Dead with the Wind Page 11

  Before anyone could intervene, Trey stepped over the debris toward Lance and decked him with a punch. Lance went down and stayed down. Horace jumped up and grabbed his son.

  Thurston got up and went over to the fallen young man. He got down on one knee and checked Lance’s eyes. “Out cold,” he said. “Better get the EMTs in here. He could have a bad concussion. Trey hit him pretty hard.” He stood and then strode out of the parlor.

  An’gel heard the front door open and close. She stared at Horace, who was still visibly restraining his son from attacking Lance again.

  She stood. “Young man, you had better control yourself and that temper of yours. If Lance is seriously hurt, you could find yourself in jail for assault. I will be happy to serve as a witness on his behalf. No matter what he said or did, there was no cause to hit him like that. You could have killed him.”

  Trey appeared stunned at An’gel’s words, while Horace glared at her.

  Thurston reappeared then, preceded by a couple of EMTs.

  Horace hustled Trey out of the room while the EMTs examined Lance. An’gel kept out of the way but watched with keen interest. She was worried about Lance because Trey, as muscular as he was, had hit Lance hard enough to cause serious damage.

  One of the EMTs spoke into his walkie-talkie and asked for a gurney. Finished, he looked up at Thurston. “We’re taking him in. Probably a concussion but there could be internal bleeding, considering he was hit as hard as you said. Are you related?”

  “No,” the lawyer said. “I know his family, however, and I’ll get in touch with them and tell them to meet you at the ER.”

  “Thanks,” the EMT said. His coworkers came through the door with a gurney and other equipment, and An’gel watched while they got Lance ready to make the journey to the hospital. She said prayers for Lance as well as for Mireille and Jacqueline.

  An’gel felt exhausted. She was a bit shaky as well. Reaction from all the dramatic events had begun to set in. She decided her presence wasn’t necessary, and she slipped out of the room and went to the den. She opened the door with care, in case Benjy and the animals were asleep.

  She found the room empty, to her disappointment, but she spotted a piece of paper lying on a sofa pillow. She went over, picked it up, and quickly scanned its contents. Benjy had taken Endora and Peanut back to their cottage, going the back way to avoid the activity out front. The animals were hungry and restless and had to relieve themselves. They would remain there unless An’gel wanted them to come back to Willowbank.

  An’gel crumpled the note and dropped it into a small, decorative wastebasket beside the sofa. She gazed longingly at the sofa, wanting to lie down and take a nap. She knew, however, she had better get something to eat. She was hungry and feeling a bit weak.

  She left the den and went to the kitchen, where she found Jackson and Estelle making sandwiches.

  “Miss An’gel, can I get you something?” Jackson asked the moment he spotted her. “I reckon you must be truly peckish by now.”

  An’gel smiled at the old-fashioned expression. “I truly am peckish,” she said. “I’d love a couple of those sandwiches and some hot coffee right about now.”

  Estelle paid no attention, apparently intent on her task. Jackson smiled and said, “You just come on over to the table over here and set yourself down. We’ve got chicken or ham.”

  “I’ll take one of each,” An’gel said as she walked over to the table and chose a chair. “Thank you so much, Jackson.” She would have been happy to help herself, but she knew the old man’s feelings would be hurt if he wasn’t allowed to take care of her. He must be drooping with exhaustion by now himself.

  She said as much to him when he set a plate with the sandwiches and a cup of coffee down in front of her.

  “I’m okay, Miss An’gel. I had me a little nap a while ago.” He shook his head. “All this bad stuff wears me out, and sometimes I have to sit down and rest my eyes a bit.”

  “I know what you mean,” An’gel said. “I was considering taking a nap in the den a few minutes ago, but I decided I was hungrier than I was sleepy.”

  Jackson nodded. “Have you heard anything more from Miss Jacqueline about Miss Mireille?”

  “No, I haven’t,” An’gel said. She realized then that she had left her handbag in the den all this time. Jacqueline might have tried to call but An’gel had been nowhere near her phone. She got up. “I left my phone in the den. I’ll go get it and see if Jacqueline has called.”

  “You let me do that, Miss An’gel,” Jackson said. “You need to eat. I’ll be right back.”

  An’gel nodded and thanked him. After he left the room, she kept an eye on Estelle and began working on a ham sandwich. The housekeeper seemed lost in a world of her own, An’gel decided. She picked up her cup for a sip of coffee.

  Estelle spoke suddenly. “Mireille’s dead.”

  An’gel was so startled she nearly spilled coffee all over herself. She set the cup on the table with an unsteady hand.

  “When did you find out?” An’gel asked, her heart heavy with sorrow. She wished the housekeeper hadn’t announced it so abruptly. “Jacqueline must have called.”

  “Nobody called,” Estelle said.

  Taken aback, An’gel couldn’t speak for a moment. Then she found her voice. “If nobody called, how do you know that Mireille has died?”

  Estelle shrugged. “I just know, that’s all.”

  An’gel spoke sharply, nettled by the housekeeper’s casual tone. “I’m sorry, but I find that hard to believe.”

  “Doesn’t matter to me what you believe,” Estelle said indifferently. “I know what I know.”

  “When did it happen?” If you know so much, An’gel wanted to add but decided it was better not to.

  “A couple of hours ago, during the worst of the storm.” Estelle put down the knife she was using to slice the ham and turned to face An’gel. “If you must know, Mireille and I have been close for years, like sisters. I felt it when her soul left her body.”

  Estelle spoke with such calm assurance that An’gel experienced twinges of doubt. She had heard people say similar things all her life, and sometimes they turned out to be right about a tragic event. She hoped fervently that this was not one of those times and that Estelle was completely wrong.

  The housekeeper turned away as if she neither expected nor needed a response, and that chilled An’gel even more. Estelle went back to carving the ham.

  Jackson came back then with An’gel’s handbag. She thanked him as she accepted it. She wondered if Estelle had shared her revelation with the butler. She thought Estelle hadn’t because Jackson would surely have been agitated.

  An’gel rummaged in her bag for the phone. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen. She didn’t see the small symbol that alerted her to voice mail messages, nor did she see the symbol for a text message. She dropped the phone back in her bag and set it on the floor beside her. “No calls,” she said before she picked up her sandwich and resumed eating.

  Jackson smiled. “Then I reckon that’s good news.” He started arranging sandwiches on a silver serving tray.

  An’gel felt better with food and coffee in her stomach, but at the same time she felt uneasy. Try and dismiss them as she might, she found Estelle’s words unsettling. Did the woman really have some kind of psychic bond with Mireille?

  Horace hurried into the room and startled them all. “Jackson, can you put a couple of those sandwiches in a bag for me, and get me a travel mug with coffee? I’m going to go to the hospital. I can’t get Jacqueline to answer her phone, and I’ve got to see her before she comes home.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Horace,” Jackson said. “I’ll have it ready for you in a couple of minutes.”

  “Thanks,” Horace said. He looked really worried, An’gel decided. Was it truly because Jacqueline wasn’t responding to his calls,
or was it because of his son’s violent behavior? He’d better be praying that Lance wasn’t seriously hurt and that Trey hadn’t had any hand in Sondra’s death.

  CHAPTER 17

  The back door opened, and Peanut bounded into the kitchen, pulling Benjy behind him. Endora struggled to maintain her perch on Benjy’s shoulder, and Benjy winced. Endora must have dug her claws in to keep from falling, An’gel realized.

  “Peanut, bad boy. Halt.” Benjy held firmly to the leash, and the labradoodle stopped. “Now sit.” Peanut sat.

  Benjy set down the large canvas tote he held in his free hand. Endora scrambled down from his shoulder and climbed into the bag.

  “Just look at that mud you tracked in here.” Estelle glared as she pointed to Peanut’s tracks on the linoleum. “I don’t have time to go mopping the floor at this time of night. What were you thinking, bringing that filthy dog in here with mud all over him?”

  “I’ll clean it up.” An’gel rose from the table and walked over to Benjy. She patted Peanut’s head, and his tail thumped the floor. “Where’s the mop?”

  Estelle indicated a door behind the table. “In there. Bucket and rags, too. Help yourself.” She turned to Jackson. “You’d better get a move on and get those sandwiches to Horace. He’ll be in a tearing hurry to get to the hospital.”

  An’gel thought Estelle might make a comment alluding to Mireille’s death, but she didn’t. She wiped her hands on a dish cloth and then hurried out of the room. Jackson busied himself preparing Horace’s requested meal.

  “I’ll mop up,” Benjy told An’gel. I should have wiped Peanut’s feet before we came in the kitchen, but I was in too big a hurry to talk to you.

  “Is something wrong at the cottages?” An’gel frowned. “Were they damaged during the storm?”

  “Everything seemed okay,” Benjy said. “The electricity is off down there, though. Good thing I had a flashlight.” He shrugged as he looked around the well-lit kitchen. “Guess they’re on a different circuit. I’m glad we’re going to stay here tonight.”

  “Yes, me, too.” An’gel didn’t relish spending the night in a cottage without electricity either.

  Benjy rummaged in the canvas tote and brought out an old towel. Endora grabbed at it with her front paws, evidently not happy at being disturbed. She settled down in the bag after Benjy knelt nearby to clean off the dog’s dirty feet.

  “I’ll be back in a minute, Miss An’gel,” Jackson said. “Y’all let me know if there’s anything you need.” He smiled at Benjy. “I bet you wouldn’t mind a couple of these here sandwiches.”

  “No, sir, I sure wouldn’t,” Benjy said. “Thank you. As soon as I get the floor cleaned, I’ll help myself.”

  Jackson nodded and headed out of the kitchen with the food and drink Horace had requested earlier.

  Alone now in the kitchen with Benjy and the animals, An’gel resumed her seat to finish her sandwich and coffee. While Benjy competently and quickly cleaned Peanut’s muddy paw prints from the floor, she told him about the unpleasant scenes he had missed.

  Benjy winced when An’gel related the part where Trey decked Lance with a punch. “A friend of mine in California got sucker-punched like that once,” he said. “Caused brain damage and everything. Besides getting hit in the face, he fell against a table and banged his head really hard against the edge.”

  “How terrible,” An’gel said. “How much of his normal functions did he recover?”

  Benjy put the mop and bucket in the closet and shut the door. “About ninety percent, I’d say. He never was quite the same afterwards. It was really tough to watch him struggle with things, like talking.” He shook his head. “Poor guy. I hope Lance does better.”

  He went to the sink to wash his hands before helping himself to sandwiches and milk. An’gel watched him but her mind was suddenly elsewhere. For a few minutes she had been able to banish Estelle’s startling announcement from her thoughts, but now it came back to unsettle her again. She prayed the housekeeper was wrong, simply the victim of an overactive imagination and a pessimistic heart.

  Jackson returned from his errand with an announcement. “The police are heading upstairs to Miss Sondra’s room. I sure hope they don’t make too much noise and wake up Miss Tippy, or Miss Dickce’ll never get her to sleep again.”

  “I think I’ll go up and check on Dickce and Tippy,” An’gel said. She picked up her phone but left her handbag on the table. “Benjy, once you’re done eating, I think you’d better stay downstairs until the police are finished on the third floor.”

  Benjy nodded. “Better to keep the guys out of the way.” Endora was still napping in the tote bag while Peanut stretched out under the table, his head near Benjy’s feet.

  An’gel realized she probably hadn’t fooled her ward with her stated intention of checking on Dickce and Tippy. Benjy knew her well enough by now to know that she would also want to see what was going on in Sondra’s bedroom. And since Sondra’s bedroom was near the third-floor landing, she would have to pass it to get to Tippy’s bedroom at the back of the house.

  An’gel climbed slowly, thinking about the manner of Sondra’s death. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t really believe that it was an accident. The whole story of Melusine Devereux was too coincidental, and An’gel wondered vaguely if it had given someone an idea about making a murder look like a freak accident.

  As she neared the third floor, An’gel heard the murmur of voices coming from Sondra’s bedroom. She stepped onto the landing and moved cautiously closer to the door. When she peered inside, she almost cried out in shock.

  The storm had wrought destruction through the doors that opened onto the gallery. The furnishings had been moved about, pictures knocked off the wall, small tables and chairs overturned, and water—there was water on the floor, in the sodden rugs and bedclothes and in Sondra’s clothes flung about the room. An’gel felt sick over the damage to the room and to the antiques it contained, then felt ashamed of herself for being more upset about the room and its contents than about its occupant.

  “Can we do something for you, ma’am?” the younger, taller cop called out to An’gel from where he stood with his superior just inside the room by the French doors onto the gallery.

  “No, only looking,” An’gel said. “I can’t believe the amount of destruction in this room.” She shook her head, still aghast at the damage.

  “Well, I reckon this is what happens when you leave the doors open during a vi’lent storm,” Bugg said in a pompous tone. “Girl couldn’t’a been in her right mind going out there like that and standing on the gal’ry. No wonder the wind swooped her up like that.”

  “Are you sure that’s what happened?” An’gel asked sharply. “Doesn’t that seem peculiar to you?”

  Bugg smiled as he walked toward An’gel. “Now, ma’am, what else you reckon could’a happened here?” He waved a hand to indicate the state of the room. “Her stepdaddy and his son done told us she liked to stand out there during a storm. She was lucky it didn’t happen to her before now.”

  In the face of this irritating condescension, An’gel felt her temper rise rapidly. “Don’t you think it strange that she was standing out there in a storm wearing her wedding dress?” An’gel put heavy emphasis on the last two words.

  Bugg looked confused. “Weddin’ dress?” He shook his head. “She was wearing a blue dress, as I recall. You trying to tell me she was gonna get married in a blue dress? Never heard tell of such.”

  “Sondra and her grandmother argued over an antique wedding gown that Mireille wanted her to wear. Sondra didn’t want to wear it, however, and said she would wear a blue dress instead.” An’gel went on to explain briefly what happened to the antique gown and the consequences of Sondra’s destructive act.

  “I can’t believe that girl would do something like that to Miss Mireille,” Bugg said. “Miss Mireille’s the
sweetest lady in the world.”

  “My youngest sister went to school with the deceased,” Sanford said with a grimace. “Said she—the deceased, that is—could be real spiteful if she didn’t get her way. All the girls was scared of her and didn’t dare cross her. Don’t surprise me a bit she’d do something like that, even to her own grandma.”

  An’gel didn’t need further evidence of Sondra’s self-absorption. She wanted the policemen to consider the idea that Sondra hadn’t died in a freak accident.

  “Back to the point about the wedding dress,” she said. “I think it’s highly unlikely Sondra would have stood out there during a storm in the dress she intended to wear at her wedding.”

  “Maybe you got a point,” Bugg said. “But if it wasn’t no accident, then are you saying somebody pushed her over during the storm?”

  An’gel smiled grimly. “I’m not saying that’s what actually happened, but I think you ought to consider the possibility.”

  Sanford shook his head. “No, ma’am, I don’t think that can be right.”

  “What do you mean?” Bugg asked.

  “All you gotta do is look at where the body was lying,” Sanford said. “It was too far out from the house. If somebody’d pushed her over the railing, or even picked her up and dropped her, she would’ve landed much closer to the house.” He looked smug at his own reasoning. “So the wind must’ve picked her up and dropped her where she was, away from the house.”

  An’gel had to admit, if only to herself, Sanford made a good point. The location of Sondra’s body did complicate her theory. She had a potential answer, however.

  “The wind might not have plucked her off the gallery,” An’gel said. “But it could have moved her body after she had fallen. Don’t you think that’s possible?”