1 Target of Death (4 page)

“Sure, but not near the Bayou, where we
live. Sure, New Orleans has plenty, but it’s not like I would know firsthand.”

Dixie about busted a gut over that one. “Oh,
no. Miss Tammy here is as pure as a freshly made mud puddle.”

I glared at Dixie and explained to Marilyn
that Dixie and I were from Louisiana.

She eyed us suspiciously. “If you’re from
way down south, then why are you here asking me questions about my husband?”

“I’m in town for the winter festival, like
Margarita said, but when I heard your husband ... you know, was murdered. I
just had to find out who might have done it.” Now that sounded absolutely
ridiculous.

“Actually, it was my idea,” Margarita said.
“I convinced the girls to help me find out who might have killed poor Clayton.
I know we’re not as close as we used to be, but we’re still family.”

Marilyn’s eyes widened as she stared at us.
“So you’d have me believe that you and these southern belles are planning to
launch an unauthorized investigation into what happened to my Clayton?”

“Southern belles we’re not,” I clarified. “My
mamma raised me to be ladylike, but my daddy raised me to raise hell.”

“So what do you consider yourself to be?”

“Just a normal woman from the Deep South
who likes to have fun.” When Marilyn’s face dropped, I quickly added, “Back
home, we’ve done some investigating of our own.”

“Yes,” Dixie said. “One of our neighbors
lost her pot-bellied pig once.”

“Oh, and how did that turn out?”

“Gators got him, I suspect,” I said. “It’s
sorta hard to prove that sort of thing.”

Marilyn set her tissues on a nearby table.
“I see. Well, I suppose that might qualify you, but what if the sheriff finds
out you plan to meddle in his investigation?”

“We weren’t planning to tell him, for one,”
Margarita said. “We’re not interfering as much as launching our own
investigation into the truth.”

I pursed my lips. “Tell us a little about
Clayton. Was he a good husband?”

“He went to work five days a week and
brought his paycheck home. That’s as good a husband as any, I suppose.”

“So, leading up to his disappearance from
the house that day, was he acting out of character?”

“He’s been distant for quite some time, but
I figured that he was so used to looking at titties at that stripper club, that
he just wasn’t all that interested in my flat chest.”

“Oh, my,” Margarita said. “That’s a shame.”

I surveyed the sweatpants with matching
sweatshirt that Marilyn wore and could almost agree. While I don’t have a man
to speak of, every woman should know that they should try and keep the package
looking worth unwrapping every now and then. “I’m sure it’s not your fault,” I
said before thinking.

“Of course it wasn’t her fault her husband
turned into a woman chaser,” Margarita said. She then covered her mouth with a
hand.

Dixie tapped her foot. “He wasn’t running
around on you, was he?”

Marilyn frowned. “I’m not sure. He stayed
gone unless it was dinnertime most days, but I never considered for a minute
that he was straying.”

“So, no perfume smell on his clothes or
matchbooks with phone numbers in his jeans?” I asked.

“Good point, Tammy. You can find out a lot
about a man from rummaging through his pockets.” Margarita tucked a loose hair
behind one ear. “You know, if I thought my husband was acting suspicious….”

“Oh, I had no idea you were married,” I
said.

“I’m not, not anymore. My ex-husband,
Winston, didn’t know how to stay home. I caught him with Patsy McNalley. She
owns the beauty salon in town, Curls and Cuts.”

Marilyn nodded. “I remember all too well.
She’s the town floozy. It’s a shame these men are so easily a slave to their
needs.”

I bit my lip. She said it like it was a bad
thing. Women had needs, too. I all but ignored mine for my own sanity. “Is
there anything else you could say about your husband?” I asked Marilyn.

“Nope, that’s about it. I just don’t know
what I’ll do now.”

“You’ll do just fine,” Margarita reassured
her. “You’re still young and—”

“I meant for funeral arrangements. I don’t
even have a checkbook.”

I wrinkled my brow. “Are you saying he
never gave you any money?”

“No, he gave me money every week, fifty
dollars, but he took care of the rest of our finances.”

If that man weren’t already dead, I’d give
him a real pounding. He treated his wife like a slave, in my opinion. What man
this day and age gives his wife an allowance? Of course, most women these days
also had their own jobs. I, for one, never wanted to have to depend on a man
for anything. It’s just situations like this that made me know for dang sure to
depend on my own resources.

“You might want to start looking for bank statements,”
I suggested. “Your husband must have some in the house somewhere.”

“I suppose I’ll have to look, but he just
never told me anything about the bills. I hope my name is on the bank account,
at least.”

“It might be a good idea to start calling
the banks in town. Surely he put your name as beneficiary, I would hope,”
Margarita said.

I walked to the fireplace, warming my
backside, while Marilyn made her calls to the two banks in town. As she set the
phone down, she burst into tears. “They wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Well, that means one of two things,” I
said. “He doesn’t have an account in those banks or your name wasn’t listed as
a beneficiary. You’ll have to wait until you can get a copy of the death
certificate. You should be the heir unless he has children.”

“None that I know of. That man sure left me
in a pickle. How on earth will I be able to pay for a decent burial with no
money?”

“Take a look around the house. He might
have left some money in the house somewhere,” I suggested.

“Let us help,” Margarita said.

When Marilyn nodded in approval, we all
went separate ways, searching through drawers, some of which were so packed
with envelopes that I sighed. How on earth was I ever going to find anything of
use here? I felt weird sorting through someone else’s mail. Most were credit
card applications and insurance papers. I pulled out one and carefully slipped
out the papers inside. It was an insurance policy for two hundred thousand
dollars payable to Clayton Percy as beneficiary. Before I had time to even
wonder if Marilyn knew that her husband had taken out an insurance policy out
on her, I heard a commotion coming from down the hallway.

I ran down the hall, scraping my arm
against the rough texture on the walls. When I reached the open doorway, I
stumbled inside where I found Marilyn and Margarita struggling to remove a
large duffle bag from a top shelf in the closet. Dixie darted in and together,
we yanked the bag down, nearly toppling over.

“Here, put it on the bed,” Marilyn said.

“This bag is sure heavy,” Dixie said with a
rush of hot air from her exertions.
 

Marilyn yanked the zipper back and we all
gasped: it was stuffed full of cash. I lifted a stack of hundreds that were
held together with a paper band. I took a good whiff and choked out, “Jesus,
Jenny, this smells like dope.”

Dixie’s eyes were all aglow. “How much
money do you think is in this bag?”

“I don’t know, but it’s dirty money for
sure.”

Marilyn cocked her head back. “Who says it
is? I’m so on easy street.”

Had this woman lost leave of her senses?
“Look, we don’t even know where the money came from.”

“So? It’s in my house and I’m claiming it.”

“It smells just like dope, I tell you.
Don’t forget that your husband was just murdered.”

“Yes,” Dixie gushed. “Whoever killed your
husband will be coming back for the cash, for sure.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“I highly doubt this money was your
husband’s life savings. I also can’t believe the tool and die place where he
works pays him this much money,” I added.

“Sassy’s right,” Margarita said. “It might
be best to hide the money someplace safe until we figure out what to do.”

“It’s my money and I’m keeping every last
dollar,” Marilyn said. “But you might be right about me hiding it.” She glanced
about the house. “I know what I’ll do. I’ll hide it where nobody will think to
look.”

“We’ll help you,” I said.

She shook her head. “No way. Why should I
trust you? I don’t even know you.”

“Just in case, is all.”

“Not happening, so scat, the lot of you.”

We made our way back down the hall and I
retrieved the envelope, handing it to Marilyn. “Did you know that your husband
took out a large insurance policy on you?”

Her mouth hung open for a moment and she
said, “No. You can’t be serious?” She pulled out the policy and her hands shook
as she read it. “I can’t believe Clayton would do such a thing, and without me
even knowing about it. Where did you find this?”

I motioned to the kitchen cabinet. “In the drawer
over there.”

“That’s Clayton’s drawers. He warned me
never to go through his things, or—”

“Or what? He’d slap you upside the head?” I
asked. When Marilyn’s face paled, I regretted being so harsh. “I’m sorry. So he
was abusive, then?”

She nodded. “Why else do you think I didn’t
say anything about him keeping me in the dark about our finances? Giving me a
paltry fifty a week for myself. I could barely afford a haircut and style at
Curls and Cuts.”

“That’s the hair salon in town,” Margarita
added.

“I figured as much. Do you have any idea
who that money might belong to?”

Marilyn shook her head. “Not at all.”

“Did your husband owe anyone any money?”

“Not that I know of.”

“How about debts?”

“As I told you earlier, I really don’t know
too much about my husband’s comings and goings.”

“Do you have anywhere you could stay for
awhile?”

“I’m not leaving my house,” Marilyn said,
as she stomped a foot.

“I wish you’d reconsider. I just don’t
think it’s safe for you to stay here. Whoever killed your husband might come
here to look for that cash.”

“Listen to Tammy. She knows what she’s
talking about. Her ex-husband was into illegal activities, too.”

I rubbed my neck, wishing Dixie had kept
her mouth shut as both Margarita and Marilyn stared me down. “I’d rather not
talk about it.” I sighed, wishing I didn’t have to relive the moment when I
almost lost—

“Her husband owed a local thug back home,”
Dixie informed them.

“Oh, my,” Margarita said. “How awful. What
happened?”

Of course she had to know the details. It
had taken me three years to forget. “The thug, Bruce, showed up one day and
demanded the money. I tried to tell him that we didn’t have any money, but he
wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.” I swiped at my nose as it began to drip. “He
held me for a few days. He told my husband that if he didn’t cough up the cash,
he’d kill me.”

Margarita bit her hand. “Oh, my. How did
you get out of that one?”

I swallowed hard. “I took matters into my
own hands. I had to wait it out until he fell asleep ... let me just say that
when he woke up, it hadn’t gone in his favor.”

“She shot him with her bow; the arrow
pinned him to the chair. By the time the cops came, he was pretty weak and he
went along quietly.”

“I only shot him through the shoulder,” I
explained. “I wasn’t trying to kill him. I just wanted to leave, for good. And
that’s just what I did. I left my husband and moved back home. I’ve been
without a man ever since.”

“I’m so surprised you didn’t get the upper
hand sooner, Tammy.” Dixie said.

“I would have if he hadn’t had a Sig revolver
trained on me the whole time.” I shuddered internally at the memory, but then shook
it off. I had to, because it was the only time in my entire life that I wasn’t
able to handle a situation. I have been known to drop a man who decided to
touch me in a bar. I hated to be touched, not unless I knew the person, and
even then, it depended on my mood.

Margarita smiled just then. “I’m so sorry I
pressed you about your past. Next time, just kick me in the shin.”

I had to laugh at that. “My mama would take
a switch to me if I ever tried such a thing. Plus, back home I was taught
better than that. We always respect our elders.”

Marilyn led us to the door, her hand
trembling as she opened it. “Thanks for stopping by, but I think I can handle
whatever comes my way. I’ll hide the money like you said, but I think it’s best
if I keep the location to myself. I’ll call you if anyone shows up looking for
it.”

“You might be better served not to answer
the door,” I recommended.