On the way across town Eve contacted her daughter, Nicole, who lived with her husband and baby Noah in Houston. With the widest smile I had seen on her face lately, she kept her cell phone on speaker so I could hear everything on the other end. Soon Noah was babbling and so was my sister. Eve called his name and kept repeating ga-ga-ga and da-da-da and ma-ma-ma in a singsong rhythm until he was making similar sounds back to her.
Eve and I went to our own homes, both in better spirits. I dropped her off at her place, where she wanted to change clothes and then go to the gym to work out. “I might get to talk to someone there who knows more about Edward or possibly even his uncle,” she said.
“I hope so. We can use all the help we can get.”
At home, I exchanged my low heels for flats. In my kitchen, I worked to clear my head and open it for ideas on how to proceed with Mom.
Edward’s body might have been removed from the casket by now and what? I asked myself, inspecting the pecans I measured. I’d bought these even though I had a bag of others in my freezer that I had picked this past winter in a local graveyard where two large pecan trees grew. I’d cracked their shells and peeled them, but many had broken into small pieces, which was fine for including in fudge or cookies or snacking. Pralines, I thought, came out best with pecan halves.
I gathered the other ingredients and swiped a wet washcloth across my table to keep in place the waxed paper I pressed against it. In a large pot, I mixed sugar, margarine, large marshmallows, evaporated milk, and a teaspoon of vanilla. I stirred the mixture over a medium fire until everything melted.
Why would anyone murder Edward? I asked myself, adding the pecans.
My doorbell’s ring startled me, making my hand jerk and splash some of the hot mixture from the wooden spoon I was using on my opposite wrist. The burn on my arm almost made me forget to turn off the fire, but I did it, I hoped not for long, and plunged my wrist under cold running water in the sink. The burn started to ease a little until someone gave my doorbell an incessant ring and then a hard pounding came from the door. I turned off the water, patted my arm dry, and went none too happily to discover who the caller was.
A frown bit Detective Wilet’s face.
My instinct was to shut the door. Instead I asked, “Detective, what are you doing here?” When he didn’t respond, I said with no enthusiasm, “Do you want to come in?”
The moment he stepped into my entry, his face turned toward the kitchen. His tense face relaxed a pinch and his nose lifted a little when he sniffed.
“It’s going to be pralines for the gumbo kitchen. I can save some for you if you’d like.”
He shook his head. “No, thanks.” His gaze at me hardened, his tough cop face back. “Ms. Taylor, I didn’t discover the person you described and said was at the rear section of the hall of the funeral home. And I never located the car you said he drove, although you didn’t give me much to go on.”
I felt my shoulders drop. “I’m really sorry you missed him. He seemed to be having a big argument with Edward when Eve and I went to Edward’s house.”
He said nothing, eyes intense, severe gaze not leaving mine. “Or maybe there was no man.”
Frustration shot through me. That and having my wrist burn as much as it did when the hot candy mixture struck it made me raise my voice. “Oh, come on, Detective. You already thought my sister and I were guilty of murder when we weren’t. Why in the world wouldn’t you believe me this time?”
“I spoke with other people while I was there and discovered you and your sister had a big argument with Edward Cancienne before he died.”
“We—?”
Before my mind could return to whatever he was talking about, he said, “At the retirement home, Ms. Taylor. There were a number of residents and staff members around when you and your sister got into an extremely heated argument with the victim not long before you two say you found him dead.”
“That’s ridiculous. We weren’t arguing with him about anything that we’d kill for.” I realized how that sounded and amended my words while his hardened face did not relax. “Not that anything would make us kill another person. We just raised our voices at him because he wanted to try to get our mother to hurry and marry a man who recently moved in there. And we don’t know anything about him.”
I didn’t realize how my hands were flailing around until his eyes turned to my hurt wrist. A red spot the size of a quarter had formed.
He stared at my face. “I don’t know all the details about the older gent you’re speaking about. Yet.”
“We don’t either. That’s the thing.”
“But I have learned that the deceased was his nephew, his next of kin.”
“Yes. And?”
“And possibly that relationship to someone you two don’t want around added to his pushing to rush a wedding with your mother could be—”
“What? A motive for murdering him?” I spread my arms in the air, causing his gaze to momentarily shift to the red spot on my wrist and then back at my face. “We didn’t kill him.”
“You had the means. The opportunity.”
“So did everybody else in town. Eve and I and all our subcontractors used a key to get in the house that we all put under a pot of fern in front of Edward’s house. Any of them could have gotten inside.” And what? Waited to kill him? A shudder ran across my shoulders, and my mind shifted to the subs we used. Could they, would any one of them do something like that to Edward or anyone else? I didn’t think so, but what about all the fellows who worked for them? Many of them weren’t local. Some came from out of state for any job or two they could get and then left town.
“I’ll want a list of all of the subs your company used.”
“Eve has the most detailed information on her computer program, but she isn’t home right now. We can get it to you later today.”
Detective Wilet stared at me. “Instead of a worker there retrieving the house key, someone could have gone into the house at the same time as Mr. Cancienne.”
“That’s possible.”
“And maybe it was someone working for him.”
My breaths slowed. Again he was trying to turn the blame on Eve and me. “Detective, you must be certain it wasn’t an accident. How was he killed?”
He glanced toward the kitchen. “We don’t have all of that information yet. But it shouldn’t be long.” His hard eyes nailed me in place. “You might want to finish your pralines. Get them to the community center while you can.”
He whipped around and was out the door before I could think of a comeback. The most ridiculous thought came to mind—I hadn’t even offered him coffee or to sit down. Giving my head a shake as though I could get that idea out, I drew a deep calming inhale through my nostrils and stepped into my kitchen.
My instinct was to call my sister and let her know what just went on, but she was probably running on a treadmill or pulling and shoving on some other heavy gym equipment that I sometimes promised her I would join her on soon. My soon and hers had two different timeframes.
Should I tell Dave? He had offered to help if we needed anything. I did need something. It was peace from considering what the detective just came and said. But how could Dave help with that? He couldn’t erase the experience or the police officer’s words or insinuation. The only thing that would destroy any belief that we were guilty would have to be from them finding the person who was.
Suppose Edward really wanted to take a bath. He could have decided to try out the new tub we’d chosen. He would have had a tub or shower or both at the house he lived in while the other was being remodeled. But he loved the large windows with rounded tops we had put in that bathroom and most