Rebel Without a Cake (23 page)

Miss Frankie and Bernice seemed surprised but pleased to find me knocking on Aunt Margaret's front door. Aunt Margaret and Bitty welcomed me with open arms. Tallulah and Eskil didn't exactly seem happy to see me, but they each treated me civilly.

Kale and I had been at Silas's place for a while, but not long enough for either Sullivan or Gabriel to call Aunt Margaret's looking for me. Miss Frankie made noises about getting me some medical attention, and Aunt Margaret offered to call a neighbor who was a
traiteur
, the local faith healer, but considering how effective Mambo Odessa's beads had been against obstacles, I put my faith in a dose of ibuprofen.

Since I was stuck in Baie Rebelle for the foreseeable future, Aunt Margaret said that of course I must spend the night—and as many nights as I needed to. She'd put a sleeping bag on the floor of the guest room for me. She was a bit distressed that it wouldn't be the most comfortable sleeping arrangements. I was more concerned that I'd be rooming with Miss Frankie and Bernice because sharing a bedroom would make it much more difficult to avoid my mother-in-law.

Everyone seemed eager to hear about my day. Well, everyone but Tallulah, who didn't seem eager at all, but joined us anyway. I shared a few of the highlights and watched Miss Frankie carefully for her reactions. I didn't notice any unusual vibes coming from her, but when it came to sensing undercurrents, I didn't have the best track record. I'd thought my marriage was on solid ground until the day Philippe walked out on me.

Now that I was safe, exhaustion hit me like a ton of bricks. I managed to stay awake through an amazing supper of fried chicken that was crispy on the outside, moist and tender on the inside, roasted parmesan-crusted sweet potatoes, green beans and tomatoes from the garden, and summer squash sliced, sipped in egg wash and flour, and then fried until the outside was lightly browned and the inside still slightly al dente. Eskil added a dish of Cajun-spiced alligator tenderloin, which, for the record, did
not
taste like chicken. With its chewy texture, I can't say it was my favorite part of the meal, but I enjoyed the experience and made a few notes for ways to make it more palatable.

Aunt Margaret followed the masterpiece supper with banana pudding. Since moving to the South, I'd been surprised and a little confused by the love affair some people have with that particular dessert. I just didn't understand its appeal. But after just one bite of Aunt Margaret's rich, creamy pudding, the mystery was solved and I became a banana pudding convert.

I tried again to reach Sullivan with no luck, which probably meant that he was on a case. I called the Dizzy Duke, but Gabriel wasn't at work so I called his cell phone, which went straight to voice mail again. I left another message, this time including Aunt Margaret's number so he could return the call, then I helped with the cleanup after dinner. I was just about to offer my excuses so I could crawl into my sleeping bag when Miss Frankie suggested that we go out onto the porch to talk.

This wasn't how I wanted our first conversation to play out; namely, in someone else's home when I was achy and bone tired. But I couldn't come up with an excuse I thought she'd listen to. Steeling myself, I grabbed a glass of Aunt Margaret's peach tea and trailed Miss Frankie outside.

Bernice came outside with us and patted my shoulder as she moved past me to claim a rocking chair. We spent a few minutes arranging ourselves and commenting on the weather, and then my mother-in-law got down to business.

“Did you get a chance to talk to Kale about his father's death?” Miss Frankie said when we'd all made ourselves comfortable.

I let out a thin laugh and nodded. “Yes, a little. You're not wasting any time getting right to it, are you?”

Miss Frankie waved a hand and regarded me expectantly. “Why should I? We all know what this is about, don't we?”

Yes, I suppose we did. I didn't want to let my conversation with Ox creep into my head while I was sitting here with Miss Frankie, but doubts are insidious things. They find even the smallest chink in the armor and worm their way in. Had I detected censure in Miss Frankie's voice or had I imagined it? Was there disapproval in her expression? In the dark it was hard to tell.

Bernice linked her hands together on her lap. “It's just that we're all so concerned about Eskil. The sheriff was out here this afternoon trying to question him. Eskil still isn't talking, and I'm afraid it's making him look bad.”

“So what did Kale have to say?” Miss Frankie prodded.

“Not much. He says that Silas started trying to talk to him about a month ago. Kale didn't want anything to do with the guy, so he has no idea what Silas wanted.”

Bernice took that in with an almost imperceptible nod. “Do you believe him?”

“I think so, but also I think he's confused and hurt. He's spent his whole life knowing that his father was just a few miles away, but also aware that his father wanted nothing to do with him. I don't think he knows what he feels right now.”

“That could be reason enough for the boy to kill his father,” Miss Frankie said. “Silas ignored him for most of his life and then suddenly wanted to see him? The boy would naturally get angry. Maybe he snapped.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Except for that scenario to work, Kale would have had to visit Silas and he claims he never did. He said that he was afraid of his father and terrified that he'd turn out like him. He tried to stay away so Silas wouldn't rub off on him.”

Bernice put a hand to her chest. “Oh, that poor boy. What a burden to carry.”

“Of course,” Miss Frankie said. “If he's telling the truth.”

“Even if he's not, it would be hard to prove that he's lying. Silas lived out in the middle of nowhere. There are no neighbors and no eyewitnesses.” I stifled a yawn and thought longingly of the sleeping bag waiting for me inside. “Kale told me that Silas was squatting on land owned by your late-husband's family, Bernice. Do you know if that's true?”

Bernice's eyes flew wide open. “Dudley family land? I have no idea. Where was his cabin? Do you know?”

I pointed down the road. “That way about ten miles, I think. And I wouldn't exactly call it a cabin. It's more like some boards leaning against each other. I wish I could be more exact but that's about all I know—except that it's in some trees and he has a pretty impressive garbage dump going on.”

Miss Frankie shook her head. “What about Silas's wife? When you met her, did she say anything interesting?”

“Nettie wants Kale to work for his uncle, but I don't understand why. Kale says that his mom doesn't like Junior, but she seems to be pushing Kale to accept the job offer.”

“But everyone says that Junior has been good to her,” Bernice said. “Why doesn't she like him?”

“She says he's a difficult man,” I told them, “and from what I've seen of him I believe her. To be honest, I've found more reasons somebody might want to kill Junior than Silas. Silas didn't have anything. He squatted on land and poached whatever he wanted when he wanted it. From what I've learned, Silas didn't want anything except to be left alone.”

“And apparently to talk to his son,” Miss Frankie reminded me.

“True. And he also kept the locals supplied with moonshine.”

Bernice gasped. “Eskil was right? He had Uncle Cooch's still?”

“He had
a
still,” I said. “I don't know if it was Uncle Cooch's or not. I wish I had better news for you, Bernice, but the only person who seems to have had a real motive to want Silas dead was Eskil.”

Bernice's hand fluttered to her mouth and she caught back a sob. “But he didn't do it,” she insisted. “He couldn't have.”

“I hope you're right,” I said. I wished I could give her more reassurance than that, but that was the best I could do.

We stopped talking, and for a while our silence was interrupted only by the creaking of rocking chairs and the brush of a light wind over the undergrowth. In spite of my certainty that man-eating critters were lurking out there just waiting for someone to drop a careless foot on the ground, it was oddly peaceful.

Right up until the moment Miss Frankie decided to change the subject. “You haven't told me how your meeting with Simone O'Neil went,” she said. “You did meet with her, didn't you?”

I kept my gaze straight ahead so I wouldn't inadvertently shoot her the stink eye. “Yes.”

“She's a lovely girl, don't you think?”

“She's hardly a girl,” I said. My voice came out tighter than I'd intended so I tried to temper it with a laugh. “But yes, she's lovely.”

From the corner of my eye I saw Miss Frankie turn her head to look at me. “Are you all right, sugar? You seem tense.”

“I'm fine,” I said in a voice that even I knew sounded terse and defensive. “I'm just tired. It's been a long week and today wasn't exactly a walk in the park.”

“Of course.” Miss Frankie looked out over the yard again. “When we get back home, we'll need to get busy on our Christmas plans. Have you had a chance to think about what you'd like to add to the menu?”

“No. I haven't.”
Tell her about Albuquerque
, my conscience whispered. I was so tired of its constant nagging, I decided to take its advice so it would leave me alone. And maybe I wanted to drop a bombshell so I could gauge her reaction. “The thing is, I'm not going to be here for Christmas. I'm going to Albuquerque.”

The rhythm of her chair changed slightly, but she didn't look at me. “Oh? When did you decide to go there?”

Bernice leaned back into the shadows. Was she anticipating trouble from Miss Frankie?

“I made the decision a couple of weeks ago,” I said. “My uncle Nestor already bought the ticket. I haven't been home in a year and a half. I miss my family, and it means a lot to Aunt Yolanda and Uncle Nestor.”

“You didn't mention it last time we talked.”

“I didn't want to hurt your feelings.”

She slid a sidelong glance in my direction. “And you think that letting me believe you'd help me and
then
announcing your plans would hurt less?”

It had been a long day. My head hurt. My lungs hurt. During supper I'd noticed a new ache in my neck. Plus, I'd been nursing hurt feelings over Miss Frankie and Simone for a couple of days. Add the fact that neither Sullivan nor Gabriel had tracked me down at Aunt Margaret's house to see why I'd called, and I was feeling pretty low. Which may or may not have made my temper slightly more volatile than usual.

I stopped rocking completely and gaped at her. “First of all, you blindsided me—
again
—with the Belle Lune job, which you didn't even bother to discuss with me.
And
you blindsided me with the whole Christmas deal, as if you think I exist only to take care of your whim of the moment. Christmas at your house was Pearl Lee's idea. She can help you. I'm going home.”

Miss Frankie's expression turned to ice. “What is wrong with you, Rita?”

“Wrong? Nothing.” Too agitated to sit any longer, I stood and walked to the edge of the porch. “I take that back. Something
is
wrong. You set me up, Miss Frankie, and I don't appreciate it.”

“How did I do that?”

“You lied to me,” I went on. “You told me that Philippe tried to get the Belle Lune Ball contract, and that wasn't true. He'd turned down the offer because he didn't want to work with Evangeline Delahunt.”

“Who told you that?” Miss Frankie asked softly.

I might have been angry with Ox, but I wasn't going to throw him under the bus. “Does it matter? It's true, isn't it?”

“There's a lot of history there,” she said. “You don't understand.”

“I understand that you and Evangeline wanted Philippe to marry Simone Delahunt and that the two of you did everything you could to get them together. I understand that you were planning their wedding when Philippe left for pastry school. And I understand that you didn't want Philippe to marry me. Do you know how much hearing that hurt me?”

“I wanted Philippe to find a woman who loved him. One who wasn't after his money. I didn't know you, Rita. All I knew was that you came from a very different background. I didn't know what you wanted from him. So yes, at first I was skeptical. I feel differently now.”

My knees were shaking and I could take only shallow breaths. I heard what she said, but I didn't know if I could believe her. I'd battled the feeling of not belonging my whole life—at least from the summer I turned twelve and I went to live with Aunt Yolanda and Uncle Nestor. They'd loved me as much as anyone could. They'd treated me like one of their own. I could never find fault with anything they'd done, but I'd still felt as if I was standing on the outside looking in.