Classified as Murder (35 page)

“About your cousin’s wife,” I said.

“Eloise?” Cynthia shook her head. “What, is she sick? Should I go look in on her?” She didn’t appear too happy about the idea. I was sure all she wanted was her bed.

“No, I’m sorry to tell you Eloise is dead. Your aunt found her last night.” I wondered how she would react. Thus far in my experience she had always kept her emotions well in check.

The tote bag slung over her shoulder slid off and onto the floor as Cynthia’s body went slack. Her shock was obvious. “What on earth happened?”

“According to Stewart, who spoke to your aunt, it was an allergic reaction to something she ate.”

“Just like Uncle James, you mean.” Cynthia frowned, her brow furrowed. “But how the heck did she get hold of peanuts?”

“My guess is cookies,” I said. “The same way your uncle did.”

Cynthia didn’t appear to have heard me. She stared hard at something beyond me. “Bastard!”

“Excuse me,” I said, startled. Beside me Diesel meowed.

“Sorry,” Cynthia replied as she focused once again on Sean and me. She glanced down at the cat, then back up at me. “I think I know where the cookies came from.”

My pulse jumped. This could be the proof needed to link Truesdale to the murder.

“Where?” Sean asked.

“Last night I came through here on my way out back to the garage, like I always do. I stop in here to find something to take with me because the cafeteria at the hospital is closed all night.” She paused. “I was just coming in the door”—she pointed to the door through which we had entered earlier—“and I could hear the phone ringing in the butler’s pantry. As I was entering, I saw Truesdale over there.” She pointed to a door in the far wall, about fifteen feet away. She strolled in that direction, and Sean, Diesel, and I followed along.

“He was on his way to answer the phone, and he set down something on this table before he entered the pantry.” Cynthia rested her hand on a table against the wall. “I went to the fridge and got some cheese, grapes, and a couple of apples and put them in my lunch bag. Then I headed toward the back door. That’s when I glanced at the table and saw what Truesdale had put there.”

I was getting antsy, and when she stopped talking, I couldn’t keep quiet. “What was it?”

“A plateful of cookies. There must have been a dozen and a half, kind of small.”

Sean and I exchanged glances. This definitely linked Truesdale to Eloise’s murder, but how to prove he gave her the cookies? Especially when none of them were left.

“What did you do then? Leave?” Sean asked.

“Yes, but I grabbed a cookie first and was out the door before Truesdale came back. I didn’t think he’d notice one cookie gone,” Cynthia said, sounding slightly embarrassed. “Normally I don’t eat any kind of sweets, only fruit, but they were too tempting. I thought eating one wouldn’t hurt.”

“And did you eat it?” I prayed that she hadn’t, by some miracle, because that cookie could be the necessary proof.

“I sure wanted to,” Cynthia said. She headed back to the other side of the kitchen to where her tote bag lay on the floor. She stooped and rummaged around in it until she extracted one of those insulated lunch bags by its handle. “I stuck it in here, and by the time I had a chance to eat something, it was all broken up. I didn’t bother with it and ate some of my fruit and the cheese instead. I left the bits in here.”

Sean and I stepped forward as she unzipped the bag and held it open for us to see. I could hardly breathe as I glanced inside.

A small red apple nestled among the cookie crumbs.

“Thank goodness you didn’t throw them out,” I said. “They’re important evidence.”

“If it turns out those crumbs have peanuts in them,” Sean said, sounding like the lawyer he was. “If they don’t, there goes your evidence.”

“What should I do with them?” Cynthia asked. “I’m so tired I’m about to drop in my tracks.”

“I’m sure you’re exhausted,” I said in sympathy. “But this is vital. You have to turn this over to the sheriff’s department as soon as possible.”

“You’re right,” Cynthia said. “I can always sleep later, I guess. I’m not due back at the hospital again until Saturday night.”

“I think we should go straight down there,” Sean said. “Before they let Truesdale leave.”

“Good idea,” I said. “Let’s go. Sean, you drive, and I’ll call right now to let them know we’re coming and that there’s important new evidence.”

Cynthia zipped up the lunch bag and stuck it back in her tote. As she followed Sean out of the kitchen, Diesel right behind them, I brought up the rear. I already had my cell phone out, punching in the number of the sheriff’s department.

Four of us sat down to dinner Saturday night. Helen Louise Brady joined Stewart, Sean, and me for a festive meal.

Better make that six—of course Diesel and Dante were present as well.

Stewart insisted on preparing the meal, and in honor of Helen Louise’s presence—and the
gâteau au chocolat
she brought for dessert—he prepared vichyssoise, coq au vin, and green beans. I remembered Helen Louise telling me once vichyssoise was most likely created here in America, albeit by a French-born chef who worked at the Ritz-Carlton in New York. No matter what its origin, it was delicious.

Neither Helen Louise nor Stewart had ever met a stranger, as far as I could ascertain. They got on like the proverbial house afire, and the conversation between the two of them kept Sean and me entertained through the first half of the meal.

When we finally reached the dessert course and each had a large piece of the
gâteau
along with a cup of coffee ready to consume, Helen Louise turned to me and said, “Enough about food, though I’m sure Stewart and I could natter on for hours. What’s the latest on the case of the murderous butler?”

I finished chewing a bite of the sinfully delicious cake before I replied. Helen Louise watched me avidly. “He’s been formally charged with Eloise’s murder now.”

“Only poor Eloise?” Helen Louise frowned. “What about Mr. Delacorte?”

I shrugged. “I believe Kanesha is holding off charging him with that one, because she still doesn’t have enough solid evidence to link him to it. She’ll keep digging, though, and I’m sure she’ll find evidence if it’s there.”

“They know for sure now that Anita Milhaus told Truesdale about the change in the will,” Sean said. “Anita’s niece, who works for Q. C. Pendergrast, confessed that she told her aunt.”

“And Anita was apparently all too happy to assure Kanesha that she told Truesdale the good news.” I forked up another piece of the cake.

“At least they’ve got him for Eloise’s murder. Thanks to dear Cousin Cynthia,” Stewart said. “I’m still amazed by that. She’s always so quiet, slipping in and out of the house, half the time I forgot she was there. Thank goodness, though, for the sweet tooth she tries to pretend she doesn’t have. If she hadn’t swiped that cookie, Truesdale might have got away with it.”

“So the cookie she took turned out to have peanuts in it?” Helen Louise sipped her coffee.

“They’re still waiting for results from the state crime lab,” I said. “But Kanesha told me she’s convinced that those crumbs will turn out to have peanuts in them. She also said they’ve been able to track down where Truesdale bought the cookies.”

“Where?” Helen Louise’s eyes grew big.

I had to laugh. “The Piggly Wiggly, where else? Can you believe it, he still had the receipt. He bought them when he bought other groceries, and he put the receipt away to record in his expense book.”

“Uncle James made him account for every penny.” Stewart sniffed as he contemplated the last bite of cake on his plate. “I suppose the habit was so ingrained he did it without thinking.”

“Another brick in the case against him,” Sean said. He reached for the cake plate and cut himself a second, smaller piece. “This is awesome cake, Helen Louise.”

“Thank you.” If she’d been a cat, Helen Louise would have purred.

My own cat, sitting by my chair, had successfully begged a couple of bites of the chicken, but I knew better than to let him have any chocolate. I warned Stewart against giving either Diesel or Dante any bites of the cake, but he assured me he was aware of the dangers of chocolate for both cats and dogs.

Between Sean and Stewart, Dante had managed to scarf down a fair amount of chicken, I was sure. He was an appealing little beggar, but he would have a weight problem soon if both my son and my boarder continued to indulge him.

“Cynthia was certainly a dark horse,” I said. “Thank goodness for her, though. And for Diesel.” I scratched the cat behind the ears. “If he hadn’t dug into Anita’s bag, she might have gotten on that plane and managed to sell the copy of
Tamerlane
to that buyer in Chicago.”

“The FBI is handling that part of the investigation, I think you told me.” Helen Louise served herself a second piece of cake. I eyed it longingly but decided one big serving was enough.

“Yes, because apparently Hubert and Anita sold the set of Faulkner first editions to a collector in California. He’s going to have to return them, of course, and I imagine Hubert and Anita will have to make restitution.”

“She’ll have to sell that diamond bracelet, I’ll bet.” Sean put his fork aside and pushed his empty dessert plate away.

“I don’t see how they really thought they could get away with it,” Helen Louise said.

Stewart laughed. “If you knew Hubert well enough, you’d understand. He’s so convinced he can outsmart everyone else, he probably never even thought about somebody figuring out what was going on. Despite years of evidence to the contrary, I might add.” Stewart laughed again. “Miss Anita was his soul mate in that respect. It really is funny, how stupid they are, and they don’t even know it.”

Kanesha had told me the average criminal was pretty dumb, and in the case of Hubert and Anita, I figured she was right. Anita had plenty of “book sense” as my aunt Dottie called it, but her common sense was sadly lacking.

“How did Hubert get into Mr. Delacorte’s bedroom to make that threatening call, Dad? Did Kanesha tell you?” Sean asked.

“Turns out he had a duplicate set of Mr. Delacorte’s keys,” I replied.

“Why didn’t they find them when they searched the house?” Stewart frowned. “They were very thorough in my room, I can tell you. I had to empty my pockets, even.”

“Hubert had them in his pocket when they took him down to the sheriff’s department the other day,” I said. “Kanesha got him to admit he made the call, and he also told her where he usually kept the keys.”

“Where?” Stewart leaned forward in anticipation as I paused.

“I was told he has a fireplace in his room,” I said. “There’s a secret panel on it somewhere, and behind the secret panel is a small compartment.”

Helen Louise laughed. “I love it. Shades of Nancy Drew and
The Hidden Staircase
. As I recall, the old houses in that book had some pretty nifty hiding places and secret passages.”

“Delacorte House has a secret passage,” Stewart said. “Dates back to before the Civil War, I think. Cynthia and I used to play in it when we were kids, like we were Nancy Drew and Frank Hardy. Pretty dirty, full of cobwebs and mouse droppings.” He shuddered. “I can’t believe we didn’t pick up some kind of disease in there.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of it,” I said. “Did anyone tell Kanesha about it?”

“I did,” Stewart said and started laughing. When he could talk again, he said, “Sorry, but it was just too, too funny. I showed one of the big, brawny deputies the entrance. He and another deputy explored it, and you should have seen what they looked like when they came out of it.” He laughed again. “They were filthy. I tried to warn them, but they insisted on going into it.”

“Where is the entrance?” Sean asked.

“In the front parlor,” Stewart replied. “The other entrance was sealed off years ago. It runs under the yard to one of the outbuildings at the other end of the property.”

“A dead end, in more ways than one.” Sean grinned.

“Exactly,” Stewart said.

“What’s going to happen to the estate now?” Helen Louise asked.

Sean spoke up. “Unless they can prove that Truesdale murdered James Delacorte, he’ll probably still inherit. If he’s convicted of Eloise’s murder, he could get the death penalty, so it would be a moot point. But if they convict him of both murders, he can’t inherit. Under Mississippi law, a person can’t profit from a crime.”

“If he is convicted of both murders, then what?” Stewart asked. “Will Hubert inherit after all?”

Sean leaned back in his chair as he regarded his audience. “Most likely it will be his mother, as the next of kin. It’s a complicated case, though, especially with one of the heirs about to be indicted for theft.”

“You must have been doing some research,” I said. “Getting ready for the Mississippi bar exam already?”