis?"

"Oh. Well. His business partner. They run a
nursery—Dennis likes plants. Like his mother-in-law."

"Ah, you like plants."

"
Flowers. I paint them."

"
Tell me something, Mrs. Hebert. If you were
someone outside the family, how would you describe Dennis and Reed?"

"A lovely, hardworking young couple. Absolutely
devoted to their little girl. Arthur would never give Reed credit . .
. Her eyes flashed and her voice started to rise, but she stopped. "I
guess that's family business."

Skip let it go for now. She could afford to be
patient; before she was done, every secret the Heberts had, every
scrap of "family business," was going to be picked over and
examined. "Could you do me a favor? Could you step outside with
me and point out your car? And Arthur's and your daughter's?"

"There's mine over there. And Arthur's in the
driveway."

"
I'd like you to show me Reed's."

Sugar opened the car door. "I'll try."

It was dark now. But when she noticed, apparently for
the first time, that most of the neighbors were outside, she
retreated back to the car. "I don't think I'm up to it. Is that
all right?"

"
Sure." Skip could get Grady to do it. "Do
you have a picture of Dennis and Reed?"

"
Inside—shall I go get it for you?"

"I can get it."

"
It's on the little table in the living room."

"
How about one of Sally?"

"In my purse—on the table in the foyer."

Skip found the purse, checked it for weapons, and
asked Paul Gottschalk to photograph and dust it. While he did that,
she went in to get a good look at the dining room, to fix the crime
scene in her mind, and then found the picture of Dennis and Reed.

It was a wedding picture that showed only
faces—Reed's radiant, surrounded by tulle, Dennis's a little
daunting. Reed was a classic southern beauty, natural-looking, with
straight brown hair and straight white teeth—teeth whose
straightness had not come cheap, Skip imagined, but the orthodonture
was worth it.

Dennis was another matter. His features were very
distinct, his lips generous, his eyes intense. He had a little baby
fat, like the young Brando, that softened him, made him slightly
vulnerable. But there was something brooding about him.

Heathcliff
, Skip thought;
but a man who liked begonias—or whatever he
had at his nursery—didn't fit the stereotype.
For now, she left the photo, giving Paul a little time to get it
dusted.

She went back to Sugar. "May I borrow the
picture?"

"Of course." But she hesitated.

"
For the investigation," Skip said, and
Sugar nodded. "May I see the one of Sally? And could you check
your purse to see if anything's been stolen?"

Quickly, Sugar checked her credit cards, checkbook,
and money. "Everything's here," she said, and drew from her
wallet an Easter snapshot of a pretty towhead in a pink dress. She
was holding a basket of eggs.

"Can you tell me what they were all wearing? And
their heights, weight, eye color—all that?"

To Skip's surprise, Sugar's lip started to tremble.
She tried to control her face but lost the battle. An anguished rasp
escaped her, not quite a sob. "Sally!" she managed to gasp.
"She must still be wearing the dirty overalls."

Skip said nothing for a few minutes, but the
information trickled out: Dennis was dark, Reed was light; he wore
jeans, she wore a summer dress with sandals, and Sally wore beans.

Skip wondered what else there was to get. She
repeated Sugar's earlier statement: "Reed and Dennis really hate
guns."

"Hate them. Feel strongly. Arthur tried to give
Reed a little gun to carry around—you know how dangerous it is in
the Garden District—but neither of them would hear of it. They said
they didn't want to live like that." She turned away for a
moment. Gazing back at Skip, she said, "Of course, Arthur had a
lot of opinions."

Once more Skip heard a clatter. It was Grady, back
with a handsome young woman in tow, a black woman, though probably
she'd describe herself as Creole. She was barely beige in color, and
she wore her straight hair in a low-riding ponytail.

"This is Nina Phillips. She's our director of
sales at Hebert's."

Before Skip could shake hands, Sugar had repeated her
performance with Grady—fallen upon Nina Phillips's neck, wailing.

"That's right," said Nina. "Grady's
told me everything. You just go on and cry."

It was a good time to talk to Grady. While Sugar
wasn't listening, Skip asked him the same question she'd asked his
mother. "Tell me a little about Reed and Dennis."