Rebel Without a Cake (12 page)

“Maybe you just didn't notice.”

“No, it wasn't there when we arrived, Liam. I'd swear to it.”

“Okay. I believe you. You said that you called the local sheriff?”

“Right.”

“And they seemed competent?”

“I only met one deputy, but she seemed to be on the ball. Don't worry, though. I'm not trying to get involved. I don't have time to get involved. I just don't want you to find out about this when we get there and think I was trying to hide it from you. Call this a preemptive strike.”

He laughed. It's a good, honest sound that always puts a smile on my face. “Okay. So what time should I pick you up, and where will you be?”

“How about three, at my place? I'll leave here in a few minutes and head over to Miss Frankie's. Packing their bags shouldn't take long. I should still have plenty of time to get ready.”

“I like the sound of that.” Sullivan's voice grew low and suggestive, but I also detected a teasing note. “What are you going to wear?”

“Oh, I don't know . . . Something that looks like I just threw it on without giving it much thought. I should be able to accomplish that in a couple of hours.”

“Well, don't hurt yourself,” he said with another laugh. “I'm not all that interested in what you're wearing anyway. I'd just like to spend some time with you. And for what it's worth, I'll probably spend about two minutes brushing my teeth. I may even put on fresh deodorant. I'm going to go all out, so try not to show me up too badly.”

There wasn't a chance of that happening. Sullivan's a tough act to top.

Sullivan showed up at my place a few minutes before three wearing tight-fitting jeans and a white T-shirt under a lightweight blazer. As always, he looked great. And he smelled like soap and aftershave. And toothpaste. His light brown hair was cropped close to his head, and his killer blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses.

I smiled, and ran my eyes all over his six feet something of finely toned muscle, which he maintains thanks to a personal fitness regime and probably some police department regulations. I admire him for being so committed to staying physically fit. I consider it a public service.

He gave me a hug and a quick kiss, and made all the right noises about how nice I looked. I'd settled on a comfortable pair of jeans and a white cotton blouse over a yellow tank top, pulled up my hair in a vain attempt to reduce the frizz that is the bane of my existence, and added a pair of dangly earrings that had been an impulse buy a couple of weeks earlier. I was pleased with the effect, and the look in Sullivan's eye when he leaned in for that kiss told me I'd done well.

After loading the bags into the trunk of his Impala, we were on our way. It was a good thing he didn't work undercover. That car's red paint and chrome thingamajigs would never let him go anywhere under the radar.

As he drove, we made small talk about everything and anything except his work, my work, or Silas Laroche's murder. The most pressing question on our agenda was the best order of events for the evening. After a brief debate, we decided that, since it was still early, we'd drive to Baie Rebelle first then stop for dinner in Houma on the way back.

You'd think that since both of us were adults with some experience under our belts, we'd've known what happens to good intentions, and opted to eat first.

By the time we pulled into Baie Rebelle and turned toward Aunt Margaret's house, long shadows stretched across the road. We caught glimpses of the sun on the western horizon, a deep yellow ball sitting on the water and reflecting brilliant oranges and blues onto the clouds overhead. After surviving my first visit to this remote location, with Sullivan now at the wheel, I could relax enough to appreciate its raw beauty.

It wasn't until Sullivan had parked in the clearing and opened my door that he brought up the subject we'd so carefully avoided for the past couple of hours. He jerked his chin toward the sagging crime scene tape on the driveway behind us and said, “Let me guess. That's where you found the body?”

“There's a reason you're on the fast track in the Homicide Department,” I said with a grin. “You're quick. What gave it away?”

“Sorry. I can't give away my professional secrets.” Sullivan put his hand on the small of my back, and we set off toward the crime scene tape. I'd anticipated his interest in looking at the scene, so I'd opted to pair running shoes rather than heels with my outfit. His smile faded slowly and he fell silent as he studied the ditch and the ground around it. “Well, you're right about one thing. The folks around here did a good job of messing up the crime scene.”

“I did my best to keep them away, but it was impossible.”

Sullivan nodded slowly. “One of you against all of them? You were smart not to try taking them all on.”

“Hey!” someone shouted from somewhere behind us.

We both turned and saw Tallulah standing on the porch aiming a shotgun at us. I gave her my friendliest wave and shouted, “It's me, Tallulah. Rita. Bernice's friend? I brought some clothes for her and Miss Frankie.”

Tallulah slowly lowered the shotgun and brushed at her short brown hair. “Well, okay then. I didn't recognize you. Who's that with you?”

I didn't dare move yet, so I shouted back, “This is Liam Sullivan. He's a friend of mine from New Orleans.”

Seemingly satisfied, Tallulah rested the shotgun across her arm and jerked her chin at us. “Well, what y'all doing out there? Come on up to the house.”

I wasn't going to argue with her, and apparently neither was Sullivan. We crossed the clearing and came to a stop in front of the porch, where I finished the introductions.

Tallulah looked Sullivan over carefully, then asked, “Y'all hungry? Bitty's working on supper now. There's plenty to go around.”

“I'm afraid we can't stay,” I said. “I'll just drop off these bags for Bernice and Miss Frankie and we'll be on our way. Are they inside? We should say hello.”

“I'll grab the suitcases,” Sullivan offered. “Where would you like me to put them?”

Tallulah answered his question first. “Just bring 'em up to the porch. I'll take 'em on down to their room later.” She scratched lazily at a spot on her arm and turned to me. “They ain't here. Been gone about half an hour, I guess. You might as well stay until they come back.”

Sullivan carried the suitcases to the porch and Tallulah ushered us inside. She propped the shotgun by the door and invited us to sit. Sullivan and I took the couch. Tallulah claimed a recliner and then we all looked at one another for a while. When I couldn't stand it any longer, I broke the awkward silence.

“So Miss Frankie and Bernice have gone out? Do you know if they'll be back soon?” I love the two of them, but I didn't trust them to stay out of trouble, especially when they were together. It wasn't as if Baie Rebelle was full of places to eat and shop.

“I don't have any idea where they went,” Tallulah said. “They borrowed my car is all I know.”

“They didn't tell you where they were going?”

Tallulah spent a moment adjusting her shirt over her ample bosom. “Why are you asking me? They're grown women. I'm not in charge of their schedule.”

She wouldn't have said that if she knew my mother-in-law. “Maybe they said something to Bitty or your mother,” I said as sweetly as I could. “It's a long drive back to New Orleans. If they'll be a while, maybe we shouldn't wait.”

“Bitty took Mama to the Walmart, so they're gone, too,” Tallulah said. “That's why Bernice took my car.”

“Maybe Bernice is showing Miss Frankie around,” Sullivan suggested. “She grew up here, didn't she?”

“She sure did, but I don't think that's it,” Tallulah said. “Come to think of it, they did say something about paying their respects to Junior Laroche. But that's really all I know. And I don't even know for sure they went there.”

Sullivan's eyes locked on mine. “Junior Laroche? Is he related to the guy who died?”

Tallulah nodded and gave her shirt another twitch. “He's Silas's older brother.”

A red flag popped up and started waving around in my head. “I'm sorry, but I'm confused. Is Junior a friend of Bernice's? I was under the impression she didn't know the Laroches well.”

“He's not a friend to speak of,” Tallulah said. “I think they're just curious to find out what Junior knows about Silas's last days. Not that he'll know anything, or tell them if he does. I don't think those two brothers spoke more than a handful of words to each other the past twenty years.”

Sullivan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You don't think Junior would know who wanted his brother dead?”

Tallulah actually smiled at him. I'm not sure, but I thought she even batted her eyelashes. “Sure he could. If you want to know what
I
think, I'd put Junior's name at the top of that list.”

I almost popped off my end of the couch. “Why do you think that?”

The smile slid right off Tallulah's round face when she looked at me. “Because Junior hated Silas and everybody knew it.”

“And you let Miss Frankie and Bernice go over there?” I didn't mean to sound panicked—or angry—but I'm pretty sure the shrillness of my voice made me sound both. No wonder Miss Frankie had been so quick to let me go home last night.

“They went to offer their condolences,” Tallulah said. “What's wrong with that?”

“That's not why they went,” I reminded her. “You just said they went to ask him questions.” I looked to Sullivan for backup and saw concern darkening his eyes.

“Where does Junior Laroche live?” he asked. “Is it far from here?”

“It's a bit down the road,” Tallulah said. “Go on down this road another . . . ten miles? Maybe twelve. Junior's got some waterfront property, and there's a big sign out front for JL Charters. Do you want me to show you?”

Sullivan shook his head. “That won't be necessary, but if you could draw us a map, that would help. What kind of car are they driving?”

“It's an oh-six Nissan Sentra. Orange.” She drew a rough map and handed it to him, and we rushed out the door.

“Do you think they're in trouble?” I asked as we trotted across the clearing to his car.

Even though we were in a hurry, Sullivan did the Southern gentleman thing and opened my door for me. “I hope not,” he said as I got inside. “I'm actually more worried that Miss Frankie is about to start some.”

*   *   *

We followed Tallulah's map and found her rusty orange Nissan parked in front of a small house with peeling blue paint. On the edge of the road, a huge weathered board sign told us we'd reached JL Charters. I might have worried about Junior's cash flow situation, but the new Dodge Ram beside the house told me he was probably doing all right.

Miss Frankie and Bernice were sitting on mismatched chairs arranged on a rickety front porch. With them was a man I assumed to be Junior Laroche. Miss Frankie and Bernice each had a glass of ice water on a plastic table between them. The man clutched a beer can.

He was tall and thin, about fifty years old, with a receding hairline and a well-trimmed beard. I watched him carefully as we approached, half expecting a wary reception like the one Tallulah had given us. To my relief, the man put the beer on the porch and came toward us with a used car salesman smile.

He pumped Sullivan's hand enthusiastically. “Welcome to JL Charters. If you're looking for a hunting or fishing guide, I'm your man. The name's Junior Laroche.”

“Thanks but that's not why we're here,” Sullivan said. He jerked his chin toward the porch, where Thelma and Louise suddenly got real busy pretending they couldn't see us. “We're looking for Miss Frankie and Bernice. We were told we could find them here.”

Junior looked back at his guests. “Well, then, you might as well come and set.” He dragged a couple of extra chairs from the far side of the porch. “Can I get you a beer? Water? I don't have much else right now.”

I wasn't sure those sagging boards could hold all of us, but I climbed the questionable-looking steps and eased my weight onto a scratched wooden chair, leaving the rusty metal one for Sullivan. We both said that water would be fine and Junior disappeared inside.

I waited just until I couldn't hear his footsteps any longer then turned to Miss Frankie and Bernice. “So . . . what are you two doing here?”

Miss Frankie tried to look surprised. “Isn't it obvious? We're paying a condolence call on the bereaved.”

“You don't even know him,” I pointed out. “And neither do you, Bernice. I'm no expert, but I'm willing to bet there's no rule of etiquette demanding that you call on a complete stranger after a loved one dies.”

Miss Frankie leaned forward and whispered, “Oh, but, sugar, that's just the point. I don't think Silas actually was a loved one. Junior doesn't seem to care much about his brother's untimely demise.”

Sullivan groaned and rubbed his face with one hand. “With all due respect, Miss Frankie, I sure hope you're not thinking you can investigate the murder.”

She lifted her chin and gave him a stern look. “No, but I don't see why I shouldn't. Poor Eskil did not kill that man, even if everybody seems to think he did.”

“Define
everybody
,” I said.

Bernice leaned up and spoke in a stage whisper. “Half a dozen people stopped by Aunt Margaret's this morning. Every one of them thanked Eskil for getting rid of Silas. Eskil told them all that he didn't do it, but he can't prove it and nobody believes him.”

We heard Junior coming back and we all pretended to be enjoying the view from the porch. It wasn't easy. Junior's waterfront property backed up on a narrow inlet of brownish water rimmed with vines, weeds, and low-hanging trees. His front yard looked out over a poorly maintained road and a stand of half-dead trees. In the middle of it all stood a shack missing half of its weathered boards.

Junior handed glasses to Sullivan and me and took his seat again after removing a couple of unopened beer cans from his pockets. He settled those at his feet and reached for the open can, gulping greedily. “Is one of you gonna tell me what I've done to deserve all this attention, or do I have to guess?”

I didn't want to encourage Miss Frankie, so I answered before she could. “I wanted to offer my condolences,” I said. “We've never met, but I'm the one who found your brother's body last night.”