Rebel Without a Cake (13 page)

Junior cocked an eyebrow. “You?”

“Yes.”

“And now you feel responsible or something?”

“Not responsible,” I said. “But I do feel terrible about what happened. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am.”

Junior belched under his breath. “You don't have to be sorry. Silas was my brother by birth, but we lost him a long time ago.”

“I hate to see a family fall apart,” Miss Frankie commiserated. “It's the saddest thing in the world.”

“I'd say that depends on the family,” Junior said with a cool smile. “Wouldn't you? Now you've said what you came to say, so if you don't mind—”

Sullivan sipped some water, which made me think he wasn't ready to leave. “Are you saying you and your brother weren't close?” he asked.

“That's exactly what I'm saying. We hadn't been close for a long time. Now suppose you tell me why that's any of your business.”

“It's not,” Sullivan said. “But you can understand why Bernice here is upset. Silas was found on her family's property, and some folks think her cousin was responsible for putting him there.”

“That's probably because he was,” Junior said. “It's no secret that Eskil and Silas had bad feelings between 'em. Everybody around knows that.”

“It would help us understand if we knew why,” I said.

Junior cut a glance at me. “Why don't you ask Eskil? I'm sure he'd tell you.”

“Eskil isn't talking,” Miss Frankie said. “Not to us. Not to the sheriff's office.”

“That's right,” Bernice said with a bob of her curly white head. “So we thought we'd come to the person most likely to know the story.”

Junior's mouth curved into a slow, sly smile. “Well, you came to the wrong place, folks. Because I don't know a thing about my brother.”

“Do you know if he had any other enemies?” Sullivan asked. “Was there anyone who might benefit from his death?”

Junior gave him a long look. “Just what are you asking?”

Sullivan shrugged. “Exactly what I said. Is there anyone who might benefit from your brother's death? Did he own land or have money?”

Junior laughed. “You wouldn't ask that if you'd known Silas. He didn't care about money and he didn't believe people could own land. That's why he ran off in the first place. Our old daddy wanted to build a legacy. Something big to leave his family when he died. Silas didn't want any part of it. He ran off and the old man cut him out of the will. And that was that. Other than that, I don't know anything about him or what he did.”

I thought about the man I'd seen yelling at someone through a car window on our way to Aunt Margaret's house yesterday. I knew it was a long shot, but I asked anyway. “Do you know anyone around here who drives a white Ford Ranger?”

Junior narrowed his eyes, but he kept that cheesy grin on his face. “How long you got? I could tell you at least a dozen names.”

Somehow I doubted that. I wondered if he was lying or just annoyed by the question. “You and your brother lived in the same small town,” I said. “You said that everybody knew that he and Eskil had issues. How could you know that but not know what those issues were?”

Junior polished off one can of beer and popped the top on another. “Because folks around here mind their own business. If you're smart, you'll do the same. You go around sticking your nose into other people's business, you could make some enemies. Now unless you want to book a hunting trip or something, I'm through talking.”

Junior's abrupt dismissal left us with no choice but to leave. Sullivan stood and shook Junior's hand again. “We'll get out of your hair then. Sorry for the intrusion.”

I wasn't ready to go but I bit my tongue and followed Sullivan back to the street. Bernice and Miss Frankie brought up the rear. I heard the screen door slam shut behind us with a
bang!
and I let out a regretful sigh. Junior knew a whole lot more than he let on. I'd have bet on it.

“Well, you were right,” I said when we gathered beside Sullivan's car. “He certainly doesn't seem upset by his brother's death.”

“Clearly not,” Miss Frankie agreed. “But I'm not convinced that he doesn't know why Eskil and Silas were at odds.”

Sullivan folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the car. “Neither am I. What was that about the white Ford Ranger?”

I squinted into the setting sun and shook my head. “Nothing really. I saw a guy wearing boots like the ones Silas Laroche had on talking with somebody in a truck like that when we pulled into town yesterday. Then again, it could have been anyone. The guy seemed angry, though, and I thought I'd toss it in and see what we got. And you saw what happened. We got a big fat nothing.”

“Yeah,” Sullivan said, but he seemed thoughtful. He shook it off and smiled at Miss Frankie and Bernice. “Listen, ladies, I don't like the two of you getting involved in all of this. Somebody around here killed Silas Laroche, and whoever it was might not hesitate to lash out again. My advice is to stay out of it. Let the sheriff and his deputies do their jobs.”

Miss Frankie gave Sullivan a wide-eyed stare. “Why? Because you think we're too old?”

He laughed and shook his head. “Don't you go putting words in my mouth, Miss Frankie. My mama would skin me alive if I suggested such a thing. It's because I think this could be dangerous. I've got a gut feeling about this and I don't want to see either of you get hurt.”

Bernice's cheeks burned deep pink. “My cousin is the one who'll get hurt if somebody doesn't help him. And I'm as sure as I can be that he's innocent.”

Miss Frankie gently touched Bernice's shoulder. “We're not going to let that happen. There are plenty of people around here who can tell us why Eskil and Silas were at odds. Let's go talk to someone else.”

“Whoa!” Sullivan said, stepping in front of them. “I have a better idea. Let's go back to your aunt Margaret's and have something to eat.”

I knew why he'd made the suggestion, but I didn't want our dinner date to evaporate. Sitting at the table with Tallulah glaring at me and making eyes at Sullivan just wouldn't be the same as the private dinner I'd been anticipating.

Miss Frankie stepped around him. “And leave Eskil to fend for himself? What's wrong with you?”

Sullivan took her arm and fell into step with her. “I admire you for caring so much, Miss Frankie, and I know how much Bernice means to you. But you aren't thinking about how much Rita cares about you. I can't let you do something dangerous while I'm around. She'd never forgive me.”

It was a bold stroke, but genius. Miss Frankie's shoulders almost sagged. “You're right, Liam. Let's go back.”

I didn't know whether to feel relieved or aggravated. She never gave in that easily for me. I opted for relief. The only thing that really mattered was getting the two of them back to Aunt Margaret's. If Sullivan could do that, more power to him.

Just when I thought it was settled, Bernice chirped in dismay. “Oh my Lord! I completely forgot. I promised Tallulah I'd pick up some Old Bay Seasoning while we were out.”

Sullivan didn't even miss a beat. “Give Rita the keys to Tallulah's car. She'll pick it up. You ladies can ride with me.”

Miss Frankie handed over the keys without argument, and Sullivan got the two women settled in his Impala. After tossing a smile and a promise to see me back at the house, he made a U-turn and sped off down the road.

I don't think I've ever liked him more.

It took me three tries to get Tallulah's car started. When I finally did, the Sentra bucked a couple of times and jumped forward, raring to go. Three of the car's seats were split open, revealing dusty puffs of stuffing. A pile of mail—mostly junk, I think—was crammed into the space between the front seats, and a couple of empty soda cans rolled around on the floor in back every time I accelerated. I sure hoped T-Rex stocked Old Bay Seasoning in his general store because I wasn't sure the Sentra would live long enough to go any farther.

A couple of muddy pickup trucks and a sheriff's car were parked in front of T-Rex's when I pulled up. After the dust settled, I spotted Georgie Tucker eating at a picnic table a few feet away.

She smiled when she saw me and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Hey there. I thought you'd gone back to the big city.”

“I did,” I said. “I had to come back to bring a few things for Miss Frankie and Bernice. Any news about how Silas died?”

“Not a whole lot. Eskil's refusing to talk to me at all. His mama and sisters have clammed up except to offer me something to drink.” She laughed and shook her head. “There sure are some eccentric folks around here.”

That seemed like an odd thing to say. Not that it wasn't true, but . . . “I thought you were one of them.”

“Not yet, but I'm working on it. I moved down here from Tennessee about five years ago so I'm still an outsider.”

I grinned and sat on the bench across from her. A cool breeze fluttered the treetops and raised goose bumps on my arms. A few monarch butterflies drifted past, the first of the annual autumn migration to the southern end of Mexico. “If the family's not talking, does that mean you don't have any leads?”

“Nothing concrete so far. I talked with Silas's brother Junior earlier. I'm on my way to talk to his widow as soon as I finish my dinner break.”

His widow?
“I didn't realize Silas was married.”

Georgie opened a small bag of chips and munched on a couple. “You sound surprised.”

“I guess I am. Nobody mentioned anything about him having a wife. Did he have kids, too?”

“Just one. A son. Kale's twenty-two and lives with his mom. Probably nobody thought to mention it because Silas and Nettie haven't lived together in twenty years.” Georgie shrugged and ate another chip. “Way I heard it, Silas got tired of city living one day and just moved off into the swamp.”

Yeah. I could see how the big city of Baie Rebelle might be too crowded for some people. “How did his wife feel about that? Do you think she had a motive for killing him?”

“Not that I know of after all this time. But she and Kale have had their struggles. If it weren't for Junior, I don't know where they'd be.”

Interesting. “Junior takes care of his brother's family?”

Georgie nodded. “He's been more of a daddy to Kale than Silas ever was. Kale's a good kid. He's had a little trouble, but nothing serious. Anyway, Silas mostly kept to himself after he left town.” She munched for a minute and said, “We were out to his place looking around this morning. I think we've found the murder weapon.”

She dropped that piece of news like an afterthought.
Oh . . . I almost forgot . . .
I wondered if she'd done that on purpose to get my reaction. “Can you tell me what the weapon was, or is that classified?”

Georgie washed down her lunch with Coke. “I guess it won't do any harm. We found blood and hair on a toilet tank lid on Silas's property. Looks like that's what did him in.”

I gaped at her in disbelief. “A toilet tank lid? Are you serious? Who would think of using
that
as a weapon?”

“Somebody looking for a weapon in the moment, I suppose. That probably makes this a crime of passion.”

“I
knew
he wasn't at Aunt Margaret's when we arrived. It's almost as if the killer wanted to throw suspicion on Eskil. Was Silas killed at his house?”

“Outside, down by the creek. We'll have to wait for the tests to come back to prove our theories, and that might take a while, but I'm pretty sure that's what did it.”

I turned that over in my mind for a moment. “Did you find any fingerprints?”

“Sure. A whole lot of 'em, in fact. Don't know yet if any of them belong to the killer.”

“It would take some serious muscle to swing a tank lid with enough force to kill a man. Are you thinking the killer was male?”

Georgie did a so-so thing with her head. “Not necessarily. There's women in these parts who could handle that heavy piece of porcelain as well as any man.” She nodded toward the Sentra and changed the subject. “I see you're using Tallulah's car. Something wrong with yours?”

I wasn't ready to abandon the subject of Silas Laroche and his toilet lid–wielding killer, but I didn't want to press my luck. I shook my head. “I came with a friend today, and got put in charge of picking up some Old Bay Seasoning. Do you know if they carry it here?”

“I reckon so. You can get just about anything you need here at T-Rex's. If he doesn't have it, he knows where to get it. And they're open twenty-four/seven. You need something at two in the morning, just ring the bell. T-Rex'll get out of bed and sell you whatever you want.”

“All the conveniences,” I said with a laugh. “The only thing missing is a drive-through window.”

The sound of a truck pulling into the gravel parking lot caught our attention. Georgie waved and I glanced over my shoulder in time to see a tall, heavy-boned woman wearing a baseball cap getting out of a maroon pickup. I started to look away again but realized that she looked familiar and kept an eye on her. I could count on one hand the number of people I actually knew in Baie Rebelle, so the fact that she looked familiar had to mean that I'd seen her at Aunt Margaret's the previous night.

Georgie had polished off her dinner and got up to toss the trash. “How you doin', Adele?”

Adele slowed her step but she didn't stop walking. Even from a distance, I could see that she looked awful. Her eyes were red and puffy, her complexion mottled. “I'm all right,” she said. She opened the door and added, “See ya later,” and shut the door behind her firmly.

“Call me crazy,” I said, “but I don't think she's all right at all. Was she a friend of Silas's?”

Georgie laughed and shook her head. “Hell no. Probably just allergies or something.”

She seemed certain so I didn't argue, but I wasn't convinced. I said a quick good-bye to Georgie and followed Adele into the store, hoping I could figure out a way to strike up a conversation.

T-Rex's was a tiny building filled with a few built-in wooden shelves, portable metal shelves squeezed into every available space, and a couple of old-fashioned chest-style coolers. I could have picked up anything from canned vegetables to live bait, a true one-stop-shopper's delight.

The aisles (if you could call them that) were too narrow for more than one person; depending on the person, they might even have been too narrow for one. Behind a high counter holding a cash register, miscellaneous fishing stuff, and a telephone, two middle-aged women laughed over something in a magazine. I guessed neither of them was T-Rex.

I noticed Adele near one of the coolers, so I made a beeline for her. “Sorry to bother you,” I said, “but didn't we meet last night?”

She shook her head and tugged the brim of her cap lower over her eyes. “I don't think so.”

“You weren't one of the search party who met at Margaret Percifield's house last night?”

I could feel the two clerks watching us, and I knew they could hear every word in that tiny space. Adele must have realized the same thing because she gave me a grudging nod. “Oh. Yeah. I guess I was.”

“I'm Rita Lucero,” I said, still trying to come across as the friendly type. “I just wanted to say thank you for your help.”

Adele flicked her gaze over me. She wasn't a pretty woman, but she had beautiful eyes—green with flecks of brown—and lashes some women would have given their firstborn to have. “Yeah. It was no big deal. It's what we do out here.” She returned her attention to a yellow bottle in her hand, and something about the way she moved made me remember the woman in the backyard with the angry young man. I had a gut feeling Adele had been that woman. So maybe what had her so upset today was trouble with her son, and not Silas's death.

I didn't want to take advantage of her when she was down, but I had doubts about Eskil's story and I might not get another chance to talk to one of the search party. Hoping she'd respond to a friendly face, I turned on my inner Chatty Cathy. “I'm just glad someone found Eskil when they did. It's amazing that he got through the night alone on the swamp.”

“Not really,” Adele said without looking at me. “He knows what he's doin'.” She returned the bottle to the shelf and tilted her head in my direction. “Strange thing, though. I could've sworn I checked that arm of the swamp earlier and he wasn't there. Then a few hours later, there he was big as day.”